“I would guess hemlock poisoning,” you said seriously, “if I did not think better of my brother’s servants.”
Goewin said in disgust, “Who would do such a thing? He must have a fever.” She pushed past you toward Lleu’s bedroom, but I did not follow immediately. I asked you quietly, in the old routine, “What kind of fever makes one shiver?”
“You need not be afraid,” you said. “I think he will recover by morning.”
Lleu lay in bed, asleep. Goewin was drawing the tapestries across the windows when I came in, and Artos was lighting the brazier. I knelt by the bed and shook Lleu’s shoulder, saying lightly, “What makes you so tired, little one?” He pushed my hand away halfheartedly and murmured a few unintelligible syllables, but he could not be roused enough to sit up or to say anything coherent. Nevertheless his breath was even, and he was not so very cold after all. Artos came to stand by my side; he asked quietly, “What is it?”
“Nothing, sir,” I answered. Hemlock? Perhaps a thimbleful out of a poisoned cup, but not enough to harm him. It could have been accidental.
Then why should you think to suggest it?
I finished, “Nothing, except that he seems unusually tired. I think it will pass by morning.”
“He’s had no trouble breathing this year,” Artos said, “and he is much stronger than he used to be. Medraut, your skill as a physician is equal to Aquila’s; you’re certain there’s nothing the matter?”
“Nothing sleep won’t cure. Truly, my lord,” I answered.
We left it at that. During the next week the harvest began, and on days when I could help there I ate my meals in the open with the field-workers. Then I would return after dark, sunburned and exhausted, to fall into bed without speaking to anyone. Now even the mines frustrated me, for the shaft we were tunneling kept running into solid bedrock; we were unable to approach the vein of malachite that we felt sure was just beyond our reach. At the end of the week I sat at my desk, trying to draw up a plan for working around the bedrock, and I was too tired and too absorbed in my work to look up when Lleu came in.
“What’s wrong with me?” he demanded. “You know. I’m sure you know. Are you drugging me?”
“No!” I turned my head sharply, facing him. I said in anger, “I swore to you! And why should I?”
“You don’t dare lie to me,” Lleu said fiercely.
“I’ll dare anything,” I told him, hearing my voice as quiet and deadly as I have ever heard yours. “But I don’t lie.”
We glared at one another in tense silence for a few moments. Then I sighed gently and propped my head ag [ed ter?inst my hand, leaning on the desk and looking at him. “Am I to understand that you are still so tired?” I asked.
“Ever since the night after our game,” he said. “Medraut, I’m sorry; but you know more about medicines and herbs than anyone else here.”
Not so.
But he did not know of your skill, then, and I could scarcely believe you would risk your brother’s wrath with such glaring treachery in his own house. I looked down at the dolphins of tile forever chasing one another across the sea-gray floor. “I have been working in the mines and in the fields every day this past fortnight,” I said. “When would I find time to poison you? Why would I? God!”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated softly, and almost on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry. But I’m afraid, Medraut! What is happening?”
“I can’t say,” I said slowly. “Is there anything besides the weariness?”
“Not really. But I just fall asleep! I’m not ill; it’s like being drugged, it’s like drinking poppy, or too much wine.”
“Do you feel it now?”
“No,” he admitted. “It comes and goes.”
“Does anyone else know?” I asked.
“Only if they’ve noticed. I haven’t told anyone but Goewin. Medraut, you have to do something; you can’t just let me be mysteriously poisoned!”
“You do not know that it is poison,” I said wearily, “and it may change. But I’ll watch you. If you sense it starting again, come to me at once, or else send Goewin.”
So he left, reassured. I thought of the things you had said that first night, and wondered, and wondered.
Goewin came for me just before dark, and early as it was I was already asleep. She shook my shoulder a little; though she rarely touched me at such times, for I slept naked beneath my blankets, and my nightmares disturbed her. And indeed, I was dreaming. Instead of waking, I snarled, “No!” and struck her full across the face.
She stood staring, not really hurt, but too astonished to speak. I sat upright in silence, tranced. “Sir?” she said tentatively, while I stared back at her without seeing her. “Medraut!”
“Princess?” I murmured finally, at last realizing where I was and what I had done. “Goewin?” We gaped at each other. “Forgive me. I—” I swallowed, shivering. “It was a dream, my lady. What do you want?”
She looked at me long and hard. At last she said slowly, “Something is wrong with Lleu. It’s more than weariness; his wrists are chill as ice.”
I listened with a still face, then swung out of bed and drew on a loose robe. I lit a candle and quietly searched my shelves for the vials I thought I would need. “Do you know what it is?” Goewin asked.
“I’m not sure,” I said. “But if it is poison, it will be hemlock.”
She pressed her lips together. “Can you help?”