Arthur, King. William Speir

King of Gwynedd in northern Wales and High King of Britain, raced back to his fortress at Carn Fadrun. Sweat glistened on his horse’s neck, and its breathing had become labored, but Vortigern pressed on as the sun rose over the hills to the east.

      He had seen the messenger leaving the fortress a few minutes earlier. He’ll have given the message to Rowenna. I can’t have her send it on to her father until I know what it is.

      He rode through the gates to the foot of the stone keep in the center. The fortress, originally built by the Roman Legions based in the northwest corner of Gwynedd, had been the home of one of the Roman governors of Britain. Now it served as Vortigern’s primary residence and the capital of Gwynedd.

      He ran up the stairs to the keep. “Rowenna!” he bellowed as he entered.

      “Here, my Lord,” she replied calmly as she appeared from behind him.

      “What did the messenger want?” Vortigern demanded.

      “There was a battle at Lapis Tituli in the south. Ambrosius raised the southern armies and slaughtered hundreds of my father’s men.”

      “Why didn’t he send for me to reinforce his position?” Vortigern demanded.

      “Unknown, my Lord,” Rowenna said smoothly, providing no indication that she had intercepted all of the messages sent from Ambrosius and his allies. “Perhaps he doesn’t feel that he needs your permission or your assistance to murder my people.”

      Vortigern glared at her. He normally found her beauty intoxicating, but he was too irritated by the news from Lapis Tituli to let himself get distracted. “What else did the messenger say?”

      “Only that a Council of Kings has been called for the first of May in Ergyng. The southern kings demanded the meeting.”

      “They summoned me to a Council meeting?” Vortigern asked darkly.

      Rowenna nodded. “As if they can summon their High King like you’d call for a servant. Have they no respect for your office?”

      “Apparently not,” he replied. “Anything else?”

      Rowenna shook her head. “Will you allow my father to attend the Council of Kings meetings?”

      Vortigern gaped at her. “Are you insane? If Hengist shows up at the Council meeting, the kings will either think that it’s the Night of the Long Knives all over again, or they’ll do to your father what he did to the British leaders after the Battle of Rithergabail ten years ago. There’s no way I can allow him to attend.”

      “He is the king of a British kingdom,” Rowenna noted.

      “Only because he calls himself a king,” Vortigern retorted. “He was never granted a kingdom in Britain. He was granted land to settle as payment for his help against the troublesome Irish, Picts, and Caledonians. That he now calls himself ‘king’ is one of the reasons so many of the true British kings don’t trust me any longer.”

      “And if you continue to dismiss his title, what do you think will happen the next time the Irish, Picts, or Caledonians invade your borders?” Rowenna asked. “He could just as easily withhold his support from you when you need it the most. Can you really afford for him to do that?”

      “Don’t threaten me, Rowenna!” Vortigern barked. “You may be Hengist’s daughter, but I’m your husband. Remember your place.”

      Rowenna lowered her eyes. “Of course, my Lord.”

      Vortigern strode down the hallway to his private chambers. Why did I ever marry her in the first place? It was madness! I was so captivated by her beauty that I’d have given my kingdom to possess her. And now look at what has happened. Vortimer and my other sons rebelled against me and took my kingdom from me. Cadeyrn was killed ten years ago by Hengist at Rithergabail, Vortimer was killed five years ago by Ambrosius at Wallop, and now my two youngest sons, Pascent and Faustus, are dead from some mysterious illness. I have no one to rule Gwynedd once I’m gone, and now the Council of Kings may strip me of the High Kingship of Britain.

      Vortigern looked at his war banner on the wall of his private chamber. The red dragon on a field of green hung limp on its pole – powerless in the low light of the dying fire. I’ll never give up the High Kingship willingly. Rowenna is pregnant. She’ll give me a son to be king after I’m gone. Her father will support me should the kings turn on me. Gwynedd is mine, and Britain is mine. They’ll never take either from me.

      Vortigern called a servant to build up the fire. As he stared at the flames spreading to the new wood, he remembered something he needed to do quickly. Until I know for certain that Rowenna is pregnant with a boy, I need to name my nephew, Ynyr, as Regent and my heir should something happen to me. Gwynedd needs a strong king if I’m no longer here.

      Uther stood next to Nudd-Lludd the next morning as the other kings were informed about the Battle at Lapis Tituli and the summoning of the Council of Kings. In spite of the quantity of ale consumed the night before, the news sobered them up immediately.

      “The first of May in Ergyng?” Gwrast of Rheged repeated. “It hardly seems worth the effort for the rest of you to return home and then set out again for southeastern Wales. Why don’t you all travel to Luguvalium with me? We can spend a few days hunting and then travel to Ergyng together.”

      Uther and Ceretic nodded immediately.

      Gwrast looked at Nudd-Lludd and Mor. “What say you two?”

      Nudd-Lludd smiled. “Count me in!”

      Mor looked at the others. “That’s a great idea. I just need to borrow a messenger to let my wife know what I’m doing and that I won’t be home for several weeks.”

      “Me, too,” Uther and Ceretic said in unison.

      “And I need to tell my wife that we’re coming,” Gwrast said.

      “I’ll make my messengers available to you, my friends,” Nudd-Lludd said pleasantly. “It’ll be good to travel together to the Council meeting.”

      Uther looked at the others. I wonder if we’ll be traveling together AFTER the Council meeting. Will we still be friends if the Council decides to depose Vortigern once and for all?

      Merlin stood at the top of the causeway as the messenger from Bryneich arrived. The messenger handed Merlin the dispatches from Uther and rode back toward the village below to rest his horse before returning to King Nudd-Lludd.

      Merlin read Uther’s letters twice before heading for the great house to inform Ygerna that the kings had been summoned to a Council meeting.

      “What is it, Merlin?” Ygerna asked when he entered the newly completed nursery.

      Merlin held up the dispatches. “Messages from Uther, my Lady. A Council of Kings has been summoned in Ergyng on the first of May. He and the other kings gathered at Bryneich are leaving from there and traveling together. They’re going to Rheged first, and then Ergyng. He expects to be home in late May.”

      Ygerna held out her hand. Merlin gave her the letters. “I see. Does my husband say anything about Nudd-Lludd’s baby?”

      Merlin smiled. “It was a boy, born two weeks after Easter. They named him Bedwyr, which is Welsh for Bedivere.”

      Ygerna glanced at Uther’s letters. “There was another battle in the south. Is that why the Council has been summoned? Are they going to elect a new High King and replace Vortigern?”

      “Uther wasn’t clear about that in the letters, my Lady, but that’s probably why the Council was summoned and what they’re meeting to discuss.”

      “Which of the kings do you think they’ll choose?” Ygerna asked.

      “Ambrosius,” Merlin replied. “Uther and the southern kings support him. I don’t know about the Welsh kings or the other northern kings.”