The warriors who dwelled in the huts below the fortress dropped from their horses and waved us off, taking their loved ones under their arms. Only those who sought escape would join us for supper in the hall this night.
I urged Gwydion into the lead as we mounted the narrow trail carved into the eastern slope of the hill, but as we rounded the bend, there came a brown flash of feathers and the muted thundering of wings.
“Quail!” Angharad said with delight as the flock scattered. They fluttered to and fro in a such a panic it made me wonder at their survival. An omen, perhaps.
I looked up at the timber guard tower as we neared the outer rampart, lifting my arm in greeting. “Ho, Fendwin!”
The ruddy-haired warrior raised a hand in welcome from the lookout. “Well met,” he called out. “And just in time. Einion killed a stag. We’ve been waiting all day now.”
“Fendwin. All right?” Gwenddolau called from behind me.
“Aye, Pendragon. All’s well.” Fendwin peered from the tower with a broad smile for Angharad. “Is this the niece, then, I’ve heard so much of?”
“The same. Angharad, meet Fendwin,” I said.
“Are you the gateman?” she asked, craning her neck.
“Nay, little lass, not exactly,” he said. “We’re all gatemen here. It’s the Pendragon way.”
“The Pendragon way?”
“Our warriors share in all stations of service,” I explained as we passed through the gates. “Dragon Warriors are not like other soldiers, suited only for one task, kept in only one position. Today Fendwin mans the tower. Tomorrow he may ride out to scout. The day after that, he may lead a raid. We are not only an arm or a leg. We are every part of the creature. Even myself. You’ll soon see, for while you may study as a Keeper, you’ll be given your tasks as well.”
“I should like to mind the gate,” she said.
“Well. First you must learn to wield your mother’s blade. Then we shall see.”
We left our horses to graze and climbed to the summit on foot. The hounds heard us coming. Their bays echoed over the summer pastures as we passed through the gate of the inner rampart. Inside, the evening breeze was milder. There were trees here—hazel and ash, crab apple and rowan. But the hilltop was large enough for only the necessities: granary, smithy, kitchen house, guard lodgings, temple, and tanning shed. At the highest point, our timber hall stood, thatch-roofed with a pair of fierce-toothed wooden dragons keeping watch above the heavy oaken door.
“There you can see the hall. And beyond it, the well.” I pointed. “Beside the well is the temple, home to Diarmid, a friend and fellow Keeper. He is a diviner. Uther’s birds are kept within.”
At the mention of Diarmid and the birds, Angharad’s eyes lit. She lived in a land of priests. Seers of the Old Way were banned from Tutgual’s court. Aside from myself, Diarmid may be the first of her own kind the girl would encounter.
“You’ll soon meet him,” I assured her. In fact, I planned to visit Diarmid as soon as I was able. I was anxious to speak with him about Angharad and what had taken place in the stones.
I watched as she took in the tidy buildings tucked within the fortress’s inner rampart, wondering how it appeared to a child so accustomed to Partick, with its bustling market and fine trappings, its scores of monks and richly plumed ladies of Tutgual’s court. But Angharad was a child of Cadzow, I reminded myself. A child of the forest, like her mother. Like me.
“It’s a mite smaller than you’re accustomed to,” I ventured.
“It’s just as I imagined it,” she answered. “I was only thinking of Rhys. He talks of nothing but you and Uther and the Dragon Warriors—I’ve seen him in his chamber. He spends ages hunched over his little pine table, staring at this very place on his map.”
The mention of my nephew brought a smile. “Rhys will come. Would that he’d come long before now, but he cannot go overlong without seeing his favorite sister—not to mention his favorite uncle. You shall see. Rhys is a man of seventeen. He will soon make his excuses and visit us here.”
Even as I said it, I did not believe it. Rhydderch kept his eldest son close. Perhaps he sensed how brightly his son’s passion for the Dragon Warriors burned and hoped to keep the boy’s affection from catching alight.
The door to the hall opened and our shaggy gray hounds rushed out to greet us, thumping their tails and shoving their wet noses into the folds of Angharad’s cloak until she burst into laughter.
“Back, you beasts!” I bent to wrestle my favorite, who stood taller than Angharad with his paws upon my chest. Across the yard of the fortress, the servants moved about their duties, their eyes lingering upon the little tawny-haired girl.
“Come, Angharad,” I said. “All are eager to meet you. But first we shall get you settled in your quarters. You’ll want to rest before supper.”
I led Angharad past the great room and into her little chamber as the servants began to unpack her belongings. As I closed the door to my own small room, the silence felt a blessing after three nights spent beside snoring men on a bedroll. My chamber—as well as Angharad’s—lay off the great room, and it dawned upon me there would be a ruckus in the evenings. What if the child could not sleep?
Sweet gods! Dreon was right. I was becoming staid as a mother hen. I recalled the sight of the ale waiting in the great room on the tables beside the central hearth. Perhaps I did require a servant woman to mind Angharad. Languoreth had wanted to send her woman, but I’d refused; it wasn’t the way. “A Keeper must not travel with servants when they undertake their training,” I’d said. But for all my adherence to custom, I had not anticipated the difficulty. I loved the child, but it would be impossible for me to see to her every need. And tomorrow we would ride out to answer Sweetmeadow. I craved the blurry sort of heat lent by a horn of liquor and the comfort of a beauty in my bed.
Leaning over my washbasin, I rinsed my face and dried it with a cloth, pulling loose my sandy hair from its binding. My white robe was brown with muck from the road, and I tugged it off. Within the walls of this fortress, all knew my station, so I preferred to wear a warrior’s tunic. I pulled one of red linen over my head and stepped into a soft pair of trousers, belting them at my waist.
“A mother hen,” I mumbled. The smooth skin of my stomach stretched taut over ridges of muscle. I was a man at my zenith—face unlined, body strong and able. How long had it been since I’d lain with a woman? I felt the need stir. At Cadzow I had been too preoccupied with matters at hand. But now we were returned to ride out in search of Gwrgi. My blood drummed at the thought of it. It was a dangerous thing to ride out after the head of a king. I would need to stoke my battle madness, to summon my frenzy. Nay, I would not sleep alone this night.
But first I must secure Angharad a nursemaid.
In the great room, I swiped a mug of ale from the table and swallowed it down as I headed across the courtyard, calling for our housewoman. “Hedwenn!”
It was a warm summer evening, and the door to the kitchen house was propped open. I stooped beneath the entryway, but not low enough to avoid slamming my skull against the lintel.
“Ow. Hedwenn!” I rubbed my head with a frown. “Where’s Hedwenn?”