This was black news indeed. But what was worse, Bedwyr despaired of the King’s recovering from his grief in time.
“He was like this when Merlin disappeared, years ago, just before his first Queen died,” Bedwyr said, twisting his hands together. “We thought the enchanter dead, and the King grieved deeply for months. We had the Saxons, then, and he came out of his fastness only to fight them. But this is worse, Lancelot. This is internal strife of a kind only the High King can settle. Caw had sworn allegiance, but none of his sons have bent a knee to Arthur. This is not a thing that you or I could settle in his place.”
“Is there danger that the Saxons, sensing division within Britain, could test our strength again?” I asked him.
Bedwyr’s frown deepened. “I had not thought of it,” he confessed, “but knowing Saxons, it seems more than likely.”
“Cerdic watches the borders closely,” Lancelot remarked, “and I hear he has good spies. He knows already of this news, if it is five days old.”
Bedwyr shrugged. “The King would not be hurried. He sent the old man off in proper style, I will grant him that, but it took ages. He could not leave him. For half a day he stood outside the rockslide, alone, as if he could not bring himself to say good-bye.”
I touched Bedwyr’s arm. “Remember,” I told him, “that none of us has ever known life without Merlin, the King least of all. It must seem to him that he has lost a father, a friend, a trusted advisor, and more—a confidant of his heart. He is alone now, for the first time in his life, I think.”
Lancelot straightened. “He is not alone.”
I looked him in the face. “You are off to Lanascol, my lord, come fall. He has Bedwyr, Kay and Niniane, and me. And none of us is to him what Merlin was.”
Lancelot took the slap without flinching. Bedwyr looked on with interest, but said nothing. No one but I knew Lancelot’s plans, until he had confirmed them with the King. And that now seemed unlikely to happen soon.
Two weeks went by, and nothing happened. The messages from Urien grew more urgent. Border fighting had broken out; Urien kept his actions to defense, but his army cried out for blood to avenge the princess. The King hardly stirred from his room. He took his meals there and did not appear in hall, although Varric reported that he did not eat enough to keep a bird alive.
The rest of Camelot seemed to march in place, waiting. The people were afraid; the soldiers worried. Although relieved of his role as Queen’s Protector now that the High King was home, Lancelot served as Arthur’s proxy in Council and in hall when the King did not appear. I sat beside him in hall, but conversation was strained. Alyse and Pellinore attended every night, looking bewildered, and I could not bring myself to speak to them. Elaine kept away, not from shame, I was sure, but to avoid my fury. It was still in my power to foil her plans, and this she must have known.
I remember the morning when Ailsa told me, as she brushed my hair, that Elaine was deathly sick in the mornings. Grannic was full of the news, it seemed, and all the women were talking. I whirled on the stool, clutched her hand, and tore the brush from her grip.
“Leave me!” I shrieked. “Get out! How dare you bring such lies into my chamber! Go! I cannot bear the sight of you!”
But dear Ailsa merely cowered against the wall as I stormed about the room, cursing the cruel fates. At length my anger passed into despair, and I fell to the floor, where Ailsa held me and whispered sweet endearments while I wept most bitterly.
“It isn’t fair! That she should—in one night—and I, Ailsa, all these years! I hate her, I hate her! Let me see her but once,” I cried, “and I will kill her!”
“Now, now,” Ailsa crooned, stroking my hair from my face, “would you, indeed, and bring dishonor on all the ones you love? That is not in you, my lady. Everyone looks to you for strength.”
“To me?” I whispered. “Dear God, then we are lost, for I have none!”
“You are stronger than you know,” she replied. “My little Gwen, in five years this will seem a small thing, looking back. Don’t let it hurt you so.”
“A small thing! Oh, Ailsa!” I sobbed, clutching her garments. “It can never be a small thing! She will have his child always by her—Lancelot’s child!—and what will I have?”
“You are Queen, my lady. Oh, Gwen, my precious Gwen, even could you bear, you could not have his children. What are you asking of him? That he should stay unwed and childless for your sake?”
“No,” I whispered. “Yes. No. Oh, Ailsa, I must be evil, for deep in my soul I do want that very thing—his heart is mine—I do not want to share him. There is no love between them, Ailsa—all this is wrong, so wrong!”
“Is it right that he should forgo his future and deny his kingdom heirs, to stay in Camelot and worship a woman he cannot have?”
I closed my eyes and pressed my face into her shoulder. “Stop, I pray you! I know I cannot ask it. I do love him, but this—this is so unfair!”
Gently she kissed my brow and hugged me. “If you truly love him, the way the King loves you, you will let him go and take what joy he can with her. You will always have his heart.”
“I have not Arthur’s forbearance,” I cried, “nor his mercy. And he—he could not feel like this!”
“He keeps his pain inside, my lady. But it is there.” She sounded very sure. It steadied me to think of Arthur, and made me feel ashamed. I had completely forgotten about the King, suffering in the next room. That he did not come in when I shrieked and wept was a telling sign of his illness. How could I have forgotten?
“But I am only a woman,” I whispered, “and I have not his strength.”
“You are his right hand,” she asserted, “and you must control your tears for his sake. I will make you a posset that will let you sleep. We must have those tear-tracks gone before hall.”
Ailsa performed what magic she could with potions and charms and hairbrush, but when Lancelot met me outside hall, he knew at once I had been weeping.
“Gwen, what’s amiss?” he asked gently.
I shook my head and placed my hand on his arm. “I cannot tell you. It will pass. Let us go in.”
But as we entered hall and everyone rose, I stopped, frozen in my tracks. Elaine stood between her parents, smiling and smug, her hands placed protectively upon her little belly, looking right into my eyes. She did not care that he loved me; she only wanted me to know she had conceived his child at his first bedding of her, and that however close I kept him to me, he was hers. I felt the blood drain from my face, and I gripped Lancelot’s arm.
“What is it, Gwen?”
“You—you promised me, my lord,” I whispered fiercely, trying desperately to keep my tears at bay, “you promised I should not have to see her again. Either take her away or lead me out. I cannot abide her in the room with me!”
He was shocked, but I would not move, and everyone was waiting.
“My God, Gwen, how can I? They are all assembled.”
I raised my face to his and met his eyes. “Choose, Lancelot. Choose between us. One of us must go.”
At length he nodded, and said wearily, “I will take her out. Let me seat you first.”
He led me to my place, but I did not sit, and all the hall stayed standing. Bedwyr took my arm to still my shaking. I looked straight across the hall, out the windows, but from the corner of my eye I saw Lancelot go down the table to Elaine, speak softly to her and to Pellinore, and offer her his arm. Alyse was affronted, Pellinore bewildered. Elaine smiled triumphantly, made a pretty curtsy in my direction, and leaned upon his arm as he took her out. Utter stillness blanketed the hall. Bedwyr tugged gently at my arm, and at last I sat, and the meal was served.
Elaine kept out of my way after that, and everyone trod lightly around me. With Lancelot himself I was alternately furious and penitent, coldly indignant and self-indulgently forsaken, a ship without a rudder, while Arthur was not there. How Lancelot bore it, I do not know. That he did not despise me for my tormented behavior, nor ch
astise me for my cruel words, is a testament to the quality of the man and the deep love he bore me.
At last two couriers arrived with the news we dreaded. Urien’s forces were shaping for attack; the King of Elmet and Tydwyl, Arthur’s appointed governor of Lothian during Morgause’s exile to Orkney, were being drawn into the dispute. It looked as if the whole north of Britain would be torn asunder within days. And Cerdic, King of the West Saxons, was quietly amassing a force near the border of his kingdom. So far they were patrolling only, but their numbers were growing. They waited, like wolves outside the boar’s den, ready to pick apart the winner, weak from battle.
The Companions were beside themselves with frustration and worry. Niniane had tried to see the King, but he would not bear her name mentioned. Kay, Bedwyr, and Lancelot, who all had tried repeatedly to see him, and had all been turned away, drew me into conference. They begged me to go to the King and see what could be done to awaken him from his trance.
“But, my lords,” I told them, “on the second day of his arrival he sent me word through Varric, ordering me to stay out of his chamber. It was not the request of my husband, but the command of my King.”
Lancelot took my hands, his face white. “We are asking you, Gwen, to disobey him. For Britain’s sake. He is so deep in his grief he knows not what he risks. He will thank you for it when his mind is healed.”
They were so distressed, I agreed to try. Indeed, the state of the Kingdom was growing desperate. It was something Arthur could so easily have solved three weeks ago, simply by showing himself in Strathclyde. But now, who knew? It might already be too late.
“Get me his Sword,” I said, thinking hard, “and his sword belt. Have Varric bring me his best cloak, with the Dragon brooch.”
They glanced quickly at one another.
“What is your plan, my lady?” Bedwyr asked cautiously.
“I don’t know yet, really. But I have an idea. I will not appeal to his heart, but to his honor. I will threaten to lead the troops myself.”
“But you cannot! You are a woman! You may not touch the Sword!” Kay cried, distressed. “No one may draw it but the King himself!”
“Why is that?” I asked him. “Did Merlin put a curse upon it?”
“No, no,” Bedwyr said quickly, “Merlin never dealt in curses. It is just tradition. The Sword was made for Arthur, a hundred years ago, and only he has ever touched it.”
“Nonsense. It is the Sword of Maximus, who was my ancestor as well as his. Merlin has held it, and no doubt countless servants, as well . . . Well, I will risk it. Perhaps the sight of it in my hand will shock him as much as the very thought of it has shocked you.”
Kay was calmer when he realized it was a ruse only, and that I did not really intend to lead the High King’s troops to battle; Bedwyr and Lancelot thought it might work.
“Should it fail,” Lancelot said, “and we should have to go north without him, we will take you with us. For I think your idea has more merit than even you believe.”
Kay was aghast, but Lancelot turned the talk to the specifics of the plan. It was arranged that everything would be sent to my rooms during supper, when the Round Hall was empty and the Companions would not miss the Sword, which hung on the wall above the High King’s chair. Then, in the evening at the time of my choosing, I should try to see the King.
They left me, then, alone with Lancelot. I was nervous about the plan and wished I had not thought of it, or they had not agreed. But I could see no other way. We talked for some time about what should happen if the plan failed. Lancelot was second in command, and to him would fall the leadership of the High King’s troops. He would go north to Urien’s aid. But the Saxon threat could not be discounted, and the King’s fighting force must be divided, with a strong contingent left at Camelot under Bedwyr’s command. They must make themselves visible along the Saxon border and discourage attack until Lancelot could return. It was risky. If Cerdic were clever, he would know what the display signaled, and he might attack.
We talked this way and that, and then at length prepared to go. At the door I stopped and turned to him. In three weeks we had said a good deal to one another, but Elaine’s name had never been mentioned. I did not know if he had even seen her, except to remove her from hall.
“I must congratulate you, Sir Lancelot.”
He looked blank and startled by the formal address. I saw he did not even know.
“On what?” he asked. “I have done nothing.”
“Did you not know your betrothed carries your child?” I whispered.
He started as if struck and paled. I was both gladdened and saddened to see that it gave him no joy.
“How in God’s name do you know?” he breathed. “They have said naught to me.”
“I know. I would know even if I had not seen the triumph on her face. Ask her if it is not true.”
He swallowed hard and shook his head. “No. If it is true, I will know soon enough. Let them keep it quiet until this fracas is behind us. Next to this it matters not.”
I softened to him then and spoke gently. “I told you in case you wanted me to mention it to Arthur, if I can make him hear me. You have waited three weeks already to ask permission, and if we are to go to war—if you wait too much longer, all the world will be able to see why you are marrying her.”
His eyes were shining, and he lifted my hand to his lips. “You are a noble woman, Guinevere. But I do not want you to plead my cause with the King. Not in this. I will do it. If you can bring him round, I will speak to him. As for the rest, I do not care if all the world knows why I marry her.”
I smiled at that, and we parted on good terms.
When I ascended to my chamber after supper, I found everything arranged. My best riding clothes were laid out upon the bed, along with the King’s own cloak, and his gold and enamel brooch. I ran my finger over the smooth surface, the Red Dragon of Britain, from which he took his name. And it came to me again, that sense of shock, that this one man should be so important to the world. He was the center, and we all, like spokes, moved around him.
On the little needlepoint bench lay the great Sword. Up close, it looked huge. The scabbard was old leather, so old and well oiled it felt like silk to the touch. The thing lay balanced on the bench, dwarfing it, the great gem on the hilt winking in the lamplight. The jeweled belt it hung on lay carefully on the floor beside it. But the Sword itself must not touch the ground—that much I knew. I reached out a hand to touch it, but withdrew it. I dared not. It was a thing of magic and power, lying there so still in the dim light, shining with a glory of its own. It was not for me.
So I turned and thought again about my plan. Perhaps it was not wise to do this. I thought that I should first find out what the King had in his mind, and how he was. I would try womanly persuasion first and see what happened. With a sense of relief, I called for Ailsa to take down my hair and prepare it for night. I would go to him in the gown I had worn on our wedding night, the white one Elaine had sewn. Perhaps it would remind him of another time and distract him. At any rate, I knew what I was about in this and felt more comfortable. When I was prepared, and my hair was brushed and hanging down my back, the way he loved it, I bade Ailsa wait in my room. I went to the curtain. I heard nothing. Lifting it slowly aside, I took a deep breath, and went in.
I did not see him at first. The room felt empty. The fire was out in the grate, the wicks had not been trimmed, and the triple lamp burned smokily. Nothing moved. I was just about to turn back, disappointed, when I saw him standing at the far window, looking down. I nearly cried aloud. Was this the King, this pale shadow of a man? How could three weeks of fasting change a man so? He was still dressed as a penitent, in a loincloth only, and his flesh, once hard with muscle, now displayed his bones. His collarbones threw shadows on his shoulders; I could count his ribs.
“Arthur!” I said it on a sob, and he jerked toward me.
“Go away. I do not want you here.”
“That
’s as may be,” I whispered, “but I cannot obey you.” Turning my eyes from him, I took flint and got the fire going. When the coals were burning, I put out the lamp, trimmed the wicks, and relit it. It shed a golden glow, and the room felt warmer. I fetched a wineskin from my own room, and I hung it to warm over the coals. The water carafe was empty, and I filled it from my own. Clearly he had not allowed Varric to attend him.
By this time Varric had arrived in the antechamber, and I whispered down to him to bring me a bowl of beef broth, a heel of soft bread, some cold chicken, cheese and fruit, and hot water, soap, and towels. He spread his hands out helplessly.
“My lady, I have tried. But he will not allow me in the room.” He felt shame, I am sure, for the King’s state.
“Never mind. Bring them to me, and I will see to it.”
I swept the room and made up the bed with clean sheets that Ailsa brought me. I never looked at him. He would have to try a conversation if he wanted to speak to me. But he had turned back to the window and said nothing. Varric arrived with Kay, Bedwyr and Lancelot close behind. I would not let them mount the stairs, but went down myself into the King’s antechamber and took from them the basin of hot water, which was heavy, and the towels and soap. I struggled up with them myself and set out the towels beside the low stool.
“Come, my lord,” I said at last. “Sit here, if you will. It is time you had a bath.”
Wearily he turned from the window. “Leave me, Guinevere.”
“No, my lord. I cannot.”
For the first time, I saw a spark of anger in his eyes. “Do you defy me? I said, leave me.”
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