The Chessboard Queen (22 page)

Cei gulped. “Arthur!” he called as the King strode onward. “Lancelot, he isn’t here!”

Arthur did not seem to hear him. “Oh, well,” Cei thought, “Merlin will tell him. Why should I bring all the bad news?”

Food was hastily being thrown on the tables in the dining hall. Hollering for Merlin, Arthur grabbed a goose leg as he passed them. Finally the adviser appeared.

“Didn’t take you long to get here, did it?” he stated. He was not in a good mood. Nimuë was gone and he couldn’t reach her and now Guinevere was missing again. The last time it had been the Saxons who took her and the whole thing had resulted in her marrying Arthur. Why couldn’t that woman stay in one place instead of traipsing all over the country with no guard but a haunted saint? He knew by the look on Arthur’s face that she would have to be retrieved. If it weren’t for the insult Meleagant intended for Arthur, Merlin would have been glad to let her stay at the fortress forever.

“Merlin, how do we get past Meleagant’s defenses?” Arthur demanded. He tossed the half-finished drumstick to the dogs under the table and drained a cup of wine.

“Don’t do that, Arthur.” Merlin felt chilled. “You look exactly like your father.”

Arthur threw the cup down with a clatter. “Damn it! Half of me
is
my father! Why should we keep avoiding it? He was a strong king, whatever else he did. He wouldn’t have been somewhere else when his wife was being kidnapped! He would have had Meleagant’s home uprooted and smashed by any means he could find. And you were never above giving him those means, were you, Merlin?”

He glared at the wizard, his jaw working, his lips tight and drawn. “It never bothered you when you were with him to conjure up a fog or an earthquake to help him pillage. But for me it’s always, ‘Do it the hard way, Arthur, such power is evil. You must rule by reason.’ Right now I don’t care about reason or even mercy. I want power
and I will get my revenge!
”

He was screaming. The doorway was crowded with men coming to get their food and their orders. They stopped in amazement at the sight of the King ranting out of control. The servants cowered against the walls. No one spoke or moved.

Arthur felt the quiet. He turned from Merlin and saw them all staring at him with hurt or awed disbelief. He felt sick.

“Then look!” he yelled at them. He picked up another piece of meat and ripped off a chunk with his teeth. “I’m Arthur! You made me King, whether I willed or not. You come to me for every answer any time, as if I were an oracle. Well, I’m not a god, like the old emperors were. I can’t raise my hand and make the oceans part. Isn’t that what you expect of me? Miracles? Divine justice? And all imparted with celestial calm and detachment. Look at me!” He threw down the meat, to the joy of the dogs. “I’m human! I’m hungry and tired. I’m growing old. My teeth are beginning to crumble. I have been robbed and insulted and I’m angry. Just how do you expect me to act?” His glare beat upon them as their disbelief turned to sorrow and embarrassment. Arthur’s shoulders sagged; he took a deep breath. Just as he was about to speak again, an outraged voice echoed from outside the hall.

“Who the hell tied me to this horse?”

A burst of laughter released the tension as Gawain was remembered. Everyone hurried out to set him loose. Only Merlin remained. He watched Arthur with an indecipherable expression.

All the energy seemed to drain from Arthur’s body. He collapsed onto the nearest bench.

“I’m tired,” he whispered from the reaches of his soul. He wiped his face with his forearm. Merlin laid a hand on his shoulder.

“I am sorry, Arthur, truly. All the years I have been scheming for you, it has been too easy to forget what I was also doing to you. I cannot help you the way I did your father. Uther was only a soldier. His dreams went no further than his own pleasure. He wasn’t worried by the sins he carried. Do you want me to make an earthquake for you? Will having Meleagant destroyed in such a way bring you any closer to what you seek?”

Arthur stared at the floor. When he spoke, his voice was distant and wrenching.

“I am in a cage, Merlin. There are no doors. I cannot smash it or bend the bars. Only when I look up can I see clear sky with no barrier. So I must climb the bars, hand over hand. I have been climbing for so long. Every time I think I am almost there, I discover there are a few more feet to go, only a few more, on and on. What happens, Merlin, if I should simply let go?”

Merlin’s eyes filled. He thought of Nimuë and how he yearned for her and the peace and joy she brought him. He struggled to find the right words. But there were none.

After a long pause, Arthur spoke again, in a different tone. “Meleagant would not hurt her, would he?”

“Of course not, Arthur. If Aelle couldn’t harm her, I don’t see how Meleagant would dare.” He sighed. “I will help you get her back—at least with advice. Don’t worry. Call your people in and get them fed. I will come with you.”

Nimuë was immortal. She could wait. But how long could he? Merlin resigned himself to one more mission. But no more, please, no more.

• • •

Meleagant did not quite know what to do with his “guest.” She intimidated him and that made him angry. She puzzled him, too. His main knowledge of women of her class came from his wife, Gilli. Gilli had been acquired as part of a peace treaty his father had made with a neighbor. She had been nice enough to look at then, but clearly not delighted with her fate. She gave Meleagant his due as a husband but little insight into the female mind. After fifteen years of marriage Meleagant often wished they had risked war with her father, after all. Guinevere was a new prospect for him. She was beautiful—her looks were already legendary in Britain—but she was not only ornamental. In some way he could not exactly follow, she seemed to exert an influence on those about her.

He had installed her in a small room in one of the towers. It was not a prison, but a bare place with no amenities. She had made no comment on it, but by the end of the first day there were hangings on the walls, clean rushes on the floor, furs on the bed, and even an ancient copper brazier to warm the air. The last had been donated by old Claudas, who had never bothered himself about any of his son’s household before. Meleagant scratched his head. Even his brood of slovenly, half-grown offspring showed vague signs of intelligence when they were around her.

A fear began to grow in Meleagant that perhaps he had not been so clever when he stole Arthur’s Queen. Even his retainers were drawn to her. They might decide not to help at all if this should lead to warfare. There was only one logical reason for it. The woman must be a witch, a sorceress, enchanting all who came within her sphere of influence. Meleagant crossed himself automatically at the thought. He had forgotten that aunt of Arthur’s, Morgause. What if Guinevere were another like her? And it was he who had brought her within his walls. . . . He called to his seneschal.

“Is the Lady Guinevere securely locked in her room?”

The seneschal came to attention. “No, my Lord. Your father wanted to talk with her and complained of the stairs being too much for him. So she was escorted down to the hall.”

“She is there now?” Meleagant said in alarm.

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I will speak with her there.”

Meleagant strode angrily to the common hall. What business had his father to concern himself with the prisoner? The woman was dangerous and the sooner he could be honorably rid of her, the better.

• • •

Guinevere, when she had gained control of her anger, reflected that, for all its military value, the fortress was a dreary place to live. It was even worse than the dank halls of Cador, where she had been fostered. At least there had been some interesting people there. Guinevere wasn’t impressed with the inhabitants she had met here so far. With the exception of Meleagant, they were very kind to her and eager to please, but they were dirty and they sniffed into their sleeves a great deal, even the adults. She had taken to handing out handkerchiefs as gifts, but no one seemed to take the hint. Guinevere hoped that Arthur would waste no time in rescuing her. She sipped from the cup she had been given upon her arrival in the hall. It was mulled ale and much too bitter. She stifled a sigh and regarded the old man across the table from her.

Claudas was so old that his memory often became confused with myth. It was popularly believed among his grandchildren that he would never die since neither God nor the devil had any use for him.
They
certainly had none. He had long ago lost all of his teeth and survived on a diet of grain boiled and mashed with milk and ale. The stench of it smothered those who came close to him.

He raised his decrepit hand and pointed at the game pieces on the table before them.

“Do y’ know this, girl?” he asked sharply. “The soldiers used t’ play it when I was a boy. Have y’ seen one before?”

She nodded. “It’s a chessboard. My father taught me to play.”

“You’re Leodegrance’s girl, I heard. Don’t remember him. Your mother, now, she was something to look at. Y’ don’t take after her much.”

Guinevere smiled. He peered through the rheum in his eyes.

“I remember your grandmother, too. You’ve got her name. Don’t take after her, either. Her eyes were brown and her hair curled all around her face and neck. They don’t do it that way anymore. Too lazy.”

He leaned forward, trying to take her in. The chess pieces were knocked over and rolled across the floor. Claudas ignored them.

“Well, girl, who
do
y’ take after? Never saw anything like y’ before. And in my time I saw most of the world. Nah, you’re not even Saxon.”

Guinevere let him run down, but gave no answer. While a servant chased after the chess pieces, she examined the hall. It was old, she guessed, maybe from before the Romans. The upper walls were thick with soot and the stone steps were worn into soft curves by thousands of feet. Claudas watched her. He bent closer to whisper to her. His breath came in acrid waves.

“They say my seventh great-grandfather was one of the dark gods. He built this place as his sanctuary and to last. Even with water on three sides, in all these centuries, the land has never eroded an inch. Know why? He had the mortar mixed with dragon’s blood and a prince of Gwynedd buried at each corner. Their ghosts are doomed to guard it for eternity. Only those the lord permits may enter by land and the only way across the water is by bridges over and under. No man has yet trod upon them and lived.”

His breath was making Guinevere queasy. Under the pretext of gathering up the stone pieces the servant had replaced, she ducked for a gasp of fresh air. She hurriedly set up the game. Claudas slumped back into his chair. She smiled at him.

“Shall we begin the game, sir?” she asked demurely.

• • •

Gareth and Lancelot were camped for the night by a swift, cold mountain stream. Neither one of them had the slightest idea of where they were. They had traveled north and west as far as the road allowed, passed through some small villages and a few farmholds. But no one knew where Meleagant lived. Gareth tried to appear unconcerned as he prepared their evening meal, but he wondered what, if anything, Lancelot would do next. In the few days they had been together, Gareth had come to almost worship the knight of the Lake as his image of the perfect man. This was what the traveling storytellers meant when they spoke of the ideal that Arthur sought. Already Gareth feared the possible defeat of the man beside him as one dreads a flood or plague or some other such disaster beyond the control of man. It could happen, but it was unthinkable.

Lancelot abruptly got up and walked into the woods. Gareth relaxed. Certainly he had gone to be alone and pray for divine guidance. Gareth had no doubt that the information would be given.

In a few moments Lancelot returned and silently took the offered plate. Gareth respected this. One could not commune with God and immediately chat with mere mortals. Lancelot paid him no attention. He was wrestling with himself again. His devotions had not helped him tonight. He had mouthed the words, but his mind had not been on them. What filled his thoughts were terrible visions of Guinevere being pawed and tortured by some faceless monster. He was not at all aware of what he was eating and had almost finished before he remembered that he had not prepared the food himself. He looked up. There was that stableboy sitting motionless across from him. Lancelot regarded him curiously.

“Did you tell me your name?” he asked.

“Gareth.”

“Have you eaten?”

“While you were in the woods.”

Lancelot put the plate down. “Why did you come with me?”

Gareth blushed. “I want to help you. No, I mean I want you to teach me to be like you. I want to be a knight, like you.”

“Me?” Lancelot felt uneasy. “I cannot teach you anything. Only Arthur creates knights. Cei is the man you should ask about it, or Gawain. They have been his friends for many years and know what is expected.”

Gareth shook his head. “No, you are the one I want to be like. They may know what is wanted, but you are that. I want to be what you are, strong and brave and sure of yourself! Like a hero from the old stories!”

Despite himself, Lancelot gave a little smile of pleasure. “Beware of pride!” his conscience warned him.

“Well,” he conceded, “if you prefer to assist me, I will do what I can for you. But you must understand, I do not live as the others do, although I do not fault them. I believe that, to be what King Arthur dreams, we must be pure and chaste of body and spirit. That is the most I would ask of another. I have other duties laid on me, but that is my affair and a matter in which I answer only to God.”

His voice failed. How much he had to answer for! Gareth assumed he was overcome by the awesomeness of his proximity to Heaven. He felt unworthy to eat even the crusts left by such a man.

Lancelot wafted back into his inner debate, forgetting again that Gareth was there. Gareth tiptoed about the campsite, afraid of disturbing him. When it appeared that Lancelot was fixed upon his log for the night, Gareth reluctantly rolled up in his cloak and blanket and fell asleep.