"I was." He finished winding the bandage and tucked the end in, then flexed his hand experimentally.

She flushed. "I'm sorry to have spoiled your victory for you then."

"No, you aren't." His smile remained.

"I'm not what?"

"Sorry." He stood up. "And you shouldn't be. That was very clever. I will advise the High King to make use of what you began."

Urien laughed. "Your High King's new queen cannot be half as clever as our princess," he said with unconcealed satisfaction.

"Not in the same way, nor at the same things, no." Lancelin lost his smile. "Queen Gwenhwyfar turns her mind to a different path than the princess."

And it is one you don't approve of, Gwen thought with some surprise. That was when she wondered if she should warn Lancelin about Medraut. She had sworn to tell no one but . . . Gwen thought with some surprise. That was when she wondered if she should warn Lancelin about Medraut. She had sworn to tell no one but . . .

The moment pa.s.sed. He bowed to her and left. She spoke a little more with Urien about the disposition of her men, but weariness had begun to fog her thinking, and it showed. The war chief sent her off with a laugh.

Still, it nagged at her. Someone should know about Medraut. Was there any way she could tell Lancelin without actually saying saying anything? anything?

She decided to wait until morning. Sometimes things came clearer in the night.

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In the morning nothing was clearer, but by midafternoon the last patrol reported that there was still no sign of any reinforcements. And ravens, both two-legged and winged, had come to scavenge on the bodies.

When pickings on a battlefield were lean, the winners generally stripped the bodies of the dead bare before burning them. But from all appearances, either the Saxon war chiefs had antic.i.p.ated trouble from their men because of the difficulty of a winter campaign and had come laden with many gifts to keep them contented, or they had been forced to send back to their holdings for rich gifts in order to retain them after Gwen began her "haunting." In any case, the bodies beginning to freeze in the churned-up b.l.o.o.d.y snow were still mostly, or at least partly, clothed, though good fur cloaks, fine shirts and trews had gone into packs and on backs.

Out of nowhere, the last of the battlefield gleaners had arrived; the local villagers and hunters who had hidden during the battle and hoped that the conquerors were not the Saxons. Urien sent out men to meet each little group as it arrived and struck a bargain. Now they were cleaning up the battlefield, stripping the corpses of the least rags, piling them up for burning. This, of course, would disappoint the ravens, who were gorging themselves and berating the humans for stealing their food from under their beaks. If it had not been that they were Saxons, the bodies would have been given at least a modic.u.m of dignity. It had not been so long ago that the tribes here, the little kingdoms had been constantly skirmishing with one another, for the death of Uther, the High King's father, had had them all vying for ascendancy.

"I pity them," said Lancelin, as he walked up to stand beside her. "I do. It seems so unfair, to have followed their chieftains so far in the dead of winter, on the promise of land and more, to end like this."

She shrugged. "I don't think about it. I think about our people, who had to hide in the forest, who would have suffered greatly had the Saxons gotten this far, who did nothing to deserve an army come to make them thralls. If they did not think about ending like this, these Saxons, then they were fools. And if they did and came anyway, then they were doubly fools." She turned to look at him, a strand of hair blowing across her eyes until she moved it impatiently out of the way. "They will not come here again, I think, or at least not for a long time. And since they know that the High King himself is not here, they will know that it does not require the High King's presence on the field of battle to be defeated."

"True enough," Lancelin replied. They had all managed to clean themselves of the filth of battle by now, and she noticed that his hair had a touch of gold in it. A little Saxon blood? That might account for the pity. "That is a good thing, but I do not think it will keep them quiet for long. They are growing desperate. Arthur is pressing them hard."

"Was, you mean." She shrugged. "He has a new bride. That will keep him home a season or two. The Saxons said as much around their fires. They may be less desperate if they are left alone. I think the queen is like to wish to keep him at her side, and he is like to stay there until he has himself an heir again, at least."

Lancelin made a sour face. "And the new bride may keep me from court for longer than that. She does not like me, nor does she like my faith. I cannot say I care for her, nor hers."

Gwen did not ask why there should be dislike, and he did not offer. She only replied, "The High King, I have heard, is accustomed to keeping his Companions close. A man might abide by the crochets of a lady for a time, but he grows impatient for his old comrades. I do not think that any woman will change that for long."

Again, he made a wry face. "Perhaps. This one also has the Christ priests hiding behind her skirts. Thus, it is difficult to predict. Arthur wishes these men to support him; their followers grow more numerous with every year."

She wanted to ask why, but she refrained. Instead, she shrugged, because this gave her an opening to drop some hints about Medraut without actually telling what she had pledged to stay silent about. "Then Prince Medraut will find himself unwelcome, I think. He is the son of a sorceress, and the Druids are more welcome at Lot's court than the Christ-men. The High King may find himself poised between pleasing the queen's priests and pleasing the prince, and I think that he will choose in her favor in that."

"I had heard the prince had come and gone before my arrival." Lancelin eyed her with speculation. "Why did he not remain to fight?"

A hundred answers danced on the tip of her tongue; she chose the most polite. "Business more urgent sent him to the court." She explained about the murder of Anna Morgause by her own sons. Lancelin stared at her in horrified fascination.

"I know Gwalchmai well. His temper has often been his bane, but this . . . it seems impossible. Is this widely known?" he asked after a moment.

"I think not," was her reply. "I think Medraut intends to tell the King only that she is dead and not at whose hands. After all, the ones who murdered her are Arthur's Companions. This would put him in a difficult position."

Lancelin looked pained. "He should always choose justice over . . ." "Convenience?" she suggested. "Friendship? Expediency?" She snorted. "And I think King Lot would not be pleased to have his sons haled up to answer for their mother's murder, since he has not pursued this himself."

"Walk with me, warrior?" Lancelin replied, looking about for a moment to see if there was anyone near.

Warrior? And not lady . . . There was a brief tinge of regret in her, that he had named her the former and not the latter. This was not the first time that a young man had regarded her so. It seemed that she could be one or the other . . . but not both. Like women's magic, the more she took up the sword, the farther she went from the path her sisters had taken. The twinge went deeper for a moment, almost a stab of pain, as if something had been cut from her. Then she squared her shoulders and accepted it. So be it. This must have been the same choice Braith had made, and it was not a bad one. And at least he treated her as the seasoned warrior she was and not as the stripling she resembled. She was listened to with attention and respect by the war chiefs. Her ruse in this latest campaign had brought her praise. It was very likely that when her father went to the Summer Country and Cataruna's husband took the throne, she would be his favored war chief and advisor. She did not want a throne, but she did want respect. And freedom. There was a brief tinge of regret in her, that he had named her the former and not the latter. This was not the first time that a young man had regarded her so. It seemed that she could be one or the other . . . but not both. Like women's magic, the more she took up the sword, the farther she went from the path her sisters had taken. The twinge went deeper for a moment, almost a stab of pain, as if something had been cut from her. Then she squared her shoulders and accepted it. So be it. This must have been the same choice Braith had made, and it was not a bad one. And at least he treated her as the seasoned warrior she was and not as the stripling she resembled. She was listened to with attention and respect by the war chiefs. Her ruse in this latest campaign had brought her praise. It was very likely that when her father went to the Summer Country and Cataruna's husband took the throne, she would be his favored war chief and advisor. She did not want a throne, but she did want respect. And freedom.

Perhaps giving up the notion of a lover, and womanly things, was not so great a thing to sacrifice for freedom.

"Surely, Companion," she replied, and the two of them walked slowly away from the charnel field, facing away from the piles of naked bodies and the feasting ravens, moving slowly and obliquely in the direction of the camp.

"You seem more familiar than most with Lot of Orkney and his brood."

She nodded, being careful where she stepped, both literally and metaphorically. "My youngest sister went to foster with Anna Morgause when my mother died. That was about the time of the birth of the High King's sons."

She turned her head slightly and saw him make a calculation. "There is often a handfasting in such cases," he said cautiously.

"And there is in this one." She said nothing more. He was intelligent. She would see how intelligent.

"Ah." He waited some time for her to elaborate, and when she did not, he nodded thoughtfully. "You are fond of her, this sister?"

"There is no love between us," she said, the words coming from her mouth before she could stop them. Curse it. Ah, well. I shall never make a courtier. Curse it. Ah, well. I shall never make a courtier.

He nodded again. "In that case . . . I would be in your debt if you can tell me what you can can of the Orkney brood. For while I hold Gwalchmai my friend, and there is no sweeter-natured man than Gwynfor, I have never met Medraut, Gwalchafed is as hot-tempered as Gwalchmai with none of his brother's virtues, and as for Agrwn, the less said the better." of the Orkney brood. For while I hold Gwalchmai my friend, and there is no sweeter-natured man than Gwynfor, I have never met Medraut, Gwalchafed is as hot-tempered as Gwalchmai with none of his brother's virtues, and as for Agrwn, the less said the better."

Gwen pondered this for a moment. "Well," she said carefully, "I had very little to do with any of the brothers but Medraut. He is crafty, cunning, and exceedingly intelligent. He can convincingly feign whatever he thinks will bring him the most advantage. He is much like his mother in that he will use any craft or guile to get what he wants. And there is only one person I have ever seen him exert himself to benefit."

"That would be Medraut himself, I think?" Lancelin's face was quiet, and thoughtful. "I think he will find himself very much at odds with the queen." He nodded decisively. "Thank you, warrior. You have given me a great deal to consider."

With that, they reached the camp and separated. She did not envy Lancelin, returning to a court that evidently contained a queen with an uncertain temper, and Medraut, as well as whatever other factions were simmering.

Not in the least.

Chapter Fifteen.

Gwen returned to a life of work and solitude. a life of work and solitude.

There was absolutely no doubt in her mind that she was needed. needed. There was no doubt in her mind that she was, as she had always wanted to be, respected. Her father's men were accustomed to her now, and they took no more thought of her being female and looking strangely young than they did of her father's gray hairs. It was only when they were among strangers that they seemed to realize it again; now that they were home again, everything went back to normal There was no doubt in her mind that she was, as she had always wanted to be, respected. Her father's men were accustomed to her now, and they took no more thought of her being female and looking strangely young than they did of her father's gray hairs. It was only when they were among strangers that they seemed to realize it again; now that they were home again, everything went back to normal Which meant that Gwen sent her scouts out to patrol the borders, keeping their skills sharp. Any that had good reasons to bide, she found other work for and replaced them. And she herself served as Caradoc's personal bodyguard when he went out to look over the lands or stood behind her father when he welcomed strangers. When she was not doing that, she was hunting, and when she was not hunting, she was training.

On the whole, she preferred to wake early, work to exhaustion, and fall into bed at night. So long as she did that, she did not think too much about how narrow and solitary that bed was, nor how she had no fast friend among the men or the women either in whom she could confide.

Rarely, very rarely, she would watch Cataruna and Gynath with their heads together over something and wonder what it would have been like if Little Gwen had been her friend instead of her enemy . . . after all, there was really no reason why they should have been rivals. They didn't want the same things and really never had. But then she would shake that off and go on about her business; she had neither the time nor the energy to waste on fantasies. And the more she could put Little Gwen out of her mind, the happier she was. Presumably she was queening it at Lot's table, since rumor put Morgana somewhere about Celliwig, and she would be the only woman of rank there now. With luck, that would be enough for her.

Spring came and went with no sign of the Saxons making any more trouble, which was just as well since there was more than enough trouble in the South to make eyebrows rise.

King March of Kerrow . . .

It seemed that the Saxons were not the only ones who were interested in the High King's obsession with his new wife (one could scarcely call her a "bride" at this point). Now, Lot was a sly snake and not to be trusted, but March was an entirely different cut altogether. If you were the sort-like King Lleudd-who held that fidelity to one's oaths was of the highest importance, then March was as treacherous as they came. Not only did he seem to regard his oaths to the High King as of importance only so long as they were of benefit to him, he seemed to regard all oaths in the same light.

Add to that, so far as Gwen could tell from the reports of others, the man was mad.

He had a temper that he did not even try to govern. Not only had he slain messengers and even the High King's Companions when a rage was on him, he had killed dozens of his own warriors.

And now, for reasons best known only to him-or out of sheer insane spite-he had raised an army and was marching on Arthur. The fact that he was going to have to cross either lands holding fealty to Lleudd (who was not going to allow it) or Saxon holdings did not seem to matter to him.

Gwen studied the maps alongside her father and his war chiefs. "I had rather that March wore himself out against the Saxons," Lleudd growled. "A pox on the man! And a pox on whatever demon sired him! No sane man would act as he does."

Much to Gwen's pleasure, on the other side of the table was Arthur's Companion Lancelin. True to his prediction, he was staying far from the High King's court at Celliwig to escape the jealous regard of the queen. Lleudd had welcomed him with his knowledge of warfare with pleasure, and his self-effacing nature ensured that the other war chiefs were not made to feel that they had been put aside. She regarded him with pleasure not only because she enjoyed his company but also because his respect for her reinforced her own position among even those who knew her. Perhaps she was finally overcoming those too youthful looks.

Though without a doubt, wherever she was, Little Gwen was taking every advantage of the apparent youth they shared.

"If that is truly what you want, my lord King," Lancelin ventured, "I do not think that March can win against your men and especially not against your chariots. There are plenty of places along the way where the ground would be ideal for them."

"But the loss of a single man to that fool is one man too many," Lleudd replied. "Be sure the Saxons are watching this with greedy pig eyes, still smarting from the last defeat we handed them. If we engage March, they will be on us when the battle is past and we are spent and exhausted." He looked around the table, and his other war chiefs nodded.

"He probably will not fight the Saxons," Lancelin said, after staring at the maps a while longer. "He will probably bribe them to let him pa.s.s. It is what I would do."

Gwen smirked. She couldn't help herself. "Perhaps we can find a way to trigger that famous temper," she suggested. "Even if the Saxons accepted reparation rather than killing him themselves, they might ruin him with weregild."

The idea of March finding himself forced to pay a heavy weregild in addition to a bribe made the other war chiefs chuckle a little. But Gwen had more to say at this point.

"I have a thought about keeping him from trying to cross our lands," she continued. "Look here-" she pointed at the map. "This is where he will have to make the decision whether to bring his army through our land or to treat with the Saxons. We need to make the choice easier for him, but by not opposing him at all."

Lancelin looked at her quizzically. "Why would you say that?" he asked.

She smirked. "Because March is-" She almost almost said "a man" but quickly modified it to "-like to a bull. Wave a red rag at it in the form of armed opposition, and he said "a man" but quickly modified it to "-like to a bull. Wave a red rag at it in the form of armed opposition, and he will will rush at it. We have a choice ourselves; we can send him across Saxon lands, save rush at it. We have a choice ourselves; we can send him across Saxon lands, save our our men and join men and join our our force with the High King's, and the two will crush him. Or we can take the chance that he will defeat us, pillage our lands, then attack Arthur. So we do not present him with visible opposition but rather make it unprofitable for him to try to cross our land." force with the High King's, and the two will crush him. Or we can take the chance that he will defeat us, pillage our lands, then attack Arthur. So we do not present him with visible opposition but rather make it unprofitable for him to try to cross our land."

"Unprofitable?" Lleudd looked at his daughter in puzzlement.

"See here?" She pointed at an area of flat land. "My dear brother-by-marriage is a bard and a Priest, and Cataruna is a trained Lady. I think that between them they can persuade the waters to rise here and make that a marsh for as long as we need it to be so. Faced with a swamp, I think March will take the Saxon road."

They all stared at the map. "It seems the coward's way . . ." Peder said, doubtfully.

"Not if, when we are sure of him, our our army joins that of Arthur," her father replied, decisively. "It is merely postponing the fight and choosing our ground. Only a fool fights a battle going up a hill." army joins that of Arthur," her father replied, decisively. "It is merely postponing the fight and choosing our ground. Only a fool fights a battle going up a hill."

Gwen nodded, grateful that he had thrown his support behind her.

Lancelin studied the map, rubbing his chin, but he said nothing, neither for nor against the plan. That disappointed her a little, but in the end it was King Lleudd's decision and no one else's.

Which meant, since this was her idea, she needed to have speech with Cataruna.

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Ifan and Cataruna had their own room, as did Gynath and Caradoc; two new rooms had been made by the simple expedient of part.i.tioning off two s.p.a.ces side by side at the end of the Great Hall where the entrance to the king's solar and the room they had all shared as girls was. Now you pa.s.sed through Gynath's room to get to the door that led to what had been the girls' room, which now belonged to Cataruna. Gwen had the smaller s.p.a.ce, not much bigger than the bed, but she didn't need much s.p.a.ce. Cataruna often sought privacy in that sanctuary while Bronwyn watched her children. But it was in the Great Hall that Gwen found her sister and brother-by-marriage .

Cataruna was sewing, and when Gwen explained what she had in mind, her sister pinched the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger and made a face. "I mislike meddling with the land-"

"I mislike having King March's men come across it, love," said Ifan, as he put aside the tuning pegs he was carving. "I mislike seeing herds slaughtered and farms laid waste. March is unpredictable and not entirely sane. There is no telling what the King of Kerrow is like to do."

Cataruna's brows furrowed for a moment, then her face cleared. "As Lady of the Fields, if I hear the Lord of the Forest urging protection for our people, I think it would be wise of me to heed his words." They beamed at one another, and Gwen felt a twinge of envy as well as of relief.

"But can you do this?" Gwen wanted to know. She hesitated. "The place is often marshy and soft. But-"

"Alone, no, but with Ifan, Bronwyn, and Gynath, yes." Cataruna smiled at her. "Well, find us some swift horses, and I'll find Bronwyn. We will need them to get there before March's army does."

Gwen grinned at Ifan. "I thought bards lived for epic battles to make songs about."

Ifan snorted but did not comment. Gwen left them making preparations and headed for the paddock.

She would not be using Rhys or Pryderi. Both of them were ideal for scouting, with great endurance, agility, and intelligence, but not much speed. To get to the right place before King March and his army did, they needed only speed and endurance.

They needed five horses out of the king's herd used by his messengers. They were ugly as mongrel dogs, stupid as stones, and uncomfortable to ride; you would never never dare to leave one unattended or it would run or wander off, and no few of them were as skittish as ferrets, but they had a ground-eating lope that they could hold from dawn to dusk with minimal rest. dare to leave one unattended or it would run or wander off, and no few of them were as skittish as ferrets, but they had a ground-eating lope that they could hold from dawn to dusk with minimal rest.

She picked out five with relatively even tempers and ordered them saddled and bridled, speeding things up by taking care of the fifth one herself.

Ifan shook his head in dismay as he brought a small pack and traveling harp to the paddock where the five horses were tied up to the fence. "My back will curse you for this, Gwenhwyfar."

"Your back isn't the part of you that I am worried about," Gwen replied without thinking and then blushed as he roared out a laugh. "I meant your hands, hands, brother!" brother!"

"I'm sure you did." He was still snickering when Cataruna and Bronwyn arrived, both looking resigned when they saw the horses awaiting them. Then he sobered. "However my back will complain, I will endure it."

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It was not only Ifan's back-and rump-that were complaining when they reached their goal. It was worth it, though. March's army was not in sight. After a few hours of rest, Gwen took it on herself, while Ifan, Cataruna, and Bronwyn made their preparations, to ride out as fast and hard as she could to the west, taking two of their mounts with her in order to change them out and keep them all relatively fresh. March's army was not within a day's hard ride, which meant they were not within three to four days' of the border yet.

She and the horses were weary when she rode back to the campsite. She had carefully chosen a spot hidden away from casual view, like her old favorite nutting spot, in a copse tangled with nettles and raspberry bushes, and she had instructed Ifan on how to further conceal the camp. He had done a fairly good job-not nearly as good as she would shortly but not at all bad for someone who had only made hunting camps before this. If she had not known they were there, she probably would not have spotted them.

There was just enough room in there for the horses, but since she now knew that March's army was quite far off, it would be safe to move them and hobble them where they could browse. Her three were tired enough that they would probably not cause any trouble, at least, not for a while.

She whistled the signal that they had all agreed on and was rewarded with the sight of Ifan popping out into the clear and waving at her.

"How far?" he asked, when she was in hearing distance.

"Far enough that we can finish the work and be gone," she replied, dismounting with a wince. How the messengers weren't crippled, riding these b.o.n.e.racks, she could not imagine. "How near are you three to being ready?"

Ifan grinned and ran his hand over the top of his head. Gwen was struck, once again, by what an odd sort of fellow he was. He looked as if he had been put together from the G.o.ds' leftovers. His hands seemed to be too long for the rest of him, and they were very graceful, which was at odds with the rest of his body, which was gangly and awkward, like an adolescent's. His chin stuck out like the prow of a boat, his brow was almost too broad, his hair was so coa.r.s.e and perpetually tangled it could have come from the mane of a wild pony, and even his eyes were strange, one blue, one brown. Yet those hands could charm the most amazing music from any instrument he picked up, and as for his ability to tell a tale or create a song, well, it left his listeners spellbound.

"Cataruna can do anything if she puts her mind to it," he said with admiration. "Of course, you chose the right place, she tells me." He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Mind you, we're going to be right miserable before she is finished."

Gwen was not certain she wanted to hear the rest, but Ifan told her anyway.