Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 31

while I was at it, for probably being the one to propose the marriage. I hated King Ban for endorsing the match, and Elaine too for going along with it, and I even hated Owain for smiling and shaking the future father and son in law's hands, and Lancelot for... well for being Lancelot.

All in all, I was doing a good job of hating the whole world in that moment in time.

The only problem was that I just could not seem to hate Agravaine, and the more I tried the more that I failed.

Firstly, Agravaine declined the place of honour on Pellinore's right hand side, to sit four seats down on his left, on my left! So that he could talk to me. This big huge warrior, heir to Goddodin, the future king of the Votadini of which I myself was descended and he insisted on sitting to my left!

Secondly, when all of the other men and women in the hall wanted to talk about Owain the Bear's genius or Lancelot the knight's valour, Agravaine just wanted to talk about me. He wanted to find out how I had defied the enemy at the mouth of the River Glein with only fifty men, of how I had sacked Angle forts in the north of Angleland. He wanted every detail of how I moved like a ghost through the night with such accuracy and how I had planted my wolf's head at the gate of Rendlaesham itself.

'I think you are an incredible warrior, Lord Culhwch.' He told me, honouring me with the title Lord, even though it was Owain who was the lord and myself a mere captain. 'The Bear has his army.' He told me. 'And the Snake.' He added darkly, referring to Lancelot, also hardening my attempt to despite him. 'Has his horses.' He spat, showing his disdain for any man who sort to face his enemy with anything but on his own two feet and a blade in his hands. 'But you,' He carried on, enthusiasm and admiration in his voice. 'You have few men, but on foot you go greater distances than Lancelot's horses, and fight harder fights than Owain's armies.'

I had noticed that the Votadini often used a man's insignia to describe each other in such a manner, and the bards in Elmet had done the same but the bards in Elmet had referred to us in the Latin translations, still very Roman in some of their ways such as those to the further west, but here in the very Celtic part of the British kingdoms, Latin rarely penetrated their language and Agravaine's naming of the Bear in Celtic, or Thursus was the first time I had heard Owain referred to conversationally in that manner. He had been cheered as such in Lindum, but now it was being used as if it was his name.

That night was incredibly difficult for me. I was a torrent of emotions as I tried to despise Agravaine even as I felt myself drawn in by his very likeable nature. All the while I felt intoxicated because, to her brother's right, sat Elaine. She was even more beautiful than I remembered, so tall and lithe. Her hair was a shocking red and seemed to demand your attention. Her head would grab my eyes, and then they would hungrily feed on the rest of her. The high, defined cheekbones. The wide smile hiding straight white teeth. The noble neckline that ran into where her chest pushed forwards against her dress.

I was flushed. I tried to tell myself it was just the heat of the hall, which was very warm considering the north of Goddodin seemed insanely cold and wet. My eyes stung but I told myself it was the smoke. My cheeks burned but I insisted to myself it was the alcohol but the truth was I was jealous. The worst of it was that Agravaine knew.

Many big men have tiny brains, just so that it seems many small men seem to be more intelligent. Merlin, a small man himself, insisted this was because big men thought only of their strength. The stronger they were the more men acted rather than thought. Merlin said this disdainfully, however despite Merlin's incredible wisdom, he was always touchy about his stature. As such I always tended to believe Owain's theory that big men simply do not need to think to get ahead in the world as much because they have the strength to outfight their enemies, whereas small men lack that strength and as such have to outthink them.

'So does that mean it's best to be big or small?' I had asked.

'I think,' Owain had replied after pausing for thought. 'That it is best to be in between.' Initially it had felt like he had avoided answering the question, but to fair, both Owain and I were that in between. We towered over a lot of the Celtic men but compared to our Votadini forbears we were both still shorter than their towering heights, and the northern Caledonians were said to be even taller still! However, we were both very clever, even if I did not realise my own intelligence at the time, and our cleverness had contributed to our victories more so than our size, but when it came down to it, we still needed our sword arms to win the eventual victory.

Agravaine was a very big man, and very strong but also very wise, and very insightful. He had seen my longing looks over at his betrothed and recognised the feeling behind it. Another man would have called for swords, but not Agravaine. Instead of being offended he instead tried to engage me with more in depth conversation, attempting to keep my attention away from the source of my heartache and onto what he assumed must surely have been a proud moment for me, the tale of how I had slipped so deep into Angleland with the wolf's head. I had already told that story of course, but now he pressed for more details and I reluctantly told the story of the old man. Agravaine recognised the guilty ache in my heart and laid one of his huge hands on my shoulder in empathic reassurance for which I was absurdly grateful.

I was bad company that night. Agravaine was no big drinker, and he slowly sipped on his wine. But I attempted to drown my sorrows, and when, far too early in the night I began to be sick, he hid me from view so that I would not look weak in front of the gathering. Agravaine found a back way to slip out with me, loudly complaining that it was he who needed some of the chill fresh air, and stood watching over me while I threw my guts up into the mud outside the hall.

Finally, when I had finished retching, we did not go back inside. Instead we took a walk out along the hill fort's wall. Below the hill there were hazes of smoke drifting up from the scatterings of the villages gathered, and more firelight from the halls atop the other hills surrounding this one.

We leaned over the top of the damp, wooden walls looking out into the darkness that enveloped the country, and despite feeling sickly still I felt a contentment that I had never really felt before, like I was somewhere that I was meant to be. Agravaine was quiet but comforting company beside me as I looked up at the stars, I knew so well, hidden behind a thin blanket of dark clouds.

'Agravaine,' I broke our silence, turning my head to look at the big giant.

'Yes?' He looked across at me.

'I...' I said, my voice trailing off. Finally I found my voice again, 'I really bloody hate Lancelot.'

Agravaine looked at me for a long moment. I am sure he was wondering if that was what I had initially been going to say. But then his broad black beard opened with a flash of white teeth shining in the darkness and a deep, booming laugh.

'I don't much like him either.' He admitted with a rueful grin. 'But you're all right, lad. You're all right.'