Queen of Camelot

  My heart beat suddenly fast, and I felt my anger rising. “Do you include Mordred in this group?”

  His voice was very gentle. “Oh, yes. By some he is thought the leader. He and Agravaine. They would catch us in some amour, if they could. They think I lie with you and so betray the King.”

  “They do not dare! Tell me this is not true!”

  He slipped my arm through his and started back down the walk. “But it is true and cannot be discounted. And in my heart,” he breathed, so low I could barely hear, “in my heart I am guilty. Whenever I lay with Elaine, in my heart it was you I held. This is a sin.”

  “Dreams are phantoms!” I protested. “We are all fools in our dreams! You cannot be guilty, Lancelot, of sins your flesh has not committed. I will hear no more of this. This is folly.”

  He squeezed my arm. “That is just what Arthur says.”

  “Well, Arthur knows the truth. You are the last man on this earth who would betray him.”

  At last I heard the smile back in his voice. “Thank you for that. I only spoke to warn you. Sometimes the appearance of a thing is all that is required to produce conviction. You know the saying: Where there is smoke, there is fire.”

  “Only fools think so.” We approached the light, and he gently dropped my arm, so that we walked without touching.

  “There are plenty of fools about,” he said lightly. “We should, perhaps, be more careful of the smoke.”

  41 THE MURDER

  Arthur returned a day or two later, having seen the boys halfway to Castle Daure. He had waited near the Great Plain to hear if there were trouble, but all had apparently gone well. Morgause received her sons without incident, and they would stay a fortnight in her company before Mordred and Arthur left to meet the Saxons. Relieved, Arthur threw himself into the daily routine of ruling, joining me and Lancelot on occasion for a day hawking or a good gallop over the downs.

  One evening, after a hard ride, a hot bath, and a good meal, we sat late in the library, playing chess. The doors stood open to the garden and the sweet scents of summer, of roses, honeysuckle, and new-cut grasses, drifted in on the soft night breeze. With us, stretched on the benches asleep or recounting the day’s events over a cup of neat wine, were the best loved of the Companions: Lancelot, Bedwyr, Gereint, Ferron, Lyonel, Bleoberys, and a few others. In the corner, a trio of my maids sat and stitched.

  With a deep sigh of contentment, I gave my mind to the game. Arthur and I were usually well matched, but that night he was not at his best. His beloved hound Cabal had died that morning while we were out hunting. The news had met us upon our return, and he had grieved to hear it. Within the hour the houndsman had brought some young dogs to the King, and he had chosen a new Cabal, white-coated and dark-eyed, with paws and ears too big to suit his size, and a mischievous eagerness that made the High King laugh. As he sat before the chessboard, Arthur held young Cabal in his lap, and twice put his bishop in jeopardy while he played with the pup’s floppy ears. At length the dog, eager to regain Arthur’s attention, shoved his nose under the King’s arm and pushed hard. Pieces flew off the table and Arthur bit off a cry of disappointment.

  “Just when I was about to trap your knight!”

  “My lord is dreaming!” I laughed, leaning down to pick up an errant pawn. “You were four moves from checkmate, maybe less.”

  He grinned. “Nonsense! I had you right where I wanted you.”

  “Indeed? What kind of strategy is that, to lose two pawns to every one of mine?”

  “Why, a ploy to disarm you through overconfidence.”

  “What a clever strategy! Is this how you won Britain, my lord King? No wonder the Saxons could never get your measure!”

  Two or three of the men looked our way, smiling.

  Arthur shook his head. “When you are too sure of yourself, my dear, you make mistakes.”

  “Do I, indeed? Would you care to name them?”

  He laughed outright and set the dog upon the floor. “No, I would not. I am not such a fool as all that. I grant you the game, Guinevere. Does that content you?”

  “To be given as a gift something I had earned already?” I retorted, smiling up at him as he rose to stretch. “Nothing will content me but to hear your admission that I bested you tonight.”

  He took my hand and raised it to his lips. His eyes met mine, and heat rose to my face. “Ask it of me again when the night is over.” I heard chuckles from the men and felt Lancelot’s eyes upon me clear across the room. The dog, impatient of attention, leaped up on Arthur’s chair and thence to the table, scattering the pieces wildly all over the room. With loud cries of laughter, the men chased the dog and scrambled for the pieces on all fours, while the pup ran circles all about them, yapping in glee.

  In the middle of this mayhem, a knock came at the door. Arthur was beside me, on his knees, whistling for the dog, and I saw his face as he glanced up. He went suddenly pale, and slowly rose, the black queen falling unnoticed from his fingers.

  Kay stepped in, grim-faced, and bowed. “My lord. A courier. From Castle Daure.” Behind him, white as a nether spirit and still dusty from the road, stood Gareth. Alone.

  “Bring him in.”

  In the corner, little Linet, a pretty dark-haired child with eyes bright as a bird’s, looked up and smiled shyly at Gareth. She was only thirteen, but already had lost her heart. Gareth fell to his knees at Arthur’s feet, so consumed by some strong emotion he neither saw nor heard anyone else in the room.

  “Uncle,” he whispered. “Uncle.”

  At Arthur’s signal, the maids gathered up their work and departed, the Companions rose, bowed, and filed out in silence. Someone grabbed the dog. Lancelot awaited me at the door; I made Arthur a reverence.

  “No, Gwen. Stay. You, too, Lancelot. The boy will need your aid.”

  I looked down at Gareth’s bowed head. I knew my thoughts were one with Arthur’s: Something had happened to Mordred.

  “Arise, Gareth,” the King said quietly. “Gwen, a winecup. Drink this, son, and sit down. Collect yourself. Whatever it is you have ridden so far so fast to tell us will still be true five minutes hence.”

  Gareth obeyed. At fourteen, he was a well-grown youth, as strong and thickly built as his brothers, but of a kinder nature. His gentleness and good humor lent his plain face an honesty that the others’ lacked. He trained daily with Lancelot and had grown to love honor. The wild streak so apparent in his brothers was tamed in him, and civilized.

  Arthur stood before him. “All right, Gareth. What has happened?”

  The boy looked up with eyes dulled from suffering. “My mother—Queen Morgause—is dead.”

  I gasped. “Dead! How?”

  “She was murdered.” He spoke lifelessly. Arthur reached out a hand to his chin and raised his face. Through the dust on his cheeks were trails of former tears; he met Arthur’s eyes directly; he was telling the truth.

  “How?” Arthur asked sharply. “Who?”

  Gareth turned his face away and dropped his eyes. “My lord, Gaheris killed her.”

  “Gaheris!” I cried, sitting hard on the bench beside him.”Oh, no!”

  “I think,” Arthur said slowly, “you had better take your time and tell us the whole story. Lancelot, set a guard upon the door and see we are not disturbed.”

  With an effort, Gareth stilled his trembling and, drawing a deep breath, began to speak. “At first, everything went smoothly. Mother greeted us all with the show of loving warmth she always puts on for strangers.” I bowed my head to hear him speak so; even Gareth! “Sir Lamorak took charge of our escort and saw that we were well attended. We got to see her in the evenings, in the common room, either in the company of Sir Bellok, the garrison commander, or of Sir Lamorak, or of King Arres himself, who did us the honor to come and greet us. We were never alone with her. Gaheris—Gaheris began to chafe under such surveillance. And Mordred took to staying awake nights, just to be sure he slept. My lord, I think he kept watch over Gaheris, cov
ertly, all the while.”

  “Bless him,” I breathed.

  “But then—” He shivered suddenly. Lancelot’s hand came down upon his shoulder, and his voice steadied. “If only Mordred had enlisted my aid, we could have watched in shifts! One night he dozed off and woke well past midnight to find Gaheris gone. Although it was so late, he made his way to her rooms without difficulty. No one even asked his business. No one, he told me later, appeared to think twice about a youth making his way to her apartments after dark.”

  “Oh, Gareth!” I clasped his cold hand.

  “They were only surprised that he did not know the way. When he came to her chamber, he found Gaheris weeping at the door. They heard voices within, and laughter, and sounds enough for Mordred to know—and, and Gaheris, too, may God forgive him—how she was engaged. Mordred sought to draw him away, but Gaheris refused to leave. Finally, Mordred took him by the shoulder and shook him, pointing out that such obsession was a sickness, and when Mother was alone they could come back. At this Gaheris apparently went wild, drew his sword, and kicked open the door.”

  He stopped and drained the winecup. “I will give it to you, my lord, as I heard it from Mordred’s lips that very night. I cannot ever, ever forget his words. His voice was so cold.” He wiped sweat from his brow and Lancelot tightened his grip on the boy’s shoulder. “They found her in bed with Lamorak, coupled, and so absorbed in each other they were slow to react. Mordred grabbed his arm, as Gaheris began shouting obscenities—this probably saved Lamorak’s life. He leaped out of bed and made for the chair where he had left his sword. Mordred of course assumed Gaheris would try to slay Lamorak, so he was completely unprepared for what actually happened.” His voice grew tight, but he kept on. “Gaheris turned to Mother, lying naked on the covers and, with a cry of such anguish that it froze them to where they stood, brought down his sword across her neck.”

  “Dear God!” I stared up in horror at Arthur’s face. “Oh, Arthur!”

  He passed a hand across his brow and crossed himself.

  Gareth plowed on in a lifeless voice. “Gaheris fell to weeping and flung his sword away and began embracing her body amid the bloody sheets. Then Mordred urged Lamorak to dress and get going, to put as much distance as he could between himself and Gawaine before the news was out. He got Lamorak away and bid him hie back to Brittainy until the storm blew over. Then he locked the doors behind him, gave Gaheris into Agravaine’s care, and came and told me about it. He bade me take horse at once and come to you. He said I was the one courier you would believe. But I think, my lord, I think he wanted to get me out of that awful place!” His voice finally broke, and he covered his face with his hands. Lancelot sat beside him and with an arm about his shoulder, hugged him to his breast.

  After a moment, Arthur spoke. “How did Gawaine react? Do you know?”

  Gareth struggled for composure. “Yes, my lord. I—I was there when Mordred told him.” His smile was bitter. “You know Gawaine. Nothing will serve but he must kill Lamorak. Not even Mordred could make him see reason. Mordred told him Lamorak was her betrothed—that this was known by five or six of your Companions—and that it gave him a right to her bed. But Gawaine will have it that Mother was dishonored.”

  “Is he mad?” I cried. “His mother is dead by his brother’s hand!”

  “He has no love for Gaheris. And he knows it was no rape. But her death is a small thing, beside her honor.”

  “Her honor!” But I said no more; Gareth was her son, as well.

  “And Agravaine, too, is breathing revenge.” The boy faltered. “He considers it all Lamorak’s doing and wants an eye for an eye. I know he always protects Gaheris, but—and now Gawaine is the leader of our clan. We are headed for disaster! It is too soon, too soon. I can’t believe she is gone.”

  “Come, Gareth.” Lancelot spoke in a low voice full of tenderness. “Come with me to the chapel. Together we will pray for the salvation of her soul. There is great comfort, I have found, in heartfelt prayer.”

  Gareth’s eyes widened. “Oh, my lord! I had forgotten! Kay told me about your wife and daughter! To lose two of your kin in one stroke—and here I am grieving for a mother I did not love in life.”

  Lancelot glanced at me swiftly, then raised the boy. “Whatever turmoil lies within your heart, prayer will ease it and give you the peace to sleep.”

  Gareth nodded. I could see he was close to exhaustion. “Very good, my lord, I thank you. I would like to go.”

  I glanced at Arthur but he shook his head, and Lancelot and Gareth went out together. When the door had closed, Arthur turned to me. “Let them be. He is better alone with Lancelot, and Lancelot alone with him.” He took my hand and held it between his own. “Gwen, the hour is late, our fellowship is broken. Would you take it amiss if I asked you to retire? I have to fetch the scribe, have orders written out, and there are couriers to send. I will be late, I fear.”

  There were new lines in his face and a drawn, weary look around his eyes. I thought suddenly, and for the first time, He is no longer young.

  “My lord, may I await you?”

  He half smiled and brushed his lips against my hand. “I would like that very much.”

  He was very late, but at last he came. I had wine ready, and cool fruit drinks, and cold water, and had filled the bowl on his nightstand with fresh roses. I waited in my own room until Varric left him, and then I went in.

  “My lord Arthur.” I walked into his embrace, and he kissed me fondly.

  He was not too tired to smile. “Ah, Gwen. Bless you for waiting. I am so weary of it all. Let us have peace a moment.”

  We went out onto the terrace to enjoy the coolness of the night. He sat in the chair, and I stood behind and rubbed his shoulders. At first it was like pressing fingers into bronze, but with time, his flesh grew more human to the touch. At length he sighed and thanked me, and I came around and sat at his feet, my head resting on his knees.

  “By her death, Morgause has sown the seed of blood feud into my company of knights,” the King said flatly. “Even now, I am not free of her curse! Gawaine has sworn to avenge himself on Lamorak. Should he succeed, Lamorak’s cousin, Drustan, King of Elmet, will be avenged upon Gawaine. We shall have the kingdoms at war with one another at a time we can least afford it.”

  I took his hand and held it hard. “What steps have you taken?”

  He sighed again. “I’m going to have a devil of a time convincing Arres that I will not hold my sister’s death against him. But I have sent him a message explaining things as best I can. I have banished Gaheris. If, as I believe, he has lost his wits, he will come somewhere to the fate he deserves. I cannot kill him; that would divide the Kingdom right down the middle. Thanks to Mordred’s quick thinking, Lamorak has vanished. If he has sense, he will not go to Drustan, which is where Gawaine will look for him. He has a distant relation in Cornwall and friends in Brittany. Either place would serve him well. When and if this blows over, I will welcome him back into the Companions. He has done nothing amiss. I am the last man on earth who could condemn him.”

  “Stop it, Arthur. That is behind you.”

  He shrugged. “For the present, I will keep Gawaine and Agravaine close by me. I have ordered them home at once. Time may temper their hatred. I have no doubt that Gaheris will get word to Agravaine, and I hope that Mordred, through him, will be able to keep me informed as to what happens. I can do no more than this, but wait.”

  I kissed his hand, and he gently stroked my hair.

  “Lancelot feels more sadness at the passing of a wife he did not love than those wild boys do for their own mother,” he said softly, in sorrow. “Even Gareth is more shocked than sorry.”

  “That is the difference in the man.”

  A smile touched his lips. “Yes. It will be good to have him back with us again the year round.” He stopped there, but looked down into my upturned face. I reached up and put my arms about his neck, drew his face down and kissed him. It awoke the flame in
him, and he responded, drawing me up onto his lap.

  “My lord,” I breathed, “in time, all will be well. And see, Merlin was right. There was no more need to fear Morgause.”

  He sighed. “When I am with you, Gwen, I can believe it. I can believe almost anything, even that Gawaine will grow into sense in time.”

  “He may, with age. He is but sixteen.” I paused. “My lord, is it true that some of the young men have taken against Lancelot?”

  He went still a moment, then nodded. “Yes. From envy. They see he has the trust and favor of both King and Queen. This is a natural thing. They are a small group, boys without power and small hope of gaining it. Pay it no mind.”

  “But, my lord, is Mordred one of them?”

  He looked at me sharply. “No. Who has said so?”

  “Lancelot himself thinks so. I did not believe it.”

  “Agravaine is the leader. A fifteen-year-old hothead whom Lancelot could slay with one arm tied behind him! It is ridiculous to pay them heed. Mordred bears Agravaine little love, but recognizes the blood tie and would keep him from harm if he could. That is why he goes to their meetings, and drinks and dices with them, to protect me and Agravaine. If Lancelot has seen them together, he has drawn the wrong conclusion.”

  I exhaled in relief. “I am so glad, my lord. I was afraid—I wish them to be friends, and not enemies.”

  “As do I. Sometimes,” he said heavily, “I wish we could escape court and all its intrigues, and take up arms in the open field against a worthy foe—good, clean fighting is preferable to this!”

  I ruffled his hair. “To a man, perhaps. But most certainly not to me, who must wait here until the battle’s end for news. It is like sitting upon hot coals.”

  But he did not smile. His gaze was distant and pensive.

  “A coin for your thoughts, my lord.”