Chapter Fifteen
Autumn 522
Looking out from Evina’s royal tent over the gathered tribes playing at games of sport and betting on the horse races, it was difficult to believe that it was on this day so many years ago I first met Arthur and Lancelot. I still felt like that girl, though my hair was now shot through with gray and my hips thickened with age. Part of me said I should be one of the lasses dancing ‘round the hallowed first sheaf of the harvest. Or at the very least I should be one of the young women being handfast today, as Evina’s daughter was being bound to one of Morcant’s descendants to ensure peace with the Picts and Mynyddog’s youngest brother was pledged to a widowed woman with ties to Bernicia.
But there was I, an old woman lost in the folly of nostalgia of bygone days
