The fields outside Camulodunum, at last. George kept his family and Rhian together as Gwyn, Edern, and Ceridwen directed the organization of the train of goods and attendants. The King’s Guards in their red and white colors were much in evidence, checking the identities of any who emerged from the three ways clustered here and keeping order in the lines of people and wagons waiting to depart again. There were several other ways within range, George determined, and at least half were hidden.
Unlike the informality of their visit to Edern, where they sent their baggage on ahead, the entrance into the city would be done with all ceremony, with Gwyn at the head of his people.
Rhian laughed at Maelgwn’s attempts to see everything at once. “You look like an owl. Your head is going to come right off if you don’t stop looking around.”
George smiled and leaned over his horse to speak to Angharad. “You’ve been here before, I imagine.”
“It seems like nothing’s changed,” she said.
For once, George knew where they were, related to his own human maps—far on the east coast of Britain. He had assumed that Lludd’s capital would be sited where London was, on the Thames, but theirs was a different history, of course. Ceridwen had told him the town was named for Camulos, a warrior god, Lludd’s patron. “Not Taranis?” he’d asked
“Not for Lludd, though he hoped for it. And now that’s passed to Gwyn,” she said.
He could see the city from here, walled and gated like a medieval town. The towers of the central castle were visible over the walls. No cathedral, of course—strange how odd that seemed. Towns like this should have cathedrals.
He walked his horse over to Maelgwn. “How many ways can you detect?” he said, quietly, not wanting to be overheard by strangers.
The boy closed his eyes. “These three, of course. There are two more, one there,” he pointed discretely north of the field, “and the other some distance away, behind us.”
“Well done,” George told him. His own range was broader, and the hidden ways were plain to him, but his foster-son’s skills were growing.
“Remember, don’t let anyone know,” he said. “Keep a low profile.” At Maelgwn’s too-serious nod, he added, “And at least try to pretend to be a youngster, you’ll be less conspicuous.”
That elicited a genuine grin. Lately George had started to acknowledge that Maelgwn was done with the unselfconsciousness of childhood, that there was nothing to be done for it, given his last couple of years of hardship. So be it, he thought. I’ll try to make that as easy for him as I can.
He’ll be a man soon enough, by their reckoning, in responsibility if not in size. Might as well get used to it. I’ve never been a father before. I wonder if I could see him this clearly if I’d watched him grow up? Probably not.
Edern waved them over—everything was ready at last. The four of them rejoined the procession, and Gwyn put his horse into a dignified walk, preceded only by one attendant to clear a path for him. His brother rode by his side.
This much ceremony was new to George. If we had Rhodri here, would he be acting as a herald, he wondered. The thought of Rhodri holding a long horn out of a bad movie and puffing on it brought another smile to his face, and Angharad asked him, “What are you laughing about?”
“Don’t mind me, I’m just a country bumpkin,” he said. “Here to see the sights, with my jaw hanging open.”
Rhian, ahead of him, giggled.
They passed through the city gates, unchallenged. Up close the walls showed evidence of old scars, and the gates were well-maintained. The guards in their red and white with the ram’s horn insignia seemed professional enough to his eye.
Inside the walls the main street from the gate ran through a district of workshops and dwellings, then to a cluster of walled houses. These had trees behind their walls and no doubt gardens, but most of the visible town was stone.
It was busy. Fae were everywhere, some richly dressed and others with the appearance of craftsmen. The shops were full, and George spotted several korrigans both in the streets and at the shops, but few lutins. Of course, they’d more likely be tending animals, and there was less of that in a city than on the farms and estates.
Everywhere he looked, he saw King’s Guards, in pairs. Why are there so many, he wondered. Ceridwen had assured him they would be safe enough under guest right, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all walking into a trap. “Stay close,” he urged Angharad and Maelgwn.
Gwyn and Edern approached the central castle’s gates with the dignity befitting great lords, and the train of attendants and goods halted behind them when they stopped.
The attendant who had preceded them announced, “My lord Gwyn, Prince of Annwn, and Edern, lord of Plas-Marl have come at great king Lludd’s request, to visit with their father.”
“Pass,” said the guard, and they walked through the opening in the thick stone inner walls.
I wouldn’t want to try an escape past all this, George thought, as he followed. He held himself straight and tried not to look back.
George checked his appearance one more time and ventured out into the common room of Gwyn’s suite at Camulodunum. There were six bedchambers and rooms down the outside passage for servants, but no way to bar the door from within. Thick carpets marched along the floors and rich fabrics decorated the beds, but the windows were narrow, too small for a man.
It feels like an opulent prison, George thought. Ceridwen sat stiffly in a chair, and the men perched on the edges of their seats. Only Maelgwn was walking about, looking into every corner. Angharad was in with Rhian and a maid and he suspected they might still be a while.
Gwyn’s formal traveling clothes had been rich, but these courtly robes were splendid. The red deer antlers of Cernunnos were embroidered in gold along the front of his short tunic, and they shone against the mink-brown background. His hair was caught into a fillet of gold, the first time George had ever seen that. He looked like a king: somber, dignified, self-controlled, confident.
Edern’s clothing was equally rich, in dark blues, but his hair was unadorned. Ceridwen wore a dark green brocade of some kind, a long gown, and managed to project a certain power of her own.
“I feel positively dowdy,” George said, trying to lighten the atmosphere of the room. He’d opted for a court version of his most formal hunt livery rather than any sort of robes. Better to be in the background, he’d thought. I’m not one of the lords here. Maelgwn was dressed as a squire in the same colors, and when he walked over to join his foster-father Gwyn nodded in approval.
“You two will do very well,” he said. “Now if we could only winkle my foster-daughter out of her room, we could get this over with.”
The door to Rhian’s room cracked open, and Angharad called out. “Be careful what you wish for, my lord Gwyn.” She pulled the door open all the way, and Rhian walked hesitantly out.
Every man in the room rose, and even Ceridwen did the same. Rhian wore a deep blue gown, simply cut and unornamented, of some rich, heavy material. He couldn’t name such things, but in these surroundings, the word “samite” suggested itself. She was no longer a hoyden of fifteen but a young woman, her blond hair arranged artfully. She managed to look both dignified and adult, a vision of youthful sophistication.
George blinked. He couldn’t reconcile this image with his junior huntsman in breeches, her face muddy and her braid unraveling. He glanced over at Gwyn and Edern. Their faces had paled. Not your little girl anymore, is she, he thought.
Then she stumbled, bit her lip to try and keep a straight face, and broke out into a grin. This girl they recognized and the tension in the air relaxed.
“My dear, you look absolutely lovely,” Edern said. “I don’t dare hug you, I might wrinkle something.” He laughed lightly, but George could hear the catch in his voice on seeing his granddaughter grown up.
Rhian walked up and put her arms around him. “Thank you, grandfather.”
“Let’s see you,” Gwyn said. “Turn around.” He twirled a finger in the air.
She turned slowly, and he nodded. “Very fine, foster-daughter. You do us all proud.”
“It’s all Angharad’s doing,” she said, drawing Angharad to her side. “I don’t know what she and that maid did to my hair and I couldn’t do it myself for all the horses in Iona’s herds.”
Angharad smiled at her. “Wait until you see her ceremonial gown,” she told Gwyn, “It makes this one look ordinary.”
Maelgwn bowed to his foster-sister and drew her off to the side for a private conversation. By the gestures, George thought he was asking her where her knives were hidden. He had to cover his mouth with his hand to hide his expression.
Angharad walked over to claim his arm and looked to see what had caught his eye. “Ah, yes,” she said. “I think there are four strapped on somewhere, and I wouldn’t swear that there aren’t more.”
He looked down at her arm in its green silk, matched in color to the clothing he and Maelgwn were wearing, though not any sort of livery. She’d told him, we’re family, I want people to remember that. “You look lovely yourself,” he told her.
He felt for her upcoming ordeal, facing Lludd again after so many years, and likely some of her children. Would he be able to identify them? He looked down at her auburn hair suddenly. Would she have any difficulty recognizing them, after fifteen hundred years?
Gwyn cleared his throat, and they all turned to him. “Shall we go in, then? Remember, my father is kin to all of you and we are guests under his roof. Don’t let anyone intimidate you—we are here by royal right.”
George stiffened his spine at that, and escorted his wife out of the door.
They entered the great hall in formation, Gwyn and Edern in the lead, then Ceridwen, alone, Angharad and Rhian, and finally George and Maelgwn. The hall was immense, the throne at the far end on a raised platform occupied by a silent man listening to his advisers. Next to him was a smaller throne, unoccupied.
Most of the people in attendance were clustered near the man on the throne, but there were clumps of people gathered elsewhere, and a few who seemed to have been waiting for their entrance.
The herald stopped them after a few paces and called out, with the carrying voice of his trade, “The lord Gwyn ap Nudd, Prince of Annwn. The lord Edern ap Nudd, lord of Plas-Marl. The lady Ceridwen. The lady Rhian ferch Rhys ab Edern. The lady Angharad. The lord George ap Corniad, Huntsman to Gwyn ap Nudd, and his foster-son Maelgwn.”
George had never heard the formal version of his name called out like this. Son of Corniad, indeed—a man he hadn’t seen since childhood. It wasn’t how he thought of himself. The man on the throne lifted his head and watched their entrance.
Silence spread out from them like ripples in a pond, and we the handful of pebbles, George thought with amusement. Gwyn led them to his father at a dignified pace, and let the crowd part before him, which it obligingly did. George noted occasional nods of greeting in the crowd, but Gwyn ignored them, his eyes fixed upon the seated man who sat straight on his throne and waited.
Gwyn reached the foot of the three steps below the king and paused for a moment. Then he sank on one knee and rose again. “Greetings, father.” Beside him, his brother Edern made a similar obeisance, silently. Behind them, everyone else curtsied and bowed.
Out of the motionless crowd strolled a dark-haired woman, smiling. “Brothers,” she called. “How good it is to see you.” George gritted his teeth, and Edern’s face froze, but Gwyn ignored her entirely.
Here, in her father’s court, Creiddylad was secure in her standing. She walked casually up to the smaller throne and took a seat.
A dark-haired man standing on Lludd’s other side leaned over and whispered in his ear. He wasn’t striking in any way, but something about his clothing and his air of self-possession reminded George of Ceridwen, and he wondered who this was.
Lludd himself surprised him. Here was a gray-haired man on the wrong side of middle-age, past that point of timeless suspension that George had become used to among the vigorous and powerful fae he’d met. That’s what they were talking about, he thought. He’s visibly aging. There was a scowl on his face as he looked at his sons.
Finally he nodded at them. “You are welcome here,” he said, in formal response. “We look forward to hearing from you about events in our lands to the west.”
He glanced over the rest of the group, passing over Rhian in her beautiful dress with indifference but halting at Angharad.
“My lady,” he said, “It is good of you to return at last. We have missed your many talents.”
George was alarmed by the threat he heard in that greeting. The man was still bitter and angry over her departure hundreds of years ago, he realized. He straightened up and moved closer to her, carefully keeping his face expressionless while his stomach knotted. He should never have let her come.
Lludd looked dismissively for a moment at George, then waved his hand. “We will see you again at dinner,” he said, and turned away to resume his conversation with the dark-haired man at his side.
Gwyn and Edern both bowed, and led them all away from the throne. Conversation resumed generally in the great hall with a rising surge of volume.
With all eyes upon them George didn’t expect any candid response from Gwyn, but the two brothers exchanged a look before parting to greet their acquaintances in the hall. Ceridwen took her own path through the gathering.
Politicians working the crowd, George thought. They’re good at it, he admitted, grudgingly, as he watched them in conversation. His little family and Rhian were left together on their own.
He said to Angharad, “If that’s their father, I can almost sympathize with Creiddylad.”
She gave him a small smile but warned him, “He’s not to be taken lightly. We may be his guests, but he is all-powerful here, and his self-restraint is no stronger than it’s ever been.” She looked at Rhian and Maelgwn as she spoke, including them in her reply.
“Who was that, talking to him?” he asked.
“That’s Derlwyn. He is to Lludd what Ceridwen is to Gwyn, his scholar and adviser. He is also a not-inconsiderable way-finder. Be very careful of him.”
Court wizard, George thought.
“Do you know these people?” he said. “Any friends you’d like to see?”
“I know them. Not many, I think, are friends.”
She was watching two men and a woman approaching through the crowd as she spoke. George noted their auburn hair and similarity of feature, and then it struck him. They looked like family, like Angharad’s family.
The three of them stopped in front of Angharad and made their courtesies. The taller of the men said, “Mother, won’t you introduce us?”
Angharad closed her eyes for a moment, then curtsied in response and turned to George.
“Husband, allow me to present my sons Gruffudd and Llyr, and my daughter Siriol.”
She never addressed him as “husband” that way. She must be making a point, George thought. Gruffudd was the taller of the two men, perhaps the elder, though it was hard to tell. He looked at these masculine versions of his wife’s features and thought them hard and judgmental.
The woman reminded him of Creiddylad, a look of disapproval on her face.
They were all many hundreds of years older than him, but he ignored that. These were her children and they owed her respect.
“This is my husband, George Talbot Traherne, our foster-son Maelgwn, and Gwyn’s foster-daughter Rhian.”
George made a formal bow with the others.
Siriol said, “So it’s true then. A human.” She looked pointedly at her mother’s slender form. “Is it also true that you will be gifting us with a half-breed sibling?”
George’s face hardened but he held his tongue. It was for Angharad to respond as she thought fit. Beside him he could feel Maelgwn bristling, but he surreptitiously grabbed his arm, low by his side, and squeezed it.
She surveyed her three children with a cool expression. “I hope you all are doing well. I have often wondered.”
“But not enough to keep you from joining with a traitorous rebel,” Llyr said.
“We are not likely to agree on this topic,” she said and turned, sweeping the four of them away.
George took the lead to the nearest wall. He placed his considerable bulk between her and the people in the hall, as if by accident, shielding her from view to give her a moment of privacy. She glanced up at him in gratitude, then composed herself again as if nothing had happened. Maelgwn and Rhian were hot on her behalf, and he told them, “Do nothing, you two. This is for Angharad to deal with however she wants. She knows we will support her.”
“They were horrible,” Rhian said, in a fierce whisper.
“It’s not their fault,” Angharad said. “They’ve been taught this, all their lives. It’s what this court does and why I had to leave.”
“They were discourteous, mother,” Maelgwn said. “That is a shame to them, no matter what they’ve been taught.”
George privately agreed.
Angharad said, “Shall we return? I do have friends in this crowd, and the worst is over. I have responsibilities as Rhian’s sponsor, and here she is, looking so lovely.”
She started with their nearest neighbors and began to introduce Rhian generally, and George and Maelgwn served as their escorts, trying not to let their country manners disgrace them.
All went well for an hour or more, and they had worked their way back to the general vicinity of the throne, when three men entered the hall and made straight for them. George took one look and the hair rose on the back of his neck. Madog, he thought, they look like him. He froze Maelgwn with a look and put himself in front of his family.
“You,” the leader said to George. “You are Gwyn’s huntsman?”
“I am,” George said.
“I am Rhirid ab Owen Gwynedd, and these, my brothers Cynan and Cynwrig.” He stood, hands on his hips, and looked George over.
“Our father had seventeen sons. Madog was one of them.”
George nodded, waiting.
“I went with him to the new world once, when he first discovered it.” He stopped, his face working.
“I accuse you of his murder, here, before these witnesses.”
George said, “Madog was an abomination. He kidnapped children, tortured men for sport, and treated his people like cattle. I would have killed him if I could have, but alas I did not have that privilege. He was killed by another, an outraged mother rescuing her child.”
Quiet spread around their immediate circle.
“I don’t believe you,” Rhirid said. “I call upon you to answer for this.”
Creiddylad smiled openly from her seat. Lludd raised his voice and said, “We shall look into this, Rhirid ab Owen Gwynedd. There will be a formal judgment.”
Rhirid looked at him for a moment, then bowed to the king and led his brothers away.
George watched them leave apprehensively. He would defend himself against this accusation, but he wouldn’t let them imprison him. He looked around for guards coming his way, but there were none.
Angharad touched his arm. “You’re in no immediate danger, not while we’re guests here.”
He let her lead him away, and they continued their work in the crowd as if nothing had happened. How long could this continue, he wondered. Was it always like this, at a high court?
Alone in their bedchamber in Gwyn’s suite that evening, Angharad was finally free to let down her guard. George was more than willing to open his arms for her and she was content for a moment to shelter there, bemused over how reassuring such a basic comfort as a pair of strong arms could be.
“Thank you for going through that with me. It would have been much worse without you.”
“My jaw aches,” he muttered. “I’ve been clenching my teeth to restrain myself for hours.”
She pushed back reluctantly. “I know. And Maelgwn took his cue from you.”
She sat down on the bed. “They’re not all enemies, you know. I saw many friends. They couldn’t be open about it, in Lludd’s court, but they were there.”
“If you say so.” He looked at her, worry plain on his face. “I know you warned me about your children but, oh, I am so sorry for that.”
“So am I, but it can’t be fixed. I cannot live for their approval, but I can’t forget their childhood, either.”
She steeled herself. Now was the time to tell him.
“You remember Bleddyn, yes?”
“Your, um, mentor?”
“My most recent master, in the arts. He’s been looking for someone for me to take on, as a student.”
George nodded.
“He dropped a private word in my ear about Lludd.” She wondered how much to tell him about Bleddyn’s warning.
Alarm filled George’s face and he took a step toward her. “What can he do?”
“Anything he wants, here,” she said with a tired laugh. “Gwyn and I discussed the risk. He won’t harm me physically.” Probably not, anyway, she thought. “But he lost standing, respect, when I left his employ without warning after so long as his court painter, and he wants that back, for his pride’s sake.”
She looked up at him, wearily. “I think he will make me an offer and I don’t know what he’ll do when I refuse. We are guests here, and guest right is sacrosanct, but…”
“I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him,” George said, scowling.
The expression was new to her and she laughed at the image.
“Thank you, dear, I needed that,” she said. She had recovered some of her usual balance
He smiled back tentatively. “What should I do about Madog’s brothers?”
“Oh, that’s easy. Do as little as possible and keep out of Lludd’s sight. Gwyn will slow it down and it wouldn’t surprise me if we were gone before it goes anywhere.”
“And if they lose patience and come at me directly?”
“Try to stay out of their way, if you can.”
