Able Was I

Chapter 11 of "A Sword for Wellington", Book Three of The Môrdreigiau Chronicles

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The story began in A Grail for Eidothea and continued with A River Trembles. Now the Chosen Court seeks another Arthurian treasure. New here? Save this post and have a binge read. You deserve it.

Llyr and Eidothea took a test run to see if Eidothea’s ability to travel inland (which dreigiau môr cannot do without fainting) has transferred to members of her court. It has. They began their travels to Craiglyn House.

When we were last with Hugh and Gwenddydd, Lady Meredith arrived at Craiglyn House and planned to mould Gwenddydd into the perfect gentlewoman. They learn that only Gwenddydd can safely handle Arthur’s sword. Gwenddydd and Sir Hugh pursued their attraction for each other.

10^th March, 1815, Craiglyn House

After the evening meal, Hugh, Gwen, and his aunt retired to the blue sitting room. Hugh thought about retreating to the office to handle some of the estate paperwork, rather than listen in on another of his aunt’s lessons, but Gwen asked a question. “Lady Meredith, do you have magic?”

That made him stay.

His aunt chuckled, a quiet and polite sound. “Lord, no. We sing our chants and say our prayers to the Lady at the stone circle but magic? No, not like that necklace of yours, my dear. I do have some skill at palmistry.”

Hugh startled. "You tell futures?"

Her shoulders lifted in an almost imperceptible shrug. "Give me your hand."

He sat next to her on the blue brocade sofa. He extended his hand. She turned it over, palm facing upwards. From her chair, Gwen leaned forward. Her obvious curiosity distracted him.

His aunt smiled at him. "I suspect, having known you since you were a lad, I will be quite accurate with your past, if not your future."

She removed his glove and traced the lines on his palm. Her fingertips felt like melting ice. "You have recently been in war and you served a great man."

Why did she state what they already both knew? He waited, patience washing over him. If this amused her, he would allow it pleasantly passed the time.

Her fingertip rested at the base of his thumb. She sucked in her breath and he glanced up. His aunt’s face drained of all colour. To his horror, only the whites of her eyes showed.

"What is it?" asked Gwen, drawing closer. She knelt at the older woman’s feet, not daring to touch, her face filled with awe.

The old woman's body shuddered and she clutched his hand tight in both of hers, her elbows locked. "No," she breathed. "No, it cannot be."

“Aunt?” Hugh tried to pry his hand free. Her nails dug into his skin. Her glacial hands threatened to freeze his soul.

"It is close," Lady Meredith moaned. "Far too close."

Gwen grabbed Hugh’s knee, her grip almost as tight as his aunt’s upon his hand. “What do you see?” Her voice quaked. He covered her hand with his, hoping to comfort her.

His aunt sagged against the sofa, releasing Hugh from her inhuman grasp. Gwen set to rubbing the warmth back into the older woman's hands.

His aunt raised her head and stared at Sir Hugh. "I have known you all my life," she said, her voice hoarse. "It is not right that—” She halted.

"What happened?" he asked.

In a voice filled with wonder, she replied, "I have seen your future." She took a shaky breath. "I never knew it was possible for me." She stared at him, every wrinkle a sketch of sadness.

"What did you see?"

She considered him for a long moment. "Sometimes," she said, "it is better not to know."

His gaze slid away first. If true, the future held no joy for him. The older woman swayed in her seat.

"What happened?" Gwen asked.

"My gift... it is awakening..." Lady Meredith wrapped her arms about herself, rocking back and forth.

Had his aunt gone quite mad?

She pinned him with a stare. "I will tell you this, Sir Hugh, in the hope that you may act and save yourself from your untimely fate, although I doubt it much. Napoleon has escaped."

The words hit him like a hammer blow. Untimely fate? Napoleon escaped? His shock faded, leaving behind pity for the older woman. “Aunt, you must rest," Hugh urged. "You do not know what you are saying."

"He has left Elba," the old woman said, each syllable ringing with absolute clarity. "He is on a ship and will retake France."

"That's impossible. He is too well guarded." He reached across and touched her forehead. "You have a fever," he told her, his breath escaping in relief. She hadn't gone mad after all. "Perhaps you should retire early tonight.”

"While Rome burns." She croaked a skeleton of a laugh. She rose, waving off Gwen’s offer of assistance, and quit the room.

Hugh rubbed his forehead with his fingertips. The whole scene felt unreal, making him doubt he'd experienced it in the first place. His aunt’s fever was reason enough to discount her words and yet they bothered him.

He rubbed his hand. Turning it over, he saw the dark red crescent marks left by her fingernails. He pulled on his glove, concealing the last vestiges of his uneasiness.

12^th March, 1815, Craiglyn House

The news came with the morning papers. Whispers spread through the house’s staff before it reached the breakfast room.

Gwenddydd came in to the breakfast room, having changed into fresh clothing after her morning sword practice with Hugh. Lady Meredith stared at her plate, not seeming to notice her arrival. Gwenddydd shrugged and helped herself to a plateful of ham, eggs and toast from the sideboard. She sat, allowing a maid to pour her a fresh cup of tea.

She glanced up, expecting Lady Meredith to upbraid her for the amount of food on her plate.

Instead, Lady Meredith picked up the trifolded newspaper, frowning at it.

Hugh entered, his dark hair freshly pomaded. He still used his walking stick, but it seemed in the weeks that they practiced together, he relied upon the cane less and less.

“Aunt, you look pale.” Hugh sat at the table, his plate as full as Gwenddydd’s.

“Do I?” Lady Meredith sighed. “Well, and with good reason.” She handed the newspaper to her nephew.

He stared at the paper. He cursed, which her magical necklace translated for her. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“Boney’s escaped.”

“I was right. My gift has awakened.” Lady Meredith kept her gaze upon her plate. "All these years, I have been wondering if my only gifts were my intellect and my understanding of the Lady's ways, but now she has revealed to me..." She shuddered.

“Wellington’s adversary?” Gwenddydd’s back straightened. Had she not come too late after all? “He will need the sword.”

The two of them stared at her.

“We cannot march up to Wellington and say 'Here is King Arthur's sword. Take it.'," Lady Meredith said. "No, my dear, we need to be very discreet. One hint that we're on a mission from the Lady and we'll never get close to him at all! England is a Christian nation. Diplomacy is key."

"Diplomacy?" Gwenddydd listened to Lady Meredith’s explanation of the concept. Olwen would know how to be diplomatic. Gwenddydd knew only blunt honesty. She squeezed her eyes shut. Why had the Goddess chosen her for this task? How could the Goddess have been so cruel as to doom this vital mission to failure?

She leaned forward. “Last week, what did you see? What did She reveal?"

Lady Meredith glanced at Hugh and shook her head. “You will not believe it when I say it now. Death. A lot of death. She showed me many things. Napoleon escaping; France rising to his call; and death. Whole fields filled with smoke and dying men. Blood and mud everywhere." Lady Meredith shivered.

“Did you see anything else?” Gwenddydd urged.

"I saw Napoleon slay Wellington."

Gwenddydd leaned against her dining chair’s hard leather seat, trying hard to catch her breath, staring wide-eyed at Hugh. "The Goddess would not be so cruel," she breathed.

"Many Englishmen will fall. No family will be spared."

Gwenddydd and Hugh exchanged a chilled look. “Impossible,” muttered Hugh. “Neither of them would be in the forefront of the fighting.”

Gwenddydd shook her head. "I have seen priestesses after they have foretold the future. Such a gift takes its toll. She speaks the truth. Can Arthur’s sword change the predicted future?”

“Yes.” Lady Meredith struggled to focus upon her. "We still have time. The sword will change Wellington's fate and the fate of the world. It has to.”

"And Sir Hugh?" Gwenddydd nearly didn’t ask. If Wellington died, would this country’s borders fall also? Would he die here, defending his land? If so, she’d be at his side.

"I am so tired," complained Lady Meredith, wiping her cheeks, wet with silent tears. "I saw many men fall. I cannot say for certain if he is one of them."

Gwenddydd turned to gaze out at the carefree sunlit morning, unable to meet Hugh’s gaze. Lady Meredith could not, or would not, say if Hugh would live. She had to get the sword to Wellington before the world fell around her ears.

She closed her eyes, the image leaping into her mind of an aging king, arms still sinewy and strong, riding out to face the latest wave of the Saxon horde, never to return. She had been a little girl then. Much of the memory had been augmented by tales told of Arthur around the fire.

He had left the sword behind, or it had been somehow retrieved—none of the stories were consistent about that, and the priestesses refused to say how it had been returned to them. Never one of the Chosen, she had accepted these Mysteries.

Now, for the first time, she felt the urge to challenge them. The Mysteries hadn't saved Olwen, hadn't protected the circle, and had failed Arthur. Even if she succeeded in her quest, would the Goddess grant Wellington a victory?

Hugh rose, breaking her reverie. “Start packing, aunt. I will head to the port and see if there is any news as to where Napoleon will be confronted, and book us passage. We must be ready to leave at a moment’s notice. First, I must write to London. I’ve a friend who’s an aide for Lord Castlereagh. And maybe to Somerset? He’s serving Wellington in Vienna, but that will take weeks to hear back…”

He departed, still thinking aloud. Gwenddydd gazed after him, wondering if he truly believed his aunt, or if he’d chosen to deny his fate.

“This has revitalised him,” Lady Meredith mused. “I had expected he would push back against this notion of giving the sword to Wellington, but perhaps it’s the idea of working for the duke again that excites him?” She gave herself a little shake. “Come along, Gwenneth, we must get ready to leave.”

Hugh didn’t return until the middle of the afternoon. In the midst of overseeing the small trunk his valet packed for him, he looked up to find Gwen standing in the doorway. “All packed?” he asked. “The port was in an uproar but no definitive news.”

She entered his bedchamber, sitting on the edge of the bed.

Hugh coloured, clearing his throat. “You realise it is not proper for a young lady to enter a gentleman’s bedroom?”

She shrugged. “What is he like? Wellington?”

She had not come to seduce him then. Why had he half-hoped for that? “Ah, Wellington. Everyone's hero." His mouth twisted and he fought to transform it into something approaching a pleasant smile. "It was a great honour to be of service to him and I hope to do so again.”

That caught her attention. “The sword isn’t the reason you’re going with us?”

“A male chaperone is appropriate when women travel. The sword is your mission, not mine. Wellington possessing it won’t make everything magically right. There will be another campaign to defeat Bonaparte.”

“Will you fight for him?”

“If he asks it. I cannot be his aide again and run messages during battle. That near killed me on the Peninsula and I’m not in the best of shape. But I can be his secretary, anything he asks," Hugh replied with uncharacteristic honesty. He would do anything for the Man, and Wellington knew it.

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