Chapter 19
The flames in the fire pit had nearly died when Bedwyr stepped into the clearing.
Arthur gritted his teeth. He’d forgotten to relieve Bed’s watch. He needed to begin acting more reliably. Trouble was he was no longer certain he was made of reliable stuff. Couldn’t even keep a fire going to warm a man after his work.
“No movements,” Bedwyr said, “but we shouldn’t stay here.”
“We have to.”
“We don’t, and we shouldn’t. Rhys wouldn’t expect us to—not alone.” Bed sat down next to him on the log and held his hand to the weak flames Arthur had failed to stoke.
“Do you think there might come a day when I don’t need to apologize to you?”
“Probably not.”
Bed’s voice was tinged with gentle humor, but Arthur didn’t deserve it. “I’m sorry.”
Bedwyr took up a stick and stirred the fire to life. “We knew the risk.”
“I didn’t think he’d leave.”
“Well. Neither did I. But he was a poor choice to assign to this border; that’s on Rhys. Lot made his promise a long time ago. He’d made off with a daughter of Cymru, and the words were easily said. No reason to think anyone could call in his pledge from so far away. Between you and me, I’m surprised he even made a show of honoring it.”
“Why do you think he did it?”
“Maybe he was bolt-struck in a storm and discovered a conscience. Maybe Morgawse pushed him to it.” Bed grinned at him. “Maybe Agravain annoys him, too.”
Arthur smiled despite himself. He wished he could lean in to kiss that mouth. “Do you think he did it because of the Saxons?”
“What do you mean?”
“Suppose they’re a threat to his lands as well?”
“He’s a fair trek north.”
Arthur imagined the map Master Philip had shown him in his studies, the rough triangle that supposedly depicted Britannia. Cymru had made up only the western corner. Lot’s domain would be even smaller, only the very tip at the top. “Last autumn, Philip said there are more Saxons than we might think. So many that only their front edge are fighters. Much of the land behind them—to the east—is settled, by them. They farm it.”
“Hard to imagine.”
“I know. But if it’s true, maybe they’re more of a threat to Lot than we thought. What if I’ve cut this alliance off—”
“At the wrist?”
Arthur’s breath choked. He forced himself to look at Bedwyr.
The man’s dark eyes bore into him. “You didn’t do that to me, and you didn’t do it to Lot. He ordered Agravain not to engage. The alliance was dead before they arrived.”
“Not completely,” said a voice behind them.
They rose and turned to find a short figure walking toward the fire pit. As he stepped into the light, his features grew familiar.
“Gwalchmai?”
The fellow nodded. “Arthur. Bedwyr.”
“What are you doing here?” Arthur scanned the forest. “Did Agravain change his mind?”
Gwalchmai gave him a small smile. “No.”
“Do you bring a message?” Bedwyr asked.
“More like an apology. And an offer.”
Bedwyr glanced at Arthur, then back to Gwalchmai. Arthur didn’t miss the way Bed’s gaze assessed the lad for threats.
“Why apologize?” Arthur asked.
“Because I wasn’t completely honest with you.” He turned to Bedwyr. “I have a Cymrish name because my mother was born here. Her name is Morgawse.”
Bed’s eyes grew wide. “My father’s sister? You’re Agravain’s brother?”
Gwalchmai shrugged. “I’d rather claim to be your cousin.”
Bedwyr looked at Arthur again. “I’m afraid it’s a poor claim, cousin. We’re outcasts, of a sort.”
“I know the sort,” Gwalchmai said.
Bed eyed him closely, but Gwalchmai turned to Arthur.
“We’ve heard tales of you at home. Tales of your first time in battle”—his gaze flicked to Bed’s short arm—“tales of Bedwyr’s fight back, and tales of your battles together last summer. I thought I’d never get a chance to meet you both, stuck as I was in the north while you were having all the fun fighting Saxons down here. Then Rhys wrote to Father to call in the men he’d promised on his marriage. To answer your question, my mother did push him. She’s the only one who can make him do something he doesn’t want to do.”
“I know the feeling,” Bedwyr muttered. His sidewise glance warmed Arthur’s face.
“Agravain insisted that if he had to lead them, I had to come too—he doesn’t like to be without his dogsbody.”
“He treats you poorly,” Arthur said.
“My father beats me harder. Besides, it was a chance to be in Cymru. I was a fool, thinking I’d meet you right away. Felt fairly dim for it. But then Agravain returned from Rhys’s, and there you both were. In our camp. And then…” He looked from Arthur to Bedwyr, then down at his own hands. “Then I saw how you were with each other.”
“How is that?” Arthur asked.
“Devoted. But more than just shieldmates. It’s as if… as if you’re bound.”
Arthur waited, because Bedwyr had been right. This above all else required caution.
He looked over to find Bed watching him. As cold as it was, as alone as it seemed they were here, Bedwyr’s dark eyes were warm and certain. “We are bound,” he said, quiet but firm. “By blood and oath, each to the other.”
Gwalchmai stared at him. “You mean…”
“Arthur’s mine, and I’m his,” Bedwyr said. His gaze flicked down to Arthur’s mouth for a breath, before rising again. “For life.”
Gwalchmai exhaled. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, then swiped at them with his sleeve. He turned to face Arthur, squaring his shoulders. “My offer is my spear. I want to fight for you. With you. I want to join you. I’ll do anything you need me to do.”
It was their turn to stare at the lad from the north. “We’re only two,” Arthur finally managed.
“You’ll be more soon enough,” Gwalchmai said. “When you return to Rhys’s for men, I’ll vouch that Agravain shirked my father’s agreement. Please, let me help that much.”
Arthur looked at Bed, waiting for his approval or denial.
To his surprise, Bed tipped his head and gave him a small smile. “What say you, Arthur?”
What was Bed about, making him decide? They both knew he made stupid, rash decisions. But when he kept on looking at Bedwyr for help, the man only waited, calm as a winter pond.
So be it, on both their heads, then.