And spies, of course. She needed spies. People in March's camp, people in the Saxon camp.

I wonder how much it would take to buy the ears of washerwomen and camp wh.o.r.es? If she could succeed in convincing them that when this was over, they'd have a place, protectors, on the High King's side . . . If she could succeed in convincing them that when this was over, they'd have a place, protectors, on the High King's side . . .

More than that, she'd have to find places. And each one would probably be different. There would be women who had gone to the life because they had no other options, women who were captives or near captives, women who liked the life, or at least, liked the s.e.x when they weren't afraid of being abused or beaten . . .

I should talk to Bronwyn. Maybe Cataruna, too. Don't the Ladies need servants, helpers? It couldn't be impossible. It couldn't be impossible. Bah. If I have to, I'll make them my own retainers. And if they're the sort that are hot as cats in heat, I'll get them money enough to go to a town and set themselves up as courtesans. Bah. If I have to, I'll make them my own retainers. And if they're the sort that are hot as cats in heat, I'll get them money enough to go to a town and set themselves up as courtesans.

It would also enrage the Christ priests, she suspected, if they found out about it. Well, that was not her problem, and she would not make it the problem of the women. If she dealt with this properly, no one would ever know who her spies were. But she really liked the idea of the women as spies; women had the potential to go anywhere and listen to anything in the camp. She was probably not the first person to think of doing this, but it was a new idea to her, her, which meant it was likely to be a new idea to their enemies as well. which meant it was likely to be a new idea to their enemies as well.

As for sabotage . . . well, she would think on that, as well.

Meanwhile, as the other war chiefs continued to talk, she was making mental notes. Nothing was decided tonight, of course. They would have to discover what March was doing. The High King would have to decide what he he was going to do. Then he would have to ask for levies through Lancelin. was going to do. Then he would have to ask for levies through Lancelin.

Would he ask Lot? Probably. And Lot would say "yes" and actually do nothing. But now all four of Lot's sons were with the High King; whatever Medraut had told Arthur about how Anna Morgause had been murdered, all of it had been smoothed over somehow, for Lancelin had several times said that Gwalchmai, Agrwn, and Gwynfor were still Arthur's Companions, and Gwalchafed was absent only because he had wedded recently and taken up life in his lady's lands.

And Medraut is still at court as well. Gwen pondered that, as she pondered how the firelight made shadows on Lancelin's face. From all that Lancelin had said, Medraut had made himself welcome there-although, like Lancelin himself, Medraut was no favorite of Arthur's queen. Gwen pondered that, as she pondered how the firelight made shadows on Lancelin's face. From all that Lancelin had said, Medraut had made himself welcome there-although, like Lancelin himself, Medraut was no favorite of Arthur's queen. Hardly surprising. She would be no favorite of Medraut's either. Hardly surprising. She would be no favorite of Medraut's either. Lancelin had said nothing about Medraut being Arthur's son . . . perhaps Medraut himself had not made that openly known. But Arthur had made him one of the Companions, and from the little Lancelin said, he was giving a good account of himself among them. Lancelin had said nothing about Medraut being Arthur's son . . . perhaps Medraut himself had not made that openly known. But Arthur had made him one of the Companions, and from the little Lancelin said, he was giving a good account of himself among them.

Was it possible he could have . . . reformed, somehow?

A nice dream. A viper does not cease to be a viper because it smiles.

In the absence of concrete information, the talk had devolved to mere man-gossip. The mead had made them mellow and sleepy; even Lancelin, who had drunk but sparingly of it, looked heavy lidded. She slipped away.

Only to have her arm seized once she was away from the benches.

It was Bronwyn.

"You are not thinking of using the Folk of Annwn-" she whispered urgently, drawing Gwen into the shadows. Gwen was startled.

"No!" She shook her head. "No, I had rather stay well clear of them. They are unchancy. And unreliable as well, if you listen to the tales that Ifan sings. Too often those in stories call upon them only to be unanswered or not answered in time. Too often they flit off elsewhere or turn on you because you gave them some unintended slight. No. Let them dwell in the new marsh and leave us be, and I will be content."

Bronwyn let out a deep sigh of relief. "I saw that you had that thinking look and-what were you thinking, then, that you did not tell the other chiefs?"

She was glad that the shadows hid her blushes, for she did not want to say that at least half the time she had been thinking about Lancelin. Instead, she explained her idea of using the camp followers among the Saxons and March's army as spies. Bronwyn heard her out.

"It could work," she said at last, "But better that we find some women among our people willing to go."

Gwen blinked. That had not occurred to her. "But-would-I thought-"

"Leave that to me," the old woman told her. "There are those we took from the Saxons who would dearly love a taste of revenge. There are those of the western lands who are shamed that March is rebelling against the High King. The Ladies favor the High King; there would be some among them, mayhap. And . . ." She chuckled. "I can think of one or two who would gladly do this for the sake of the means to set themselves up in luxury in a city. Not everyone thinks the height of all good things is a sheepcot, a flock, and a shepherd who cannot put two words together without 'baa' in them."

Gwen giggled a little. "I leave it in your hands, then," she said and was about to go to the room she now shared with no one when Bronwyn tugged again on her arm. "My girl, that Companion-I would give you good, sound advice."

She froze.

"There are men, a very few, who could look on a warrior, see the woman within, and remember the warrior. He is not one." Bronwyn's voice was steady. "He will see you as a warrior and a comrade or as a woman. Never both. It will be up to you to choose which he sees. And when you make that choice, remember, he will treat you as you have chosen."

Gwen went cold inside for a moment. Bronwyn was right. She knew that Bronwyn was right. It made her angry-at herself and at him. It made her sad with disappointment. It made her embarra.s.sed. But that did not make it any less true.

She could go to her chest and dig out one of her gowns, let her hair loose, and go and act as Gynath had, back when they were younger. Make big eyes at him, hang on his words-yes, she could do all of that. And, yes, he would see her as a woman, and he might even find her attractive. And so he would treat her as a woman.

Even in her armor with her hair clubbed up, he would treat her as a woman.

And so would the other war chiefs.

All that she had worked for, all that she had built, would be gone. Her father would lose the war chief that she was becoming. Her sister would lose the steady guard and guardian for her own children. Caradoc would lose the captain she would be for him. And for what? So that she could play the fool over a man.

Or she could keep things as they were, and she would have the friendship and high regard of a man whose company she enjoyed. They would speak and act as equals. He would listen to her ideas with respect, criticize them if it was needed, teach her more of the ways of war.

It was only years of schooling herself, training herself, controlling herself, that kept her from raging, weeping or both. She knew that outside the tiny group of her family and Bronwyn, she was thought to be cold, unfeeling, and in no small part that was because she meant them to think of her in that way. In that first year of her training, when some of the older boys had bullied or snubbed her, and even some of the younger had sometimes tried to sabotage her with dirty tricks and things meant to put blame on her, she had pretended that there was no hurt, no loneliness, that nothing would mar the armor of her control. Now that was habit.

"I see," she was able to say, slowly. "Thank you for the warning, Bronwyn. You are . . . entirely right."

"I have lived a very long time, my dear," Bronwyn said, a little sadly. "I have seen many a girl throw over what she held dear for the sake of a trifle."

She patted Bronwyn's arm, glad that the old woman could not see the expression on her face. "This one will not," she said.

Then she went to her bed. She lay, staring into the darkness, angry at fate for making her female, angry at herself for being so foolish, grateful to Bronwyn for seeing what she had been blind to, yet angry with her too. There were bitter tears in the back of her throat that she would not shed. Not now. Not ever. After all, what was she weeping for? Nothing more important than that poppet that Gwenhwyfach had torn to bits all those years ago.

Gwenhwyfach-and what would she she have done? have done?

Put on the gown of, course, and thrown herself at Lancelin- But she was not Gwenhwyfach, nor did she ever want to be. She was herself. And even if that was a cold and lonely thing, it was what she had wanted to be. Not "someone's wife." Not "someone's mother." Herself, with her own honor, her own place, and her own path. She owed nothing to anyone, save duty to her father.

It was comfort, if cold comfort.

She turned on her side and stared at the wall, sternly telling her eyes that they must dry. Or rather, she stared at where the wall should have been.

For at that moment, she felt that dizziness come upon her once again, and where the wall was, there was dim light instead, light that grew, and warmed, until she found herself staring into a fire-lit room, and at the backs of two women.

One had white-blonde hair that streamed down her back to her ankles. The other had raven locks that pooled on the floor. Both were wearing nothing more than their hair.

They bent over what at first she took for a table; then she realized that it was an altar, not a table. What there was upon it, she never got a chance to see, for the blonde suddenly raised her head.

"Morgana," said Gwenhwyfach, in a voice so like her own that Gwenhwyfar felt her breath catch. "we are overlooked."

The second also raised her head and turned slightly, staring straight into Gwen's eyes. And now Gwen felt her breath freezing in her throat.

"Well," Morgana said, her tone even and measured. "Blood will tell. Even untrained and on the Path of Iron, look who has found her way to our working."

Now Little Gwen turned. Her naked body was astonishingly beautiful, even overwritten as it was with runes painted in blood. And her face was Gwen's own, but contorted with a sneer.

"Spying, sister?" The sneer turned into a snarl. "Well, that will never happen again. And you will forget what you have seen,"

And something hot and red flashed between them, struck Gwen like a thunderbolt, and sent her tumbling down into darkness, her memories slipping between her fingers and running away like water.

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Despite a near-crippling headache the next day, Gwen went grimly to work on her plans. Bronwyn found women as she had promised, and they were a varied lot. One had been a Saxon thrall and had lost her family to them and wanted nothing more than revenge. Two were very poor indeed and honest about their wish to be amply rewarded. "As well be swived by a mort'o lads an' come to a saft bed after as be swived by one an' come to a mud hut," was the calm and logical response of one. One was sent by the Ladies and remained silent about her reasons; since Cataruna vouched for her, Gwen accepted her without comment. What all of them had in common was that they were attractive, under no illusions as to what would happen to them as camp followers, and were as fierce in their desire that March and the Saxons be beaten as any of Arthur's Companions.

They did not need to remain in the camps long, much to Gwen's relief. She felt enough guilt about sending them in there in the first place.

"And you have no guilt about sending your scouts out to spy?" was Bronwyn's dry question, when she fretted aloud one day.

"Of course I do!" Gwen snapped. "But . . . this is different!"

Bronwyn raised an eyebrow. "So you see them as women and not as warriors."

Gwen opened her mouth to protest and shut it again. Because, yes, she did. And she felt great irritation that she did so. And yet-they were women. They were not warriors. They had not been trained as warriors.

But she was glad enough when they got what she needed and made their way back to her-the sure information that March had allied with the Saxons, rather than buying his way across their lands, and the combined forces intended to attack Arthur together.

Now she could concentrate on her real duties with a whole heart-or so she thought.

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Gwen had not chopped wood like this since she had been a mere squire, but she needed to take out her temper on something, something, and splitting wood was less damaging than hurling pots against a wall and more satisfying than perforating a target with arrows. She swung the ax against her hapless targets with accuracy and fury. Every blow split a log. At this rate, the squires would not need to chop wood for a week. and splitting wood was less damaging than hurling pots against a wall and more satisfying than perforating a target with arrows. She swung the ax against her hapless targets with accuracy and fury. Every blow split a log. At this rate, the squires would not need to chop wood for a week.

The squires who had been a.s.signed to this task had all taken one look at her face and fled. Everyone else had already heard the news and wisely were avoiding anywhere she was even rumored to be. The pile of neatly split logs grew, and her temper was eased not in the least. She was in a self-imposed circle of silence in which there was only the wood, the ax, herself, and her anger.

Finally the king himself came down to the yard, and sat on a stump, and waited. She could not remember him ever ever coming here before. But she knew herself well enough not to trust herself to speak right now, so she pretended that she had not noticed him there. coming here before. But she knew herself well enough not to trust herself to speak right now, so she pretended that she had not noticed him there.

The ax handle was a comfort in her hand, and the steady chunk chunk as it cleft each log was just as much of a comfort. This, at least, she could control. She had chosen to do this. No one had said "you must," or "you must not." No one had come to say "So-and-so would do this better, go tend to your horses." Yet it took her quite some time before she was able to get anything like words past the tightness in her chest and throat. as it cleft each log was just as much of a comfort. This, at least, she could control. She had chosen to do this. No one had said "you must," or "you must not." No one had come to say "So-and-so would do this better, go tend to your horses." Yet it took her quite some time before she was able to get anything like words past the tightness in her chest and throat.

"It's not fair," fair," she managed at last, the final word punctuated by the blow of the ax. She tried not to wail. She tried not to sound as if she was accusing Lleudd, whom she did not in the least blame. she managed at last, the final word punctuated by the blow of the ax. She tried not to wail. She tried not to sound as if she was accusing Lleudd, whom she did not in the least blame.

"Indeed, it is not," King Lleudd agreed. "Very unfair. You have spent long days training your scouts. You work as an effective group, and without you, they will be less effective. They trust you; they will not trust another leader so much. You have proven yourself in battle. You should have been the one to lead and command them."

The ax thudded into another log. The two halves fell to either side of the chopping block. "Whoever this 'Kai' is, he cannot possibly know what they can do! I am not even sure he knows how to properly use scouts, much less my men!"

"He is the High King's foster brother, and no, he cannot know what they can do, nor do I think from what I have heard of him that he is a particularly good war chief." Lleudd sighed. "He is usually in charge of the squires and the court. He is not terrible . . . but he is not particularly good, either. At least they will not be misused. The High King fights with Roman tactics, and your men do not charge into battle like Saxons with no strategy. They will be just one more scouting troop among another dozen."

"But they will get no chance to use all the things we have worked out together," she said angrily. "They will get no chance to harry the Saxons as we did this winter."

"No, because Kai will think such things unnecessary. But at least, because you trained them, they will know to be clever. They will know how to fight with the Roman style that the High King uses." Lleudd sighed again, heavily. "I am sorry, my daughter. I am sorry that their command has been taken from you. But the High King prefers to use his own commanders."

"And the High King does not trust a female warrior," she said, bitterly. "He does not think such a one as I can command anything. Younger men men than me have been put in command. Younger than me have been put in command. Younger men men than me are his warleaders." than me are his warleaders." Thunk. Thunk. The ax split another log. "He thinks that I am only a chief because I am your daughter, and he does not trust my ability." The ax split another log. "He thinks that I am only a chief because I am your daughter, and he does not trust my ability."

"Probably not," King Lleudd agreed.

"And Lancelin did not see fit to argue for me." Thunk. Thunk. That was another sore point. He spoke with her as if they were equals. He seemed to consider her a friend. He knew she was intelligent. And he had not spoken up for her. That was another sore point. He spoke with her as if they were equals. He seemed to consider her a friend. He knew she was intelligent. And he had not spoken up for her.

"Possibly not. I cannot say. Possibly he did. Possibly he did not try because he did not want to remind the queen of his presence." Lleudd shifted his weight on the stump. "I do not know, because I was not there. It is hard for a young man when he is caught between a man and his wife."

She finally stopped and turned to face her father.

"Which makes him a coward?" she asked, angrily. "I had not thought him a coward."

"It makes him . . ." The King sighed. "It makes him a man torn. On the one hand, he knows what you can do, even if he did not consider himself your friend. Which, I believe, he does. He knows you are not only a good leader, he knows that you know your men as no one else, and you are always thinking of the best way to use them with the best outcome. And as your friend, he would desire to advance you. On the other hand, the one thing he desires above all else is to serve his lord, his king, and his friend. Someone he has known far longer than you. You have seen that with your own eyes."

Reluctantly, she nodded. She could tell; every moment he had been here, his heart had been with his king. She had been wrong in thinking him heart whole. He was a man driven by duty, and protective of his friends. He mistrusted the queen. There was nothing else that would have so great a part in his life. Not even, maybe, a lover.

"Perhaps, perhaps, there is also a touch of wariness there," Lleudd continued. "You bargained with the Folk of Annwn. You are being served by them, in a sense. You are known to be subject to the Sight at times. Most warriors are uneasy in the presence of magic. And, yes, the Merlin has served the High King for longer than Lancelin, but the Merlin has ever been secretive about his magic. Few have ever seen him actually use it."

Slowly, slowly, the king's calm reason overcame her fury. Tears started into her eyes, and she dashed them angrily away. "You are not uneasy in the presence of magic!"

"I was wedded to Eleri," he pointed out dryly. "I have a Lady for a daughter, a bard for a son-by-marriage. Even so, I I have never seen the Folk of Annwn. No one I know has, until now. This is more than mere magic, my daughter. This is meddling with the Spirit Realms." have never seen the Folk of Annwn. No one I know has, until now. This is more than mere magic, my daughter. This is meddling with the Spirit Realms."

And this was her fault, how? "I didn't know they would come! I only wanted to make a swamp to last for a fortnight or two!" Her eyes burned, her stomach tightened. "They wanted to treat with me, me, not the other way around!" not the other way around!"

"I know that." The king pointedly ignored her reddening eyes. "But . . . you are like your mother. You look much younger than your years. You are fair, and most of them are dark. And now this; it makes people wonder if you have the blood of Annwn in your veins yourself. Now, this is unfair. It is unjust. But it could have been predicted, I think."

She stared in unhappy outrage-and some guilt, for had she not thought these very things herself? "What can I do?" she asked, controlling herself with an effort. Again, she tried not to wail.

"First, we do not speak of the Folk of Annwn in your swamp. Your bargain means that they will not harry our people; likely will not show themselves."

She nodded. That was good sense. "You think maybe people will forget?"

He shook his head. "But we can put it about that it was Ifan they treated with, and I will say I granted him him the lands you gave them. Only my war chiefs know the truth. Ifan is a bard. Everyone knows that the Folk of Annwn favor bards." the lands you gave them. Only my war chiefs know the truth. Ifan is a bard. Everyone knows that the Folk of Annwn favor bards."

Again she nodded. "And-"

"And as for the rest, this will be hard, but you have done harder things." He smiled at her. "The High King has never had a female among his warriors. And if you are to break past that, you must remember that you are a warrior first, last, and always. That you are a woman is merely . . . an inconvenience. Do you understand?"

She was very glad that the other war chiefs were not here to see her fighting to hold back tears. The last thing she needed at this moment was to seem weak. Womanly. Her father was right, very right, and he was only reminding her of what she had known herself.

"Yes, my King," she replied, straightening her back.

"Good." He smiled. "Now, any warrior thus supplanted could be expected to be angry. I have seen many of my own chiefs in a rage over such an insult. Chopping wood is a good way to relieve that anger. Is your anger relieved?"

She took several deep breaths and blinked her eyes dry. "Yes, my King."

"And since the High King has seen fit to leave one of my ablest ablest strategists behind, I expect War Chief Captain Gwenhwyfar to take command of all of my men that have been left to me." He waited a moment for the meaning of what he had just said to come home to her. And the moment it did, her eyes widened in shock. strategists behind, I expect War Chief Captain Gwenhwyfar to take command of all of my men that have been left to me." He waited a moment for the meaning of what he had just said to come home to her. And the moment it did, her eyes widened in shock.

"But-I-"

"My remaining chiefs do not think as quickly as you do. For that matter, your king and father does not think as quickly as you do." He gave her a look of warm approval. "You have a knack for solutions where others see only that there must be fighting. You dealt with March on our border in a way that cost us only a little land and no men. Should March double back, or the Saxons desert him to attack here, we will have to defend our lands with less than half the men we should should have. All of my chiefs agree that you are the fittest to lead in that case. Now. Make me a defensive strategy." He stood up. "In fact, make me several. Think like that madman. Think like a Saxon. Find a way to make ten men fight like forty." have. All of my chiefs agree that you are the fittest to lead in that case. Now. Make me a defensive strategy." He stood up. "In fact, make me several. Think like that madman. Think like a Saxon. Find a way to make ten men fight like forty."

She gave him the fist-to-shoulder salute of the Romans. "Yes, my King."

"That is my war chief." He patted her shoulder with approval.

"That is Eleri's daughter. You fight with your head. My chiefs only know how to fight with their swords. Now come." He beckoned to her. "Let us go back to the maps. Arthur is my High King and possibly the greatest leader I have ever seen, but no one has ever said he was incapable of being a fool. Though in this case . . . I I am not the loser by his foolishness." He laid one hand on her shoulder. "In fact, he has done me a great favor, in leaving me the finest sword still in my armory." am not the loser by his foolishness." He laid one hand on her shoulder. "In fact, he has done me a great favor, in leaving me the finest sword still in my armory."

And that was enough to take most of the sting out of the insult.