Gwyneth Dyn of old.
Would that they had not shed their lives,
For never will I be consoled.
Natalenya let her hands fall away from her harp, and the strings resonated their last dying notes through the room. The men looked at each other somberly, their bowls of mead forgotten. Some even pushed the sop away.
Vortigern, however, appeared to have ignored the words of the song, and joking with Vortipor, he doused his throat with a long draught.
Her mother’s face was radiant, but her father’s lips lay stiff upon his face. Natalenya stood, placed her harp on the stool, and announced, “Such is ‘The Lament of Arllechweth.’ ”
At that point her brother, Dyslan, chose to finish returning a stack of empty trenchers to the culina. His fast steps sped him behind a warrior who stood and pushed his bench backward. Dyslan tripped and crashed to the mosaic floor, sending dishes flying through the air.
Guffaws spilled out, and men slapped each other as Dyslan stood with chicken bones sticking out of his hair. In the confusion and enjoyment of the moment, her father and Vortigern walked down the hall to her father’s private quarters.
Her mother stepped over to Natalenya. “Your father requested I bring him and Vortigern a sample of his best wine … but I need to help Dyslan. Would you serve your father?”
“Doesn’t Father drink that before meals?”
“Too many guests.” And then her mother raised an eyebrow and whispered, “Vortipor.”
Over her mother’s shoulder, Natalenya saw him stalking toward them. He’d taken off his cloak for the first time, and his gold-threaded tunic contrasted sharply with his unpleasant face.
“I’ll delay him,” her mother said. “Quickly now.”
Natalenya cradled her harp and fled through the stone arch that led to their sleeping area. As she turned the corner, she spied her wise mother step into Vortipor’s path and greet him.
Having set the harp in her room, Natalenya entered through the culina’s side door to find her father’s wines. Squeezing past the bustling servants, she went to the rear and pulled two baskets of grain from a stone slab. She brushed away loose kernels and slid the stone cover to the side, revealing her father’s cache of imported wine. From them she selected her father’s favorite, the deep red Mulsum, took the small terra-cotta amphora out of the reserve along with a small crock of honey, and slid the cover back.
Although her father had forbidden her from tasting it, on more than one occasion she had sniffed its rich cinnamon, thyme, and peppery bouquet.
She walked down the hall to her father’s quarters with the amphora and honey. She was about to knock on the door when she heard a voice say, “… so your daughter is uncovenanted. What would make you consider a match with my son? He’ll soon be battle chief. Maybe more.”
Natalenya halted before the door, with the round wine jar cold against her frozen hand.
“Does Uther esteem him?” her father asked.
“Uther pays no mind. His attention is to his wife, his daughters” — Vortigern’s voice turned scornful — “his son.”
“You do not like this new son? Is he unruly and spoiled?”
Vortigern cursed. “Just a whelp, he is, but he’ll be like his father.”
“You speak against the High King?” Her father’s voice had a hint of shrillness.
“I do not, no. But the blood of a High King flows in my veins as well. Why rejoice when Uther’s line continues?”
Her father clicked his tongue. “But he is married to your sister. Your line and his have come together.”
“It is not as my grandfather would have wished.”
Natalenya could almost taste his bile.
“Surely Vitalinus would have been proud to have his granddaughter’s son wear the High King’s torc?”
“You know nothing of what Vitalinus wished,” Vortigern said, his words hissing as if through his teeth. “I sat in his feasting hall at Glevum. I saw his glory and the gold piled high. Your pottage from the Stone today was nothing compared to my grandfather’s treasures!”
A fist clunked onto the table. “You think the Druid Stone a joke, do you?”
“Not a joke, no. It gave me better than coins.”
“I saw your face. I tried to show you the gold, yet you stared at the Stone forever, it seemed, and ignored me.” Her father’s voice lowered to a whisper. “What did you see?”
Natalenya heard a chair creak and groan.
“Nothing! Nothing, I —”
“You smiled as if you could touch your grandfather’s treasures again. I saw it on your face the whole time the Stone enchanted you. What would you do if