The Road to Avalon (37 page)

Gaheris of the plain freckled face and steady eyes smiled. “Thank you, Mother.”

“We shall make a family party,” said Agravaine with amusement. Then, with a touch of malice: “Won’t Gawain be surprised?”

It was the first time in his life that Mordred had been out of Lothian. The occasion of their journey, Pellinore’s death, was sad, of course, but Mordred had never been close to his mother’s husband and felt no sense of personal loss. His spirit was free to enjoy the prospect of a visit to the court of the hero of his childhood and to the home of his favorite relative.

They took the old Roman road that went down the west coast of Britain, through the Kingdom of Rheged, and south into Dumnonia. There were few inns along the way; most of the time they fixed a tent for Morgause, and Mordred and Agravaine slept with the rest of their escort under the stars.

Agravaine was in a good mood, and when Agravaine was in a good mood, no one was better company. Mordred had always felt sorry for his brother, who had been like a prisoner in Lothian under Pellinore. He had never understood Pellinore’s refusal to allow Agravaine to leave.

“Are you as excited as I am?” he asked Agravaine as they rode out of Glevum early in the morning.

Agravaine gave him an amused look. “I doubt it. You look as if you are about to jump out of your skin.”

Mordred laughed. “I feel as if I could jump out of my skin. Just think, only two weeks ago we never thought we would be able to go to the festival in Camelot.”

“Two weeks ago the old man was in charge. Not any longer, though” There was a kind of savage pleasure in Agravaine’s last words and Mordred looked at him in wonder. But his brother’s face was expressionless. “If you join the cavalry” he said to Mordred, “you won’t be able to spend all your time watching birds and playing your harp.”

“I am not going to join the cavalry,” Mordred replied. “I just want to see Camelot and the king. And I want to go to Avalon to visit Morgan. Then I shall probably go home to Lothian.”

“You’re such a solitary little mouse,” his brother said with careless amusement. “Perhaps Morgan will teach you all about herbs.”

“I would like that,” Mordred answered serenely. “Thank you for taking me with you, Agravaine.”

“For some reason even I can’t fathom, I’m fond of you.” Agravaine turned in his saddle. “We shall have to hurry Mother up if we’re to reach Camelot before they shut the gates.”

“I’ll go ride next to her and push her along,” Mordred offered, and trotted his horse back to Morgause.

Morgause complained at the pace, but agreed that she would rather not spend another night on the road. She was getting too old to sleep in lumpy beds, she said, or worse yet, on the ground.

“You’re not old at all, Mother,” Mordred said loyally, and Morgause had indeed kept her auburn hair and her beautiful creamy skin. She had put on weight with the years, but the extra pounds only made her look more voluptuous. Igraine at the same age, though more beautiful, had looked older.

It was early evening when the small group from Lothian finally reached the gates of Camelot. They were closed.

Morgause drooped in her saddle and Mordred’s heart sank. They were all tired and now it seemed that they would not be able to enter the city until the morning after all.

Agravaine was not so easily daunted. “Hey there!” he shouted. “The Queen of Lothian is here. Open these gates immediately!”

A man appeared on the ramparts behind the wall. He was wearing the scarlet of the foot under his leather tunic. “We can’t open the gate until the morning,” he shouted back.

“You had better open it now,” Agravaine returned brazenly. “The king will not be happy to learn that his aunt, Queen Morgause, and his two cousins were kept waiting outside his gate all night like common peasants”

The man on the wall turned his head and could be seen to be conferring with someone who was out of their sight. Then: “Queen Morgause, did you say?”

“Yes. And Agravaine and Mordred of Lothian. The king’s cousins.”

“I will admit the three of you,” the guard called back after another consultation. “The rest of your party will have to wait until morning.”

“All right,” Agravaine returned. In a moment Mordred could hear the great bars that fastened the gate shut being lifted. He looked with admiration at his brother. He would never have had the nerve to challenge the king’s men like that.

Finally the gate began to swing open. Agravaine urged his horse forward first, followed by Morguase and Mordred. Once they were inside, four men began to close the gate once again.

“We are here to see my brother, Prince Gawain,” Agravaine said. “Can you tell me where to find him?”

The guards were not looking at Agravaine but at Mordred. “He’ll be up at the palace just now,” one of them answered slowly. “The king is giving a dinner for his officers this night.”

Mordred shifted in his saddle. Why was everyone staring at him? And with such strange expressions? He looked away from the men’s faces and stared at his horse’s ears.

Neither Agravaine nor Morgause appeared to notice anything amiss. “We’ll go to the palace, then,” Agravaine said. “How do we find it?”

“Follow this road to the top of the hill. You can’t miss it.”

Mordred shot another look at the king’s men. He wasn’t imagining it. They
were
staring at him. He was thankful when Agravaine pushed his horse forward and he was able to follow.

“Do I have dirt on mv face?” he asked Agravaine as their horses slowly climbed the gravelled road. The poor beasts were tired.

“Of course not. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know.” Mordred knew Agravaine would only make some cutting reply if he said that the men at the gate had been staring, so he changed the subject. “The city is well fortified, isn’t it?”

“Mmm.” Agravaine was clearly not listening to him, so Mordred turned his own attention to his surroundings. The steepest part of the hill had been topped and now they could begin to see signs of habitation. A series of long, low buildings lay to their left. The army barracks probably, Mordred thought. The still, early-evening air was perfectly quiet. Then they had reached the plateau at the top of the hill and were riding through a terraced garden. At last they saw the palace.

The party from Lothian stared. It was far bigger than they had ever imagined; the number of windows alone was staggering. Two small guardhouses were built on either side of the road before it widened into a large circular yard in front of the palace. As they rode their horses into the courtyard, men came out the doors of the guardhouse on the right and crossed to stand in front of them.

“The Queen of Lothian has come on a visit to her son Prince Gawain,” Agravaine said haughtily to the leader of the guards. “I am Prince Agravaine and this is Prince Mordred.”

The four guards were looking at Mordred, and this time Agravaine noticed their stares. “My lady,” one guard said courteously, his eyes still on Mordred. “If you will dismount and enter the palace, I will have someone find Prince Gawain for you.”

Morgause smiled gratefully and allowed a guard to help her to dismount. Then the man who had spoken to them gestured his fellows away and turned to lead them into the palace.

They went in a double door and found themselves in a large and impressive vestibule. There was a small room to the side of the vestibule, where there was another guard on duty. The two men conferred briefly; then the house guard went through his office into the room beyond and disappeared.

“Acton will inform Prince Gawain of your arrival,” the other man said to Mordred. “Please wait here.”

It was Morgause who said thank you, and the three of them waited in silence until they were alone.

Mordred and Morgause looked around at their surroundings, while Agravaine looked at Mordred. “Isn’t it splendid, Mother?” Mordred said.

The vestibule itself was indeed splendid, with its walls decorated with paintings from the praetorium and its red tiled floor. The room beyond was what held Mordred’s attention, however. It was an immense room with graceful carved archways around its perimeter and another beautiful tiled floor. Except for a few statues and benches, the great hall was empty. The sound of talk and laughter was coming from a door that was to the left of the hall. Acton had not gone through the great hall, however, but through a door on the far side of his office.

He returned that way also, and with him was Gawain. Mordred sighed with relief at the sight of his oldest brother. The vastness and magnificence of the palace were making him feel acutely uncomfortable. Gawain belonged here. Gawain would know what they should do.

It was Agravaine who told him the news they had traveled so far to deliver. “Pellinore is dead”

“Dead?” Gawain looked at his brother in surprise. “How?”

Agravaine told him. Then Morgause said, “You will have to make up your mind what you wish to do, my son. An absent king is no good for Lothian.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I know that.” He came to put an arm around his mother. “I’m sorry,” he said. “He was a good man. You must miss him, Mother.”

Morgause leaned against him and allowed a few tears to brim in her eyes.

Gawain looked at his two brothers. “Surely you all did not come to Camelot just to give me this news?”

“No,” replied Agravaine smoothly. “We came to meet the king.”

“Well, that is a wish shortly to be gratified. He told me to bring you back to the dining room with me.”

Morgause stepped away from her son. “But he is at dinner with his officers, Gawain. That is what the man at the gate told us.”

“Dinner is ending. And when I told him I must leave the dining room because you had come, he specifically requested that I bring you back with me.”

“Oh, dear.” Morgause smoothed down her hair. “I must look like a hag.”

“You look very nice, Mother,” Mordred replied, and she reached out to brush some dust from the shoulder of his tunic. Then she straightened his belt. She did not even look at Agravaine. Agravaine was always immaculate.

“Are you ready, Mother?” Gawain asked patiently, and she said that she was.

For as long as he lived, Mordred would never forget the scene that followed. Gawain took them back through the guardroom and into a smaller vestibule on its far side. The vestibule led to a door that went into the side of the dining room, the way Gawain had come out. It was a less public door than the big open archway that led from the great hall.

They came in quietly, between two tables full of men who were drinking wine and talking. A few men looked up to say something to Gawain, saw Mordred, and fell silent. They made their way to the center aisle that led from the arched doorway to the high table, and Mordred raised his eyes and saw the king.

Silence had fallen on the front of the room. In the quiet Mordred could hear Gawain’s voice introducing his mother and his brothers. Mordred could not tear his eyes away from Arthur’s face. It was like a mirror image of his own.

Gwenhwyfar had seen the boy before Arthur, who was looking at Morgause. She stared at the young face in utter stupefaction. It couldn’t be . . . it wasn’t possible . . . the same straight nose and finely molded cheekbones . . . the same hair. He reached the table, looked up, and Gwenhwyfar’s goblet slid out of suddenly strengthless fingers, hitting the table with such force that some of the wine spilled onto the wood. He had Arthur’s eyes as well.

She turned her head to look at her husband and was just in time to see the naked shock on his face as he beheld the youngest Lothian prince.

“My lord king,” Gawain was saying, apparently oblivious of the atmosphere surrounding him, “may I present my mother, the Queen of Lothian, and my brothers Agravaine and Mordred.”

Arthur pulled himself together visibly and made some sort of welcoming comment. He was very pale but his voice was under control. The boy was staring at him with a mixture of bewilderment and fear.

She had to get the boy out of here, Gwenhwyfar thought. Away from this relentless public scrutiny. She turned to Arthur. “My lord, I am sure the Queen of Lothian and her sons must be weary after their arduous journey.” Her voice sounded quite normal, thank God. “If you will allow me, I shall conduct them to some rooms for the night.”

Her reward was the obvious relief in the look Arthur gave her. “Yes. That is an excellent idea, my lady. Thank you.”

Gwenhwyfar stood up and came around the table. She looked at Morgause and said, “If you will come with me?” As the Lothian party began to follow her down the aisle, Arthur spoke. One word only. “Gawain.”

Gawain, who had started to follow his family, stopped. “Yes, my lord?”

“Sit here for a moment.”

“Yes, my lord.” Gawain came to take Gwenhwyfar’s empty seat. Bedwyr, who was on Gawain’s other side, turned his head and began to talk to Lionel. The rest of the room quickly followed the prince’s lead, picking up the conversations that had been so unceremoniously dropped at Mordred’s entrance.

Under cover of the rumble of many male voices, Arthur was able to say what he wished to Gawain. “Who is that boy?” he demanded in a low voice.

Gawain stared at the king in confusion. “He’s my brother, my lord. My youngest brother. Mordred.”

Arthur’s fingers were gripped so tightly around the base of his Samian-ware cup that his knuckles and nails were white. His face was white and still as well; only his eyes moved, strange and glittering in that pale, set face. “He looks like me,” he said.

“I know, my lord. I saw that myself. Don’t you remember, when first I met you I said you looked like my brother Mordred.” Gawain spoke earnestly. He could not understand the reason for the king’s obvious discomposure. “And you said Mordred most probably looked like your mother, as you did. Don’t you remember?”

Arthur stared at Gawain’s open, faintly freckled face. He did remember, vaguely, saying something of the sort. “Yes,” he managed to get out. “Yes. I had forgotten about that.”

Gawain smiled in relief. “My mother says that Mordred does indeed look like her sister Igraine. So you see, that explains it.”

“Yes, I see.” The muscles under the skin of Arthur’s face tensed. “How old is Mordred?” he asked.