Mistress of Legend

Chapter 10-4

A pinprick of recognition tickled my spine, though I could not quite place him. Something about him brought to mind the memory of a white rose, a wooden cross, and a fresh purple thistle. The items were clear in my mind’s eye, but I couldn’t quite give them context. It couldn’t be—could it?

I crossed the room to get a closer look at the man who was now my slave, whether I wanted him or not. As I drew closer, my heartbeat sped and the niggling sense of knowing grew stronger until my pulse was pounding in my ears. It was him.

“Galen,” I whispered as I used my index finger to raise his chin to force him to look at me. I expected to find fear in his eyes, or maybe even anger—we hadn’t parted on the best of terms—but all their blue depths reflected was my own surprise.

“Hello, lass. I dinna expect to be seeing you again.”

“Nor I you. How, why—”

“How did I become a slave?” Galen hadn’t lost his knack for reading my mind. “’Tis a long story.”

“One that I wish to hear. Come, sit.” I led him to a bench near the window. I fumbled with the chatelaine at my waist, searching for the key to release his bonds. “You may be indentured, but you are no danger to me, that much I know.”

None of the keys seemed to fit. I desperately wished I had something to offer him, even a meager cup of broth. I called to Kennon, instructing him to have the kitchens bring a light midday meal. Leading Galen by the forearm, I crossed to the rest of our party, who warmed themselves by the fire, trying to pretend they hadn’t noticed the intruder. When I introduced Lancelot and Anna to Galen, the slave shivered despite the warmth.

“Do they allow you no tunic?” I removed my cloak and draped it around his shoulders.

His dimples appeared, along with a wry smile. “Aye, they do, but not on first introduction. I suppose they wish you to see I am indeed enslaved.” He lifted his arms, displaying the grotesque scars on his right arm. “They burned my tribal markings away and gave me this.” He lifted his chin so I could see the marking on the side of his neck. It was a crude tattoo, handwritten: daor—slave. “They put it there, over one of the major veins, so that it cannot be removed without endangering my life. So as you can see, though I live within Votadini lands, I am no longer one of them.”

“That’s terrible.” I picked up the cord around his neck. At the end was a key that must fit his shackles.

He bowed his head, allowing me to remove it. For the briefest of moments, we were close enough to kiss. Butterflies tickled my belly at the thought. After all these years, I still desired his touch. I prayed Lancelot had not seen the slight frisson of attraction.

My cheeks flamed as I pulled away, breaking the spell. “Please, tell us your story.”

Galen shrugged, looking at each of us in turn. “There’s not so much to tell. Isolde took me with her to Ireland, and I ended up here as part of a bargain she orchestrated. It was my own people who condemned me.” The manacles clicked open, and he rubbed his wrists. “Serves me right. I could not expect mercy after bringing shame on so many families.” He looked at me. “I owe you a great deal, even more so to Elaine and Isolde. Tell me, how do they fare?”

I turned away, unable to face him when I answered. “They are both dead.” I wiped at the tear rolling down my cheek. “So you have no one to apologize to.”

He took my hand. “I am afraid I do. I am sorry for leading you on, for getting you involved in my affairs.”

I pulled my hand away, not wishing to forge any bond that would be inappropriate in my new home. “It was a long time ago. All is forgiven. We need only look forward, not back.” I looked him straight in the eye now.

“Of course,” he said quietly. “What will you do now?”

“Right this moment?”

“No, I mean now that you are here.”

“I was just asking myself the same question.” I shrugged. “I would like some time to simply be. That is why I am allowing Rohan to continue to rule in my stead.”

“A generosity you will no doubt regret,” he muttered. “You have as much claim to rule this tribe as he does, if not more.”

Seeing my puzzled expression, he hastened to explain. “You still do not understand your lineage, do you? Evina is your cousin. She rules because she is doubly royal through her grandfathers of Cunneda’s line. But you”—he traced his fingertips gently down the scars on my arm—“are his direct descendant. I doubt Evina has figured that out yet, but when she does, she will rue allowing you to stay, and more so granting you lands that are of such great strategic importance. You’d best be on your guard.”

Lancelot scoffed. “That is ridiculous. Why would Guinevere approach her as she did if it was her intention to challenge Evina’s authority?”

“People have done stranger things.”

“But I have no desire to rule a people I know nothing of.” I paced the large room that was closing in on me. I worked my fingers into the folds of my gown, twisting the material. “I cannot even tell you at what hour dinner is served or where, much less what is best for this land and its people.”

“But you are well known for your wisdom and diplomacy,” Lancelot said, grasping my hands as I passed him. “The ambassadors sang your praises during your reign with Arthur. Once word gets out, there will no doubt be those who will support your cause.”

“Even if I do not raise it?”

“Especially then. Those who oppose Rohan or Evina will grasp at anything to bring someone else to power,” Galen said.

I ran a hand through my hair. “I do not want this. Let me be clear. I have had more than enough of ruling and intrigue to last a lifetime. I came here to find a home, not a crown.”

“’Tis not I you need to convince.” Galen looked at me wonderingly. “Have you ever been anyone’s subject before? Besides Lyonesse, I mean.” He chuckled darkly.

I punched him in the arm good-naturedly. “Of course. I was Arthur’s subject long before I was his wife, and I obeyed his father before him, but you have a point. I do have much to learn about this court.” Decades earlier, when I was first introduced to the house of Corbenic, Isolde warned me that in order to survive in a new household, one had to understand the players. It was time to heed her advice. “We know Rohan and Evina will mistrust me once they figure out I could be a threat. What else do I need to know about them?”

Galen’s face lit up. “That’s the woman I remember. I am afraid our affairs are not much more stable than the ones you recently escaped in Britain. It seems the time for peace is at an end across the isle, I’m afraid.” He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to decide where to begin. “Evina always knew she would be Votadess. She was raised to marry whomever became Votad after Cunedda’s successor. Unfortunately, as these things often go, the line of succession was not so simple in flesh and blood as it was on parchment. The throne changed hands many times and Evina was shuffled around with it. Finally, the tribal leaders gathered and agreed to dispense with all previous plans and go back to the old way of electing the Votad from among their number. Mynyddog, brother of the Cunedda’s successor, Clydno Eitin, was chosen. Evina married him, and I believe you know the rest.”

“What is her goal?” Lancelot asked. “I have yet to meet a ruler who does not have a motive beyond staying alive and keeping the peace.”

Galen grinned. “Wise man. I like the way you think. It seems to be that that she has two main intentions. One is to keep the Picts at bay. They have been harassing this area since Camelot fell. I believe they are testing their boundaries. It is Mynyddog’s responsibility to keep them within their ancient bounds. Evina is also focused on overthrowing Alt Clut so she can rule all four tribes. She studied Arthur’s reign closely, and I think she aims to emulate it here.”

“But the Damnonii of Alt Clut and Votadini she rules are only half of the tribes. What of the others?”

“I am afraid they are weakening by the day. The Selgovae and Novantae haven’t produced a capable ruler in nearly fifty years and are slowly being absorbed by the two more powerful tribes. I predict that within a generation, they will cease to exist.”

A somber pall fell over the room. For a long while, no one spoke, each envisioning a future in which whole peoples could disappear in a matter of years. In many ways, it seemed far-fetched, but with battalions of men dying every day in the service of power mongers, it wouldn’t take long for women to outnumber men and birth rates to plummet. With fewer babies born to each tribe and the possibility of conquest, the Votadini and Damnonii might well be the only ones left.

My thoughts drifted back to my experience at court. Despite her kindness during the ritual of marking, I couldn’t shake Evina’s initial coldness toward me. “Evina seemed suspicious of me when I presented myself to her. Why should she worry about me?”

“You know as well as anyone that a ruler’s crown is never secure.” Galen gave me a sardonic look. “The rules governing us and our relationships with the other tribes, even the nature of our boundaries, are much more fluid than you are used to. Though we have a Votad and Votadess, they are not High King and High Queen with absolute authority like you enjoyed with Arthur. Evina is our ruler only so long as she can prove herself worthy—a battle she fights every single day. There are many who would hasten her fall. All they need do is expose a single weakness and raise another candidate in her stead.” He looked at me, expression concerned. “But I fear I have overwhelmed you. That was not my intent.”

“No, not at all. We need to know this. Thank you.” I smiled at him, regretting my suspicions of long ago. “I am sorry for the unkindness I showed you in the past. It’s ironic that I used to mistrust you and now you are the only one in my new household I am certain I can trust.”

Before Galen could reply, a deep, commanding voice reached us from the back of the room. “I hope I will quickly earn your trust.”

All heads turned toward the sound. We had been so absorbed in Galen’s tale that none of us had heard the guards admit a guest. I would have to speak to the head of security in the morning about increasing the layers of admittance. From the look of him—thick, fur-lined cloak of royal blue over a well-made burgundy tunic—this man was not an assassin, but then again, I wouldn’t have guessed Sobian to be one either.

Lancelot must have been thinking the same thing, for he shot to his feet, blocking my body with his own. “Who are you and what is your purpose here?”

The man bowed, showing a shock of orange-red hair held back by a circlet not dissimilar to the one Mynyddog had worn. “Forgive me. I did not mean to startle you. I am Rohan of Alt Clut, and this is my home. Or it was, until recently.” Despite our guarded reception, his tone held no animosity and his green eyes sparkled with capricious mirth. “Consider it well prepared for you.” He bowed again with the sweep of an arm.

What type of man thought it appropriate to barge into someone else’s home unannounced? He seemed kind enough, but his presumption grated. His former role as master of the house would explain why no one thought to make a fuss or question his presence, as they were likely used to seeing him come and go, but it was still disconcerting. Best to be wary until we learned more.

When no one spoke, Rohan continued, looking from face to face as though trying to ascertain who would be his most likely ally. “Please forgive the breech of protocol, but I could not wait to meet you and see how you were settling in.” He stepped toward me, and Lancelot tensed.