age of womanhood, sat stiffly in her plaid of maroon, green, and white. She glanced at the people but did not smile. Myrgwen, not yet ten winters, giddily waved at the monks and leaned over the edge of the wagon. Her older sister reached behind their mother and pulled her back, but the younger kept waving.
After the wagon rolled past, a troop of twenty warriors rode by, each bearing the pin of a small golden boar on their variously colored cloaks. Firm of face, they scanned the gathered crowd and moved to follow their king.
Combined with Vortigern’s men, Dybris reasoned, that would make around forty warriors in all. Not many, considering this was the High King, but it was logical, since his purpose was to check the fortifications and beacons — and to recruit Gorlas, the king of Kernow, and raise up men to join the fray. Uther’s main host, it was told, lay eastward, where the Saxenow threat grew.
Neot coughed and turned to Crogen. “Now then, didn’t Uther’s father kill Vortigern’s grandfather in battle? How can one serve the other?”
“It is a wonder to behold, I say. The battle took place because Vitalinus had, while steward, assassinated Aurelianus’s father, Constans, and stolen the High Kingship.”
“How did they reconcile?” Neot asked.
“Blood-bitterness lay between the families until Uther chose Igerna as his bride.”
“And she is Vortigern’s sister?”
“I have it on good authority that he secretly courted her after they met on a bridge one day when he was on campaign. Oh, she refused him, you can be sure.”
“But changed her mind?” Neot asked.
“She saw the practical side … bringing the two houses together and healing the blood-feud … But they say she soon fell in love as well.”
“And why do you know all this?”
Crogen’s head tilted slightly, and he sighed. “Ah, Neot, a scribe like I … I wrote a history, you know. And now I’ll have to write it again.”
Merlin somewhat reluctantly passed back the wool-wrapped sword to his father as they entered the village green near midmorning. It had been a privilege to carry it along with his small harp, which hung over his shoulder.
“Uther’s here,” his father said, “and we’ve made it just in time. He and his wife are on a bench atop the Rock of Judgment.”
“Are the druidow here?”
“Only a few guarding the Stone.”
Finding a place at the back near the monks, they sat down on the long grass. Merlin found his father’s hand, which trembled upon the cloth-covered hilt of the sword.
“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen him, but Uther’s barely changed. Stronger, with more hair, but he hardly looks different from when we parted.”
“And so, splendid lord,” Merlin heard Tregeagle say, “this man, this Pennar, has been seized by the men of Garrinoc. They would have tried him themselves, but their magister has died. Hearing of your coming, they sent him for your judgment rather than bothering Gorlas.”
“So it is better to bother me, then?”
“Esteemed lord, they considered your judgment of the more lasting type. It seems Gorlas has trouble making up his mind on such matters.”
“I am innocent!” Pennar pleaded, and his chains clinked as he held his hands out to Uther.
“What crime is he accused of, Magister?” Uther asked.
“Cattle thievery, my lord. Caught with three steers in his possession.”
“Did anyone witness the crime?”
“No, splendid lord, but —”
“Then how in a Pictish winter am I to judge? Surely someone —”
“I can speak, my lord,” spoke the nasally voice of a man who shuffled from the crowd and bowed low.
“And who are you?”
“I am named Kudor, my highly estimable majesty, and it was my cattle he stole. I lay asleep on a cold night and woke to hear bovinous lowing. Desiring still my warm pallet, I ignored it. In the morning, three of my prized cattle had been stolen, and the footprints led to my neighbor’s house.”
“And did you find your three cattle there?”
The man belched. “No, goodly lord, there were but two.”
“Two? What of —”
“I can explain, my lord,” Tregeagle said. “One had already been roasted.”
“What do you say, accused?” Uther demanded. “Do you deny this?”
“No, my lord,” Pennar pleaded. “Kudor owed me the cattle these last four years. When I lent them, he’d just moved to our village, was poor, and I took pity.”
“Slander!” Kudor said, but Uther held up his hand.
“Pennar,” Uther asked, “why did you not bring this before your magister?”
“I did, my lord, but he was old and did nothing before he passed away, and King Gorlas