Guinevere's Gift

  But Lucius and Stannic were not listening. They were staring at the open door. One by one, heads turned as voices echoed down the corridor, girls' voices, clear in the morning air.

  “I'll tell her. Gwen, let me tell her. You're hurt, and Marcus didn't see it all, and those other two don't speak Welsh.”

  “Mapon does.”

  “ Well, I'm the one that was abducted. I'll be the one to tell it.”

  Color drained from the queen's face. She turned to the door and began to shake.

  Marcus appeared first in the doorway. There was dried blood on his clothes and dirt on his face, but his look was cheerful, and he smiled at the queen as he made his reverence.

  “My lady Queen Alyse. It is my great honor to return your daughter to you, well and whole.”

  He stepped aside, and Elaine ran into the room, followed by Guinevere.

  “Mama!” Elaine cried, as the hall erupted into cheering. She ran up to the dais and flung herself into her mother's arms. “Oh, Mama! I am so glad to be home!”

  “Elaine.” The queen's voice was a whisper of disbelief. “Elaine. Thank God.”

  Sir Darric swore furiously under his breath. “That damned cripple again! Who is he? How did he find her?”

  Regis gasped. “Marcus!”

  “You know him?” Sir Darric whipped around.

  Regis swallowed. “Yes, my lord. He is—he was—my second-in-command.”

  Sir Darric stared. “A one-armed man? How does he fight?”

  “With knives.”

  “You never said anything about him.”

  Regis shrugged apologetically. “He's been home abed with fever since before you arrived.”

  “ You incompetent fool! He was spying on me in Longmeadow all the while you thought he was ill. He's the one I should have paid my money to. He has twice your brains.”

  Queen Alyse, at last loosing Elaine from her embrace, heard the end of this conversation. She turned to Marcus, still in the doorway, and made him a deep reverence.

  “Marcus, son of Argus, I owe you more than is in my power to repay for the safe return of my daughter and my ward. You are hereby made captain of the house guard. King Pellinore will confirm the appointment as soon as he returns.”

  Marcus bowed and thanked her for the honor as the men began to cheer his name. “I will serve you faithfully, my lady queen. But you hardly need me. You subdued the rebellion yourself.”

  Queen Alyse smiled at him. “Not without the help of your loyal men.”

  “What shall we do with your prisoners, my lady? Take them out into the yard and dispatch them? I think we have spikes enough.”

  Regis whimpered. The queen looked down at the men kneeling before her. Sir Darric was the only one who met her eyes. His gaze was calm, cool, and unafraid.

  “I should have liked to see your head upon a spike,” she said in a tight voice. “It is what you deserve. But I will keep my word. You'll have your measure of mercy.” She glanced swiftly at Marcus. “Take them below and lock them up. King Pellinore will decide what to do with them.”

  While Marcus formed a guard and marched the prisoners away, Queen Alyse directed her women to see if the kitchens were operable and to bring refreshments up for the rest of the men. She excused only Grannic and Ailsa from this duty, since Ailsa had her arms about Guinevere, and Grannic, suitably humbled and miserably anxious, hovered nearby, eager to take charge of Elaine. Queen Alyse found herself so full of pleasurable emotions that she could not chastise them. The long night of waiting had been punishment enough.

  Released from her mother's arms, Elaine plunged into the story of her capture and release. Queen Alyse listened in growing astonishment to the tale. Elaine seemed to regard the entire night's events as one great adventure. Although she bore on her wrists the marks of bonds, and although she had spent the night in the power of ruffians, she had no sense of personal danger or of the greater tragedy that had threatened the kingdom.

  Guinevere's part in the adventure was still more astonishing and more difficult at first to accept. She appeared to have engineered Elaine's rescue all by herself. Men had played their parts, but the initiative had been hers. That she had dared to try, and against such staggering odds, displayed a courage and resourcefulness Queen Alyse had not dreamed the child possessed.

  She turned her head to look across at Guinevere, still held hard in her nurse's arms. For an instant, she saw Elen's face looking back at her, pale and lovely, her dark blue eyes luminous with tears, and she saw in the girl what Sir Darric must have seen. She saw also in that grave, tear-stained face a recognition of the dangers to which Elaine was still oblivious.

  Queen Alyse was the first to look away. The women were coming up from the kitchens now with jugs of mead and strips of jerky from the storerooms. The bakehouse fire had been relit, they reported, and bread was baking. The cook was frying sausages on the fire, and in a little while, a proper breakfast would be ready. The men sat on the benches, grateful for the mead and jerky and the promise of hot food. The hall was full again, but quiet, as everyone wanted to hear the tale of the night's doings from Princess Elaine's own lips.

  Elaine related all the details of Guinevere's escape from Sir Darric's chamber, which Guinevere had shared with her on their ride back down the mountain. Marcus returned in time to furnish a fuller account of their ascent into the hills and the action at the cave. Queen Alyse listened to it all in utter silence. The bravery of a girl not yet thirteen, escaping Sir Darric and riding out on a dark night into hills guarded by Sir Darric's men, took the queen's breath away. It was not a thing she herself would ever have attempted, but it had saved Elaine's life.

  Elaine herself told proudly how Guinevere had offered to switch places with her. “Drako meant to take me off with him, over the mountains and into another kingdom, Mama! And Gwen was willing to take my place. Was that not wonderful of her? I said she shouldn't do it, she should go back and get more help, but she did it all the same, because there wasn't time. Oh, I was so happy to be free! And then Llyr shot him, and he was dead, and it was over all at once.”

  Queen Alyse looked at her daughter blankly. “Who shot him?”

  Elaine pointed to the doorway. “Llyr.”

  Two figures stood in the passage beyond the open door. They were not visible to most of the people in the hall, but Queen Alyse could see them. She knew at once they were hillmen. They were both small in stature, one old and grizzled, the other young and dark. After a moment's hesitation, she beckoned them forward.

  Her own men jumped up from their seats as the Old Ones entered the room. Some of them drew their swords. Guinevere pulled away from Ailsa and went to stand beside Llyr and Mapon as they sidled cautiously through the door.

  “My lady,” she said, making the queen a reverence, “allow me to present two friends of mine. This is Mapon, leader of the Long Eyes who live in these hills, and this is his foster son Llyr, son of Bran, leader of the White Foot of Snow Mountain. Llyr is the one who killed Drako and who took Mapon the news of our distress. Mapon and his men have rounded up the men Sir Darric stationed in the hills. He tells me they await you in the orchard, bound hand and foot.”

  Queen Alyse signaled the guards to back away. She came down from the dais, holding Elaine and Maelgon each by the hand, and walked up to the strangers. They ducked their heads shyly and kept their eyes lowered.

  “Do they speak Welsh?”

  “Yes, my lady. Mapon does.”

  Queen Alyse made them a low reverence and made her children do the same, to the wonder of all the people in the hall. “I owe you my daughter's life,” she said simply. “It is not a debt I can repay. Ask of me any favor you wish, and I shall grant it.”

  Guinevere translated into Mountain Welsh for Llyr, who glowed. Mapon, however, looked decidedly uneasy.

  “Thank you, lady. But I do not come into your abode to receive your thanks. I come to confess a transgression.”

  Queen Alyse cast a swift glance at Guinevere,
who seemed as startled as she was. “Whatever it is, sir, I forgive you for it.”

  Mapon grunted, looking away briefly and shifting his weight onto the other foot. “The Long Eyes did not steal your cattle, lady, but we did take lambs. It was necessary. The skin and blood of a newborn lamb can cure childbed fever. And my woman—” He stopped. His face grew hard as his eyes grew bright. “The winter was a hard one, and our own flock was attacked by wolves. When my woman gave birth at the equinox, we had only two lambs on the ground. Both were sacrificed for her but . . . it was not enough.”

  “I am sorry,” Queen Alyse said gently. “Did she survive?” Mapon's stony face supplied the answer. “And the child?”

  He shook his head.

  “A tragedy. I am very sorry. Thank you for coming to tell me. Your people have saved King Pellinore's kingdom as well as his daughter. I do not think he will begrudge you his lambs. I only wish they might have saved your wife.”

  Mapon made her a stiff bow and retreated. Queen Alyse turned to Llyr.

  “Guinevere, please thank this young prince for his bravery. Tell him I will grant him anything he wishes.”

  She watched as Guinevere spoke rapidly to Llyr. Llyr flashed the girl a brilliant smile—too brilliant, by far, for the queen's comfort—and his reply brought a flush of color to Guinevere's cheeks.

  “What did he say?”

  Guinevere lowered her eyes. “He asks that you not restrict my . . . my riding out into the hills alone. He is sworn to guard me. He says it is his duty and his life's work.” She looked up at the queen, wishing her to understand. “It is not just the task they have assigned him. The wise woman of his clan has appointed him my guardian. It is now his life.” She flushed brightly and lowered her eyes again. “I know it's foolishness, my lady, but the Old Ones believe in the . . . in what the hill witch told my father when I was born.”

  The queen's eyes flickered. That wretched prophecy again! But it was a glorious morning, the kingdom was hers, and Elaine was safe and whole. This was not the time to worry about the future.

  “ Tell him that King Pellinore and I are also your guardians. We were given that charge by your father. I cannot . . . I really cannot . . . Oh, Guinevere, will you give me your word to stay close to the castle and not take chances?”

  The girl's face lit. “Oh yes, my lady! I promise it faithfully.”

  “Very well, then. I grant his request. Although I cannot see that banishing you from the stables ever had much effect.”

  Queen Alyse turned and saw Stannic's smiling face and Ailsa's and Leonora's and Marcus's at the top of the kitchen stairs—everyone in the hall was grinning. Did they love Guinevere so much? Her sister Elen had been gifted with the power to inspire love and admiration in people in every walk of life. Could such a gift be passed on to a child? Queen Alyse pushed the thought aside. There was no time to worry about it now. She could see by Marcus's signal that breakfast was ready. It was time for the victory feast to begin.

  As she sat down at the family's round table with her children and their nurses, with Guinevere, Cissa, Leonora, Marcus, Lucius, Stannic, Bredon, Yvonet, and the two reluctant hillmen, she reflected that things could hardly have turned out better. Gwynedd was safe and stronger than before, with Marcus in charge of the house guard. The children were safe, and their nurses had learned a lesson. Pellinore would be distressed to find his apartments in ruin, but she could make room for him in her own apartments until his were set right again. Not all his treasured belongings had been lost. Marcus had already found a cache of them that Sir Darric had saved from the fire.

  As to the stolen cattle, not only did she have the culprit, but she had proofs of his deeds to show Sir Gavin. She was certain that when Sir Gavin returned the remaining stolen cattle still grazing in his meadows, he would make good the others his son had sold in Segontium. There would not be a cow lost.

  She smiled, turning all the heads at the table. To think, after all his lies and schemes, that Sir Darric had told the truth about not stealing any lambs!

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Riding Out

  Guinevere stood on the battlement overlooking the courtyard gates and the approach to the main road through the forest. It was a warm afternoon, sunny and calm. Off to her left, the smiling sea stretched blue to the horizon, and on her right, the hills rose in a hundred shades of green straight up to a robin's egg sky. The orchards were strewn with apple blossoms, the gardens ablaze with daffodils, and the air alive with birdsong. She could not remember a moment of more splendid happiness. She was high in the queen's graces, and King Pellinore was coming home.

  Today was Beltane and her thirteenth birthday. Down in the village, where the festival was still observed, she could see the smoke of bonfires threading upward to the cloudless sky. For the first time since leaving Northgallis, she had no wish to join the villagers in their celebrations. Recent events had put games and dancing into perspective, and the rites as she had known them held less attraction for her now. She had outgrown them, somehow. She had crossed some kind of threshold in the last three days, for even though she still had not begun her monthlies, she felt that something essential within her had matured and changed.

  She glanced down at her new gown for the twentieth time. The thick green silk whispered pleasantly when she moved and slid milky smooth across her skin. It fit perfectly, and the sleeves reached all the way to her wrists. Queen Alyse had finished the gown herself, although how she had found the time for it during the bustle of the last three days, Guinevere could not imagine. There had been more than enough to do. Taking charge of the prisoners Mapon's folk had brought down from the hills, deciding which to imprison with Sir Darric and which to send home to the Marshes, rebuilding the house guard, clearing out the king's apartments, and beginning the long process of washing away the soot and ash—Queen Alyse had supervised it all.

  She had also overseen the preparations for the great feast to celebrate King Pellinore's return, had sent men into the hills to recover the bodies of Jordan and Drako so that they might be properly buried, had sent gifts of meat, tallow, and animal hides to the hillmen as practical tokens of her gratitude, and somehow, amid all this, had found time to sit down with her women and finish the gowns the girls had begun. The queen had done all this without anxiety or fuss, with an even temper and a certitude that bore down all obstacles before her. Everyone stood in awe of her.

  In this mood, she had directed her women to finish Elaine's gown and had finished Guinevere's herself. With her own hands, she had sewn on a collar of creamy lace the exact shade of Guinevere's hair. Lace was costlier than jewels, being so rare, and Guinevere still could not believe Queen Alyse had given it to her. She reached up a tentative hand to touch it. Perhaps it was the queen's way of thanking her for her efforts to save Elaine, or perhaps it was her way of ensuring ladylike behavior. One could not ride or roughhouse in a gown like this.

  Voices from the gatehouse broke into her reverie, and she looked down to see a rider cantering toward the castle along the forest road. She judged from his easy pace that he was an outrider sent to give them notice of King Pellinore's approach. The courier who had come last night had brought them all the news.

  The man rode to the gates, gave the password, and was admitted into the courtyard below. He laughed and gossiped with the guards as a groom led his horse away.

  “Be here by sunset,” Guinevere heard him say. “And bringing a couple of guests with him, too. Another Welsh king and his son. Didn't catch the names, but I'll wager the son's a suitor.” He laughed. “He weathered his first battle well enough, but now he looks scared to death.”

  The guards laughed at the jest and escorted him inside to see the queen.

  Guinevere gazed thoughtfully after him. She hoped with all her heart that the king's son was not a suitor. If he was, he had timed his visit poorly. Elaine had been abed and weeping more than half the day, and no amount of cool water or compresses would make her presentable by the time t
he feast began, even if she agreed to attend it. This did not seem likely. She had thrown herself into a tantrum at midmorning and now, hours later, was still causing everyone as much trouble as she could.

  Guinevere knew, alone of all Elaine's attendants, that she enjoyed these storms of emotion. It made her the center of attention and the object of sympathy. It also usually gained her the end she sought, but that would not be so today. There was no cure for this distress.

  That morning, Queen Alyse had gathered the ladies of her household to give them the news King Pellinore's courier had brought her the night before. They learned all about the great battle against the Saxons, how King Arthur had devised a trap, and King Pellinore had sprung it, and half the Saxon force had been destroyed. Only twenty Welshmen had been killed, and King Pellinore was bearing their bodies home. The king was also bringing a surprise home with him, which Guinevere now guessed must be Elaine's first suitor.

  And finally, they learned that King Arthur would begin that summer to build himself a fortress on a hill near the River Camel, which ran through the Summer Country southeast of Avalon, and that, come autumn, he would take a wife. The girl had already been chosen. She was the daughter of a Dumnonian king who had died in the service of Cador, Duke of Cornwall, old Gorlois's son. What was more, she had been raised in the household of Queen Ygraine, Arthur's mother, and was high in her favor. Her name was Guenwyvar of Ifray.

  This news had upset Ailsa, who kept muttering under her breath about some dreadful mistake, but it had devastated Elaine. She had run to her room, inconsolable with grief. Guinevere had tried to comfort her but without success, and she had left Elaine to the more expert ministrations of Grannic and Ailsa.

  That Elaine had long admired King Arthur, Guinevere knew well. Almost from her first days in Gwynedd, Elaine had spoken to her of Prince Arthur, King Uther's hidden son, whose coming had been foretold by a firedrake across the heavens. Since his birth, his whereabouts had been shrouded in mystery.

  Four years ago, no one had been more excited than Elaine when news came of Prince Arthur's sudden appearance at King Uther's side on the eve of the battle of Caer Eden. To the amazement of all, the fourteen-year-old boy had taken the field with his ailing father's sword and won the battle for him. Elaine had always been certain of his virtue and his prowess. She believed every story told of him, no matter how exaggerated or unlikely. She refused to hear a word said against him. Any attempt on Guinevere's part to make her take a more reasonable view always ended in a quarrel. To Elaine, King Arthur was a hero, like Hercules of old, capable of anything and the finest warrior in the world.