“That is the banner of my father, Leodegranz, the blue banner with the cross worked in gold.” She herself, as a young maiden in the Summer Country, had helped her mother’s women to embroider it for the king. It was said that her father had chosen this device after hearing a tale that one of the emperors of Rome had seen the sign of the cross in the sky before one of his battles. We should now be fighting beneath that sign, not the serpents of Avalon! She shivered, and Gaheris looked at her sharply.
“Are you cold, lady? We must ride on to the castle, Griflet, no doubt Arthur will be awaiting his queen.”
“You must be weary of riding, my queen,” said Griflet, looking up kindly at her. “Now will you soon be in the hands of your women.”
And as they came closer to the doors of the castle, there were many of Arthur’s Companions whom she knew, who waved to her and called to her in friendly, informal fashion. Next year at this time, she thought, they will come out to cheer their prince.
A big, lurching man, huge and clumsy-footed, in leather armor and a steel cap, came into the path of her horse—it was as if he stumbled, though he bowed to Gwenhwyfar and she could see that it was deliberate, that he had put himself in her way like this.
“Madam, my sister,” he said, “do you not know me?”
Gwenhwyfar frowned and stared at him, then after a moment recognized him. “Is it you—”
“Meleagrant,” he said. “I have come here to fight at our father’s side and your husband’s, my sister.”
Griflet said, with a friendly smile, “I knew not that your father had a son, my queen. But all are welcome to fight under Arthur’s standard—”
“Perhaps you will speak for me to your husband the King, my sister,” said Meleagrant. Gwenhwyfar, looking at him, felt a faint distaste run through her. He was an enormous man, almost a giant, and like so many huge men, he looked misshapen, as if one side of his body were somehow grown larger than the other. One eye was certainly larger than the other, and had a squint; yet, trying to be fair, Gwenhwyfar thought the man’s deformity was no fault of his, and she really knew nothing against him. Yet it was arrogance, that he should call her sister before all these men, and now he had grasped her hand without leave and made as if to kiss it. She clenched it into a fist and pulled it away.
Trying to make her voice firm, she said, “No doubt when you merit it, Meleagrant, my father will speak for you to Arthur and he will make you one of his knights. I am only a woman and I have no authority to promise you that. Is my father here?”
“He is with Arthur within the castle,” said Meleagrant sullenly, “and I am like a dog out here with the horses!”
Gwenhwyfar said firmly, “I cannot see that you have any claim to more than this, Meleagrant. He has given you a post at his side, for your mother was once a favorite of his—”
Meleagrant said harshly, “All men in the country know as well as my mother that I am the king’s son, his only living son! Sister, speak to our father for me!”
She pulled away her hand from his repeated effort to seize it. “Let me go, Meleagrant! My father claims you are not his son, and how can I say anything else? I never knew your mother—this is between you and my father!”
“But you must listen,” said Meleagrant urgently, tugging at her hand, and Griflet thrust himself between them and said, “Here, here, fellow, you can’t talk to the Queen like that, or Arthur will have your head on his platter at dinnertime! I’m sure our lord and king will grant you what’s right, and if you fight well for him at this battle, no doubt he’ll be glad to have you among his Companions. But you mustn’t trouble the Queen this way!”
Meleagrant turned to face him, towering over Griflet until the latter, though he was a tall, athletic young man, looked like a child. The giant said, “Are you going to tell me what I can say to my own sister, you little popinjay?”
Griflet put his hand on his sword and said, “I was given the task of escorting my queen, fellow, and I’ll do the task Arthur’s given me to do. Get out of my path or I’ll force you to!”
“You with who else?” sneered Meleagrant, bracing himself with an ugly sneer.
“I, for one,” said Gaheris, standing quickly at Griflet’s side. Like Gawaine, he was a big, sturdy man who would have made two of the slender Griflet.
“And I,” said Lancelet from the darkness beyond them, striding quickly toward Gwenhwyfar’s horse, and she could have wept with relief. Never had he looked more handsome to her than now; and though he was slender and slightly built, something in his presence made Meleagrant draw back. “Is this man annoying you, lady Gwenhwyfar?”
She swallowed and nodded, and found to her dismay that she had no voice to speak. Meleagrant blustered, “Who may you be, fellow?”
“Take care,” said Gaheris, “don’t you know the lord Lancelet?”
“I am Arthur’s captain of horse,” said Lancelet, in his lazy amused voice, “and the Queen’s champion. Have you anything to say to me?”
“My business is with my sister,” said Meleagrant, but Gwenhwyfar said, high and shrill, “I am no sister of his! This man claims to be my father’s son because his mother was for a time one of the king’s women! He is no son of my father’s, but a baseborn clown who belongs in a farmyard, though my father has been kind enough to give him a place in his household!”
“You had best get out of our way,” said Lancelet, surveying Meleagrant with contempt, and it was easy enough to see that Meleagrant knew who Lancelet was and had no desire to try conclusions with him.
He edged backward, saying in a surly voice, “You will be sorry for this some day, Gwenhwyfar,” but he gave ground, glowering, and let them pass.
Lancelet was dressed with his usual fastidious taste, in crimson tunic and cloak; his hair was carefully trimmed and combed, his face clean-shaven. His hands looked smooth and white as Gwenhwyfar’s own, although she knew that they were hard and steel-strong. He was handsomer than ever. And he had come just in time to save her from an ugly encounter with Meleagrant. She smiled—she could not help herself; it was as if something turned over, deep inside her.
No, I must not look at him this way now, I am to be the mother of Arthur’s son. . . .
Lancelet said, “You do not want to pass through the great hall, lady, in your draggled riding clothes. . . . Has it been raining most of your journey? Let me take you and your servant to the side door, and you can go directly to your chamber and refresh yourself, then greet my lord Arthur in the hall when you are freshly dressed and warm and dry—you are shivering! Is the wind cold on you, Gwenhwyfar?”
He long had the privilege of calling her by her name, without the formal “my queen” or “lady,” but never had it sounded so sweet on his lips. “You are, as ever, thoughtful of me,” she said, and let him lead her horse.
Lancelet said, “Griflet, go now and tell our king that the lady is safe in her chambers. And you too, Gaheris, you are longing to be back among the Companions. I will see my lady safe.”
At the door he helped her to dismount, and she was only aware of the touch of his hands. She lowered her eyes and would not look at him.
“The great hall is filled with Arthur’s Companions,” he said, “and all is confusion—the Round Table has gone but three days ago, on three carts to Camelot, and Cai with it to set it in its place in the new hall. Now a rider has gone out in haste to summon Cai back, and such men as can ride from the Summer Country—”
She looked up at him, frightened. “Gawaine told us of the Saxon landing—is this truly the war Arthur feared?”
“It is what we have all known for years must come, Gwen,” he said quietly. “For this Arthur has been training his legions, and I working with his horse troops. When this is over, perhaps, we shall have the peace we have longed for, all my life and all Uther’s.”
Suddenly she flung her arms around him. “You could be killed,” she whispered. It was the first time she had had courage to do such a thing. She stood pressed against him,
holding her face against his shoulder, and his arms went around her. Even through her fear she felt the sweetness that he would hold her so. He said, and his voice shook, “We all knew that it must come some day soon, my dear. By our good fortune, we have had years to prepare for it, and Arthur to lead us—do even you know what a great leader of men he is, and how dear we all hold him? He is young, but he is the greatest of the High Kings we have had since long before the time of the Romans, and with Arthur to lead us, we will certainly drive the Saxons hence—and for the rest, it’s as God wills, Gwenhwyfar.” He patted her shoulder gently, saying, “Poor girl, you are so wearied, let me take you to your women.” But she could feel his hands trembling, and was suddenly shamed that she had thrown herself into his arms as if she were a camp follower!
In her own chambers all was confusion, Meleas putting garments into boxes, Elaine supervising the serving-women. Elaine came and took Gwenhwyfar in her arms, crying out, “Kinswoman, we have been so worried about you, on the roads—we had hoped that you had the message before leaving the convent, and would stay safe in Tintagel—”
“No,” said Gwenhwyfar, “Igraine died. Gawaine met with us when we had already been a whole day on the road, and besides, my place is at my husband’s side.”
Meleas asked, “Lady, did Griflet return with you?”
Gwenhwyfar nodded. “He escorted me here. You will see him at dinner, I suppose—I heard Gaheris say that all of Arthur’s Companions had been bidden to dine with the King—”
Meleas said, “If you can call it dining. It is more like gobbling soldier’s rations—this place is like an armed camp, and it will be worse before it is better. But Elaine and I have done our best to keep all things in order.” She was a usually smiling, plump young woman who now looked worried and tired. “I have put all your gowns and such things as you shall need for this summer into boxes, so that you may be ready to ride for Camelot in the morning. The King said we were all to go at once, and it is all but ready for occupancy, with the work that Cai has done. But we never thought we would go there like this, in haste and almost under siege.”
No, thought Gwenhwyfar. I have been riding these days and now I will not ride forth again! My place is here and my son has a right to be born in his father’s own castle. I will not again be sent hither and thither like any bit of luggage or saddlery! She said, “Be at ease, Meleas, perhaps there is no such haste as all this. Send someone for washwater and fetch me some gown which is not soaked and bedraggled by mud and travel. And who are all these women?”
These women, it turned out, were wives of some of the Companions and of certain of Arthur’s subject kings, who would be sent with them to Camelot; it was easier if they all travelled in convoy, and there they would be safe from the Saxons. “It is near to your home,” Elaine said, as if that should settle all Gwenhwyfar’s unwillingness. “You can visit your father’s wife, and your little brothers and sisters. Or while Leodegranz is at war, your stepmother will dwell with us at Camelot.”
That would be no pleasure to either of us, Gwenhwyfar thought, and then was ashamed of herself. She felt like ending all this with a few words, I am pregnant, I cannot travel, but she shrank from the excited flurry of questions she knew would follow. Arthur should know it first.
12
When Gwenhwyfar came into the great hall, which looked barren and empty without the great Round Table and all the splendor of banners and tapestries and hangings gone, Arthur was sitting at a trestle table halfway down the hall near the fires, surrounded by half a dozen of his Companions, others clustered near. She had been so eager to tell her news, but now she could not blurt it out before the whole court! She must wait until tonight when they were alone in bed—that was the only time she ever had him to herself at all. But when he looked up from his Companions and saw her, he rose and came to embrace her.
“Gwen, my dearest!” he said. “I had hoped Gawaine’s message would keep you safe in Tintagel—”
“Are you angry that I have come back?”
He shook his head. “No, of course not. So the roads are still safe, then, and you were lucky,” he said. “But I suppose this must mean that my mother . . .”
“She died two days ago, and was buried within the convent walls,” Gwenhwyfar said, “and I set out at once to bring you the news. And now you have nothing but reproach for me that I did not stay safely at Tintagel because of this war!”
“Not reproach, my dear wife,” he said gently, “concern for your safety. But sir Griflet cared well for you, I can see. Come and sit with us here.” He led her to a bench and seated her at his side. The silver and pottery dishes had vanished—she supposed they too had been sent to Camelot, and she wondered what had happened to the fine red dish of Roman make which her stepmother had given her at her wedding. The walls were bare and the place stripped, and they ate their food out of plain wooden bowls, the crude carved stuff of the markets. She said, dipping a piece of bread into the dish, “Already this place looks as if a battle had swept over it!”
“It seemed as well to me that everything should be sent ahead to Camelot,” he said, “and then we had the rumors of the Saxon landings and all’s confusion. Your father is here, my love—no doubt you will want to greet him.”
Leodegranz was seated near, though not in the inner ring of those around Arthur. She came and kissed him, feeling his bony shoulders under her hands—always her father had been a big man to her, big and imposing, and now suddenly he seemed old and wasted.
“I told my lord Arthur he should not have sent you travelling about the countryside at this time,” he said. “Ah, yes, no doubt it was well done of Arthur that he wished to send you to his mother’s deathbed, but he had a duty to his wife too, and Igraine has an unwedded daughter who should have been with her mother—where is the Duchess of Cornwall that she did not go?”
“I do not know where Morgaine is,” said Arthur. “My sister is a woman grown, and her own mistress. She need not seek my leave to be here or there.”
“Aye, it is ever so with a king,” said Leodegranz querulously, “he is lord of all save his womenfolk. Alienor is the same, and I have three daughters, not even old enough to marry, and they think they rule my household! You will see them at Camelot, Gwenhwyfar. I have sent them there for safekeeping, and the oldest, Isotta, is old enough—you might wish to make her one of your ladies, your own half-sister? And since I have no sons living, I want you to ask Arthur to marry her to one of his best knights when she is old enough.”
Gwenhwyfar shook her head in amazement at the thought of Isotta, her half-sister—old enough to come to court? Well, she had been almost seven years old when Gwenhwyfar was married—now she must be a great girl of twelve or thirteen. Elaine had been no older when she was brought to Caerleon. No doubt, if she asked, Arthur would give Isotta to one of his best knights, Gawaine perhaps, or possibly—since Gawaine would be king of Lothian some day—to Gaheris, who was the King’s own cousin. She said, “I am certain that Arthur and I together will find someone for my sister.”
“Lancelet is still unwed,” suggested Leodegranz, “and so is Duke Marcus of Cornwall. Though no doubt it would be more suitable if Marcus married the lady Morgaine and they combined their claims, then would the lady have someone to keep her castle and defend her lands. And, though I understand the lady is one of the damsels of the Lady of the Lake, no doubt Duke Marcus could tame her.”
Gwenhwyfar smiled at the thought of Morgaine being tamely married to someone they thought suitable. And then she grew angry. Why should Morgaine please herself? No other woman was allowed to do her own will, even Igraine who was mother to the King had been married as her elders thought good. Arthur should exert his authority and get Morgaine properly married before she disgraced them all! Conveniently Gwenhwyfar stifled the memory that when Arthur had spoken of marrying Morgaine to his friend Lancelet, she had objected. Ah, I was selfish . . . I cannot have him myself, and I grudge him a wife. No, she told herself, she would be happy
to see Lancelet married if the girl was suitable and virtuous!
Leodegranz asked, “I thought the Duchess of Cornwall was among your ladies—?”
“She was,” Gwenhwyfar said, “but she left us some years ago to dwell with her kinswoman and has not returned.” And it occurred to her once again: where was Morgaine? Not in Avalon, not in Lothian with Morgause, not in Tintagel with Igraine—she might be in Less Britain, or on a pilgrimage to Rome, or in the fairy country, or in Hell itself for all Gwenhwyfar knew to the contrary. This could not go on—Arthur had a right to know where dwelt his nearest kinswoman, now that his mother was dead! But surely Morgaine would have come to her mother’s deathbed if she could?
She went back to her place beside Arthur. Lancelet and the King were drawing with the tips of their daggers on the wooden boards before them, while they ate absentmindedly out of the same dish. Biting her lip—indeed she might as well have stayed in Tintagel for all the difference it made to Arthur that she was there or not—she would have withdrawn to a bench with her ladies, but Arthur looked up at her and smiled, holding out his arm to her.