The Bloody Cup Read Online Free Page A

favour of the king.
    ‘You have been to Aquae Sulis?’ Artor asked, his eyes flickering with sudden pleasure and his body leaning forward impulsively.
    Wenhaver gaped at her husband’s sudden animation. He obvi - ously cared for these outlandish twins. He usually tired of visitors quickly.
    ‘Many times, my lord. We have seen Gallia’s Garden and the urn containing her ashes, and we have heard the legend of the wise healer, Frith. Local folk regularly visit the shrine, although few seem to know the history of Gallia. She died before Mother was born.’ Balyn smiled as he realized he had Artor’s full attention, even if his information was inaccurate.
    ‘All the better,’ Artor’s inner voice whispered. ‘What they don’t know can’t hurt them.’
    ‘We’ve also said a prayer for Lord Targo, sword master of renown.’ Balyn spoke quickly, as was his custom. ‘And Grandfather Ector, of course.’
    Artor wasn’t disposed to like the boy, but he couldn’t disguise the affection for Ector that infused his voice.
    ‘Lord Ector was my foster-father and a man who was decent through to his bones. His dearest wish was to be buried in Gallia’s Garden so that visitors could sit awhile over his resting place and ponder the natural beauty around them. He often expressed the desire to hear laughter and the soft music of the earth as he slept in death.’
    ‘A pretty conceit,’ Wenhaver murmured in a voice just loud enough for her husband to hear. Artor gritted his teeth and continued.
    ‘Gallia was a Roman woman of little worldly account, lad, and she died long before her time. She was not yet twenty when she perished. I knew both Gallia and Frith well, so I can swear they were two of the finest women who ever drew breath in Aquae Sulis. They always had my undying respect, and their garden is maintained at my expense and by my direct orders.’
    Wenhaver yawned delicately, but pointedly.
    ‘But I fear we are boring the queen, who has little tolerance for tales of the past. She will be cross if we discuss paragons whom she has never met or understood.’
    Like an indulgent uncle, Artor gazed down at the two young men who stood so upright and proud like two fine hounds bred for battle and the hunt.
    ‘Gareth, my strong right arm, personally laid the garden during his youth. His brother and his nephews now tend it for me.’
    Balyn frowned. He had no idea what lay behind this oblique conversation, but he was determined to discuss its issues with the king’s ‘strong right arm’ in the near future.
    Balan smiled easily, for he loved listening to tales of the past and was entirely wrapped up in Llanwith’s scrolls, just as Artor had been when the Villa Poppinidii had been his home. But, unlike his brother, who always accepted circumstances at face value, Balan was wary of the waves of dislike that appeared to exist between the High King and his glittering queen. He promised himself he would think about the implications of the conundrum when he had more time.
    The weak afternoon light warned the king that night would soon be upon them, so he accepted the twins’ oaths of loyalty and offered them places in his militia where they could begin to prove their worth. Both young warriors greeted his decision with unconcealed happiness and Artor was reminded that they were still very young.
    I shall avoid prejudgement, he told himself sternly, remembering a younger self, faced with the ill will of his own father.
    As the twins bowed to take leave of their king, Balan stopped their hasty, excited retreat by gripping his brother’s arm.
    ‘Our thanks, my lord,’ a confused Balyn muttered, but Balan nudged him.
    ‘Tell them about the other visitors!’ he hissed.
    ‘Your pardon, Majesty, but the excitement of finally meeting you has driven all rational thought from my head,’ Balyn explained. ‘You are about to receive other noble visitors and kinsmen. We promised to serve as their envoys.’
    Artor raised one mobile