Winter's Blossom: The Seasons of Arthur

Chapter 45

I have seen Owain stand firm on a hundred battlefields in my lifetime, and never have I seen him look as scared as I did the morning of his wedding. He looked absolutely terrified. Wide eyes in a pale face. His hands were trembling and twice he vomited while, like the loyal friend that I was, simply laughed at him and mocked him for his fear.

In fairness, it was not all terror. Owain was also feeling the effects of the night before. I had ambushed him with a handful of men and hauled him away to Julia's brothel. It had been packed out with close companions, family and captains. I had even invited Lancelot, but the most shocking arrival into the city and for the last night of his betrothal was the rest of our family.

The preparation for the wedding had been a weird mix of hurry up and wait. Ambrosius, no doubt with his impending demise in mind, had organised the nuptials with an immediate efficiency, but had then waited two months for messages to reach the kings and nobles the length of Britain and give them time to witness the official acknowledgement of Owain as his heir and their future liege.

Enniaun Girt had arrived with his household only the afternoon the day before the wedding, so late that I was not unconvinced that he had hoped to miss it by accident. Instead of being spared witnessing his son's wedding and official move to a station above him, that evening he instead sat glowering in the corner of the smoky tavern. The building was loud and bustling, with pretty girls everywhere in various states of undress. The men cheered them as they flashed their smiles and ss their skirts at us and promised them the world for a kiss or more and yet nothing could come close to moving the scowl upon his face. People felt uncomfortable by his dark and brooding presence. He was a famous man in these parts too, indeed he was hero worshipped by many of the men in the room and he sent them scurrying away from him to sit alone watching his son with cold eyes.

Enniaun Girt looked like he had barely changed over the years. He was a little greyer, so that iron rather than snow touched his beard and the hair. He also seemed to have lost a bit of weight, which made him appear gaunt. I thought of how Owain had looked besides Ambrosius, like a king in waiting but Enniaun looked like a warrior king of old already, with his gaze as sharp as sword.

Mark was there too, leaning in to whisper in his father's ear. He looked no different either. He was taller perhaps, and though he had filled out a little he was still very thin. His brown hair was long and greasy, and his pallor pale and he wore a permanent sneer with ferrety eyes that had grown cold and watchful. He hovered over his father, waiting upon him, ordering a refill for him though I noted that for every slow cup my uncle drank, Mark drank three of four and the sheen of sweat was on his face and his comments became less discreet.

He had tried to mock both Owain and I earlier on in the night, as if our spreading fame as warriors could only mean we were of a lesser intellect than he was. He quickly retracted his comment though at a curt word from his father, also a famous warrior, and tried to justify his comment and praise his father's other attributes. Enniaun had grunted, never a man for flatterers and Mark had said little more.

I could see Mark was deep in his cups for he had abandoned his father, presumably going to relieve himself outside but not returning to him as he came back inside. I felt my irritation rise as I saw he was talking to Julia, who was flattering him lightly while doing her trick of leaning back against one of the beams, a slight arch in her back that drew attention to her cleavage, but it drew more than just his attention as he reached forwards and seized one of her breasts in a grip that obviously hurt as she cried out in surprise and tried to pull away from him.

I crossed the space between us in half a dozen strides and, a hand firmly on Mark's shoulder, forced him back and down into a stool. Leaning forwards I spoke with quiet force, trying to quell my rage. 'You are not among your friends here.' I warned him, my voice like venom. 'And if I see you hurting the girls, I will hurt you, do you understand?" I squeezed my hand, with Mark whimpered and tried to twist out of my grip but I held him hard for a moment before letting him scurry away in pain, not acknowledging my words but I was confident he had understood.