“Just keep up with me,” Lancelot muttered grimly.
Ignoring the cries from the guard and the frantic waves of Geraidus and Cei as they realized what he was doing, Lancelot du Lac, greatest Knight of the Round Table, galloped off to rescue his beloved.
Chapter Eleven
Arthur lolled against the pillows in his tent, relishing the chance to relax unwatched. It had been a good trip, worthwhile. Craddoc had been more than eager to swear allegiance to Arthur, especially if he received protection from Meleagant in return. It had not surprised Arthur to learn that Meleagant had decided to go on an extended hunting trip just at the time that Arthur was to have visited. He considered it a compliment. The man was more wary of him than he had hoped.
It had been a good recruiting trip, too. The new men were fresh and enthusiastic, as were some old men. Ector, Cei’s father, had gotten quite carried away and promised to come down in the spring and help with the training. This journey had shown the mettle of some of Arthur’s fosterlings, too. He had not previously noticed Bedevere much, but the boy had blossomed into a diplomat of rare persuasion. All in all, Arthur was satisfied and more at ease than he had felt for years. Now, as soon as he could get home to Guinevere. . . .
He set down his wine cup and drifted off into a semiconscious dream, familiar and never quite fulfilled.
Someone was making an outrageous racket outside. Arthur started awake, knocking over the cup. He stuck his head outside the tent. The guard hurried over.
“What is all that noise?” Arthur demanded.
“I’m not sure, sir. I believe that a messenger has arrived and insists on seeing you at once. The watch told him you had retired, but he refuses to wait until morning.”
“If the man wants to see me that badly, send him in! Who told the watch that it was their decision to make?”
The guard did not answer. He was already gone.
Arthur stretched and mumbled as he wrapped himself in a proper cloak instead of his fur blanket. The watch should have been able to figure out for themselves that any man who wanted to see him in the middle of the night must have a good reason. Those men would have to be switched to some duty less mentally taxing.
He had hardly sat down again when the tent flaps were pulled open and Cheldric burst in. He was breathing heavily and trying to slip his cloak off with his one arm as he bowed to the King.
“Sir Cei has sent me to you with evil news, my Lord. The Queen, on her way to Caerleon, was kidnapped by King Meleagant.”
“What!” Arthur leaped to his feet. “This is no subject for humor, sir.”
Cheldric backed a pace. “I would not have come all this way for a joke, sir. The roads are treacherous. All the able-bodied men are preparing to set out at once, upon your arrival.”
“When did this happen?” Arthur snapped. He no longer doubted. This was just the sort of trick which would appeal to a mind like Meleagant’s. He ground his teeth. Just the sort, too, that would amuse the other powerful kings like Maelgwn. He knew that unless Guinevere were retrieved soon, versions of the story would be all over Britain, most of them implying that Arthur couldn’t keep his own wife at home.
“It was almost three days ago, sir,” Cheldric replied. “Saint Geraldus was slightly wounded and took some time getting to Caerleon. I was sent out at once. We think they may have already arrived at the fortress.”
Arthur stiffened, his fists clenched against his thighs. Three days. If that unspeakable bastard of a baboon and a village idiot had so much as mussed her hair, he would have the man’s ribs out and laid one by one upon a table. If the man had done anything more, he would do the job with his own knife.
He moved so quickly that he almost knocked Cheldric over and did ram into the guard on duty outside.
“Agravaine!” he hollered. “Bedevere! Torres! Get up! Get out here! We’re leaving at once for Caerleon. Pack your weapons and a change of clothes. Everything else stays behind. Cheldric, you remain and see that the tents and kitchens are brought later. Well, hurry! Where are you all?”
He strode over to the nearest tent and pulled the occupant from it. Torres struggled groggily to stand. The woman next to him snatched the blankets and hid beneath them. Torres was torn between anger and embarrassment.
“What . . . what are you? How dare you. . . . Oh! King Arthur! What’s wrong?”
“We’re heading for Caerleon tonight and then north, to teach Meleagant the folly of flouting a king! Get your sword and tell your friend there good-bye.”
He pushed Torres back. There was a muffled squeal as he tripped over the mound of blankets.
Agravaine emerged from another tent, Gaheris peering out from behind him.
“We’re almost ready, Uncle, but what about Gawain? We can’t wake him!”
“Dress him and tie him to his horse. He’s coming with us.”
They pounded into the night with little regard for the safety of men or horses. Arthur led the way. Those who saw his face as he passed by them barely recognized him, and some of the younger men, who had known him only in peace, realized now why he had been able to defeat the Saxons at Mons Badon, despite the odds. Gaheris got a glimpse of him as he sped by. The look in his eyes frightened his nephew. There was something about it that reminded him of his dreaded Aunt Morgause. But he and Agravaine had no time to compare impressions. They were too busy trying to keep up with the others while leading the sleeping Gawain on his horse. His wrists were tied about its neck and a rope from ankle to ankle held him to its back. But he tended to twist about as if attempting to lie on his side and this caused him to slide over until he was hanging against the horse’s flank like a parcel.
“This will never work!” Agravaine exploded as he dismounted for the third time to right his brother. “One of us will have to ride behind him and hold him.”
“All right.” Gaheris clambered up behind Gawain and wrapped his arms about Gawain’s waist. “This won’t be easy. He’s a lot bigger than I am. You’ll have to lead both the horses. I can’t hold on and guide, too.”
Agravaine could barely hear the riders ahead of him. Swearing freely, he grabbed the dangling reins and yanked the party along. It was not the first time he wished he had been born into a less interesting family.
The morning was still gray when they arrived at Caerleon. Cei was at the gate to meet them.
“A messenger came from Meleagant last night,” he told Arthur as soon as he was close enough to hear. “He said that the Queen would be his guest until Easter and requested that more robes and a lady’s maid be sent to her, as she had only the things on her pack horse with her.”
Arthur clenched his fists. It was a full minute before he could trust himself to speak.
“Send the man back at once. Have him tell Meleagant that my wife shall dine with me at Caerleon before the week is out, and I will use his beard to wipe my hands. She will not need any more clothes.”
“Yes, Arthur,” Cei replied. He was startled by the sudden fierceness in Arthur. Even as a boy, he had never given way to anger. Cei had not suspected it was possible. “What do you want me to do then?”
“Food for everyone and fresh horses. Send Lancelot to me—and Merlin. We leave again as soon as we can be fed and armed. I intend to see just how well Meleagant can withstand an attack upon his fortress.”
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 t
hat 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 b
efore 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.
The Chessboard Queen Page 17