Queen of Camelot

  “Well enough, my lady. Only—”

  “Yes?”

  “He suffers from a heaviness of spirit. He went to bed early and asked not to be disturbed. He told me he would pay you his respects tomorrow.”

  With that, I had to be content. But on the morrow, he avoided the castle and kept to the barracks. Gareth came in at midday for his lessons, but Mordred was not with him. At last I sent for him, only to be told he had ridden out alone at midmorning for Avalon. Nervously I awaited his return. Niniane was at Avalon. So something had happened. Whatever it was, it had distressed him to the point of seeking advice from the enchantress he so disliked.

  The day was cold and dark clouds hung heavy over Caer Camel. But it did not rain until we were in hall, and then the skies opened. We seemed a melancholy group at dinner. So many were gone from our company; the King’s chair was empty. And Mordred kept away.

  Finally, when Bedwyr, Kay, and I had gathered in the library, I could stand it no longer.

  “My lord Kay,” I said, making him a reverence, “the Queen’s compliments to Prince Mordred. If he is in Camelot, I would like a word with him.”

  “Shall I bring him here, my lady?”

  “At once.”

  When he was gone, Bedwyr went to stoke the fire. He set the wineskin near it and then turned. “There’s something amiss, isn’t there, Gwen? May I know what it is?”

  “I don’t know myself yet, Bedwyr. But I fear it.”

  “The boy has been unhappy, Berys tells me. He doesn’t eat, and he doesn’t sleep. He is afraid of something. Do you know what?”

  “No. But I hope to find out.”

  “He rode out this morning for Avalon.”

  I shrugged. “He must be back by now. In this rotten weather, where else could he go? Besides, he has made me a promise, and I know Mordred. He will keep it.”

  On the thought, the door opened, and Mordred came in. His face was pale, but he held himself straight. There were shadows under his eyes. He bowed politely. “My lady Queen Guinevere. I am at your service.”

  “I expected you before this, Mordred.”

  His face was stone, but something moved in his dark eyes. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I had matters to attend to. I could not come.”

  I saw then that he would not speak except in private. I turned to Bedwyr and Kay. “My lords, I would have a word with him alone.”

  Kay did not like it, but could not say so, as Bedwyr moved at once to go. I motioned Mordred to a seat before the fire and poured him a goblet of warmed wine. As soon as we were alone, he started to shiver.

  “Drink this,” I said gently. “Say nothing yet.” I could see that he was more than frightened; he was moved to his very soul by fear. He sipped the wine and stared moodily into the flames.

  “I would rather not tell you, my lady,” he said suddenly. “And you, you would rather not know.”

  “But you have promised, Mordred.”

  He nodded slowly. “All right. But I warn you, I have seen the lady Niniane. And I have spoken to Merlin. There is nothing to be done.”

  “You spoke to Merlin?”

  I watched his hands grip the goblet, Arthur’s hands, strong hands. They were shaking.

  “My mother, the queen Morgause,” he began, forcing himself to it, “told me she was pleased the King had taken me into his household, and confided in me, and trusted me. She was pleased, she said, to see you so attached to me, and the trust that had grown between us. That surprised me. Until she told me why.” He paused and drained the winecup. He turned to face me, then, with that direct look of Arthur’s that searched the heart. “It was her plan from the beginning. From before my birth she has raised me to be Arthur’s undoing. She was pleased because in accepting me, he has donned a garment that will kill him. Those were her words.”

  I stared. The flames in the grate snapped loudly. Mordred hardly breathed.

  “She told me she conceived me because she knew I would be his doom, and she has always hated him. She kept me carefully hidden, and tended, and when Lot died, brought to her, and then sent to Arthur, so that I could be the—the certain instrument of his death.”

  There were tears in his eyes, and in mine. “How?” I whispered. “Oh, Mordred, this cannot be true!”

  “She told me she had seen it in the fire, in the stars, in the crystal. But she is nothing if not a liar. She told me also Merlin had seen it. That was why I went to Niniane.”

  I waited, holding my breath. The future trembled in the silence.

  He looked away. “It is true, Guinevere. It is a thing known by those who have the gift of Sight. Arthur’s bane, Niniane herself called me. Somehow, someday, whether I will or no, he shall die because of me.”

  I shot to my feet. “No! You would not kill him! These things cannot happen without men’s wills!”

  “I would not harm a hair on his head,” Mordred whispered. “I demanded to see Merlin. Niniane told me how to find him. She sent me to a wood atop a hill in Avalon as the mists were rising. She gave me the words to say, that would call him forth.” He grimaced suddenly. “I felt like a fishwife, spouting charms against the weather!” He ran a hand through his hair, then steadied himself. “You see, like you, I could not accept it. Somehow, I had to make the Seeing false. I was sure that if anyone could break the curse, it would be Merlin. Everyone knows, pagan and Christian alike, there is no one more powerful in all of Britain. So I called him forth out of the mists.” He gulped suddenly, and I knew well what courage that had taken.

  “He came at once,” he said in a shaking voice. “In a spectral shape, shrouded in mist. I—I thought he was a haunting!” He shivered. “It was freezing all around him! And then, as he stepped forth out of the mist into solid flesh, the thunder cracked, and the sky grew dark all around. He was wrapped in a black cloak. All I could see of him were his ancient face and his eyes of ice. How he hates me, Guinevere! I have never met such hate, face to face. I shook so hard I could barely speak.”

  I took his hand and held his cold fingers tight between my own. And in my heart I cursed Merlin for deliberately frightening the boy. He was Arthur’s son!

  Mordred stared down at the floor and spoke woodenly, forcing it out. “I told him I loved my father, and on my life I would not harm him. But he said it mattered not what I did or felt. My existence was all that mattered. On the day of my birth, Arthur’s fate was sealed. Simply by living I am a danger to him.”

  I cried aloud, remembering Lancelot’s words: The boy was dangerous! And Morgause’s threat—here was Medea’s gift! Mordred himself! I turned away from him, hugging my arms about me, holding on.

  “He said there was a time for everything: good and ill, joy and sorrow, glory and shame, the doing of right and the doing of evil. As Arthur had been begotten in the Light, so I was begotten in the Dark. As Arthur was destined for glory and greatness, so I was destined to bring it to an end. Nothing lasts forever. If I was wise, he said, I would think no more of it than that.”

  “Oh, Mordred! How cruel! That cannot be all he said!”

  “He looked at me as if he would like to watch me burn alive.” Mordred slowly raised his eyes to me, black and full of grief. “I told him to kill me, I offered him my sword.”

  “Dear God!”

  “He refused, saying he would not wound Arthur so. Neither would I, I cried. I was angry, angry at Merlin, and angry at the fates, which could treat a man so unfairly. What had I done? I asked him, to be so condemned before my birth?”

  “What did he say?”

  Mordred paused. “The lightning flashed as bright as daylight, and the thunder cracked so near, I jumped. For a moment I could not see him, and I thought he had disappeared. But he was standing looking up into the sky. He was silent a long time. Then he spread his arms, and the wind, which had been gusting, suddenly died. It was not my fault, he said. It had been written in the stars before ever I was born, that Arthur’s bane should be the son he begot upon his sister.” Mordred turned hi
s head away, and I felt myself begin to burn with anger. He had never been ashamed of it before!

  “He is only shifting blame from his own shoulders!” I cried. “It was his fault, if it was anyone’s! Merlin, the all-powerful magician! He was nearby the night Arthur lay with her. Arthur did not know Morgause was his sister, but Merlin did! Ahhh, Mordred, it is not you he hates, but himself! This explains why he cannot abide you near him, even for Arthur’s sake. He feels guilty—as well he should—but will not admit it!”

  Mordred looked at me a long moment and then shrugged. “So you, too, my lady,” he said softly, “agree I should never have been born.” He half smiled as I gasped. “No matter. I think the same. I would rather not have been born at all than be born to kill such a man as Arthur.”

  “Oh, Mordred, that is not what I meant!” I knelt at his feet and clutched his hands. “You know I am a Christian and it is a grievous sin. But it is Arthur’s sin, my dear, not yours.”

  He smiled sadly. “It is no one’s fault. Perhaps Merlin was right. But it isn’t fair. Even Merlin must see that it isn’t fair. I begged him to release me from my fate. Surely, I said, if he loved Arthur, he would do it.” His face grew grim. “If he would not, I threatened to slay myself, to save my father.”

  “Oh, Mordred, you would not! It would kill Arthur more surely than a swordstroke!”

  Mordred shrugged. “He said he could not release me. It was not within his power. Arthur had committed a heinous sin and must pay the price. Nothing he could do, or I could do, would change that. Even my death would not change it now; it would only bring Arthur grief he might be spared.”

  “Had he—had he no solace to offer you at all?”

  “He told me I would be King.” I held my breath; Mordred’s smile was bitter. “I replied I would sooner die at Arthur’s death than succeed him. He smiled, then, and told me to be careful what I wished for.” His hand formed a fist, and his jaw tightened. “I told him I hoped Lluden of the Underworld imprisoned him in chains forever! I told him I hoped he roasted long in Hell! Enchanters are nothing but meddlers!” With an effort, he calmed himself and drew a deep breath. “He said one thing more before he went back into the mist and the rains began. Guess what it was.”

  “I’m sure I cannot,” I breathed.

  “ ‘Take what comes and live without complaint. What will be, will be. Life is woman’s gift; death is God’s.’ ”

  This timeworn commonplace was known as Merlin’s litany, so often had it fallen from his lips. There was not a child in Britain who did not know it. And this was all the comfort Merlin could offer Arthur’s son!

  “Oh, my God, my God!” I bent my head, weeping. “How can it happen without your will?”

  “I don’t know. But it will. I will be the cause of it, somehow. I would never raise a hand against him, but just by having been born, I will be his death. Oh, the gods are unjust!” he cried suddenly, and buried his face in his hands.

  I rose and sat beside him, and cradled his head in my arms. When we both were calmer, I said, “The King knows.”

  He nodded. “Yes. I know he knows. I remember now the times he has recalled it, when he was with me. I remember how the light left his face. And guess who told him! Merlin, of course.” He clenched his fist. “He was only a little older than I when he learned it—that his own half sister carried his child, who would one day be his death! Can you imagine it? He should have killed her before she bore me! I should never have been born! How has he managed to be the man he is, knowing this?”

  He rose suddenly and began to pace the room. I could not watch, he reminded me so of Arthur.

  “The King knows, yet he took me in,” he said fiercely. “Not only took me in, but searched for me. Educated me. Trained me. Trusted me. He has done me nothing but honor. And for what? That I should reward him by bringing him his death? I will not do it!”

  He tore at his hair and then stopped, willing himself to stillness. “I have made a vow.” His voice was quiet again, and grave. “I have vowed I will not outlive him. No one, no one, will be able to accuse me of that ambition.”

  I knew he referred to Lancelot. But before I drew breath to defend him, Mordred came and knelt before me. He looked suddenly young and lost.

  “Why did he do it, my lady? Why did he take me in, knowing I am his fate? Can any man be that brave? Or is it that he would rather see his death approaching than wait, unknowing, for the blow?”

  “I do not think it was bravery so much as love,” I said gently, taking his hands. “He would do what is right by you, whatever the outcome.”

  He nodded, swallowing. “I will do the same by him. I will serve him with my life. If this—cruel injustice cannot be averted, at least I can show him that by my will I love and honor him.”

  I stroked his hair, and he laid his head in my lap. So Bedwyr found us when he came in later, in a pose of love, with tears on our faces.

  Two days later the court moved to Caerleon for Christmas, and Queen Morgause left for Castle Daure. Arthur had wanted to be home by Christmas, but storms had closed the seas, and we had no word. We went about our business, Mordred and I, as if nothing were amiss. He was resolved upon his course of action, of loyal service until death, and in an odd way this had calmed him and matured him. I was the one who could not sleep at night, haunted by bad dreams and ghostly voices. Merlin was wise to stay clear of me, for I was eager to give him a piece of my mind. Rumors drifted in that he had been seen near his precious cave in South Wales. I determined to ride there and face him, but was prevented from going by a snowstorm. The storm became a blizzard and kept us penned within doors. I thought some days I should scream in frustration.

  “Oh, Arthur!” I cried alone at night. “Come home and take this burden from me!”

  Bedwyr was my only solace. If he knew of the dreadful prophecy, he did not show it. He was calm, and kind, and wise. If he was puzzled by my moodiness and outbursts of anger, he did not reproach me, but put it down to womanly weakness, or loneliness for the King.

  Christmas, the King’s birthday, the feast of Mithra, passed without word from the King. And then at last the weather broke, and we had two weeks of thaw. I rode out every day, on Pallas if I wanted a long gallop, on Rajid if I needed a challenge to my skill. Bedwyr became worried and spoke to me thrice about not risking my neck while under his protection.

  “I am pursued by enchanters!” I retorted. It was the only clue he had to what was wrong.

  The day the King returned I was out riding. Berys was the leader of the escort, and although I had led him leagues from Caerleon, he followed meekly and let me have my way. I was well paid for such foolishness, for on the way home his horse threw a shoe, and we went at a walk all the way. It was well after dark when we reached the fortress. The sentries met us with evident relief.

  “The King is back and wants to see the Queen!” they cried in greeting.

  Berys swore under his breath. “Just my luck, by Mithra! Now I am for it!”

  “The fault is mine,” I told him. “Don’t worry about the King. He knows me.”

  He grinned, and I realized suddenly it was the first time in a month I had made anyone smile.

  I hurried to my quarters and found Ailsa ready with my bath. From her chatter I gathered that the King had returned at midday and had been closeted all afternoon with Bedwyr, Gawaine, and Mordred. Thank goodness he had learned from other lips of Morgause’s crime and imprisonment, although with Gawaine there he would learn little enough of the details. How far away that trouble seemed to me now! How swiftly had my worry over the corruption of Gaheris been swallowed up by my fear for Mordred! How much had happened—and all of it dreadful!—since Arthur had left Britain!

  The King took his dinner in his rooms, still in conference. Ailsa brought me some bread and soup, but I could eat none of it. I did not want to greet the King in public. I was not sure I could trust my tongue. So in spite of Arthur’s orders that I was to be brought to him as soon as I was ready, I
waited until the page reported that Mordred and Gawaine had gone.

  He was in his sitting room with Bedwyr, standing before the fire. I avoided looking at his face and curtsied at his feet.

  “Welcome home, my lord.” I tried to hide my agitation, but of course he saw it. When he took my hands to raise me, his grip was firm. As always, I felt calm and warmth and strength flow from him, and I looked up in desperation. “Oh, my lord!” He embraced me then and held me close while I struggled against tears.

  “I know what it is, Gwen. Go ahead, let it out,” he said softly, and at long last I let go and sobbed like a child in his arms.

  “It is not fair!” I cried against his breast. “Oh, Arthur! God could not be so cruel!” He held me until my weeping subsided and pressed a cool cloth gently to my brow. Bedwyr handed him a cup of scented wine, which he put to my lips and bade me drink. I felt dizzy with so many tears and collapsed into the chair. Arthur sat across from me, holding my hands. Bedwyr stood gazing at the flames.

  “Oh, my lord! This is a terrible thing! I shall go mad unless you help me! Has—has Mordred spoken with you? Does Bedwyr know?”

  He answered me calmly. “Mordred has made his report, and Gawaine his. And Bedwyr has told me what they could not. I know all about Morgause and your bravery on behalf of Gaheris. Thank you, Gwen. No one else I know would willingly face my sister. Including me.” He paused. “I have approved the Council’s actions.”

  “My lord, I do not mean the trouble with Gaheris!”

  “I know, my dear.” He touched his lips to my hand. “About the prophecy that worries you—no, Mordred did not speak of it. And yes, Bedwyr knows. I have just now told him of it.” He paused, frowning. “I wish you had shared it with him, Gwen, and saved yourself such suffering. You are naught but skin and bone and sorrow. He tells me you have had no rest for weeks. It is no wonder you are ill.”

  “It was not my secret to share,” I whispered. “Oh, Arthur! Tell me it is not true! Niniane would not come to me, and I would have gone to Merlin, but—”