Jupiter in Council. Britons may have conceived an apotheosis of the victorious Arthur in this way. The illustration is from the Vergilius Romanus, a manuscript of the kind Gildas the historian could have used to study Vergil, lines from whose Aeneid he sometimes quotes or more often adapts in his De Excidio Britonum.
Part III
Battle of the Trees
Amazement at their miraculous recovery seized the minds of the Britons for none but the old, the very old indeed, could remember a time of peace. The present generation and the one that had gone before it knew only an age of unremitting strife and misery, and quite suddenly, with Badon, as at the ending of a mighty storm, the earth was fresh, the sky serene where furious clouds had rolled. With war laid aside our sour age could at last begin to ripen.
Was it to be wondered at that when men saw Arthur go by, their eyes were filled with the awe of the devotee who recognizes his god? Yet Arthur was no insubstantial vision; there, walking before them on the liberated soil of the island, was its deliverer. Even the tyrants of Britain, those narrow men, shared in the general astonishment. For once they raised their glazed eyes to look beyond the limits of their petty realms and glimpse the shape of Britain and the world beyond. For once, it crossed their minds that but for this man, the Saxons would have swept them away. Insofar as men who love power are capable of gratitude, they were grateful.
From miles around people poured into Aquae Sulis where there was to be a triumphal advent in the style of Rome. Not for a hundred years - no, more - had any city in Britain been so thronged. Not a tyrant was absent; there were notables from Ireland and Armorica and, of course, the Envoy of His Sacred Majesty the Augustus Anastasius, though as my thigh was not healed, on the triumphal day I had to wait in the Portico of the Temple of Sul attended by Conyn who would have been made a warrior had not our generous seneschal Kei objected to his low status as a bondsman.
Arthur, whose wound at Badon had been slight, entered the city by the west gate early in the morning. Though the winter was almost on us the day was mild and clear with the sun, huge and kindly, not trying to steal the glory. Wearing a plain white tunic and with a magnificent ram headed torque around his neck, Arthur rode high on the Chariot of the Bear's Stronghold; the horses with braided manes and groomed to perfection, were so full of spirit that Cuneglasus, the driver, had to exert himself to the full to keep them under control. Arthur's spear and shield and his plumed helmet were fixed to the Chariot's sides. Caledvwlch he held in his hand and with it saluted the ruinous monument to the genius of Rome when he passed it by.
Behind him rode Medraut and Amr, given pride of place as his sons, and immediately after them the members of the Round Table, the diademed tyrants of Britain - Cato of Dumnonia, the Cornovian Brittu oldest of them all, Dyfnwal of Clut, Gwalchmai of Calchvynydd, Aurelianus of Glevum, Briacat of Buelt, Honorius of Gwent, Marianus and Paulianus of Glevissig, the ancient Germanianus and Leudonus of the Votadini, and Catwallaun Longhand of the Venedoti; Eleutherius was among them and then came a host of lesser lords. An honoured place was given to the young Armorican Budic who had fought so boldly. Next came those noble companions who were members of the Table, Kei, Bedwyr and old Gwenwynwyn followed by the chosen band of companions, the famous warriors who supped each night in Arthur's hall and behind them the warriors of the tyrants. When they had all passed by, we saw their senior retainers carrying the armour and ornaments of the slain Saxons. There were no prisoners but aloft on a tall pike was the head of Oesc, Scramasax no more. This sight did not cause the people to shout with joy; rather they stared up at it with reverence for they knew Oesc's strength had gone into Arthur.
It took some time for the procession to reach the theatre. From the Temple portico its progress could be judged by the swelling roar of the crowd. What would Anastasius have said had he been witness to this echo of Rome far in the West? In the modern style, no one stood behind Arthur to whisper in his ear that he was only a man. Yet, who could have found a Briton that day prepared to say such a thing?
The theatre, not a large one, though with remnants of elegance, was jammed with people whom Arthur tried to address. For a while they were more interested in shouting and cheering than in listening. When they were quiet he said: "Friends, Citizens, Britons. This day is proof to me of the love you bear for me and for all the rulers and warriors of Britain who have fought against the Saxon invader. This day is proof that we are the heirs of the finest qualities of Rome, steadfastness, honour and adherence to the law, qualities that distinguish us from the barbarians.
"Citizens. The bards when they sing of the battle we have won, will tell of the warriors' bravery and skill. Yet such prowess would not itself have won the war. If the people had not endured, not upheld the warriors, defeat would have been our lot. You have come here today to praise the warriors. Let it be the warriors who praise you." Arthur extended his hand to the people in salute and, arrayed behind him, the tyrants, forgetting to be proud, and the warriors, forgetting to be boastful, beat their swords on their shields. The people fell silent and listened to the clatter. Never before had such a thing been known in Britain. Then a clamour erupted. Some cried, "Hail Caesar", others, "Hail to the Emperor." Eventually the Caesars won and the title was reiterated rhythmically though not by the rulers who contented themselves with smiling benignly.
When there was silence Arthur spoke of the mysterious ebb and flow of human fortune, how hope gives way to despair yet can be born again; he spoke of the days when despair had made many men flee from Britain. "Yet," he cried, "The descendants of those who left have come back." Here he turned towards Budic and his Armorican warriors. "They have returned to fight our battles with us, bringing the strength of a Britain reborn in Gaul. Across the sea even those who had despaired proved that Britons can conquer as well as any people." This elicited an ardent cry of, "Conquer Arthur. Conquer Arthur."
"We cannot conquer, either those parts of the island now held by the Saxon or, still less, those parts of the Roman patrimony held by the German tribes," Arthur went on, "unless we are a strong and wealthy people. The wars have ruined our cities; our men are skilled now in nothing save war. Yet if we can master war, we can master the arts of peace again." The strongest applause for this came from the dwindling number of citizens, led by Epillicus who still affected Roman ways.
His concluding words, however, drew applause from all sides. "Now that the threat of conquest is over, we must make sure that all our people are governed fairly. Let the rulers, the judges, the officials and the private citizens all stand firm in their stations so that the controls of truth and law shall not be shaken and overthrown. In such a peace Britain will renew her strength and everything lost will be regained. If we forget to stand firm, all we fought for will slide away, leaving no trace, or but a dubious memory. Citizens, Britons, heed my words in this hour of victory."
He stepped down from the plinth in the theatre that had many years ago echoed to the lines of Plautus - for the citizens of Aquae Sulis had once been people of refined taste - intending to make his exit. It was not so easy. The shouts of "Caesar" started again, grew more tumultuous and were finally taken up by some warriors led by Cato who for a second time was publicly out of line with his peers on this matter. Reckless with excitement Medraut pushed forward and cast his shield on the ground. "Accept father. Stand here. We'll raise you now."
Arthur hesitated. He turned to the rulers as though hoping for a signal. None came. He looked at Cato; there was little wisdom in that adulating face with its bawling mouth. He looked at the crowd; it was merely behaving as crowds do. And he looked into his heart; only there could he discover what he had to do. He stepped onto the plinth again and gestured for silence. In the interval before he spoke, he told me, you could have heard the flight of a bird overhead. Then he said, "Citizens. People of the toga. If you would enthrone an emperor in Britain, let that monarch be Justice. Justice should be the only ruler over men. As long as I am here; as long as the rulers of the British states give me leave, I shall stand for Justice for all men, high and low. If I succeed in that, my ambition is fulfilled. Now then, why should the name of Caesar make me more? Was Alexander greater being king? Only as Arthur shall I be known and if that name is not allied to Justice let it never be remembered."
He then led the rulers from the theatre and past the tholos towards the precinct of the Temple where we could hear him coming. Conyn helped me to my feet and I stood in the centre of the portico. To my right were Gwenhwyvar and a haughty looking priest, a man new to her entourage, and to my left, Morgan and two priestesses. In front of us, standing at the altar before the entrance to the Sacred Spring, were the men in Britain most revered by the people whether Christian or not: Myrddin and his aged father Lailoken, each clad in a cloak of feathers and carrying oak branches from a sacred grove outside the city. A flame taken from the eternal fire in the Temple burned on the altar.
Arthur paused at the gate; his sharp eyes took in the precinct now cleaned of mud, freshly spread with pebbles and lined with people; he could see that even the tops of the buttresses were thick with onlookers. Then he advanced and the rulers and notables poured through the gate after him. Just before the altar he halted as Myrddin and Lailoken raised their arms in prayer. Lailoken's voice was a pathetic mumble trailing after Myrddin's which reverberated against heaven itself. They invoked the Divine Powers of Britain, calling for harmony between the opposites and for Arthur to stand firm though the earth should split and heaven be sundered. When they had finished praying, Lailoken handed to Arthur, with his slow withered hands, a gilded sickle. Arthur took it reverently then kissed Lailoken. The meaning of it, I do not know. Druidic ways are secret. Yet the act made the crowd fall silent and in the stillness we heard Lailoken say, "My son Myrddin. I am ready to continue the journey. Your day has come. With the truth of your heart, the strength of your arms and the wisdom of your tongue, you will guide Arthur's soul through the world of mystery. When your time is come you shall pass the power on to your son Lailoken that he in turn may pass it on to another Myrddin. So it has been for a hundred generations and will be for many secret generations to come through the ages of darkness that are upon us. Yet from time to time, until all men are ready to receive the power, a shaft of light will break through to dwell in a great man, as the hero light dwells in Arthur." Lailoken's voice broke and he was silent. Then it resumed with the freshness and force of a young throat. "Not a few of you will live to see false kings, failing truth and Britain betrayed, yet what Arthur has achieved shall not be lost. It stands in a world where time lies vanquished; his fame is immutable, not for what he did, but for what he is. As the Druids are your judges, so is this the truth. Lailoken flows away and speaks no more."
Arthur walked towards the Temple and up the steps to where I stood as Anastasius' Envoy. In my hand was a golden wreath of oak and laurel leaves which I had brought with me, on a whim, from Constantinople. He took his place beside me and I called out, "Sacred is Victory. Sacred is the Victor. Rome salutes you Arthur of Britain and grants you the Triumph that is worthy of your deeds." With both hands I placed the wreath on his head and saluted him. A smile flickered over his face, once more at my pomposity no doubt.
Next Arthur received the congratulations of the notables, first those of his family. Gwenhwyvar knelt before him and clasped his hands. She said softly, "Lord of justice, forgive me if ever my loyalty has failed. I am not worthy of your kindness." He made her rise and stand beside him so the world might see her as his consort.
Then came Morgan whose voice was so low that no one heard it but Arthur who told me what she had said later. "Lord of mystery, this is your hour of greatness. Remember, I am bound to you by a chain of sorrow. Yet it will be a chain of joy when all is done."
Medraut spoke. "Lord of power, I, Medraut, first son of Arthur, salute myfather. In my heart I long to be worthy of everything he has done." For an instant they searched each other's eyes. And Medraut went his way.
Amr stuttered nothing but, "Father, father. I love you above my life." Arthur kissed him on the cheek and said, "Then cherish your life that I may live the longer."
The tyrants did not bow save for Cato who led them all, and he grovelled so low that he might have been in the Court of Anastasius. The others gave more brotherly congratulations, sometimes brief like that of Dyfnwal who said in his clear high voice, "Aye, aye, you're a fine man Arthur. No one can say me nay." Each one swore undying friendship, as did the chosen band, the warriors, and then the dignitaries of Aquae Sulis - the Prefect, the magistrates, the decurions and all the others who felt they had the right to go up and greet him. Without doubt hundreds of people in days to come would be bored to death by them all - 'Did I ever tell you I took Arthur's hand at the great triumph after the Battle of Mount Badon?'
Finally when there were no more and the sun was half way through its course, the new priest who had stood beside Gwenhwyvar went to the foot of the steps, for the Temple was anathema to his Church, and turned to look up at Arthur. He intoned, "The Blessing of the Lord God of Hosts, the God of Abraham and Isaac, who did afflict the Egyptians and scattered the idolaters of Canaan, be upon thee Arthur for thou hast, in His Name and with His power scattered the heathen and sent their souls to everlasting perdition."
Then he turned and surveyed the people gravely before addressing them. A homily was not part of the arrangements but such a huge audience provided too good a chance to miss. "The Lord gave the Britons the victory," he stated with total authority, "because he looked down from Heaven and saw they were fighting under the sign of Christ, His Only Begotten Son: the Cross on the shield of Arthur. And He said to Himself, 'Perhaps this impious people has repented, perhaps this foolish race, so given to idolatry and all the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah, has turned towards me.' Yes Britons, it was the Lord himself in his infinite wisdom and mercy who delivered you. Yet your suffering would not have been necessary had you followed the path of righteousness. Now hear my warnings: this victory will be as a moment of calm in a storm if you should fall into sin again. Turn, I say, from the evils of the flesh. For truly, if you should fall again, this land will be destroyed and the ravens will tear at your loathsome corpses until they can no longer find sustenance."
The priest, whose name we heard later, was Dubricius, departed through the crestfallen crowd which at that moment was not particularly inclined to evil or interested in fornication though such matters are forever, it seems, on the minds of clerics. It was left to Arthur to restore the good mood. Having ordered his magistrate Gwynn Llogell Gwyr to record the victory of Badon in the consulship of Decius and Valerianus, sixty nine years after Vortigern had welcomed the enemy to Britain, he shouted, "Now Britons, to the distribution of gifts; then give yourselves to play. And do not fear. The gods will hold back their ravens."
Everyone made for the basilica where gifts were handed out to those who had fought in the battle. Arthur and the tyrants, on whom Arthur largely depended in such matters, had to dip deeply into their stocks of treasure. Not only gold and silver were distributed but, to those of lesser rank, presents of cloth and food and wine. When that was done and everyone was satisfied, the whole city abandoned itself to games, especially a great horse race, and feasting and drinking and later, I regret for holy Dubricius' sake, an excessive amount of fornication. Happily, neither fire nor brimstone descended on us.
The time had come for me to send another report to Anastasius informing him about the situation in Britain and recommending action to assist Arthur: that bestowal of consular rank for instance. And some kind of physical support, perhaps gold, supplies of weapons, craftsmen - even a few scholars. It was unlikely that Anastasius would be prepared to send soldiers such a long distance.
How regrettable it is that the steps Justinian has recently taken to recover Africa and Italy, could not have been taken nearly forty years ago when Arthur was at the height of his power. Today the Emperor is lavishing gold coins on the West, even on Britain, though it is doubtful whether there are any British rulers now who will do other than waste them. However, to get back to those days, I realised it would be a couple of years before my suggestions produced results. First, a vessel had to be found making the journey to the East and second, a reliable bearer; either could be lost on the way. And even when my despatch reached Constantinople, it would have to run the gamut of officials, and appraisal, policy and advisory committees that flourish like weeds in the place. Oh, for the swift movement of the gods that I might, like Mercury, appear to Anastasius in a dream and tell him what to do - forthwith.
In the midst of wondering whether to write in Greek or Latin, for that could lead to different officials processing my letter, an unexpected visitor turned up. Angharad had hardly said, "Lord Medraut's here," when he pushed past her into my room. "Leave us," he said curtly. "We don't want to be disturbed." She threw him a contemptuous glance but did as he said. He sat down, grinned at my bandaged leg and pointed to his shoulder. "See. You should have Morgan as your mother. A few of her spells and unguents and I'm as right as rain. Shall I call her to you?"
Not being Morgan's son I did not feel so secure in her skills, "I don't want you to do a thing for me - except be polite to Angharad."
"I will - if you tell me what advantage is in it for me. I never do anything without a purpose."
I ran my eyes over his bright clothes and ornaments. "Forgive me," I said, "I was trying to imagine what advantage there is in wearing a get-up like that. In Alexandria you might be mistaken for a clown."
"And so I might in Aquae Sulis, Cadfan. How smart you are!"
"And you're not smart enough. No clothes could hide your ambition. That's why you should be polite to Angharad. If women hate you, they can damage you. Incredible you shouldn't have thought of it. Anyway what brings you here?"
"Because I'm angry with you."
"Why? For not confirming the rumours of my death?"
"For the same reason as Cato's angry with you - and many more."
"Ah. I see. Another man who wants me to persuade Arthur to be an Emperor."
"If Arthur had accepted the people's acclamation what would you have done?"
"Done? Why nothing at all. I'd just report on what had happened. I'd even have written sympathetically, though it wouldn't have made any difference; the title would never have been recognised by the Augustus."
"Would that matter?"
"Not if the Emperor's incapable of doing anything about it. It all depends on whether the Empire's going to be strong again or wither away."
"And which will it do?"
"Only time can tell. But I can tell you this: Arthur's more shrewd than you think. If he didn't accept the title, it wasn't on account of any influence of mine. The fact is he's not powerful enough to sustain it yet. He depends too much on the tyrants. His plan must be to preserve the Round Table as a court, an arbitrator of disputes. He wants it to become a true Council of Britain again, a government, which is why he spoke of justice in the theatre."
"You weren't in the theatre."
"I knew what he intended saying."
Medraut's dark eyes flickered over me jealously. "So brother, you really are his confidant now, eh?"
"Don't worry Medraut. I don't want to succeed him. I'm no threat to you. Far less a threat to you than you are yourself."
He got up from the chair he had been sitting on and lolled by me on the couch touching my bad leg lightly. It was easy to imagine him doing something unpleasant to it. "And what does that mean? This is something I must know."
"You should indeed. In fact Arthur wants me to tell it to you. Britain's wounded and trying to recover; any upset and death will follow. Unfortunately, it's easier to lead people in war than in peace - especially when they are Britons. Arthur's afraid for you, not of you. Your ambition sticks out like a bull's horns. You're a man of intelligence but would the rulers accept you as leader as you are? No. They'd be afraid of your intentions. You'd never hold the balance. Back would come the discord and back would come the Saxons."
Medraut's hand hovered over my wound. Then he got up and walked around the couch which was just as unsettling. His fury erupted. "Sometimes invalids are better off dead. A new start, that's what's wanted Do you know what? I'd like to get the whole lot of those tyrants in Ehangwen and when that stupid ceremony's taking place, just at the moment when they're all pissing themselves with ecstasy at the sight of that crazy Chalice, a hundred men with torches would surround the place and set it ablaze. They could go up to heaven and sit around the Chalice for ever. God, they could shit in it for ever for all I care."
"Precisely Medraut. You'd do what the Saxons did at the Feast of the Long Knives. Solve the problem with slaughter. But did they succeed?"
"Time will tell."
"That's the point. Let's not condemn the Saxons for the massacre. Let's condemn them for not succeeding with a single blow. If you could unite Britain by killing off the tyrants, you might be justified. But you can't be sure of it. In fact, looking at Britain you could never be sure of it. For every ruler you killed, a hundred enemies would spring up. You're too rash Medraut. That's what Arthur fears about you."
There was an awkward silence during which he stared far away. I rang the bell and asked the servant for wine which was brought by Angharad herself. Medraut said, "Forgive my rudeness Lady. You're most hospitable." He extended his hand. She touched it lightly, said 'Lord Medraut,' and left.
"Much better," I said. "Keep trying. You saw the result."
He took his wine and sat close to me. "You're right. Arthur's right; I am rash. Perhaps when I'm older I'll get better. But who knows? A man's weaknesses often get worse with age. Arthur's for instance. Shall I tell you what I fear about him? Don't look surprised. I fear the very things you and Amr are always going on about - his nobility and his goodness. Illusions Cadfan. Mere talk. But dangerous talk for they're signs of weakness. You talk of the fellowship. What underlies it? Nobility? Goodness? No. Only self interest. Did your great friend Kei save you in battle? No. He looked after himself, as any slave would do. But I'll except Bedwyr and Gwenwynwyn, those dumb old war horses. If Arthur told them to ride to Annwn for him, they'd plunge down the nearest rat hole; they're so thick."
Refusing to let the snake rile me over Kei, I said, "And what about Cato?"
"The quintessential tyrant. To Cato, Arthur's first and foremost a man of Dumnonia, a man whose interest lies in the extension of Dumnonia. Self interest. Cato's a bitch who loves sniffing Arthur's balls but he's still the same as Dyfnwal, Catwallaun Long Hand and the rest. Do you honestly believe a bunch like that can be converted into a Senate? A wise and august government of Britain. Never Cadfan. Never, never, never. The present lot may be cooperative. They've lived their lives at war. They'll be only too happy to behave for the rest of their days so they can go drinking and hunting and wenching. But their sons? And their sons' sons? Each generation wilder. Each generation forgetting more and more of Rome and of the dreams of Arthur. They'll become as savage as the Saxons. No, worse. The Saxons, being at the bottom can only come up. Why can't Arthur see what kind of men he's dealing with?"
"He does see. He does see. It's impossible not to see. Do you really think he's deluded into believing his own myths?"
"If he thinks he can use Lailoken's ceremony to trap the tyrants, he must be trapped himself, deluded as any Christian - believing men can be reborn. Men are only what nature makes them. No better. No worse. Lailoken once warned me that I could never turn my eyes inward and understand myself as the Druids do. Well, he was wrong. I have looked deep inside myself. And I'll tell you, I can be generous, I can love, I can weep, I can be all the things men say are good. But I tell you also; I see no more merit in them than when I exult in hatred or cruelty. Nature is indifferent to us. No philosophy and no religion can change that. Only one thing matters: to see where your own interests lie. Then you'll know when to love and when to hate. If Arthur forgets when to hate and when to strike those that would ruin his dream, he might as well cut off his own right hand. He added softly, "But your love for Conyn is wise. I don't mock that brother. The love of men is invaluable - especially for those whose trade is war."
The workings of Medraut's cold mind repelled me but his words could be as seductive as those of Ceretic. Rather weakly I asked, "Well then, what would you have Arthur do?"
"Do? Why, how do you think Clovis managed to seize power in Gaul? By slaying. Even his own kinsmen. Rome may make Clovis a consul but Clovis has made himself a king. King of the Franks. He's told Rome, we want no more of you. A new order's established in Gaul."
Medraut's desire for power had a sensual quality about it. He wanted power as other men might want a woman. I coaxed him, "You spoke of Arthur's dream Medraut. Tell me about yours."
"Do you really want to know? Shall I tell you? Will you keep it secret? Well I don't care if you don't for one day the world will know of it. Medraut's dream, no, his intent, is to rule all the islands in the west, the whole of Britain, aye and the whole of Ireland; we can't afford those mad dogs biting our arses any more. The islands shall be one. And I don't care who the races are that live there. Britons, Picts, Saxons, Irish and for all I care the blackest Africans - provided they're loyal to my state. A state founded on the strictest rules, a state above everyone, even above the gods. Yes, the state will be the god. I'll mix the races. I'll breed warriors as others breed horses. Saxon shall mate with Briton and Briton with Irish and Irish with Saxon and so on and so on to produce the fiercest men on earth for we are all aggressive and greedy peoples. Will you join me in my ambition brother? We'll have need of learning - for people like ourselves. And need of Sacred Bands of men like Conyn, eh brother, to do our will." He got up and paced the room his eyes blazing. "To do it, I must have time; I must have a foundation, and that Arthur shall be. He must make himself supreme; then he must make way so I can build on what he has created." He turned on me. "But if he goes on like this - with his policy of conciliation and talk, talk, talk, until everyone agrees which will be never, everything he's achieved will be frittered away. Persuade him Cadfan. Join me. You must. You're my brother."
Was this Platonic scheme the natural form of every autocrat's dream, an eternal concept waiting on a shelf in the ideal world for the next Medraut to take down? Again I felt uncertain of everything. "Is it possible Medraut? Now, when the world's falling apart?"
"When things are in flux, that's the time for a man with an idea to take the wet clay between his hands and mould a new shape. It wouldn't have been possible while Rome was here. Rome was the centre of men's minds. Even when a Carausius, a Maximus, seized Britain for himself, somehow or other his thoughts always turned to Rome. Think of all the mighty soldiers taken from these islands. Why? Our land is rich. Why shouldn't it be its own centre? Think Cadfan, instead of us being the prey, we could be the hunter; the whole extremity of the shores opposite us would be open for us to seize treasure and slaves whenever we chose. I've thought it all out. Whether I succeed or not, what happens in the coming years in these islands will set the shape of Britain for ages to come. This is a time of rebirth."
My reply was an affirmation of my own beliefs rather than a rebuttal of his arguments. "One day, Medraut, you may do the things you say, though even if you succeed, your state will wither and die. For just as you have your ambitions, so has every man alive. The value of life lies in the fulfillment of many people. That's what Arthur stands for. He may not succeed either but in a thousand years men will still sing of him. Do you think anyone will ever sing of Clovis?"
"So you won't help me?"
"I wouldn't say that. We're just having a philosophical talk. I understand your philosophy - it's not new. I also know that you'd have to modify it to accord with what happens. Whether I support you or not will depend on what you actually do. In the meantime my advice is, be loyal to Arthur."
The act of confessing himself to me had brought about some understanding between us - or so it seemed. At any rate his last words suggested concern. He remarked, "We've got a determined Christian party at work around Arthur. They're out to use him for their own ends."
"The Emperor is Christian," I answered as though that settled the matter.
He put his face close to mine. "But you, dear Cadfan, are not. You may find Gwenhwyvar far less pleasant soon."