Queen of the Summer Stars by Persia Woolley Page B

myself.

Chapter VI
     
    The Invitation
     
    And, of course, Geraint.”
    Arthur was studying a map he’d unrolled on the long table as he ticked off the various leaders we’d be stopping to see along the way to Cornwall. Like most monarchs, he found it easier to check on the state of the crops, people, and warriors by visiting the client kings rather than relying on reports. Now he motioned me over.
    “You’ve never been to the south, have you?” When I shook my head he grinned. “Give you a chance to see what the rest of Logres is like—and Devon and Cornwall as well. Here’s Mark’s country down here, in the west. And over here”—he swept his hand to the southeastern corner of the map—“is the Saxon Shore. Kent—the land Vortigern gave to Hengist as the bride price for Rowena. And Sussex, where Aelle calls himself King. Both of them ruled by Saxon chieftains. But between Cornwall and Sussex there’s everything from faded Roman glory to refurbished hill-forts, and a lot of Federate steadings as well. It’s the Federates I’d like to reach.”
    “Why?” I peered at the area where the settlements showed a heavy sprinkling of Saxon names. “They’re no better than Vortigern’s mercenaries. The only difference is that they were brought in by the Legions instead of the tyrant.”
    “But it’s a difference that counts. Some of those Federates have been here for generations, swearing fealty to British kings all the while. Most have no truck with the raiders who plunder and sneak away. They could hold the key to keeping the invaders out, if I can just make sure who among them is loyal—”
    “Ummm,” I responded uncertainly. Every British child knows the story of how the Saxons rebelled against Vortigern—and when the Saxons sued for peace, the Britons came unarmed to the Truce Feast, believing they dealt with honorable men. Until Hengist gave the signal, filling the Hall with wild, curdling screams as hidden daggers glinted in the torchlight and plunged into the heart of Britain. Murdered—all our statesmen murdered—each by a Saxon tablemate.
    Later Merlin repaired the fallen lintels of Stonehenge, making it a memorial to the slaughtered Celts, but that didn’t bring back our leaders, and the murderous Saxons ended up with their own kingdoms. I didn’t think of that story when I was dealing with Frieda, in spite of her Saxon background—but I couldn’t forget it when thinking of those people as a whole.
    ***
     
    Several days later the dairymaid appeared in our doorway, her face contorted with a sob. Alarmed, I jumped to my feet and rushed to her side.
    “My grandfather’s been crushed under a wagon,” she explained as I led her into the room. “I know we’re packing for Cornwall, M’lady, but I’d like to go home for the funeral.”
    “Of course,” I assured her. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
    She hesitated, then looked from me to Arthur. “Grandpapa was an ealderman—and there’s many a Saxon leader who will pay his respects at the funeral pyre. My family would be honored if you would come as well. I’ll vouch for your safety,” she added, fingering the bone handle of the knife tucked into her belt.
    Arthur and I exchanged glances. I knew he was seeing a chance to advance the Cause among the Federates, but I just saw a chance for betrayal. His dream overweighed my caution, however, and we agreed to leave for the Saxon funeral the next morning. But after Frieda left the room, Arthur suggested I should stay in Silchester.
    “And sit here patching your breeches while you go off on all the adventures?” I joked, not believing he was serious. So far, in everything but war, we’d worked together side by side and I saw no reason to think that would change. “Besides, I’m better at the language than you are. You’ll need me to translate.”
    Arthur was on his feet, making a slow turn around the room, and he came to a stop at the end of the table.
    “Well, I’m