Ravens flew from the towers, scattering to the four winds, carrying missives from Camelot. Each parchment bore the seal of the king, but the hand was Merlin's.
Princess Mithian rushed into her father's chambers. She wore riding clothes, and her face was still flushed from exertion.
"Father!" she said, "I need you to settle a dispute. Sion says we may not hunt harts until St John's tide, but I say we need only wait until Midsummer. What do you say?"
King Rodor looked up from a letter, his brow wrinkled. "I say there are more important things for us to consider. The King of Camelot has written to us. His kingdom has fallen - again! - to that sister of his. He has reclaimed it, but he writes to ask for supplies, and offers us gold in exchange."
Mithian's face instantly became serious. "Then he must have whatever he asks," she said.
Her father looked at her in surprise. "Have you forgotten that this is the man who spurned you? According to rumour, for some… blacksmith's daughter? Are you not ashamed?"
Mithian straightened her back. "Ashamed? That the lands I was to win by lying with a stranger were given to me at no cost? I call that no shame, but good policy. And if a man is gallant enough to spare us both a loveless marriage, and gives up his claims to buy peace between our kingdoms, I call him noble. Arthur would not be your son-in-law, Father, but he would be your ally. Be a friend to him, I pray you, as he has been to us."
"Listen to this," said King Rodor, looking at the parchment again. "Noble cousin, I, Arthur, Rex Britannorum, Pendragon of Albion, and rightwise King-born and Overlord of All Brython-" He broke off. "Overlord of All Brython! What does he mean by that, my girl?"
"Those are titles he inherited from his father, nothing more."
"Ah, yes, the father. I knew the old dragon well. Bloodlust and madness run through the Pendragon veins, Mithian. The young dragon may shed his skin, but he cannot change the nest he was hatched from. Do not be so sure he loves peace more than Uther did."
"You did not think so ill of the Pendragons when you suggested I marry one! Father, Arthur surrendered his lands to me, leaving him in a worse position than he started with. I know he values peace. I beg you to judge him by his deeds, and not his words."
"My sweet Mithian, the words of a king are important. The Scripture tells us, omne quod voluerit faciet. Et sermo illius potestate plenus. A king doeth whatsoever he pleases, and his word is filled with power."
Mithian set her chin. "Father, you taught me never to refrain from a good act out of fear of future evil. And the Scripture also teaches us that if a man takes our coat, we should offer him our cloak also. If Arthur repays our kindness with treachery, I will ride against him myself. But I will not assume malice from a man who has treated with me honourably and fairly in the past, not in his hour of need.
"Besides which, Arthur is the one who signed all of Gedref over to me. Do you expect a new king of Camelot to abide by his decree? If Arthur loses his throne, we will be back to war in the borderlands. Everything we've gained will be lost.
"I will not wait for your approval. I have incomes from the lands you have settled on me, including the fiefs I took from Arthur. I will turn my supplies over to him. You do whatever you think best. Good day, my lord."
Mithian turned, and began to leave, but her father stopped her.
"Wait!" he called. "Mithian. Come back. I know you to be a good judge of character. If you vouch for Arthur's intentions, I accept he is a man of peace. For the nonce, at least. You will not aid him alone. I will open my stores also."
Mithian came to embrace her father. "Now there is the king I know," she said. "A man shrewd as serpents, but compassionate as well."
"My dear," said King Rodor. "You know that Morgana will hear of this. By aiding her brother, we are making ourselves an enemy."
"Morgana? But she's one woman, alone and friendless."
"A woman who has already raised two armies, and taken Camelot by force twice. She is resourceful. And that is not to speak of her sorcery."
"Was she not captured when Arthur retook his throne?"
"The message says she was mortally wounded, but escaped. She has been sighted travelling northwest. Her father's kingdom was in that direction. I wonder if she looks for aid there."
"Her father?" said Mithian. "Duke Gorlois, you mean. Her claim on Camelot depends upon denying that she is Gorlois' daughter. I doubt anyone in Tintagel remembers her, while Gorlois' memory is much loved in those parts. She will not have a warm reception there, confessing herself a bastard born of their lord's dishonour. She does not sound in a position to threaten anyone, even if Arthur's knights do not ride her down. I almost feel sorry for her."
"Don't," said King Rodor. "They say she has been to the Isle of the Blest, and we do not know what black arts she has learnt there. My grandfather swore that the sorceresses of Avalon could not be killed, that they could return from the dead when it pleased them. He said every witch is a threat until one sees her heart cut out and burnt to ashes, and her head removed and buried in hallowed ground. Even then, it is an uncertain thing."
Mithian gave a contemptuous shake of her head, as if flicking away a fly. "I do not fear to do the right thing. If Morgana rises from the dead and marches against us, I can put her back in the ground again, as many times as it takes."
King Rodor affectionately took her face in his hands. 'I know you have no fear, my daughter. You will only truly know fear when you have children of your own. I hope we have cast our lot in with the right Pendragon." He kissed her brow. "Now go, and see that young Arthur has no cause to complain that Nemeth is uncharitable to her friends."
Queen Annis stood atop the hill's crest, overseeing the construction taking place around her. Men dug deep into the earth, carving a trench around the perimeter of the camp. The excavated soil was heaped into a dirt wall, forming another barrier. Behind the ditch, a row of sharpened wooden stakes was being driven into the ground to form a palisade. It would not take long for the keep to be completed.
This was hilly country, filled with natural defences. That had always been to their advantage. There had been little flat, unbroken terrain for the famed knights of Camelot to mass on and charge. The warriors of Caerleon knew how to fight in the manner of the old tribes, who had resisted Caesar's legions, striking hard and fast, and melting into the mists. In light armour they could outstrip horses in the dense woods, and even when on foot, mailed knights struggled to pursue them through sodden valleys and bogs.
Lord Antores had not wanted to give up his hard-won fortresses to Annis. He had tarried and tarried with the handover, until Arthur had sent royal knights from the capital to supervise the transfer. Even when the forts had been vacated, Annis' men had found unpleasant surprises waiting for them. There were traps lying in store, primed defences against siege. No doubt Lord Antores would call it an oversight. When one of Annis' men had died, and another had been maimed, her people had cried out for blood. But she had restrained them from retaliating against Antores, not wanting to jeopardise this fragile peace.
How long had their kingdoms warred over this wild tract of land? Decades? Centuries? The grass was so verdant, the wildflowers so bright, the trees so dense, because the soil had drunk deep of the blood of her people. Every step she took, she trod on the bones of her countrymen. Some days, when she saw a rich patch of blooms shining on some hill, she imagined that her son Angus lay under that turf, that he had lent the white of his brow to the cuckoo flower, and the red flush in his cheeks to the blushing campion.
"Mam!"
Her surviving son, Fintan, was striding towards her up the slope. He had been the bairn of the family until he had taken up the mantle of the eldest son, the summer that Angus had died. There was little trace of the fresh-faced youth Fintan had once been now. The planes of his face were hard, his fur cloak made him large and bear-like, and he had the grim air of a warrior about him.
"News from Camelot, Mam," he said as he reached her. "The king wishes to purchase all the grain we have."
"Grain? Camelot's fields are riper than ours."
"Not now that Morgana's done with them." He unfurled the scroll and read the message aloud.
Annis looked to the horizon, where Lord Antores' nearest stone castle hulked on the ground like a sleeping giant. "This is why Antores has been so quiet. He was waiting to see if his lord would fall, and if he could take back the lands he'd lost to us. He should have sent his men to the capital to aid his king, instead of withdrawing behind his walls, and preparing for war against us. He must be disappointed that his king yet lives."
"How shall we reply?"
"Arthur has given something to us no other king of Camelot has in generations. A chance at peace. His sister and his barons would jeopardise that. Some of my vassals still murmur against me because I would not avenge your father's death with more bloodshed. I have staked everything on this King Arthur. If he fails, our peace fails with him, and so does my rule. Give him what he asks for."
"But Lord Antores' lands lie between ours and the king's. He will not let our supplies pass unheeded. He will do anything he can to drive a wedge between us and Camelot."
"Write to Arthur. Tell him that we will aid him however he can, but the road between his Citadel and Caerleon is treacherous, and we fear bandits. He will read between the lines. He knows what Antores is. If he sends knights from the capital to meet us, Antores will not dare sabotage us with his king's men present."
Fintan nodded, and turned to go.
"Fin," she said. "I want you to lead the convoy."
"Yes, Mam."
"And, Fin? Take Angharad with you. With our enemies, it would suit us to be tied to the king more closely. He has many bachelor knights, and your sister is unmarried, as are you. Have Angharad presented at court beside you. She understands people, and has a shrewd eye. It would suit her to observe others, and to be observed in turn."
Fin nodded again. "Yes, Mam. But… with neither of us here beside you… "
Annis couldn't help but chuckle. "You are a sweet lad, to worry about your mother's safety. But, my dear one, it is I who am sending you into danger, not the other way round."
She watched the back of his blonde head receding from her, down the slope. She could not help but wonder if she would see him again. Against her will, her mind showed her golden buttercups strewing the fields of Camelot, marking the spot where her golden-haired son had gone into the earth beside his father…
So, she thought, it is done. I have cast my lot in with my husband's slayer. I have staked the lives of my two living children on Arthur's success. Caerleon, my love, forgive me. Are you in the company of the saints, now, seared by purifying fire, as the priests taught me? Or, wild and headstrong man that you were, did you follow your unbaptised fathers into some feasting hall under the hills, where you could drink and laugh and brawl, and come out on moonlit nights to hunt on the moors? Will I see you and Angus again? Wherever you are, my boys, pray for me and my children. We need your strength now.
King Lot burst into the chamber where his wife and her ladies were sewing.
"Woman!" he bellowed. "What are you thinking?"
Queen Clarissant put down her embroidery and gestured to her ladies-in-waiting with her chin. "Leave us," she said.
The other women were only too glad to do so, scattering before the king's displeasure and shutting the doors behind them. Only when they had left did Clarissant deign to look at her lord.
"Good day to you, too, husband," she said. "Pray be more specific."
"You tried to countermand my orders. You had no right to do so."
Clarissant's mouth set into a hard line. "Perhaps I have no right to countermand my husband's orders. But the orders of a foreign king, who is pleased to treat my husband's kingdom like his personal larder? Have I not a duty to oppose those?"
"You have never liked the Pendragons. And you will not keep your personal feelings out of my policy. But you know the position I am in. I cannot refuse aid to Arthur."
Clarissant stood. "Yes, you can!" she said. "Arthur is not his father! He is a beardless boy who can barely keep up his long breeches, let alone defend his kingdom! This latest loss of the capital is just further proof of that, but you lack the courage to see it."
"Do not tell me what I lack."
"I will tell you what I please! You are a king, and you ought to be one in your own right! But you were pleased to bow and scrape before Camelot, making yourself a vassal of Uther."
"I had no choice! All of Essetir's knights and nobles followed Cenred into damnation! They put their blood into that cursed Cup, and when the magic demanded its price, as it always does, our lords and their armies were destroyed! I could never have held the borders of this kingdom with the men who were left. Camelot could have obliterated us. It was mercy they showed us."
"Mercy? Installing you as a puppet king, reliant on their soldiers? Placing the yoke of taxes and tributes around your neck? Calling upon your wealth whenever they need it, as now? This is the time to slowly withdraw our aid. Arthur does not have the resources to compel us. I can understand your fear of Uther. He, at least, was a seasoned warrior, though the man could not even rule his own household. His own daughter, a girl barely out of petticoats, overthrew him! And his son has inherited his weakness! Will you have our children be born into bondage to Camelot as you are? Or will you have your sons be free kings, as is their right?"
"Woman," said Lot, "I will not tell you again. I am sending aid to Arthur. Do not interfere."
"Be very careful," said Clarissant, "that you do not throw your lot in with the wrong Pendragon. You do not know how long Arthur will sit Camelot's throne."
Lot gave her a dark look. "What do you mean?"
"I mean that my people have seen his sister in the southwest. She lives. Morgana is the most competent Pendragon, though admittedly the bar is low. She is a sorceress, as well. The prophets say the time of the Old Religion is returning. Uther is gone, dragons have been seen, and the Druids creep back to their secret groves once more."
"Stay away from Morgana."
"Why? Why not ally with her? Unlike Uther, we have never persecuted the Old Religion."
"Nor have we allowed it to rule us, until Cenred, and see what happened to him! Foolish woman, is it not enough that our kingdom was destroyed by sorcery once? Will you bind our fates to another witch's spellcraft?"
"I do not fear Morgana. She is a lone woman, weak and vulnerable. Prone to persuasion. There are ways to guard against sorceresses. Herbs, charms, spells of protection..."
"This is a dangerous game you would play."
"Kingship is a dangerous game. Or have you forgotten? If you have not the stomach for it, get off the throne and make room for me."
"Stay out of my business," Lot growled. "And keep to your embroidery, where you can do no harm. I will not warn you again."
The king swept away, but in the doorway he paused and looked over his shoulder.
He said, "My people in Camelot tell me your brother continues to rise in the king's favour."
Clarissant said, "I have not forgotten where Gawaine lives, my lord."
"That is Sir Gawaine to you, lady. He is a knight, like your father. And he won his title on the battlefield, not in the bedchamber."
There were two spots of colour in Queen Clarissant's pale face as King Lot departed.