She gestured to the young girl sitting at the princess' feet. "Princess Keelin's little cousin, Fineena, is much beloved by King Dallan, and would enjoy, I think, a chance to see a Briton boat, for she loves the sea already and delights in the little boat she and Keelin keep at the harbor."

The beautiful Keelin's eyes widened in alarm, but she made no sound, clearly not wishing to frighten her cousin with a display of her own fear. It was an effective offer, the safety of the child for the safety of the crew. Lailoken bowed. "I am sure the captain would be delighted to show Princess Fineena his beautiful fishing sloop. After all, should this alliance be cemented in marriage, the child would be welcome on any boat in British waters, at her disposal to visit her cousin in Galwyddel's lovely capital."

Keelin relaxed a trifle, darting glances at Medraut, who was smiling down at the little girl in a friendly fashion. Fineena, aware of the sudden interest in her, toddled to her feet and slipped her hand into Keelin's, clutching a little doll to her chest with the other. She glanced up at her cousin, who murmured reassuringly in Gael, evidently translating the offer, since Fineena brightened at once and replied in a clear little voice, obviously excited. The child, all innocence, had no inkling of her abrupt new status as hostage. Lailoken sent the child a smile, as well, but the smile behind his eyes was for the image of little Fineena lying in a puddle of blood, a gift to repay the Dalriadans for Lailoken's own little girl, butchered by Irish bastards off a Dalriadan ship.

He was still smiling as servants escorted them out of the grand hall.

Chapter Thirteen

Trevor Stirling and King Ancelotis were exhausted by the time Caerleul's great sandstone walls appeared on the road in front of them. Both guest and host looked forward to a long, hot soak in the Roman baths, a good hot meal, and undisturbed sleep in a soft bed. But the moment they entered the town, they discovered something badly amiss. The townspeople were frightened, deeply agitated, and sent unreadable looks after them.

I mislike this, Ancelotis muttered silently to his guest.

Bloody right, Stirling agreed, deeply uneasy over the mood of these people.

The moment they approached the royal villa, Queen Thaney rushed out to greet them.

"Ancelotis!" she cried, flinging herself into her uncle's arms. "Oh, thank God you've come!"

"What is it?" Ancelotis asked urgently, drying tears that had begun to spill down her cheeks. "Meirchion isn't..." he began, sudden dread striking him.

"No, no, it isn't that, it's Artorius!"

Ancelotis went deadly still. "What news of Artorius?"

"Come inside, please, I don't wish the whole town to hear."

Dreading what he would hear, Ancelotis followed his niece into the royal villa, to a private little room off the atrium and closed the door. She stilled shaking hands against her skirts and said, "He's gone. Rode out of Caerleul in the worst rage I have ever seen come over him. Didn't even take the cataphracti with him."

"But—" Ancelotis protested, then shut up at the look in his niece's eyes. "Tell me the rest."

"It isn't Ganhumara, I know that much. She was as mystified as Meirchion and I when he went tearing out of the city. She's gone home to Caer-Guendoleu to raise troops for Caer-Badonicus. I..." She bit her lip, hesitating, then plunged on. "I asked the servants to tell me anything that might explain what had happened, and one of the serving women said a minstrel had been seen giving him a letter. When I questioned the minstrel, he said he didn't know what was in the letter, only that Covianna Nim had charged him to hold it until the next full moon, then deliver it to Artorius, which he did.

"He said Artorius went white as ice when he read it, then strode away shouting for his horse. The minstrel left Caerleul immediately after, riding south. I am sure he's taking some horrid message to Covianna Nim; I can't prove it, but I know it, I feel it here." She touched her heart.

"Which direction did Artorius ride?" Ancelotis asked quietly, already dreading the answer.

"Toward Caer-Birrenswark," Thaney whispered. "Ancelotis, Covianna Nim hates Morgana! I've seen it in her eyes when she thought no one was watching her. I don't know what she's told Artorius with her dirty little letter, but I don't trust that witch from Glastenning Tor, I never have. Artorius trusts you, Uncle, can't you ride after him and do something? I owe Morgana my life! I can't—won't—believe evil or treachery of her!" Tears were rolling down her cheeks and her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs.

Ancelotis gathered his niece into his arms and let her weep against his shoulder, stroking her hair soothingly. His mind, however, was racing, and so was Stirling's. What could Morgana possibly have done, to upset Artorius so greatly? At the High Council of Kings, she had spoken strongly in favor of alliance with the Irish at Dalriada, as a way to buy time and secure at least one border while Briton forces raced south to meet the Saxon threat. It was entirely possible that Morgana, strong-willed and shrewd as she was, could have engineered an alliance on her own, without informing Artorius.

And if Brenna McEgan were involved, if she were, in fact, a guest in Morgana's mind, an alliance with the Irish would be the first thing she considered, possibly talking Morgana into it with glib Irish persuasion. Certainly, it would be the simplest way to open the northern border to Irish armies the moment Artorius went south with the combined military strength of the northern kingdoms. It was a perfect opportunity for an IRA terrorist to smash the British kingdoms and change history in favor of the Irish. Where his potential ally, Banning, might be, Stirling had not an inkling, but he was very much afraid he'd just located Brenna McEgan. How, he wondered, would Morgana arrange such an alliance? What could she offer that would interest Dalriada?

"Where," Ancelotis asked abruptly, "is Medraut?"

Thaney looked up, startled. "Medraut? Why, he's with Morgana, of course. They rode together for Caer-Birrenswark."

"Alone?"

"No, they rode with armed retainers, of course. Her sons rode with her, but I heard her telling their guards that she would turn west for Caer-Birrenswark while her sons would ride north and turn east for Trapain Law and home." She frowned slightly. "And one of the minstrels went with her. Lailoken, I think he's called. Spent a lot of money buying jewelry and gowns and wine and pack animals to carry them."

If Morgana were sending her sons home to Trapain Law, chances were good she was up to something she didn't want the children embroiled in, which deepened the cold in his belly. It was just possible he'd found Banning, as well. Lailoken had been in the environs of Caer-Iudeu, after all, and so was a good candidate for hosting someone's mind, and he couldn't think of any other reason a simple minstrel would buy up a lot of trade goods with money he hadn't possessed two weeks previously. He must be involved, somehow, in Morgana's plan to arrange an Irish alliance. If Banning were a guest in Lailoken's mind, he might be well placed to foil McEgan's schemes. Stirling couldn't bank on it, however. There was only one response possible. Ride after them and do whatever was necessary to stop McEgan from changing history.

It was a measure of how greatly he had changed, these past few days, that the thought of harming Morgana sickened him, and the desire to protect her, to protect Artorius, to keep these people from being destroyed by Saxons or Irish or even by one another, burned fiercely in his heart. He had found more to admire and respect in the sixth century than he had in the twenty-first, which he was sworn to protect. His duty was to king and country. The trouble was, he was no longer entirely sure which king commanded his loyalty.