“But is that likely?”

“Inevitable, I would say. I was the one to demand it.”

“You?” Briseis’ eyes went wide. “But, Avallach, you might have been High King.”

“Perhaps.” He shrugged. “Belyn and Seithenin would have supported me. But Musaeus wanted it too, and badly. Nestor and Hugaderan would have intimidated Itazais into going along with them.”

“And Meirchion would have supported you.”

“Yes, and that is where we would be: deadlocked.” He looked at his wife and took her hand. “I am sorry.”

“I care nothing for the High Queen’s crown, husband,” she said. “Or for Poseidonis.”

“I have no ambition but to see Nestor found out and his plots crushed.” He took another sip of wine. “This seemed the best way of putting the deadlock behind us. As it stands, Danea must be shown to be unworthy or unfit to rule, and she is neither. Also, I would not have the council forget that we have a murderer in our midst-which they might be tempted to do if there were an advantage to be gained by ignoring it.”

Briseis laid her head on his shoulder. “It is a frightful, horrid thing. I grieve for Danea; her sorrow must be overwhelming.”

They sat for a long time in silence, and after a while there came a knock at the door. “There is Annubi,” Briseis said. She went to the door and opened it to the seer.

Avallach rose and turned to his advisor. “What word?”

“Nestor has left the city,” said Annubi.

Briseis glanced at her husband in surprise. “You knew this?”

Avallach nodded. “How?”

“By ship. A trireme was standing ready in the inner harbor.”

“When did he leave?”

“The harbormaster would not say precisely-I assume his silence had a price.” The seer grimaced with disgust. “But a ship’s leaving is difficult to hide with a few coins. I talked with some who saw the ship leave; he could not have put to sea more than three hours ago.”

“Thank you, Annubi. Rest now. I will need you with me tomorrow.”

“Rest well, Sire.” He turned to the queen and wished her good night and vanished once again into the darkened corridor.

“What does this mean-about Nestor?” asked Briseis as she closed the door.

“It is his confession,” Avallach said fiercely. “But it wili not avail him to flee the deed. He will face justice.”

Briseis considered this, then asked, “But don’t you think it odd that Nestor would make ready to sail before the council met? It means he knew the council would go against him.”

“Someone warned him.” Avallach frowned. “Hmmm, my wife has a devious mind.”

“There may be another in league with him.”

Avallach dismissed the possibility with a gesture. “Only Belyn and Seithenin knew I intended on supporting Danea.”

He shook his head lightly. “Nestor wanted the ship ready because he knew he might need it.”

Briseis stepped close and gathered her husband into her arms. “I know this is mean-hearted, but I cannot help feeling glad that I am not the one to sleep alone tonight. I do not think I could bear it.”

“Nor could I,” Avallach whispered, holding her close. “I am not that strong.”

Two days after tribune avitus’ visit, elphin set off ON his journey to raise a warband. Cuall rode beside him, the first warrior in the future lord’s warband. At Machynlleth, a hamlet of wattle-and-daub dwellings at a ford in the heat of the Dyvi valley, they were received with some enthusiasm. The clan chief, a red-bearded giant named Gweir Paladyr, greeted Elphin warmly, clapping him on the back until the young man’s spine rattled.

“Och! Prince Elphin! Look at you! Marriage agrees with you lad, does it? Aye, it does. Come, lift ajar with me.” He turned to some onlooking clansmen. “Here, lads! Fetch the horses water and a mouthful of fodder.”

The three entered Gweir’s round house where a plump woman greeted them and threw herself into a fit of industry, bustling to and fro, scattering earthenware jars and plates before her unexpected guests. “Steady on, Osla, just bring us the beer,” Gweir told her.

She placed a good-sized crock before Gweir, who poured the jars full to overflowing and then lifted his high, saying, “Long life to our lord… May his spear fly true!”

They drank and the jars were refilled. “Well now, Elphin lad, what news? I heard about the attack.”

“Raiders, yes” he began.

“Lord Elphin here slew two with a single throw,” put in

Cuall. “Saw it myself. Two on one spear-with the battle frenzy on him.”

“So I hear,” replied Gweir, nodding his approval. “So I hear.”

“It was a small band,” explained Elphin, “and poorly organized. They were after cattle, not a fight.”

“He routed them single-handed,” Cuall boasted proudly. “Saw it myself.”

“They were scared and hungry. I rattled my shield at them and they dropped their weapons and ran.”

“He had no shield!” crowed Cuall. “And the spear-the spear he snatched out of the air as it streaked toward his own heart!”

Gweir chuckled into his beard. “That ought to give the rascals something to think about. Did you recognize them?”

Elphin shrugged. “They were a bit small for Cruithne, and some had painted themselves.”

“Picti!” cried Gweir, slamming his hand down, “The same thieving swine that’s been troubling the Wall for the last two summers.”

“They are far south then,” observed Elphin.

“Och, aye. And now they have seen the land hereabouts they will be back-you can count on that.”

“That is why I have come,” Elphin said. “I am raising a warband.”

Gweir raised shaggy red eyebrows in surprise. “A war-band, eh?” He looked from one to the other of his guests, a smile slowly spreading on his lips. “A warband, aye! How long has it been?”

“I will need a hundred men.”

“A hundred!”

“And horses for all.”

Gweir leaned on his elbows, hunching his heavy shoulders. “That is a few men, Elphin. A fair few indeed.”

“We will not be discouraging cattle thieves, Gweir. We will be protecting our lands and people. My warband will be trained Roman cavalry.”

“Roman trained?” The smile faded on the big chieftain’s face; the magnitude of the plan was beginning to daunt him.

“I have struck a bargain with the tribune at Caer Seiont. We supply the men and horses for his use over the summer, and he returns them to us trained and battle-ready.”

Gweir hesitated. “A hundred men and horses,” he muttered.

“We will raise them,” said Elphin confidently, “if we all do our part. I intend riding with them to learn command. Tribune Avitus says that besides the Cruithne, there are At-tacotti and Scotti from Ireland pushing south beyond the Wall-and some called Saecsen as well. We can expect raids this harvest if not before.”

“Can the garrison not hold ‘em then?”

“No.” Elphin shook his head firmly. “Not anymore. None of the garrisons are fully manned.”

“I know I pay enough taxes,” snorted Gweir Paladyr.

“Taxes aside, there are not enough men. And even if there were, the savages become bolder. If we stand by, if we wait, we can expect to see the heads of our children hanging from their Belts.”

“Is it as bad as all that?” wondered Gweir.

“Believe it,” said Cuall.

“It is. And it is going to get worse.” Elphin lay his hands flat on the table. “A strong warband is our best hope.”

“And the Lord Gywddno? What says he?”

“He agrees. It is field a warband or sit by and watch our villages burned and looted, our cattle and women carried off.”

Gweir ran a hand through his grizzled hair. “I had no idea.”

“Then you will support us?”

“Och, aye! You can count on Gweir Paladyr to do his part. Machynlleth will stand men and horses.”

Elphin beamed. “Good!” He raised his cup. “Long life to you, Gweir.”

“Aye, long life and health to our enemies’ enemies!”