Ursula was glad to be riding away from the stink of Caer-Baddon: its decaying food, overripe fruit and the fetid stench of sun-warmed animal dung. She was glad to be free of it, free from Larcius and even free from Dan. She did not know what had possessed her to kiss him – gratitude maybe that he understood, that he did not look at her as Larcius had done, that he was not old and fat. She could not say, and shied away from thinking about it. It was embarrassing.
Bryn had helped her, as she had known he would. He had suggested she borrow one of Larcius’s toughest ponies and told her that Taliesin was staying close to Brother Frontalis’s religious community, a few hours’ ride from Arturus’s fort at Cado. He had drawn her a map, which he scratched on a scrap of leather. It reminded Ursula too painfully of the message she had left on Braveheart’s collar. It clearly reminded Bryn of the same thing because he suddenly disappeared to return moments later with the well-oiled leather collar. It was strange to see the marks she had scratched on it so recently, now faded and aged. Braveheart stayed still long enough to permit the collar to be fastened back around his neck.
There was no Roman road between Caer-Baddon and Fort Cado, only farm tracks and open country. In her own time Ursula would not have dreamed of riding such a distance with the minimum of directions. It was a measure of her desperation that she was prepared to attempt it here. She had an instinct, maybe no more than a hope misconstrued, that she would find her way. She was not remotely surprised when just before midday as she rested and watered her horse and prepared to eat her lunch, she spotted the flecked, brown form of a merlin falcon on a branch nearby.
‘Taliesin?’
The bird tilted its head in a questioning way.
‘Taliesin, if it’s you, can you …?’ She struggled to think of a sign he could give her. ‘Oh, fly over to that big tree and back!’
The bird managed to express disdain even as it followed her instructions. Surely it could not be a coincidence? She drank some water from the stream to save her supplies, in case the day grew hotter later, and mounted up.
‘Taliesin, I really hope it is you because I’m going to follow you. Let’s go!’
Bryn’s change of status in Larcius’s house was the cause of considerable confusion. From what Dan could gather he seemed to have been in charge of almost everything concerning the running of Larcius’s life. No one seemed to be able to progress the preparations for Arturus’s arrival without consulting Bryn constantly. He was polite but steered all their questions towards Larcius himself, explaining that he himself now served Gawain, once the Bear Sark of the Combrogi. Whatever the title had once meant it was clear from the blank faces of Larcius’s retinue it meant nothing in these post-Baddon days.
Larcius was extremely angry and bellowed at anyone who came near him. In the confusion he forgot about finding anyone to follow Ursula until it was too late, and Arturus arrived with two hundred of his Sarmatian troops plus about one hundred light cavalry and rode with great pomp into Caer-Baddon. Time had been less cruel to Arturus than to Larcius Ambrosius. He had matured. His pale hair was paler now with many strands of grey among the gold. He was still slim and fit looking though he moved more stiffly than before. His rather bland face was improved by the lines of aging, they gave him an air of quiet authority that he had formerly lacked. He was clearly startled to see Dan again but quickly regained his composure.
‘Gawain, but I thought you long dead, or gone from us.’ ‘I understand many years have passed.’ Dan faltered as he searched for something more to say. ‘And there has been peace since the Battle of Baddon Hill.’
Arturus nodded. ‘We have fought,’ he said, ‘but only skirmishes. The Aenglisc have gained no more land.’
Dan could see that, along with the more tangible signs of aging, Arturus at least seemed more regal, more the king history had made him.
‘And we have tried to rebuild our Roman heritage. Many of our towns are beginning to thrive again and I am proud to say the rule of law has been restored. But, Dan, you are … as I last saw you. What miracle is this?’
‘We went through the Veil – you know?’
‘Taliesin spoke to me about it once.’
‘Then you know as much as I do.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘And how is Taliesin?’
‘Difficult, moody and unhelpful, as he has been since Baddon. I don’t think he approves of peace. Needless to say his spirits have improved lately, now that we are under threat again.’ Arturus gave a wry smile.
So there was war brewing. As Arturus spoke Dan knew that the certainty of it lay in all the emotions eddying as an undercurrent to the flow of conversation. In war, side-taking was inevitable – he chose his on instinct. He was with Arturus still, in spite of everything. He hoped that he was not wrong.
Ursula was becoming extremely irritated with the bird that seemed to take delight in leading her across streams, ditches and marshland. This perversity convinced her that the merlin truly was Taliesin as nothing else could. It was getting dark, and Ursula was hungry, exhausted and thoroughly bad tempered, when the bird finally came to rest in a clearing where a round, thatched hut, of the type favoured by Macsen’s Combrogi, vented fragrant wood smoke into the cooling air. The wind was blowing towards her and she coughed.
‘Lady Ursa?’ The voice was tremulous. A figure bent and hesitant appeared at the door, holding on to the wooden door frame for support.
‘Brother Frontalis!’
The old man reached out to her and, abandoning both her horse and Braveheart, Ursula dismounted and ran to him. He peered at her through eyes dimmed by cataracts and touched her arm with his still strong, large hands. She gave his arm an answering squeeze.
She followed him into the dark and smoky interior. The smell of stew flavoured by herbs and hops from the beer fermenting in the corner could not quite disguise the faint odour of old age. Taliesin lay like one dead on a bed of sheepskin close to the fire.
Frontalis sat down slowly on a low Roman couch, almost the only furniture in the room. It was covered in animal skins and so its incongruity had not been immediately obvious.
‘Would you get Taliesin some ale from that jug there?’ He indicated a pitcher with a nod of his head. ‘There are some cups just there. He will be thirsty when he wakes.’
Ursula did as she was asked. Taliesin opened his eyes and grunted something and she obligingly raised the horn cup to his lips as he struggled to sit up.
‘What took you so long?’ Taliesin sounded surly.
‘What do you mean?’ Ursula answered, confused.
‘I wait twenty-one years to see you and I’m not your first port of call!’
Ursula hung her head. ‘Please don’t tease me, Taliesin – I’ve followed you through some pretty hard country, I’m tired, I’m hungry, I’ve lost my sense of humour, and I want to go home.’
‘I’m not teasing. I’m the only one who knows what’s going on round here. Arturus thinks he knows it all. Trouble is brewing and you can help.’
Something about his tone irritated Ursula and she found herself replying more aggressively than she’d intended. ‘Why, Taliesin? Why should I help? All I want to do is to go home!’
Then she had the somewhat dubious privilege of seeing Taliesin look, for the first time, utterly surprised.