Medraut by David Pilling

Author:David Pilling
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
Published: 2017-07-14T04:00:00+00:00

12.

Summer was dying. Gwenhwyfar wandered the halls and corridors of the palace like one in a dream. Her mind was fixed on the future. Soon she would leave Caerleon and return to Powys, the land of her youth. The long years of duty, of playing out a role she loathed, were almost over. To her Caerleon was a tomb. She would rise from it, Lazarus-like, and escape into obscurity.

Before he left for Hibernia, Artorius had promised to fulfil his vow.

“When I return,” he said, “and the land is settled again, I will announce my retirement and hand the crown to Llacheu. Then you will be free.”

“Until that moment,” he added severely, “we must continue as we are. This is a secret between us. No one else, not even Bedwyr, knows my mind on this. Not a word to anyone. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” she replied gratefully.

The next morning Gwenhwyfar stood over the western gate of Caerleon and watched her husband ride off to war. She did so with mixed emotions; regret mixed with optimism and worry for his safety. Artorius was too old for campaigning, his aged body weighed down with too many years and wounds. When she suggested Bedwyr lead the army in his stead, he laughed away her concern.

“Would you deny me one last fight?” he demanded. “One final sword-song, before I crawl off to some monastery to die? No, my dear. Never deny an old man his pride.”

The army marched west along the highway beyond Caerleon, the tramp of marching feet accompanied by the regular thump of drums. As ever, Artorius rode at the head of the vanguard. His figure was easy to pick out, splendid in purple and gold. Suddenly he split away from the column, urged his horse up a rise in the ground and wheeled her about to face the city. Sunlight rippled down the length of Caledfwlch as he tore out the famous sword and held it aloft in salute. Gwenhwyfar laughed and waved to him. Around her the civilians, packed tight along the walls, cheered their king.

They still love him, she thought fondly, even though I never could.

Artorius turned and galloped down to rejoin his men. The dragon banner reared over his head. At his back rode three hundred Companions. These men formed the van, the position of honour. Behind them marched the infantry, five hundred auxiliaries, spearmen, archers and slingers. The rear guard was made up of two hundred light horse, scouts and mounted javelin-men.

The High King chose to take the best of his soldiers to Hibernia. He left behind a skeleton garrison at Caerleon, bolstered by a reserve of thirty Companions. Medraut had led the remainder west to patrol the kingdom’s western defences. After years of hard-won peace, the shadows of war once again clustered over Britannia.

He left Llacheu to rule in his stead. The capable young man took his father’s seat in the Round Hall and governed with his usual calm assurance. Once again Gwenhwyfar found herself thrust into the background, deprived of any real power or authority.

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