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Chapter Fifteen
The moon was perfectly poised above the tallest of the Lochmaben Stones, balanced on its very edge, when Father Auliffe, abbot of Caer-Birrenswark Abbey, and Riona Damhnait, Druidess of Dalriada, jointly spoke the words uniting Medraut and Keelin in marriage.
"We are gathered to unite this couple..." Auliffe began, "in the sight of God..."
"With the blessings of the Daghda, Father of the Irish Celts," Riona added, "to join together our two great kingdoms."
Auliffe turned to Medraut, whose knees quaked visibly in the moonlight. "Do you, Medraut, King of Galwyddel and nephew to Morgana, Queen of Ynys Manaw, vow in the sight of God to love, cherish, keep, and protect your bride, Princess Keelin of Dalriada, who will be your sovereign queen, seeking no other?"
"I do so vow," the boy said, with only a slight quaver in his voice.
"And you, Keelin ni Dallan mac Dalriada," Riona spoke by turn, "agree and vow before the gods of your ancestors to honor, love, and help your husband all the days of your life, seeking no comfort, no bed but his?"
Her fingers tightened on Medraut's. "I do so vow," she whispered.
"Then," Father Auliffe said quietly, eyes bright with hope and wonder, "I declare before God the Father, God the Son, God the Holy Spirit, that the two of you are joined as one. Let no man come between thee."
"Blessings on thy heads," Riona added, "and may many happy, healthy children play at your hearth."
Keelin blushed furiously, then Medraut turned and lifted trembling hands to her face, bending to kiss her gently. Morgana found it necessary to brush wetness from her eyes and Dallan mac Dalriada blinked a little too rapidly, as well. Young Cleary came forward with the official marriage documents and the new king and queen of Galwyddel signed, laughing nervously over the trembling of their hands. Then it was done and nothing could undo it. Before she could give in to the shakes threatening her own knees, she smiled brightly and kissed her nephew and niece by turn. Dallan mac Dalriada hugged his daughter tightly, then clasped Medraut's arm in the greeting of equals.
"Take wondrous care of my child," Riona translated, "for she is all that is precious to me."
"I will do my best," Medraut vowed, voice cracking slightly, "to give you grandchildren who may be equally precious."
Lailoken, who had stayed back in the shadows during the proceedings, stepped forward with a small wine cask. "A token of my esteem for the king of Dalriada and promise of things to come. Perhaps we might drink a toast to bride and groom?"
Dallan mac Dalriada accepted it gravely, then handed it to one of his men. Father Auliffe said heartily, "Cleary, lad, fetch out the holy communion wine I brought along, nothing but the finest from Rome will do on such an occasion. And the cups, lad."
Something about the glint of Lailoken's eyes caught Morgana's attention for just an instant, then Dallan mac Dalriada was giving orders that the wedding gift be carried back to the ship and Cleary was pouring cups and handing them round and Father Auliffe was making the first toast.
"Long and happy lives, children."
"Long and happy lives," they chorused back.
When the toasts had been made, Morgana said, "Tradition for many generations has seen couples married at this circle led to the caverns below the bluff, sacred caverns, once, and full of auspicious portents, holding as they do the happy moments of union of so many generations of Britons. I have ordered a bridal bower prepared, with a fine bed, oil lamps for lighting the grotto, and plenty of food and wine. Dallan mac Dalriada, you are graciously welcome to ride with us to Caer-Birrenswark upon the dawn, to see your child safely upon the throne of Galwyddel."
"I will stay until dawn," Dallan agreed, "but only to greet my daughter as queen. I must return to my own throne, afterward, for winter is soon upon us and many preparations have yet to be made."
"Of course," Morgana nodded, even as Keelin's lips quivered—despite her attempt to show a brave countenance. "Shall we, then, lead our heirs to their marriage bed?"
When Riona translated, Dallan mac Dalriada smiled and offered his arm. They descended once more to the shingle and Morgana led them down past the high bluff, where the sea and countless mille
Morgana said quietly, "See to it, Medraut, that your bride knows pleasure before you allow yourself to taste it and you will have begun your marriage wisely. Hands, lips, whispers, and all of it exceedingly gentle and patient."
He gulped. "I will try, Aunt."
"See that you do." She embraced him warmly. "I am deeply proud in you, Medraut. I will ride to the cottage nearest Lochmaben circle, where the captain of your fine fishing sloop has invited us to spend the night, and will see you again in the morning. Send Riona after me and we'll go there together."
As she turned to leave, glancing back over one shoulder, she prayed that she had done the right thing, in this. Whatever the outcome, she had acted for the best. There was nothing else to be done—except lie awake and wonder what Artorius truly would say.
The night was waning its way toward dawn when Covia
The passage led upwards along the selfsame path as the labyrinth's walls, having been cut beneath them. The lowest stone of the walls served as ceiling for the passageway. It was cramped and narrow, forcing her to bend nearly double most of the way, but led her steadily upwards in safety, an escape route her remote ancestors had built centuries before the coming of the Romans, so the legends of her family said.
Whoever had built it, near the summit, the underground path divided, one branch to her left leading down toward the deep caverns of the Tor, used for centuries as shelter in time of siege; the other path led upward, toward the hidden exit inside the abbey itself, whose builders and architects had come from Covia
Particularly from the priests of the new religion.
When at last she emerged, taking the right-hand, upward-sloping turn, Covia
Covia