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the hurt, to mother him. But it was impossible. He was only four years younger than I and difficult to mother. As Cei had said, he was too courteous. I must watch him suffer the enmity his brother had raised against him, and say nothing.
    And it is only enmity to him, now , something in the back of my mind added. Someday it will be enmity to me and even to Arthur. Medraut will turn the fortress against us. And soon, it will be soon.
    I looked at my husband, who was waiting for me to give an account of the quarrel. Already it hurt him as much as it hurt Gwalchmai, for he loved the Family even more than he loved his Empire, if such a thing were possible, and the division in it was a constant torment to him.
    “Cei overheard a comment Rhuawn made to one of his friends,” I told Arthur, “and he called Rhuawn a fool because of it. Rhuawn returned the insult. But there were no swords drawn and no blows given, and they have agreed to be reconciled.”
    Arthur nodded, but his eyes were cold and bitter. “What was the comment?”
    I hesitated, looking at Gwalchmai.
    “We will agree that I am not here,” Gwalchmai said, giving an ironic half smile. “I never heard the comment and need fight no one because of it.”
    I hesitated again—but, after all, it did concern the very problem we had come together to discuss. “He accused you of deliberately obstructing the negotiations with Less Britain. I am sorry.”
    Gwalchmai shook his head. He touched the hilt of his sword briefly, for reassurance rather than in anger, then locked his hands together on his knees, staring once more into the fire. He felt responsible for the quarrels and had once asked Arthur to send him away from the Family to avoid them. Arthur had refused.
    “There is nothing more we can do to disprove that,” Arthur said, looking at his warrior. “We are already sending you back to Less Britain. No one can say that I mistrust you.” Gwalchmai nodded, looking no happier.
    “And the accusation will be the more firmly refuted if we can achieve a settlement with Macsen. So, to the matter at hand.” He fixed his eyes on Gwalchmai until the warrior looked up, smiled ruefully, and bowed his head in agreement. “Tell us again what Macsen claims.”
    Macsen was the king of Less Britain, in Gaul. His kingdom was originally colonized from Britain and was closely bound to it, subject to the same laws and enjoying the same privileges. While Macsen’s younger brother Bran was king, all had been peaceful, for Bran was Arthur’s ally, joining with him against most of the kings of Britain when Arthur first claimed the purple. But Bran and his brother Macsen had long been rivals, and had nearly come to armed conflict when their father died. Only Bran’s alliance with Arthur and Arthur’s power had prevented that war, and won Bran the election to the kingship which Macsen thought ought to be his. Now Bran was dead, killed in a border skirmish with the Franks the previous autumn, and Macsen had been chosen king in his place by the royal clan of Less Britain. He was understandably hostile to Arthur, and the whole web of law and custom that bound Britain and Less Britain together was all under challenge.
    We had sent Gwalchmai as an emissary to Macsen as soon as the weather permitted the voyage, and he had listened to Macsen’s claims and justifications for two weeks before sailing back to consult us on the responses we were willing to make. Gwalchmai was invaluable as an emissary: he was of royal birth, and so must be received honorably anywhere; he had been brought up at a scheming court and could find his way through any maze of political intrigue without difficulty; he was literate and could speak good Latin, as well as British, Irish, and Saxon, and he was an eloquent advocate in all four languages. None of this had been of any use with Macsen, and I could not help suspecting, as we again plodded over Macsen’s claims and our possible responses, that on this mission