Queen of Camelot

  “Can you really not suspect her? She has his Sight, yet she told you he was dead. Either she has not dealt straight with you, my lord, or she is not the enchanter Merlin was, even with his power.”

  He stood dripping on the heated tiles, while the bath slaves toweled him dry. “You are quick to condemn her, Guinevere.”

  “Am I? She was quick to condemn me once.”

  “Ahhh.” I did not have to tell him. He knew. Once she had accused me of betraying the King with Lancelot. “Well, it is true she is not the enchanter Merlin was. But had she been guilty of what you accuse her, would she have come to me the instant he appeared to her? And yet she flew straight as an arrow to Camelot, to tell me. You were there. You saw it.”

  “Yes. I did. Well, I am glad she is innocent of that. But, Arthur, why did Merlin not come to you himself in Camelot if he can go anywhere he wills? Why here?”

  Arthur looked away suddenly, and I knew when he spoke he was keeping something back. “There were so many people at court, and he was always shy of crowds. He prefers private meetings.”

  I did not press him for what he did not say—who was it Merlin did not wish to see?—perhaps it was a secret held close between them, or perhaps the answer would cause me pain.

  “Where is he now, Arthur? I must not wait to pay him my respects.”

  “My dear, you cannot. He is gone. No, not between the stars; rest easy. He’s gone south with Niniane to stay with her and Pelleas awhile. I rode with them the first part of the way and was late getting back, or I’d have been here to greet you.”

  “But why ever did he leave? Everyone wants to see him and do him homage!”

  Again, a shadow darkened Arthur’s face. “He would not stay. He did not want to see . . . all the people.”

  “Well,” I teased, to lighten his spirit, “if he can come and go as he pleases through the very air, why on earth did he go on horseback, through snow and ice, with Niniane?”

  Arthur grinned. “Are you still asking me for explanations? He does as he pleases. In other words, I don’t know.”

  Varric dressed him in a brown woolen robe, trimmed with rabbit, and a plain belt. Then they hurried away with the bath water and towels, and the King and I were at last alone.

  He came forward and took me in his arms. “And now, enough of my tale. I am all ears to hear yours.”

  “Oh, Arthur, mine is nowhere so exciting.”

  “Nonsense. Yours is the more important, for the future. Tell me about the boy.”

  “Which one, my lord?” I countered, smiling, laying a hand against his smooth cheek. “If you mean Gawaine, he is red-headed and hot-tempered, with more arrogance about him than you ever in your life possessed.”

  He grinned and bent to touch his lips to my neck. “You would torture me with waiting?” Another kiss. “When I have been six weeks away, you would stall me longer?” A third kiss, hot against my flesh. “You wish to deny me, to prove your power?”

  “My lord,” I breathed, slipping my arms around him, “you need only ask.”

  The entrance of the chamberlains with trays of steaming food interrupted us. I had not realized until the meal was before me how hungry I was. Arthur, too, after riding most of the day in the snow, was ravenous and fell to eating with gusto. Suddenly I began to laugh.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, my lord, you have some surprises in store for you! Wait until you see your nephews at table—even by the standards of the soldiers’ mess they are uncouth. Kay was shocked.”

  “No manners?”

  “None. Could they see you eat, they would mock you for prissy ways and call you my fancy boy, like as not.”

  His face darkened. “They would not dare insult you.”

  “My lord, they are boys and have been raised without restraint. All this is new to them.”

  “They have done it, then? Is that what you are telling me? And who have they called your ‘fancy boy’?”

  “Bedwyr and Lancelot both.”

  “Lancelot! Why, they have not even met him!”

  “His reputation runs before him. Remember, they have been living in the barracks.”

  But this was no solace to him, for they were his soldiers. “Was this insolence punished?”

  “Indeed. Bedwyr made them fear for their lives at swordpoint. And they all apologized the next day, on their knees.”

  But Arthur was distressed. “This is not the beginning I had hoped for. I thought you told me you and Mordred had reached an understanding.”

  “I was referring to your nephews, my lord, not your son. Mordred is altogether different. He has kept his mouth closed, and observed, and is learning our ways as quickly as he can. He even trains his speech to sound like ours. He says little and hears everything. But when Gawaine attacked me—” I blushed. I had not meant to give out the name. “When those things were said, it was Mordred who defended me to them. And not only me, Arthur, but our whole way of life. I wish you could have heard him. You would have swelled with pride. He told them they ought to appreciate civilization, that they should know when they were being honored and not bite the hand that feeds them. He is so happy to be free of Orkney, Arthur. Camelot is a wonderland to him. It is his dream. He is full of impressions and hope. Now is the time to speak to him.”

  The servants returned and cleared the trays and left wine warming by the fire. In the next room, they turned down the purple coverlet on the King’s bed and, bowing, left us.

  Arthur poured spiced wine for both of us and stood beside the fire. He looked pensive. “Were you there when all this was said, Gwen? Did they dare insult you to your face?”

  “Not exactly, my lord.” And I told him about the scene in the library. He was angry, but when I repeated Mordred’s words, he softened. And when I came to Bedwyr’s part, he smiled.

  “Thank God for Bedwyr’s sense! I hope he scared them well.”

  “Well enough. When will you see them, my lord? They have lived for this meeting.”

  “It was my intention to receive them formally tomorrow. And to confirm Gawaine as Prince of Orkney and, if he earns it, heir to Lothian, as well.”

  “That will please him and perhaps make things easier. My lord, if I may suggest—”

  “Yes? Come, Gwen, you know them. What is it?”

  “Wear your finery, my lord. And your crown. Nothing impresses them so much as display.”

  “Is that true of Mordred, also?”

  “Perhaps not so much. But they are used to it, you see. Why, they won’t stir from their rooms, even for wrestling, without all their copper armbands and silver buckles. And it would not hurt Mordred to see you in your splendor as High King.”

  He drained his winecup and held out an arm to me. I went to him, and he held me close.

  “All right. If you advise it. But you must dress too.”

  “If the wagons get here,” I whispered, smiling. But he was looking ahead, and frowned.

  “Now that I am faced with it, I dread it,” he said slowly. “I don’t know how to tell him. I must know him first, at least a little. Is he so like? Do I not have time?”

  “Bedwyr took one look at his face and knew.”

  “Did he?” He paused. “And where is Bedwyr now? I have not yet taken his report.”

  “He was worried about the wagons, my lord. I asked him to join us, but he probably went back with the escort to help them through the snow.”

  Arthur shrugged and, with a smile, began unbraiding my hair.

  “More like, he chose to give us privacy.” He kissed me again slowly and sighed. “This,” he said, “is happiness. After a hard ride, to come home to a beautiful woman. I believe it’s a cure for all ills.”

  There was a large hall in the King’s house, and here it was that Arthur held court, met in Council, heard petitions, and gave judgments. It was not as big as any of the halls in Camelot but was a handsome, well-proportioned room with columns holding up a carved ceiling and mosaics of Roman gods upon
the floor. Bright tapestries hung against the walls to keep the wind out, for the house was a hundred years old, and the plaster walls had cracks.

  Kay had seen to it, long ago, that a dais was built at one end of the hall, with two gilded chairs upon it. The large one with a Dragon carved upon the back was the King’s; mine was smaller, and bore the white stag of Northgallis. Arthur preferred to stand among his knights, or sit at table with them, and not sit perched above them in his high chair, but this formal setting was useful for granting judgments and for impressing newcomers, so he kept the dais.

  That morning, all who had come to Caerleon gathered in the hall to see the boys presented to the King. They came for many reasons, but the rumors had been flying, and I am sure most men were there to see what happened when Mordred faced the King. The wagons had arrived past midnight, and poor Ailsa had been half the night unpacking and shaking out the clothes. When I found her in the morning she was cross and grumbling discontentedly. I did not blame her; while she worked, I had been peacefully asleep in the King’s arms. I kissed her warmly and obeyed her meekly, and she had me ready in time.

  When I saw Arthur, just outside the hall, we grinned at one another. We were dressed in white and gold, with ermine trimmings and jewels everywhere. A great golden torque encircled his neck, etched with dragons and set with gems. And he wore his crown: a simple crested band of beaten gold. Against his dark hair it shone like a diadem. He did not wear it often; for that reason, we all went silent when we saw it, reminded of his authority.

  I sank into my curtsy. “My lord Arthur.”

  He raised me and searched my face. “What is it, Guinevere?”

  He did not know he had a majesty about him, a glory of his own that lit him from within and inspired reverence. But all the others saw it and bent their knees. Arthur stood silent. Then he took my hand, squared his shoulders, and led me into the hall.

  The first business, as always, was hearing reports from the knights errant. Gereint stepped forward and gave news from the northern lands and the fort at Olicana where the Tribuit runs. The fort there had been enlarged and the pass widened. Now the road needed renovations. But the country was quiet enough.

  Bellangere stepped forward and told of his adventures along the Saxon borderlands, of intermarriages and new towns sprung up, where Briton and Saxon lived in wary peace, of children being born dark-eyed and towheaded. I felt my interest awaken and glanced swiftly at Arthur to see how he took it. He was frowning. Several more were heard from, and then Arthur drew them all together, thanking them well and giving each a gold coin for his service. Then he signaled Bedwyr.

  “Bring them in,” he said.

  There was a scuffle outside the doors, and then all was quiet, and they opened. Gereint led the princes in, Gawaine first, Mordred second, the rest following in order of age. Someone had gone to great lengths to groom them and dress them for the occasion. Their hair was cut, and they wore new clothes of good, soft wool in muted colors—no more necklaces and ornaments of shell, and crude emblems of purple and crimson. Their belts were plain leather, and their boots new. But their copper armbands, crudely etched, they would not part with.

  They had been washed well and instructed how to behave. Gereint led them to the foot of the dais and bent his knee. They followed his example, one by one. I looked around for Bedwyr and saw him leaning against the double doors, looking exhausted. So I knew whose work this was. Arthur rose and went down to meet them.

  First he raised Gereint, and thanked him for his care of the boys and promoted him on the spot. The boys, still kneeling, were having a hard time keeping their eyes down. Finally Arthur addressed them.

  “You may rise.”

  They looked small next to the King’s height, and I saw that even Gawaine had lost his bluster, awed by the splendor around him. The boys stared in wonder at the King’s garments, at his torque, at his crown, and especially at his wonderful Sword. For once, they were speechless. I looked at them all, but my attention was on Mordred. Half a head taller, slender where they were thick; dark where they were fair; clear-headed where they were bewildered—he looked Pendragon from head to toe in his plain garments. I was amazed that everyone did not see it. Mordred threw me a quick look; his eyes were shining. The others had eyes only for the High King.

  Arthur looked them over well before he spoke.

  “You are the sons of Morgause, my sister,” he said, loud enough for all to hear. “Kings’ sons all.” The boys glanced quickly at one another, startled. Arthur was making a confession to the hall, and only they did not know it. “Be welcome, nephews. Now, tell me your names.”

  Gawaine bowed, trying to be correct. “I am Gawaine, my lord. Firstborn of King Lot and Queen Morgause.”

  Arthur inclined his head gravely. “Gawaine, Prince of Orkney, I confirm you as your father’s heir. Orkney will be yours. If you earn it, you shall inherit Lothian, as well. Until then, Tydwyl holds it for me.”

  Gawaine’s mouth dropped open, and he fairly fell to one knee.

  “Thank you, my lord.” A word from Arthur had made him a king and Arthur’s servant forever.

  Then Arthur stepped in front of Mordred, and the whole room seemed to hold its breath. The King searched his face. I knew what that penetrating gaze was like and wondered that the boy stood it without trembling. He looked up at the King and seemed to lighten and grow taller. At last Arthur spoke.

  “And you are Prince Mordred,” he said gently.

  “Yes, my lord,” Mordred whispered. “Only—only I am not a King’s son. I am a bastard, sir, half brother to the princes. I do not know my father’s name.”

  Arthur inclined his head. “That is not a misfortune, Mordred, unless you make it so.”

  Mordred flushed gratefully and sank to his knee. Arthur passed on to Agravaine and Gaheris. They introduced themselves in turn and made no mistake, to Gereint’s evident relief. Even little Gareth the King treated with grave courtesy, asking his name, and how he had fared on the journey, and what he liked best about Camelot so far.

  “The horses and the Queen!” was Gareth’s excited reply, and Arthur laughed. It was a full-bodied laugh of great joy, and others near us joined in. The hall seemed to exhale in relief.

  “I must introduce you to Lancelot,” he said. “He is a man of your taste.” He winked at me, and I grinned. The boys, even Mordred, were staring at him in shock. They were so young, their world was still simple. But they covered their surprise when the King faced the gathering.

  “My lords and ladies, I present to you my nephews, the princes of Orkney, and Mordred, their half brother. For my sake, make them welcome here. From the look of them, they will make Companions one day.”

  Then he signaled to Gereint to take them off. But to this, it seemed Gawaine and Mordred objected. I heard Gereint say, “There is nothing but business left. You would not enjoy it.” He glanced quickly up at Arthur, who was tempted to keep them near him, but shook his head.

  “Next time, perhaps,” the King said kindly, and the boys were led out.

  Arthur sank gratefully into his chair, and I leaned over to whisper in his ear. “Well, my lord? What do you think? He is Pendragon all over.”

  He passed a hand across his brow. “I am shaking, Guinevere.”

  “Is he not like you?”

  “No,” Arthur said slowly, collecting himself. “I confess I cannot see it. He reminds me of Queen Ygraine, my mother. Quiet power. Ambition. Quick pride held in with hard control. He has already learned how to endure.”

  “Well,” I replied, smiling, “then we are both right, for all that is true of you.”

  Then the first petitioner came forward, and he gave his mind to the business of ruling.

  27 THE BOAR HUNT

  As the great feast day neared, celebrating both Christmas and the King’s birthday, the palace was busy with planning and preparations. Arthur saw to it that the boys followed a strict regimen of exercise and study. He provided them all with short swords
and spears, except Gareth, and had Perseus, his master-at-arms, begin a rigorous training schedule. Every morning they practiced in the great yard within the fortress walls, and the trained troops who drilled there watched them with smiles. Their idea of a sword fight was to run the blade straight in; they had no idea of strategy. And every afternoon they would gather in the King’s library, where Arthur’s hound Cabal lay before the fire, and take instruction from Valerius, Bedwyr, or me. I was usually there.

  Several times Arthur himself came in to see how they were getting on. At such times they fell silent and began to concentrate. Gawaine, Agravaine, and Gaheris remained astonished at all they had to learn and that the High King himself thought it important that they learn it. One day while the King was there, Gareth begged Bedwyr to bring out his harp and give them the Lay of Arthur. Bedwyr glanced at the King, who shrugged. While Bedwyr sang, recounting the events of Arthur’s life, the boys surreptitiously watched the King. He had fallen into a study, his gaze far away. Every now and then a smile would cross his lips. After the last chord had faded into silence, Mordred spoke.

  “My lord King, is it true?”

  Arthur turned to him a face so full of feeling, I caught my breath.

  “Yes,” he said simply. “It is a true tale.”

  From the surprise on their faces, I saw the boys had thought it a myth, like the story of Pegasus, which was also a favorite of Gareth’s.

  “The Sword of Maximus,” Mordred continued, his eyes fastened on Arthur’s face, “is that the very Sword you wore when you received us, my lord?”

  “Yes.” Arthur looked at Mordred, and I knew that for him, no one else was in the room.

  “Would you—my lord, would you tell us about the raising of the Sword yourself?” Mordred scarcely breathed; he looked as if the words had come out without his willing, and frightened him.