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She had his attention now, at least. The ragged pacing and hyperactive, supercharged energy flooding out of him came to a brief standstill. "What is our task, Aunt? I don't know enough to rule Galwyddel at a time like this."
"There is no better time, lad, with war threatening from the south and now an almost certainty from the north. There is but one thing we can do, Medraut. We sail after Dallan mac Dalriada and try to persuade him that we, too, are deeply betrayed by a Saxon spy we did not suspect until far too late."
She saw it pass through his eyes, the realization that they were honor-bound to warn the Irish king, that he would probably order them killed in a hideous, slow ma
Her throat tightened, seeing that. If Dallan mac Dalriada allowed them to live, Medraut would make a fine king, indeed. She rested a hand on his arm, unable to speak. He nodded again, not needing her words. Then he turned to his sobbing bride and gently gathered her close, stroking her hair. "We sail to catch your father and deliver the warning. You must be strong, my love, for the agony will strike his heart far more deeply, even, than yours, for he will feel the whole responsibility for failing them."
She lifted a sodden, red-eyed gaze, lips trembling. "Yes," she whispered, gulping to try and contain her grief. "He will. The gods have made you wise, Medraut." She rested her brow against his chest for a moment. "I want to go home, husband, but there is no home to return to. What ma
"He is a Saxon," the boy said helplessly. "It is the only answer I can offer."
The slender princess of Dalriada lifted her gaze once more and even Medraut froze at the look in the girl's eyes. "Then the Saxons must die."
She spoke briefly in Gael to Riona Damhnait, who nodded.
"They say Brythonic queens lead warriors in battle," Keelin said in a cold, hard little voice. "It is time I learned the custom of my husband's people. Come, Medraut, let us prepare our respective peoples for war."
"Yes." He turned to find Father Auliffe standing behind Morgana. "Father, you and Cleary must organize the fisherfolk of Lochmaben to spread the alarm. Galwyddel rides to war. Warn Strathclyde to strengthen the garrisons along the northern border in case we fail to persuade Dallan mac Dalriada of British i
Auliffe hesitated only a fraction of a second, recognizing as clearly as Morgana that the reins of power had just been transferred to the new king of Galwyddel and his queen. The aging abbot nodded. "I grieve for all of us," the priest said quietly. "It shall be done. Go, my king, and try to prevent further death among our new kinsmen."
Less than a quarter of an hour later, they were aboard the fishing sloop, crewed by grim-faced men who knew the risk as well as their passengers, and accepted that risk for their new king and queen's sake. Morgana watched and wept and stared out to sea, raking the dark horizon for the faintest hint of moon-touched sails.
Chapter Sixteen
Trevor Stirling and Ancelotis caught up with Artorius just a few miles short of Caer-Birrenswark, by riding three good horses into the ground, switching mounts at three of the fortified towns in Galwyddel. Artorius had done the same thing, they discovered, but was traveling at a slightly less frantic pace, which gave Stirling and the king of Gododdin the chance they desperately needed to catch Artorius up. They passed a column of foot soldiers heading south out of Galwyddel, presumably the men Morgana had sent to Caer-Badonicus, and—of greater surprise—they met Lailoken, the minstrel, who was also heading south.
"Have you seen the Dux Bellorum?" Ancelotis asked, flagging the minstrel down.
Lailoken gave him a searching look, then nodded, pointing back the way he'd come. "Aye, perhaps ten miles further on. He was moving fast. Is there trouble?"
"I've a message for him. They said in Caerleul you rode out with Queen Morgana?"
"That I did," the minstrel nodded, "but I left her these several days past. She had private business away from Caer-Birrenswark and when a queen is not in residence, there's little enough work for a court minstrel."
"You don't know where she's gone, then?"
"That I don't, I'm afraid. Myself, I'm riding south, to join kinsmen."
A glint of some private mirth the minstrel did not wish to share caught Stirling's attention, but Ancelotis was too distracted by worry to notice. "Godspeed to you then, and the less said of this, the better."
"I am the soul of discretion," the minstrel murmured, sweeping a bow from the waist, a bow that held an elusive, mocking quality, disturbing Trevor Stirling once again, but Ancelotis was already putting heels to his horse's flanks, sending them galloping down Artorius' trail. Only ten miles more to catch him and Ancelotis was waiting for nothing and no one.
Their fourth horse was begi
"What news?" Artorius asked tersely as Ancelotis pulled his mount to a sliding stop.
"The same that sent you racing for Caer-Birrenswark," Ancelotis replied, voice grim. "I'll not believe ill of Morgana, whatever you've been told. Nor will Thaney, who begged me to ride after you."
Artorius' glare made summer storms seem mild. "This is my affair! As Dux Bellorum—"
"If you were here as Dux Bellorum, the cataphracti would be riding at your heels."
The jibe scored; Artorius flushed a dark red. "Morgana is my stepsister, which makes it a personal matter."
"And she is my sister-in-law, which makes it a personal matter to me, as well."
The measuring look Artorius leveled at him only served to stiffen Ancelotis' resolve and left Stirling very glad, indeed, that this man was not his declared enemy. At length, Artorius let go a weary sigh and turned his gaze to stare down the road toward Caer-Birrenswark, the uppermost tower of which could just be seen across the treetops. "I am desperately hoping history will not repeat. It would be agony to condemn Morgana, as I once was forced to condemn Marguase."
"Morgana is no poisoner. Nor will I believe her a traitor without a great deal more proof than whatever letter Covia
A startled look broke loose. "Thaney knew about that?"
"Oh, yes. She persuaded the minstrel to confess to it, after you left Caerleul in such a tearing hurry, without a word to anyone."
Artorius snorted. "I pity the poor minstrel, then. Your niece is a woman I would not care to cross."
Ancelotis gri
The Dux Bellorum hesitated, then fished into a leather satchel strapped behind his saddle and handed over a folded bit of vellum. Ancelotis read it quickly, while Stirling attempted to make out what it said. He could understand spoken Brythonic, thanks to the merging of his mind with Ancelotis', but the written form still baffled him. Ancelotis translated silently, leaving Stirling groaning under his breath. It looked very bad, indeed, if this were an accurate rendering of the conversation Covia