“Yes,” I interrupted him bleakly. I had supposed he was referring to Guinevere's ambition to place him on Dumnonia's throne, but he had been thinking of another matter entirely. He jumped off the table and began pacing up and down. “I understand your feelings for Lancelot,” he said, surprising me, 'but consider this, Derfel. Suppose that Benoic had been your kingdom, and supposing that you believed I would save it for you, indeed you knew that I was oath-bound to save it, and then I did not. And Benoic was destroyed. Would that not make you bitter? Would it not make you distrustful? King Lancelot has suffered greatly, and the suffering was at my hands! Mine! And I want, if I can, to make his losses good. I can't recapture Benoic, but I can, perhaps, give him another kingdom."
“Which?” I asked.
He smiled slyly. He had the whole scheme worked out and he was taking an immense pleasure in revealing it to me. “Siluria,” he said. “Let us suppose we can defeat Gorfyddyd, and with him, Gundleus. Gundleus has no heir, Derfel, so if we can kill Gundleus a throne is vacant. We have a king without a throne, they have a throne without a king. More, we have an unmarried king! Offer Lancelot as husband to Ceinwyn and Gorfyddyd will have his daughter as a queen and we shall have our friend on the Silurian throne. Peace, Derfel!” He spoke with all his old enthusiasm, building a wonderful vision with his words.
“A union! The marriage union I never made, but now we can make it again. Lancelot and Ceinwyn! And to achieve it we only need to kill one man. Just one.”
And as many other men who needed to die in battle, I thought, but said nothing. Somewhere to the north a rumble of thunder sounded. The God Taranis was aware of us, I thought, and I hoped he was on our side. The sky through the tiny high windows was black as night.
“Well?” Arthur pressed me.
I had not spoken because the thought of Lancelot wedding Ceinwyn was so bitter that I could not trust myself to speak, but now I forced myself to sound civil. “We have to buy off the Saxons and defeat Gorfyddyd first,” I said sourly.
“But if we do?” he asked impatiently, as though my objections were trivial obstacles. I shrugged as though the idea of the marriage was far beyond my competency to judge.
“Lancelot likes the idea,” Arthur said, 'and his mother does too. Guinevere approves as well, but then she would because it was her idea to marry Ceinwyn to Lancelot in the first place. She's a clever girl. Very clever." He smiled as he always did when he thought of his wife.
“But even your clever wife, Lord,” I dared to say, 'cannot dictate Mithras's adherents.“ He jerked his head as though I had struck him. ”Mithras!“ he said angrily. ”Why can't Lancelot join?"
“Because he's a coward,” I snarled, unable to hide my bitterness any longer.
“Bors says not, so do a dozen other men,” Arthur challenged me.
“Ask Galahad,” I said, 'or your cousin Culhwch." Rain sounded sudden on the roof and a moment later began to drip from the high window-sills. Nimue had reappeared in the small arched door beside the stone table where she pulled the hood over her face again.
“If Lancelot proves himself, will you relent?” Arthur asked me after a while.
“If Lancelot shows himself to be a fighter, Lord, I shall relent. But I thought he was your palace guard now?”
“His wish is to command in Durnovaria only until his wounded hand heals,” Arthur explained, 'but if he does fight, Derfel, then you will elect him?"
“If he fights well,” I promised reluctantly, 'yes." I was fairly sure it was a promise I would never have to keep.
“Good,” Arthur said, pleased as always to have found a measure of agreement, then he turned as the church door banged open with a gust of rainy wind and Sansum ran inside followed by two monks. The two monks were carrying leather bags. Very small leather bags.
Sansum shook water off his robe as he hurried up the church. “We have searched, Lord,” he said breathlessly, 'we have hunted, we have pecked high and low, and we have assembled what little treasures our paltry house possesses, which treasures we now lay before you in humble but reluctant duty.“ He shook his head sadly. ”We shall go hungry this season as a result of our generosity, but where a sword commands, we mere servants of God must obey."
His monks poured the contents of the two bags on to the flagstones. A coin rolled across the floor until I trapped it with my foot.
“Gold from the Emperor Hadrian!” Sansum said of the coin. I picked it up. It was a brass sesterce with the Emperor Hadrian's head on one side and an image of Britannia with her trident and shield on the other. I bent the coin double between my finger and thumb and tossed it to Sansum. “Fool's gold, Bishop,” I said.
The rest of the treasure was not much better. There were some worn coins, mostly copper with a few of silver, some iron bars that were commonly used as currency, a brooch of poor gold and some thin golden links from a broken chain. The whole collection was perhaps worth a dozen gold pieces. “Is this all?” Arthur asked.
“We give to the poor, Lord!” Sansum said, 'though if your needs are pressing then maybe I could add this.“ He lifted the golden cross from around his neck. The heavy cross and its thick chain were easily worth forty or fifty gold pieces and now, reluctantly, the Bishop held them out to Arthur. ”My personal loan for your war, Lord?" he suggested.
Arthur reached for the chain and Sansum immediately jerked it back. “Lord,” he dropped his voice so that only Arthur and I could hear him. “I was unjustly treated last year. For the loan of this chain,” he twitched it so that the heavy links clinked together, “I would demand that my appointment as King Mordred's personal chaplain be honoured. My place is at the King's side, Lord, not here in this pestilential marshland.” Before Arthur could respond the door of the church opened once again and a rain soaked Issa shambled inside. Sansum turned furiously on the newcomer. “The church is not open to pilgrims!” the Bishop snapped. “There are regular services. Now get out! Out!” Issa pushed wet hair away from his face, grinned and spoke to me. “They hide all their goods beside the pond behind the big house, Lord, all of it under a pile of rocks. I watched them put today's tribute there.” Arthur plucked the heavy chain from Sansum's hand. “You may keep those other treasures' he gestured at the shabby collection on the floor 'to feed your paltry house through the winter, Bishop. And keep your torque as a reminder that your neck is in my gift.” He strode towards the door.
“Lord!” Sansum shouted in protest. "I beg you'
“Beg,” Nimue interrupted him, pushing the hood back from her face. “Beg, you dog.” She turned and spat on the crucifix, then on to the church floor, then a third time at Sansum. “Beg, you piece of dirt,” she snarled at him.
“Dear God!” Sansum blanched at the sight of his enemy. He reeled backward, making the sign of the cross on his thin chest. For a moment he seemed too terrified to even speak. He must have thought Nimue lost for ever on the Isle of the Dead, yet here she was, spitting in triumph. He crossed himself a third time, then wheeled on Arthur. “You dare bring a witch into God's house!” he screamed. “This is sacrilege! Oh sweet Christ!” He dropped to his knees and gazed up at the rafters. “Cast fire from heaven! Cast it now!”