“Ask me another question. Something clever. That’s poor use of our time.”
Angharad only waited.
“Perhaps you should like to hear the tale once more about the birth of our great island?”
“You are quite handsome, even with your scar,” she said.
“I thank you,” I said. “You are not the first lady to tell me so.”
Angharad looked skyward with a laugh, but despite my jest, I did not suffer from vanity. I’d studied my own countenance reflected in bronze. I had a fine nose. Two rather widely spaced blue eyes, graceful brows, and sandy hair I wore long, shaved in the front from ear to ear in the manner of a Keeper. My beard was full, but I kept it neatly trimmed. If I turned my face to one side, the puckering scar dealt me at fifteen winters became a trick of the mind, a vanishing act. That I was handsome I knew, and women agreed. There had been a time when I found ease in the bounty of their affection. But with time I’d learned the body was only a shell built to house the spirit.
“Go on, then, Lailoken,” my cousin Brant said. “Tell wee Angharad why you’ve not wed.”
“I suppose I’ve not yet encountered the right lady.”
Brant scoffed, for this was not exactly true. I’d encountered many ladies and had found them all exceedingly pleasing. It was precisely my joy of encountering women that left me with little interest in tethering myself to any one in particular.
“Nay, Angharad, don’t be led astray,” Gwenddolau said from his saddle. “The truth is your uncle may well have encountered the right lady, but she wanted nothing to do with the likes of him. Is that not right, Lailoken?”
“Ah, I see your humor has returned at last,” I said. “You must be feeling better, brother. You were growing quite dull, you know.”
Brant smiled, but Gwenddolau only lifted a brow.
“Never fear, Angharad,” Brant reassured her. “When Lailoken chooses to wed, he will have his pick of gentle ladies.”
Angharad had turned to Gwenddolau now, her attention blessedly diverted. “And why have you not taken a wife, Uncle? After all, you are a rich and powerful king.”
“So I am rich and powerful, while your uncle Lailoken is handsome. Is this what you say?” Gwenddolau frowned.
“Oh, you are quite handsome, too,” she answered. “But never so much as when you smile.”
“And am I to be only handsome, not rich and powerful as well?” I asked.
Angharad looked between us. “You tease me.”
“Right you are. For there isn’t a citizen of Strathclyde who doesn’t know I possess a great many more gifts than my incredibly fine looks,” I said.
“Humility, for one,” Maelgwn said as he drew his mount up beside us. Angharad laughed. But with talk of marriage, Gwenddolau fell silent.
Strong-featured with pale hair, Gwenddolau suffered no lack of women. But when it came to finding a wife, I’d searched the length of the isle, and no king or chieftain would wed his daughter to Uther Pendragon. Despite Gwenddolau’s wealth and the reputation of his retinue, our kingdom was small and pressed by the Angles of Bernicia in the east. What land he possessed the Dragons had carved out. The risk, these fathers feared, was too great. My own sister, at least, did not doubt our strength. Had she worried over our survival, she’d never have allowed me to foster her youngest child.
As Gwenddolau’s counsel, I’d strengthened our alliances as best as I could. We’d visited the powerful King Urien of Rheged by arrangement of his Song Keeper named Taliesin, a man I called a friend. We’d made a treaty for trade with Aedan mac Gabhran, a powerful Scot, now king of Mannau in the north. And on Gwenddolau’s behalf, I traveled often to my sister and her husband, Rhydderch, at Cadzow and Clyde Rock.
Still, our enemies only mounted. The power of the Angles in Bernicia had quickened, and they sought to test the boundaries of their new kingdom in sudden and violent raids. Raids came, too, from the kingdom of Ebrauc, ruled by Gwenddolau’s cousins Gwrgi and Peredur. Their father had routed Gwenddolau’s father from his throne when I was but a boy. Now the sons carried the feud their fathers begot; they attacked and we countered. Blood flowed on both sides.
It was time for the Dragons to find a safe haven. And if I could not secure a marital alliance for Gwenddolau, I must craft a political one. Thus, our visit to my twin sister at Cadzow had been at my urging. Strathclyde was a great power, and Rhydderch its likeliest successor. I had appealed to Rhydderch for support, but the visit had not been a success. Gwenddolau refused to swear fealty, and Rhydderch would not take up Gwenddolau’s cause without it—to do so was to risk losing the favor of his father, Tutgual. Tutgual had not yet named a tanist, his chosen successor. In the end, the Council of Strathclyde must agree to Tutgual’s choice, but to be named Tutgual’s tanist was a mighty thing.
Now we returned to our kingdom to see to our defenses. Let the kings of the north have their doubts. The warriors Pendragon were among the most feared in our land. We would fortify our ramparts and triple our scouts. We had survived before and would do so again.
Thinking of it, I turned to Gwenddolau. “All has been quiet in our absence. The men have seen to the rampart, yes? They have deepened the dyke and dug the new pits?”
“Aye,” Gwenddolau said. “And tomorrow we will ride out to bring the southern settlements some ease. What happened at Sweetmeadow shall not happen again.”
With talk of adult things above her station, Angharad perked. “Sweetmeadow? Is there a story? I do love a story.”
Gwenddolau and I exchanged a look.
“It was a raid,” he said. “A raid by our enemies. That is all.”
The memory of what I’d seen—what Lord Gwrgi had done—surged back unbidden. The dark-haired woman hanging from the stables. Bodies strewn like dolls. Girls. Little more than children. Rage pulsed at my temples, working its poison, but I could not turn from the visions. Let the girls be remembered for their suffering. After what Gwrgi of Ebrauc had done, it was better they had not lived.
“Uncle, you hold me too tight!”
I looked down to see I’d been clutching Angharad as if she might slip from my grasp.
“Sorry, I am sorry,” I murmured, releasing her.
It was nearly sunset by the time our caravan reached the fortress. Along the river, the sun lit the parchment of birch trunks like melted gold. In the shallows, a waterbird stood, one foot lifted, scouring shadows under rock for its evening catch.
There had been a cliffside fortress at the meeting of the Liddel Water and the river Esk since twilight times. It was a seat of power when I was but a boy, though it had since been burned and rebuilt. The fort commanded tribute on goods traveling north into Strathclyde as well as south into Rheged. We earned a portion of wealth, too, from any wares arriving or departing from the salt waters of the Solway Firth. Caer Gwenddolau might be small, but the reach of Pendragon’s influence was mighty.
As we neared the edge of the forest, the warriors’ wives and lovers came rushing from their huts to greet them, children close behind, and Angharad shrank into the saddle as if she wished to disappear. But I saw her smile as Dreon’s daughters threw themselves at their father like a pack of wild dogs. His youngest shared a birth year with Angharad. They’d make suitable friends.