Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn (46 page)

“Arthur, I was beset by dreams—by nightmares in which I saw your death. Night after night, over and over. It terrified me. It still does. To be the cause of your death…” I paused, swallowing down the panic that rose with the idea, and picked my words very carefully. There was no need to explain Lancelot when the door was finally open to express my feelings for Arthur. “I plighted my troth to you on a chilly night at the Wrekin, and have never since regretted it. You are both my husband and my King…and even in Northumbria you were in my thoughts. In the odd moments, when I pondered what had happened, it was to the south I turned. To Camelot and you.”

Blindly, without looking at me, Arthur reached out and, putting his arm around my shoulder, crushed me to him. Without a word he buried his face in my hair, and I felt the sobs that overtook him, long and hard and wracking.

“There are so many things I should have done differently,” he said at last, still holding me too close to look at him. “Mordred—yea Gods, don’t you think I know I’ve failed him as a father? And you…oh, Gwen, every time I tried to tell you, tried to say it out open and dear, the words disappeared or came out wrong…or something got between us. So I ended up telling myself you knew…you must know, how much I loved you, how much I cared.

“And then, after you pleaded for Maelgwn’s life so eloquently, I thought he must have given you all the things I couldn’t. And those rumors that you had wanted to be with him didn’t help.”

“Rumors from Morgan,” I reminded him, and heard him sigh.

“Yes, back before I realized how untrustworthy she was. I tried to tell myself it wasn’t true, that you were glad to be with me, happy as my wife. And when you insisted on taking in Mordred…well, it seemed like proof enough that you’d made peace with our lot. I just never realized how hard it would be to face the boy…or how much worse it would make things.”

He pulled away from me and stared down at my face. “I didn’t believe you’d come back from Joyous Gard…didn’t think you’d leave Lance to return to me. Ah, lass, I’ve seen the look on your face, watched the spark that leaps between the two of you—who hasn’t, over the years? And if I couldn’t give you that myself, well, at least I didn’t want to take it away from you.”

My arms slid around him, and I buried my face in his chest, unable to hold his gaze. Tears of my own—for happiness, for sorrow, I couldn’t tell which—were dampening his tunic.

“I’d have left things be if it weren’t for Gawain constantly nagging at the matter of honor. I’ve no wish to go to war with the Breton, no desire to do more than make a quiet peace with him—he may have your love, but in the end, I have you…”

“Oh, Arthur,” I cried, “you have my love as well. Surely you must know that?” The words burst out, as much for my own need to affirm it as for his need to be reassured. “Good glory, do you think I’d come back to Camelot’s throne if there weren’t
some
loving involved?”

My outburst took him by surprise, and after a moment he lifted an eyebrow and gave me a wry smile. “No, come to think on it, I don’t suppose anyone in their right mind would.”

I caught the shift of mood and grinned up at him. “I’m here, we are together, there is the whole future still before us. We can’t go back and do things over, but maybe we can make a better job of it in the days to come.”

Arthur sighed, and lifted his head to look out upon the world. “After the trip to Brittany. I won’t fight Lance, you know; to do battle with him would be to war against the best part of myself. But reparations must be made to Gawain for honor’s sake. The wergild—the wergild and an apology will put an end to it. Once that is done…” He glanced down at me, “I too can come home. Come back to Camelot. And together we’ll begin to rebuild.”

The flush of excitement was bringing color back to his cheeks and a sparkle to his eyes. “We can do it, love—I know we can. Once we get the Round Table back on its feet…”

Just as when he was younger, his enthusiasm filled the room, and I hugged him fiercely, feeling the life course through him, believing there were still dreams to be fulfilled.

“When I come back,” he was saying, “we’ll begin all over again…make up for the things left undone—or unsaid—before. Think you can manage that?”

“Of course I can,” I averred, raising my chin and giving him a sidewise glance.

It was the closest Arthur and I had ever been, and when he left to set sail for Brittany, I stood on the steps of the Hall while he and his men mounted their horses, filled with love and pride and excitement for him. The trumpet sounded, and he paused to look down on me, the smile of his youth lighting his face.

Smiling back, I gave him the thumbs up and watched as he wheeled his stallion around and went to face his destiny. With so much hope flowing between us, there wasn’t room for fear.

Chapter XXXV

Rebellion

Although I knew Arthur had no intention of going to war with Lancelot, Gawain and the rest of his cohorts had convinced the courtiers that battle between them was a forgone conclusion. I found the prospect so horrific, I simply would not admit to it, and spent my time assuring everyone at Court that it would never happen.

Arthur had left the State Seal with me, but as rumor of the potential conflict in Brittany spread, there was little need to use it; everyone’s attention was focused on the Continent. So I settled for living day by day and prayed that Lance would pay the wergild and Gawain would be satisfied.

By the end of a fortnight I was taut as a bowstring. “You’d think they’d have sent some kind of word,” I fretted.

“It’s possible they’re on their way home,” Cei pointed out. Arthur’s foster brother had stayed at Camelot to command the houseguards while the King was gone—not that there were that many, most of the seasoned men being with Arthur or off on typical summer errands.

Over the years of working together, I’d grown used to the Seneschal’s sharp tongue, but now it seemed his manner was less caustic. Whatever the cause for the change, I was grateful for it. “They’d probably get here as fast as a messenger,” he added, turning his attention to the list of supplies he was laying in for the winter.

Three more days went by before a messenger climbed Camelot’s hill, bringing a brief letter penned in Bedivere’s hand. I rushed to open it but, after reading the first sentence, let out a howl of disbelief.

“Single combat!” I dropped the missive on the long table and stalked to the window. “Even though Lance has paid the wergild and sent the Orcadian an apology, Gawain claims family honor demands the Breton meet him in single combat.”

The Seneschal studied the message more closely. “Apparently the men are goading Gawain on, so they won’t be leaving there ’til Arthur can talk some sense into his nephew—or Lance comes out of his fortress to do battle.”

“Drat!” I wrapped my arms around my shoulders and shivered. Gawain could be stubborn beyond reason. When the Irish Champion Marhaus issued a challenge to single combat, Gawain had fought him for hours on end—until their comrades had to drag them both, bleeding and exhausted, off the field. Even so, Morgause’s son had demanded more. Now he was not only pitting Arthur and Lance against each other, he was holding everyone hostage to his own outrageous pride. Indignation boiled within me.

Cei leaned across the table. “M’lady, you’re going to wear yourself out with so much worry. I’m taking some men over to that villa near Weston-Super-Mare tomorrow to pick up a new supply of wine from the Mediterranean. There probably won’t be further news from Brittany again for days—maybe weeks. Why don’t you come with us? The ride would do you good.”

It was a pleasant suggestion, so after a moment’s thought, I agreed to go. Both Moonlight and I had been cooped up within Camelot’s walls far too long.

“I can’t imagine how nuns survive in a convent,” I commented as Enid helped me pack a change of clothes. “Living forever behind four high walls would drive me crazy.”

“I think most of them want the security,” she answered. “I thought about joining one after Geraint died—you know they take in widows and women with nowhere else to go.”

“Hmmm,” I responded. No doubt they provided a needed service, but I preferred to limit my contact with such places to an occasional visit with Brigit.

The trip to Weston-Super-Mare was lovely. We followed the old track along the base of the Mendip Hills, stopping at Wells to leave a prayer ribbon on the Sacred Oak for Arthur’s safety, and carefully skirted the edge of Wookey Hole. Memory of Mordred’s experience and Arthur’s revenge slunk around the edges of my mind, and I was glad we made camp farther on, at the base of Cheddar Gorge.

“Do you remember,” I asked Cei as we sat by the fire that night, “when we visited Gwyn in his hunting lodge at the top of the Gorge?”

“Indeed. And the splendid cheeses he gave us,” Camelot’s gourmet affirmed.

“I’ve heard his hall at Glastonbury is empty,” Enid noted. “Has he decided to move away?” There was a note of hopefulness in her voice. Like most Christians, she looked askance at those who were too close to the Old Ways.

“No, he’s just gone to get the last of the horses from Llantwit,” I explained. “He’ll be bringing them back before harvest time, I’m sure.”

Next morning, while Cei conducted his business at the villa, Enid and I strolled along the beach. The tide was out, leaving a long, golden strand between the high, rocky horns that flank the cove. I stared out over the wet, shining sand, as empty and clean-swept as the beach itself. The love and loss of Lance lay quiet against my heart, and I concentrated on my last sight of Arthur—flushed, excited, full of confidence that all would come well in the end. Hurry home, husband, I thought…hurry home so we can begin to build anew.

That afternoon Cei was actually lighthearted as we started back to Camelot The many amphorae of wine made the ox-drawn wagon even slower and more cumbersome than usual, but the Seneschal rode beside me, cheerfully going over all the things he and Arthur and Bedivere were planning to do come the fall.

“With such good times ahead,” I asked, “why don’t you find yourself a wife to share them with?”

Cei’s countenance darkened, but the look he shot me was more one of confusion than anger. “What do I need a wife for?” he blustered. “Bound to be more bother than she’d be worth.”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to marry?”

“I would have, but she was wed to another, so I put the thought aside.” The words were flat and devoid of feeling, like a shield held up to protect a bruise that won’t heal. But his manner became more blithe as he went on. “Besides, taking care of the kingdom keeps me more than busy.”

When we reached the bottom of Camelot’s hill, Cei signaled for a halt. “Something strange, M’lady—I don’t recognize the sentry on the lower gate.”

I gave the Seneschal an inquiring look, thinking he was being unduly cautious, but he rode up and challenged the stranger, then came back with a puzzled frown.

“Says he’s the cousin of that new fellow, Martyn. The two of them were out carousing last night; Martyn’s not feeling too well today and his cousin’s taking his place. Sounds plausible enough, though I’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again.”

So we made our way up the steep track that swings around the fortress’s base and ends in the staging area outside our upper wall. Here, however, there was clearly something amiss: the guards at the double gates and in the tower were all big, blond, and heavily armed. When Cei demanded an explanation, his voice was drowned out by the sounds of mounted warriors closing in behind the oxcart, making escape down the hill impossible. I glared at the strangers who opened the gate and swarmed around us, but they gave no heed to my protestations as they dragged our party into the courtyard and hustled me off to the Great Hall.

There was a chill silence when I entered the room, though my mind raced feverishly to make sense of what I saw. Mordred was sitting in his father’s chair, elbows propped on the arms, fingers steepled under his chin. He watched me without moving as I was brought before him, then dismissed my guard and, rising, came down off the dais. With a smile he reached out to take my hand.

“Well come, Your Highness.”

“What is this?” I snapped, struggling to keep my voice steady. If the boy thought I would let him stretch his wings so arrogantly while his father was gone, I intended to put a quick stop to it.

“This,” my stepson replied, “is the new order of things.” He led me to my own carved chair and after I was seated, retook his place in Arthur’s. “His Highness is so concerned with honor and such in Brittany, he seems to have forgotten his poor subjects here at home. So we’ve decided to take matters into our own hands.”

“
Your
hands?” I bridled. So many Saxons on Camelot’s walls suggested a palace coup, and I had to remind myself to temper anger with caution.

Seeing my wariness, Mordred shifted to a more diplomatic approach. “We’ve talked before, you and I, and agreed that it’s imperative to bring the Saxons and Britons together in peace. The Round Table is the perfect forum for it—or at least it could have been. But Arthur stunted it, turned it into a living relic—a haven for dreamers and posturing warlords out of the past. You and I both know it needs new blood, new ideas, the inclusion of the Federates—”

“So you’ve taken over the throne and are going to rectify all those wrongs?” I interrupted, trying to keep my tone inquisitive, not sarcastic, though outrage ran in my veins. “No doubt you’ve had help from the Federates?”

“Of course, through Cynric. I left him in charge of Winchester, by the way. Gave it to him as my first official act.”

First official act—the inevitable statement of a conqueror. The seriousness of Mordred’s intent came home to me with a cold certainty, and I suddenly wondered if this was another of Morgan’s plots.

Mordred rose from the King’s chair and walked slowly back and forth across the dais. His head was bent in thought, as though he were trying to decide just how much to tell me.

The setting sun bathed the Hall with a final golden sheen before slipping beyond the horizon. I wished we could have the lamps lit so I could at least see my opponent clearly, but Mordred appeared to be balancing on the edge of decision, and I didn’t want to force his hand by calling in a servant; better he arrive at his own conclusions in his own time. With any luck, he’d take me into his confidence. So I folded my hands and waited.

“If only you’d spoken up more forcefully,” he said at last, coming to a stop and looking at me earnestly. “I know you understood the problem, know you held more sway over the High King than I ever could. I was counting on your good sense to soften him.” He turned away with a sigh and a shake of his head. “Well, you can make up for that lack now, M’lady.” He went back to pacing again. “I have the Federates behind me, totally committed. But I need you to bring the Cumbri into line—the men of Rheged, the Wrekin, the various countries in Wales. It was clear they’d follow you against Arthur, and if you’ll recognize me as the new High King, they’ll no doubt follow suit. Naturally, you can remain at Court as the Dowager Queen.” He gestured from the tapestry of the Red Dragon to the stairs at the far end of the Hall. “All kept the same. Even your own carved chair. Just promise me you’ll back my bid for Kingship and encourage the Fellowship to accept me.”

So this wasn’t just a local rebellion; Mordred was intent on ruling the whole of Britain as High King. And he was heeding the old maxim that he who controls the Queen controls the people.

“How do I know this isn’t just a bluff?” I queried, playing for time and information. “Who among the Saxons are sworn to you?”

Mordred raised an eyebrow at my question. “All of them. Cissa of Sussex, Aesc’s sons in Kent, Cynric in Winchester. And a number of others ‘Good King Arthur’ never bothered to recognize, any more than he recognized me.”

The bitterness of his last words laid bare the grief that had driven him to this, and for a moment my heart was touched.

“And you trust them, Mordred? You trust
them
? Have you never thought they may be using you? Undermining the British rule from within, getting you to do their dirty work? What makes you think they’ll let you live to sit in the High King’s chair?”

“Haven’t you noticed; I am already in the High King’s chair.” He smiled with cold satisfaction. “The rebellion has already taken place. All that’s left is to secure my position.”

All that’s left! How blind the arrogance of youth can be! With a snap of the fingers he discounted Arthur, dismissed him as a force already overthrown, an old man who had grown blind to the realities of the day. Ah Mordred, you, too, suffered from lack of vision, the blindness of your hatred making you underestimate the very man who sired you!

Seeing that there was no way to reach him with reason, I sighed and put my hands on the arms of my chair preparatory to rising. “Let me think about it,” I temporized. “Give me until tomorrow to consider the matter. By then I’ll have some idea as to how to help you.”

Again the cold smile, but this time I caught a hint of warmth in his eyes—not triumph as in a political matter but relief, as though having my approval still mattered to him. It might not be of any use to me, but I was grateful that he had not totally discounted all the years I’d cared for him.

Back in my room, I took my jewels from the treasure chest and slipped them into traveling pouches. Arthur had once told me they might be handy for bartering. Then I had Enid go in search of Cei and ask him to bring my dinner to my chamber, providing he was not under arrest with the rest of our houseguard.

Fortunately the Saxons had heard so much about the fine food at Camelot, they were demanding proof of the Seneschal’s culinary skill. So while the rest of our men were in chains, Cei moved freely between kitchen and larder and Hall. Later, while the enemy were gorging themselves at their feast, he and I conferred in hasty whispers, making plans for escape.

I gave him various spices from the cupboard, explaining which herbs bring on sleep, and after the strangers had had their fill of mulled wine and sat nodding by the fire, I crept down the back stairs and joined the Seneschal in the kitchen courtyard. We dared not confront the sentries on the wall, but slipped silently through the postern gate and, keeping well to the shadows on the edge of the track, made our way to the nearest steading. Here Cei found a pair of horses, which he appropriated without even waking the farmer. I told myself we’d repay the man when this was over.