M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon by M. K. Hume Page B

neither was my father, and we stayed in the mountains to preserve our lives from King Mark’s depredations. Our ruler trusted no one, especially kinsmen. I cannot speak of the dreadful days that will live on in Deceangli memory for as long as we have hearts to feel shame, for I was not there. Therefore, I wish to call upon Gerallt ap Cadwy, a nobleman who was forced to comply with his king’s demands. Let no sword be raised against Gerallt, for he has served his people well, regardless of the shame that racks him for the crimes carried out against the High King.’
    ‘We will not harbour any animosity towards Gerallt ap Cadwy if he speaks out boldly and honestly,’ Bran answered in his measured voice. Few men would readily walk into that small, circular space and be unaffected by the weight of all those judging eyes as they assessed him and determined his worth. Gerallt ap Cadwy stood slowly, bowed his shoulders a little under the scrutiny of so many accusing eyes, and then straightened his spine and strode forward to face his peers with a clear, untroubled face.
    Gerallt was neither tall nor imposing in build, but his thick neck and heavily muscled torso spoke of years spent training with the sword or riding for many weary miles across dangerous terrain. He was forty if he was a day, but time had done little more than edge his black hair with a rime of white around the hairline and add a few more creases at the corners of his pale blue eyes. When he spoke, his voice had the smooth tones of a naturally charismatic man who was an inspired speaker.
    ‘Gerallt ap Cadwy,’ Bran repeated. ‘Do not fear to speak, for it is the mark of a savage to harm the messenger who brings unwanted news.’
    Gerallt bowed neatly, and then turned to the assembled kings and their retinues. Wisely, he ignored the resentment and red fury that lingered in the eyes of those warriors who still hated any man with Deceangli blood.
    ‘I was born and bred in Deceangli lands, in Segontium that is now called Caer Narfon on the Menai Straits. The airs are strong there, and a man’s word is weighed against the bite of the wind. We who were born a few miles from the beaches of Mona Island feel the weight of the gods pressing close to us, so we can distinguish right from wrong faster than those who live in softer climes.’
    The crowd shifted restlessly and more than one king scowled with impatience.
    ‘I tell you this detail so that you will know that I speak the truth, even though I besmirch my honour in the telling of it. No man willingly makes himself appear less than he is, unless the gods impel him to speak.’
    ‘Get on with it then,’ Gawayne ordered, then sneezed with a huge spray of expelled air. The kings around him cringed, but Gawayne grinned wickedly. ‘When you’re as old as I am, there’s nothing like a good sneeze. It’s almost as good as sex,’ he said to no one in particular. His daughters blushed.
    ‘As you command, my lord, so I obey. I accompanied my king to Cadbury and we saw the great Artor in his hall. I heard my king attack his liege lord over the actions of the spymaster, Trystan, whom King Mark held accountable for the seduction of his wife, the Lady Iseult. King Mark became furious and threatened the High King when Artor refused to punish Trystan for what he deemed to be a family matter. I became concerned for my own safety and that of my companions, especially when an attempt was made on King Artor’s life soon afterwards.’
    ‘Do you know anything about that assassination attempt? Anything at all? Do not fear to speak, for I have already granted you immunity.’
    Gerallt stared down at the filthy figure of his late master with a combination of pity and disgust clearly evident in his eyes. Mark felt the young man’s gaze and stared up at his erstwhile vassal. The king’s face was blank and uncomprehending, as if his senses had been driven out of his addled head, but Gerallt caught a flash of something crafty,