had to spill the pigment all down the front of his robe.
Why hadn’t he put the stopper back?
Ah, to have only soot on his robe like the others — but no, it appeared some malignant bird had stood on his head and offalled him.
Fie!
For all that, the arrival of Uther mab Aurelianus, High King of the Britons, would have been a grand affair if not for the somber mood of the people of Bosventor. Oh, the other monks eagerly anticipated the justice they’d receive against the druidow, but the villagers were downright glum.
One man, whom Dybris hadn’t met during his brief time at the abbey, stood near and complained to those around him, hooting, “A crock o’ ants, he is! Tregeagle cares nothin’ but fer tribute, and Uther’ll be the same. You’ll see.”
The others nodded, and an old woman said, “Ah, Uther’ll not care for tributes when he gets a sight o’ our Stone!”
The Stone. What would Uther do with the Stone?
So when the battle horns blasted and people turned to see Uther’s war band rounding the side of the mountain from the east, Dybris prayed for deliverance from the Stone and its curse.
Uther rode up in his gilded chariot with a friendly smile but a stern gaze.
All around Dybris the people averted their eyes from Uther’s face, yet still they spied at the silvered shirt of iron rings that hung down past his waist and over his gray leather trousers. This was all held fast with a thick brown belt, buckled and tied, from which hung his sword. Over it all Uther wore a plum-colored, embroidered cloak pinned on his right shoulder with a silver brooch.
Longer still the villagers stared at his golden torc. Thick and intricate, it shone brightly on the man’s sturdy neck, and its ends each carried an eagle’s head with amethyst eyes. Uther’s shaven face was handsome and rugged, and his thick brown hair fell down past his shoulders. His left hand, gauntleted in dark gray, gripped the reins of twin chestnut horses as he raised the other, bare, in a blessing to the people that went unreceived.
“There,” one of the brothers whispered, “look at his shield!”
Dybris hadn’t yet noticed it or the signifier who held it, standing as he was in the chariot close behind Uther. The shield was blazoned with a great golden boar in the honor point and wreathed with a knotwork of blood-red vines.
To Uther’s right in the chariot hunched an old man, long-bearded and hoary. He was unarmored, yet he wore fine garments of green covered with a great black cloak. In his hands he held an ancient wooden harp whose bronze strings glittered in the morning light. At his throat rested a twisted white-gold torc, and its ends were formed as heads of moor cats, each with a sparkling white eye.
Behind Uther’s chariot, two palfreys pulled a light wagon. Holding the reins in the center sat a thoughtful Igerna, queen and covenant wife of Uther. Her dress of blue-and-green plaid was simple and yet showed signs of an expert seamstress. Over this she wore a light-brown traveling cloak with a silver brooch that matched her husband’s. Her hood was raised over her flaxen-red hair to keep off the morning chill, and a thin gold torc, clean of ornamentation, glinted at her throat.
“See the babe!” a woman next to Dybris said.
“Wait till Mórganthu shows him the Stone,” another answered. “Won’t he jus’ love it?”
Dybris sidestepped away from them to see the new heir to the throne, Arthur, who sat nestled in the queen’s arms. He was dark of hair and, Dybris thought, bright of eye for one so young. The boy, by all accounts not a season past his first winter, looked out with a tender shyness, and Dybris smiled to behold his countenance. Here sat the future hope of Britain’s protection. How many armies would those chubby legs lead? Which judgments would his pursed lips speak? What number of enemies might those small hands slay? Or would he die in youth as countless princes had done throughout history?
O God, Dybris prayed, guide and guard this little one. And if he is not your chosen one for our land, please raise up another to take his place and protect us from our enemies.
The horses paused for a moment to eat some grass, and Igerna spurred them forward. Only then did Dybris notice that on each side of the queen sat the two royal daughters, Eilyne and Myrgwen.
Eilyne, coming to the