The Bloody Cup Read Online Free PDF

with the doorframe. The sword bearer was now decrepit, and his temper and health hadn’t improved with the passage of time.
    ‘Perhaps you can offer an old man a goblet of good wine.’ He smiled. ‘I know you favour water but, as far as I’m concerned, it’s only good for pissing, making things grow or washing my beard. You’re the king, so there must be something drinkable stashed away in here.’
    Artor nodded, and Percivale opened a chest where flagons of wine awaited the king’s pleasure. Pottery mugs were lifted on to the king’s desk, for Percivale knew that the king would expect his guard to drink with the old sword bearer.
    ‘You should have cast off that slut you married when you had the chance,’ Gruffydd muttered darkly. ‘And found yourself a real woman, one who could bear the son that would carry on your line.’
    ‘Even you, old friend, should learn to keep your mouth closed over your teeth.’ Artor’s glacial stare promised dire consequences if Gruffydd continued to offer unsought advice. ‘I’ll speak to you first if I want the matter discussed.’
    ‘Damn it all, Artor, you can glare at me all you like, but nothing changes because you’re in a bad mood,’ Gruffydd responded tactlessly. ‘Targo was dead right about that bitch of yours. It’s not too late to remove her, and you can’t throw everyone out of Cadbury who speaks the all too obvious. She’ll be the death of you and, with her luck, she’ll survive to a disgusting old age, whining and carping as she fondles those young men she seduces.’
    ‘Enough!’
    ‘A winter or two at Tintagel would do wonders for the queen’s temperament,’ Guffydd persisted, ignoring Artor’s stormy expression. ‘It’s far away and bleaker than a witch’s tit in a snowstorm. Your mam never took to it overly, by all that I’ve heard, and Duke Gorlois managed to spend most of the year in his summer capitals. Even Morgan, who professes to love all things pertaining to her father, avoids Tintagel like the plague.’
    Artor’s expression was stony, and Odin read something dangerous in the shark’s glare that had never quite deserted his lord’s countenance. He concentrated on cleaning his nails.
    ‘It’s an excellent idea, my lord. Just send her away,’ Percivale soothed. ‘And no blood will have been spilt.’
    ‘I’ll think on it,’ the king said curtly. Then he threw his arm over the thin shoulders of his agent in belated welcome. ‘Now, spymaster, how go my lands?’
    Gruffydd was very grey and had the disreputable look of a townsman down on his luck. During the period since Myrddion Merlinus had disappeared, only Gruffydd seemed able to resurrect and maintain the web of spies who provided Artor with intelligence.
    The spymaster felt a familiar ache in his chest whenever he thought of Myrddion Merlinus. Cadbury had survived the scholar’s departure but a light had been permanently extinguished in the eyes of the High King when his friend had deserted him. Without the fair Nimue, the Maid of Wind and Water, the glamour of life at court had vanished, along with magic and long peals of honest laughter that offered hope to the sternest and most adamantine heart. In the long years of loss, Artor had avoided mentioning the name of his friend. Even the memories of the common people relegated Nimue to the role of fair, inhuman enchantress who had stolen Myrddion away.
    Gruffydd sighed and considered his own mortality as he sipped Artor’s excellent wine. Events of the recent present were less clear to him now than were the deeds of yesteryear, and he knew that he would soon pass on the care of Caliburn to his eldest son. In private, Gruffydd admitted that the blade was almost too heavy for his thin arms to lift.
    Gruffydd kept Myrddion’s spy network ticking along, but he was a realist and knew that he added nothing of significance to a formula decided by that wise old courtier so many years earlier, when Artor’s kingdom was still young