It was late afternoon, and Ursula was alone in her room at the manor. She was wearing a peach muslin gown, and her hair was tied up with a light blue ribbon. Her mother’s manuscripts were spread around her again as she tried to occupy her mind with finishing the translation of Macsen’s story.
She didn’t know where Conan had gone, or what he was doing, for he had obstinately refused to divulge what his idea entailed. Such reticence had only fueled her anxiety over his safety. Where someone like Taynton was concerned she knew it did not do to take risks. Yet that was what Conan was taking, she knew it as surely as she knew her own self. She wished her father had come home, but he had sent word from Stroud that things were so bad at Fromewell Mill that he needed to stay another night.
There seemed to be worries on all sides, each one with a doubtful outcome, and since dwelling on what might go wrong was never advisable, she forced herself to look at the manuscripts. To her astonishment, after a while she managed to concentrate sufficiently to continue writing the translation in her notebook.
The Emperor Macsen entered the castle with the two ladies, and there discovered the very scene of which he had dreamed. The maiden was more beautiful by far than he had dared to believe, and her elder cousin Kynan did indeed bow his head in resignation. Her other cousin Cadfan, however, was even more angry than Macsen had dreamed, casting the game board aside so bitterly that it broke in two. The fallen pieces were scattered to the corners of the great hall, where they turned into animals, squirrels, dogs, and horses, which all went to gather around the maiden. The High-King Eudaf Hen hid his head in his hands in sorrow as Cadfan ran from the hall, but there was nothing that could be done. Macsen was enraptured with Elen of the Ways, but still could not touch her. He learned that she would become his true bride when he married her before the Black Druid. The chosen place for the ceremony was the sacred yew, and the vows were taken as May Eve turned to May Day. Only Prince Cadfan cast a shadow over the land, for he swore to be avenged for the cruel injustice that had denied him his rightful place in line of succession. It was feared that he would roam throughout eternity, seeking his heritage, but never finding it.
There, it was finished. Ursula pushed the manuscripts aside and rose from the chair to go to the open window. The sun was warm, and the valley seemed almost hazy. She looked toward the Green Man, unable to help a sneaking sympathy for Cadfan Meriadoc, who by the standards of his day had indeed suffered a wrong. It hadn’t been his fault that Eudaf Hen decided to import a fine Roman husband for Elen of the Ways, or that Conan’s previous self had loyally stepped aside in favor of the newcomer. As far as Ursula could see, Cadfan was not entirely unjustified in resenting the abandonment of the true male line of succession. Eudaf Hen had a lot to answer for.
She stared out of the window, wishing she knew where Conan was and what he was doing. The hours were ticking relentlessly away toward the turn of May Eve to May Day, at which point anything might happen. As she looked, Bran suddenly bounded up the opposite slope of the valley toward the inn. A pang of alarm struck through her. What was happening? She wanted to go there too, but had given her word to Conan that no matter what, she would stay at the manor. The wolfhound disappeared into the inn yard, and it was all Ursula could do to honor her promise.
* * * *
At that moment Conan was lounging comfortably on a mound of hay in the stables of the Green Man. He had found a quiet corner where a knothole afforded an excellent view of the inn. So far, however, there had been no sign of Bellamy Taynton.
The reason for this was known to one and all, for the innkeeper and Vera had remained tucked away in his private quarters ever since she returned from her meeting with Ursula. The tightly drawn curtains at the window facing the yard had been the cause of much amusement among the men, and much annoyance among the kitchen staff, who seemed to be totally adrift without Vera’s confident hand to steer them. But both she and Taynton stayed where they were, regardless of what was going on elsewhere in the Green Man. A number of stagecoaches had arrived and departed, some with regular passengers who grumbled a great deal about having to wait for food that wasn’t up to the usual standard, but even then Taynton did not emerge. For the moment Conan was content to leave them, because while Cadfan Meriadoc was busying himself with the Lady Severa’s charms, he wasn’t up to mischief elsewhere!
Conan stretched and put his hands behind his head. He was sure he was on the right path with what he intended to do. It was a matter of instinct—of knowing one’s own brother. Paws pattered suddenly, and Bran was there, covering his face with licks. “Get off me, you great fool,” Conan complained, fending off the hound.
Bran whined and sat down, tail wagging.
“Why have you come here?” Conan wondered aloud, sitting up and stroking the hound’s head.
As he spoke, the shadows of two men darkened the stable entrance, and Conan got up warily, for they clearly knew he was there. “Who are you?” he demanded, reaching for an old coaching whip that must have hung on the wall for an age if its drapery of cobwebs was anything to go by.
“You won’t be needing that, Sir Conan,” Gardner’s voice replied. Then he came farther into the stables so that Conan could see his face.
“Why on earth—?”
The coachman held up a reassuring hand. “I don’t know what all this is about, sir, just that I had to be here. It just came over me, a need to come to this inn, where I knew I would find you. Then Daniel Pedlar was waiting for me and, well, here we are.”
Conan smiled a little. “The Black Druid, I believe.”
“That is so, sir, and Gardner ‘ere was once your faithful squire.”
Well, that explained the coachman’s remark the previous night, Conan thought.
Daniel bent to stroke Bran, who had gone to him. “And this ‘ere was Lord Macsen’s favorite ‘unting dog,” he said. “Weren’t you, old boy? Eh? Eh?” He ruffled the wolfhound’s coat, and Bran stood up on his hind legs, looked him in the eyes, and proceeded to smother his face with very wet licks.
“Don’t either of you know why you’ve come?” Conan asked.
Daniel pushed Bran away and gave a grin. “I do. I’m yer in case that toad Taynton cuts up rough with you, and Gardner yer ‘ave been summoned to ‘elp. I ‘ad this dream, you see.”
“Not another dream ... ” Conan groaned inwardly.
“Shook me up sommat rotten, it did,” Daniel said. “Anyway, Gardner and I ‘ave to ‘elp should you need us. This ‘ere ‘ound’s ready too. ‘E’d just love to take a piece out of Taynton’s back end, wouldn’t you, boy? Eh?” He ruffled the wolfhound’s head, and Bran’s tail wagged nineteen to the dozen.
Daniel turned to look across at Taynton’s window, and as if on cue Vera suddenly flung the curtains back. She looked directly at her father and gave a single nod. Daniel glanced at Conan. “ Tis time to go to it, sir,” he said quietly.
Conan dropped the whip and brushed some straw from his clothes, then left the stables.
Vera was waiting for him in the hall. There was a new glow about her and a light in her eyes that certainly had not been there before. “He’s still in his rooms,” she said, “and he doesn’t know you are here.”
“He soon will,” Conan replied.
Anxiety touched her. “You ... you will not harm him, will you?”
“He is the one doing harm,” Conan reminded her.
“I know, but he has now told me all that happened in the past, and I cannot point a finger at him and say he is wrong. The High-King chose wisely in Macsen Wledig, but might not you or my lord have been as fine a choice? You were both cast aside for a stranger, and although you could accept the king’s decision, my lord could not. I do not know that I could have done either. My lord may be the villain now, but the injustice he has borne these past fifteen hundred years was to some extent more than warranted.
Conan hesitated. He didn’t want to concede it, but two women has now said the same, Ursula being the other. Maybe they were right, poor old Cadfan was due a little sympathy. Except that it was rather difficult to sympathize with someone who resorted to dark magic!
Vera could read some of the expressions that passed across his face. “Please don’t condemn him out of hand, sir,” she begged, “for I love him so very much that I could not bear it if anything truly bad happened to him.”
Conan took her gently by the arms. “Vera, I will do what I can, but I am not the sorcerer. Believe me, if anyone is in danger now, it’s me, not him.”