“And your honour, Anselm?” I noted the absence of any courtesy title. “What about your honour?” I took a breath.
“Why, my honour I owe to you, my Lord, and that is what I am here to pay.” This was a dangerous answer, verging on the impudent, and risked offence to a newly-crowned young king - but I was prepared to take the risk. Owain regarded me thoughtfully for a moment, then his features softened into a smile that took five years off his face.
“An audacious answer, Magister, and a brave one. I shall not have your head today - unlike this fellow.” He reached beneath his chair and pulled a severed human head up and thumped it on the table. The bloodstained object had plaited hair, a heavy moustache and beard. A roar of approval went up from the hall and the top table laughed. We tried to discourage headhunting but the pagans placed great store in its powers, especially those vested in the head of an enemy. Where had the belief come from? An older and darker time, probably. How did I know all this? I had been one of them, of course; I was a trained Druid in my own right. I knew as much about it as most time-served priests of that order.
“Come and sit beside me at my table and pay for your cheek by filling in the gaps of my knowledge of you. You know, of course, that we have something in common?”
“What is that, sir?”
“I hear you are a kin-slayer.” I stiffened. “I’ve slain your kin as well. More recently than you, I think.” A quiet guffaw slipped around the spectators. “Actually, I – we – thought you were dead. Long since.” He paused and rubbed his temple, as if he was suffering from a sudden pain. After a moment he brightened and smiled broadly again. “Come and sit by me: we can talk of what it is that makes the Scots so ripe for slaughter and maybe other things too, if I get bored. Make room for the Magister, there,” he said to the company at table. “Have you no respect for our courteous guest?”
I bowed in thanks but asked to be excused, as I was soaked from the journey. I also asked if there might be a dry robe about the place, that I might use until my own had dried. Owain immediately agreed and ordered a slave to get me something, and to show me to a washing-chamber. He ordered me to return quickly, saying that we had much to discuss.
I was back shortly, my skin glowing from the vigorous drying I had given it with a rough towel. A few minutes ago I had felt that I would never get the wind-blown Strathclyde damp out of my bones; now, I was already beginning to feel quite warm, in my borrowed dry robe.
At their King’s command the people to the left of him shuffled away along their bench and made room for me. I took the place between the young man and a woman of even fewer years. I glanced at her as I sat and took in an open face that regarded me sidelong, and with what may have been amusement. I still had a risky course to steer and a clever and unusually knowledgeable young king to negotiate. And there were some mysteries about him, as well. I had no idea how he knew anything of my history, for example.
His own story had some blanks that needed to be filled in, too. The British Kingdom of Strathclyde stretched from north of Loch Lomond, through Dumbarton where the kings had their court, through Rheged and on, beyond the River Lune. Further south, the western part of what had once been the Kingdom of Elmet was subject to it and even the principality of Gwynedd now paid tribute; its former alliance with Mercia was in ruins after the Battle of Winwaed, nearly ten years ago. In the 664th year of Our Lord, Strathclyde extended to what was a huge area, hilly and difficult to patrol - impossible in bad weather. Under the inefficient or irresolute rule of previous incumbents the kingdom had been attacked and for a while split into pieces: from east and south by land-hungry English and Saxons, along with British refugees moving ahead of them; and from the north-west by the ambitious Scottish kingdom of Dalriada, with its capital at Dunadd. It had its internal problems as well, with independent-minded warlords and petty-princelings.
From their mid-teens, with the death of their cousin the King’s son and primary heir, Owain and his brother Gawain had fought in the ranks and then led the armies and patrols in a decade-long campaign to repel the invaders, recapture their land, settle borders and subdue internal threats.
They had achieved spectacular success: their Kingdom was bigger than ever. Strathclyde was easily the most powerful of the remaining British realms and the only force in any way able to match the power of Oswy’s great Northumbria.
The brothers had gained respect for their ability both as fighters and as intelligent leaders. They had spent time as boys at the Christian monastic college at Whithorn, although they were not Christians themselves – or if they were, it was a well-kept secret. The kingdom remained Druidic.
They could read and write and I learned that they had developed an intelligence network based on clerks and druids throughout the Kingdom. By this means they could receive information of both mundane and sensitive matters quickly, accurately and secretly; in a dark age of ignorance, an illiterate messenger could be tortured to death by an enemy and still be unable to betray any of the secrets that he carried in coded script. With knowledge gained through this network they could take action before a local Thane became too ambitious for his good. They were known to appear at the earliest stages of plotting and gathering in some remote area of their kingdom - usually with a large and well-armed train in their wake. Staying and demanding food and hospitality from their unfortunate host tended to be enough to drain any war-chest and rebel enthusiasm, alike. Their timing was so uncannily good that they were gaining the reputation of being magicians themselves - although the less credulous would sensibly ascribe powers of divination to its more likely source: their Druid. His reputation waxed as well, on the back of their astute intelligence.