XV – Ravens of the East #3

'Gregor shall fetch Her Majesty, the grandmother queen, do not fret,' said Arwel with feigned confidence. 'Meanwhile, another round of wine before the main course.' With a nod, the servants departed the kitchen.

Gathered about the hearth of the dilapidated hut that served as their shelter, Bolet stirred, with a long spoon, the cauldron in which he was preparing lunch. Beside him, Windar sat upon Bartón’s lap, stroking his cheek.

'It is just as I say, my dear. You know me better than anyone; you shall know if I am lying.'

She rested her nose against Bartón’s to look him straight in the eyes, but he closed his and kissed her, for he believed her, with all his heart and soul.

For more than two decades they had kept their trysts hidden.

Although he desired to, he had never dared to confess to Narg how he felt about his grandmother; besides, she would never have allowed it.

He, whom Renger had knighted in his youth, had loved her from the moment he first beheld her, and felt a mixture of admiration, respect and awe for her.

Windar, for her part, widowed in her youth after the tragic passing of Nork, had devoted her life first to raising Renger and, later, to Narg.

Unintentionally, and despite the difference in years, she found in the bald knight a gentle haven where she might simply be a woman.

'But the manuscript signed by Tregor is addressed to you,' he ventured to say after a while.

'No, that is not my faithful friend’s handwriting. Thou knowest him; thou knowest he is incapable of being involved in anything of the sort.'

'Then who could have orchestrated this barbarity?'

Windar rose, smiling upon the silent Bolet. Then she kissed Bartón’s full cheekbone and smoothed the skirt of her sky-blue dress, cinched at the waist, before sitting down opposite him. She held out her hand and intertwined her fingers with his.

It was the first time they had permitted any to behold them together, and the ease with which Windar treated him, coupled with the hypnotic locket hanging from the grandmother queen’s neck and nestling between her breasts, embarrassed Bartón.

Blushing from his cheeks to his bald head, he lowered his gaze and fixed it upon the old wooden trunk at his feet.

'Celtión,' Windar said sharply. 'She hath set her heart upon the eldest of the Gerinsons. She hath conspired with that old witch from Ubberia—and, Odín save us, with Lerg.'

Bartón’s eyes seemed too big for his face.

He understood why the manuscript had not been made public and how Halfdan had come to conspire with Jorlaft, King of Wolest. The rumours were true; Lerg was involved.

Was Gwion too? he wondered, and the despair that Narg might have travelled with Maed turned his stomach.

'I have reigned long enough, with or without a crown, to have loyal followers by my side,' said Windar, and with a wink she rose to bring Bolet the earthenware plates.

'Are we expecting any other folk?' quoth Bartón, perceiving there were plates for three.

Windar replied with a smile and continued:

'Marzota, who hath been Celtión’s shadow all these years, hath told me everything, as my still-faithful maid. As faithful as thou, who last night told me that Gwion can speak with Tower. How thinkest thou he doth it?'

Bartón felt himself the greatest traitor of all, guilt pounding within his breast for having believed, even for a few seconds, that the manuscript was real.

'Why did he not come to me for aid?'

Windar told him that Tregor had served as her spy in Ubberia.

She was certain that, because of a mole upon the council, Miar, Halfdan’s widow, had managed to intercept one of her messages, and that was why they had used his name in the manuscript.

Though she also admitted that she could not rule out the possibility that Tregor had sold out.

'But I was not certain until the morn when Gwion delivered the manuscript to Narg and perused it at my side. Hadst thou beheld his mistrust, thy heart would be as broken as mine.'

'Gwion?' asked Bartón, bowing his head.

He did so for Celtión, for the sick love he felt for him.

He even understood how a healthy man could be a virgin at his age simply by waiting for a woman, and his heart gave a lurch.

He judged his young comrade and was not sure if he himself would not have done the same.

Only he knew of his sleepless nights for her.

Had he ever been in the arms of another woman?

'I do not think so,' she replied with a look of distaste as she tasted the food and pushed the plate away.

'My great-granddaughter hath the blood of Alfredo—she is puissant and sagacious.

Young Gwion is loyal to Narg, yet very easily manipulated.

Love is the cause of all this mischief. There be no myths here, no legends, no magic, no gods.

Only the human emotion that clouds the conscience and causeth even the most faithful to corrupt their soul. '

'Then I must go and tell Arwel and Cheas the truth,' he said, already standing up and stretching to reach for his weapons.

'No!' she exclaimed, startled. 'Cheas cannot be trusted.'

The tone of her voice surprised Bartón, who, feeling uncomfortable, stroked his bald head.

'I am sorry, this matter is getting on my nerves,' she remarked, her composure restored. 'Do not forget that Cheas would have more than enough reason to join any cause against Narg for sentencing his father. Such things are never forgiven.'

Bartón’s eyes darted as he analysed the information and uncovered the truth.

Celtión and Cheas had been very close since childhood.

He recalled that the young man had been the first to learn of the romance between Gwion and the princess.

And then, to drive the moral blow home, he relived the look with which Cheas had threatened him during the brawl in the library.

Cheas was part of the plot against the king.

'Forgive me, my lady, but then I do not understand what I can do here.

We have more than enough grounds to take action and, at the very least, arrest them until Narg returns and they receive a fair trial,' he said as he approached the window from which the castle’s bluish western turret could be seen.

'I imagine Narg has fallen for the ruse and is in Lepontia. She wants him there; I am convinced she is the cause of his headaches, but he will return to Old Minister.'

'Why would she torture him like that?'

'To make him vulnerable so that he might surrender himself to death to prevent the end of humanity. But they must be in Old Minister, and no one must suspect that he has been killed; that is why she plans to return with them and ambush him. That will be thy moment to strike.'

Bartón was awash with questions, not because he doubted his queen, but because he doubted himself.

She acted with the confidence of one certain of victory, whilst he desired to take her by the hand and urge her to flee.

After all, if Narg died before the matter was resolved, the whole of Móntria would demand Windar’s head upon a stake to adorn the watchtower. How could he defend her?