Artorius, who had sheathed his sword once more, gave Owein a nod of understanding. "I cannot ask more than any kingdom is able to give. Send what you can and we must all be content with the best we can manage."

"I, King Aidon ap Mor of Rhufonios, can send aid to my brother sub-king of Rhos. We have many younger sons eager for work and too little land to subdivide it further amongst the heirs, as is the custom. Whether you need hands for the harvesting or the building of stone walls round your heights, Rhufonios can assist and still send seasoned warriors to the Dux Bellorum."

Owein clasped his neighbor's hand in gratitude. "We have many an orphaned heiress who will welcome young men of Rhufonios to work the land and take them to wife. Both our kingdoms will benefit."

"Well spoken," Emrys Myrddin gave the agreement a Druidic nod of approval.

The king of Lindsey pledged a third of his men to the cause of strengthening the southern borders, as did King Arthwys ap Mor of the Pennines, offering to send his son Prince Pabius in command of the sizeable force. The next man to speak, whose grey hair and deeply lined face spoke of age and strain, shared the same narrow, weasel-eyed face as King Idnerth, great-grandson of Vortigern. "I, King Concennus ap Vortimer and my son Prince Brochfael Ysgythrog speak for Powys and the kingdoms of the midlands. Powys has no borders that are threatened and will not contribute young men needed for the harvesting and the fishing to drive invaders from someone else's land."

A shocked and angry roar erupted as the aging king and his buck-toothed son took their seats. King Meirchion of Rheged snarled, "I would expect no less than treason from a spawn of Vortigern!"

"Treason, is it?" Concennus shot back. "There's no treason in protecting one's own interests! Powys is not threatened. Why should Powys bleed and die for the errors in judgement committed by fools in Glastenning or Strathclyde?"

Young Clinoch went ice pale and gripped the hilt of his dagger. "You will not insult my father's memory within the same week as his death, Concennus! Meet me steel to steel, like a man, if you intend slander!"

Another thunderous round of shouting erupted. Artorius was slamming the hilt of his sword against the tabletop again, roaring for order. Clinoch, shaking with rage, stood glaring at Concennus, who measured him lazily with a dismissive eye, compounding the insult. His buck-toothed son grinned at the young king, while paring his nails with his own knife, insulting everyone in the council chamber. Emrys Myrddin strode between the tables, passing the central hearth in a billow of white robes, and slammed an immense oaken staff between Clinoch and Meirchion on one side and Concennus and Brochfael on the other. The young prince of Powys had the grace to jump in startlement at the crash.

"This is a council of kings," Myrddin hissed coldly, "not a brawl between milk-brats! Brochfael, you shame your father's name with your insolence. Put up that knife or leave this council under the geas of excommunication and end your days an outlaw cast out of Britain!"

The young prince glared at Myrddin, but quickly realized the threat was serious and that Myrddin would brook no refusal. He resheathed his knife with a sullen look.

"Concennus, you have the sovereign right to refuse succor to your brother kings. No one denies this. If you stand by that right, know that the geas will be laid upon you and all of Powys, as well. Expect no aid, no comfort, no assistance should any disaster befall you, whether it be famine, flood, plague, or invasion. A man who stands selfishly alone bleating of his rights when his brothers are dying can expect no aid when he, himself, is mortally wounded."

Concennus, older than Emrys Myrddin by at least twenty years, if not thirty, glared coldly at the Druidic councillor. "Powys is a large kingdom, advisor, and controls Caer-Gurican, Caer-Magnis, and Caer-Luit-Coyt as well, a stretch of land as great as Rheged. Famine or plague in one portion of the kingdom hardly threatens the whole. Your threats do not impress me."

Emrys Myrddin said softly, "Only a fool will permit wolves to ravage one flock simply because the other flocks are not yet threatened. Your kingship shames the Britons. Leave our meeting hall and do not darken Rheged's hospitality again with your reckless disregard of civilized manners and your failure to abide by prudent conduct in affairs touching the survival of every Briton man, woman, and squalling babe on this island!"

As Concennus jerked to his feet, anger crackling in his insolent and rheumy eyes, Clinoch muttered, "And may the Saxons rape you as you so richly deserve!"

Myrddin held out an imperious hand, forestalling further outbursts from the young king. Concennus had locked gazes with Myrddin, who stood immovable as a monolithic standing stone—and very nearly as tall—and gave back Concennus' curled lip of insolence as a withering, blue-eyed stare. At length, Concennus looked away and muttered, "Powys will send a hundred archers to the Dux Bellorum."

"Our thanks," Myrddin said scathingly, then retrieved his oaken staff and strode back to his place.

Brenna discovered that she was shaking. Even Morgana was shaken by the confrontation. Meirchion of Rheged straightened his tunic with a jerk and said, "Rheged sends half its fighting force south to the aid of Glastenning and Dumnonia."

Clinoch, whose turn was next, swallowed before he could find voice. "Strathclyde has troubles along its northern and western borders, beset as we are from the north by Picts and Irish from Dalriada and from the west by Irish pirates, across the Irish Sea. But Strathclyde is a large kingdom, greater in size even than Gododdin. Strathclyde will help Gododdin reinforce the northern boundary forts along the Antonine Wall and mount increased patrols along our borders with Dalriada. In addition to this, Strathclyde will send five hundred men-at-arms south, from the region bordering Galwyddel and Caer-Guendoleu and Bryneich, whose borders are secure, so there will be no danger to their farmholds and families if they are absent."

Brenna felt like cheering. The boy's concern for his people, in contrast to Concennus' utter disregard, was a well-deserved slap in the face which left Concennus flushed and angry. As Morgana had already spoken on behalf of Ynys Manaw, she did not rise to speak again. Artorius said quietly, "There is no one to speak for Ynys Weith, for the Saxons and their pawns of Wessex have overrun the island, murdering the entire royal family, and now control its harbors and its men.

"All the kingdoms of the Britons having been spoken for, I will now speak as Dux Bellorum. As you have heard, we face grave troubles from many directions and have lost two of our number to what most of us consider the least threat of all those facing us. With apologies to Strathclyde and Gododdin, who bear the brunt of Pictish hostilities, I must however agree that the greatest threat to the Britons as a whole people comes from King Aelle of Sussex and Cerdic of Wessex. Cutha came to us determined to provoke incident and succeeded. Meirchion, look well to your people, for I predict Cutha will take vengeance in blood on his return journey south."

King Meirchion of Rheged nodded, his expression grim. "I have sent men in every direction to warn the farmholds and towns, and pray that I am not already too late with the warning." Cutha had already been gone nearly two hours.

Artorius lifted a long, slim wand and used it as a pointer, stepping to the great map nailed to the wall. "The area of greatest danger lies here"—he pointed to the border where Glastenning and Caer-Durnac touched the border of Wessex—"north along the line of Caer-Baddan, Caer-Celemion, Caer-Mincip, and Caer-Lundein." The pointer swept from the Bristol Channel along a wide arc through Somerset, Dorset, and the Salisbury Plain, across through Wiltshire and Berkshire, and east to Surrey and the city of London.