For Camelot's Honor

by Sarah Zettel

  “Come,” he said, holding out his free hand. “A feast has been prepared for us. My people will see to the comfort of your men and the beasts.”

  Impatient, but understanding well that courtesy must be followed, Morgaine allowed her host to take her arm and lead her into his hall, her women trailing two paces behind.

  Gwiffert’s fortress was a strange and labyrinthine place of branching corridors and many walled courts. It was rumored to have been built or stolen for him by the various demons under his command. The great hall to which he lead her now was painted over with fantastic designs. Great hearths blazed in each of the long walls, filling the hall with the smells of smoke and apple wood. A table had been set on the dais and laid with brilliant white cloths. On those waited a variety of fragrant meats — salmon in butter, wild boar and parsley, and roasted goose. These they ate with breads of flour, oats and herbs spread with new butter and honey. To accompany these homey dishes were delicacies made of truffles, and softly boiled eggs and pine kernels. For drink there was small beer and bright white wine. The food was all excellent, and Morgaine did not stint in her enjoyment of it. There was no reason not to find pleasantry in the moment, even when there might be discord in the future.

  Gwiffert did not once set down his spear. As he ate, he laid it across his lap. When he finished, he took hold of it again, nestling it easily in the crook of his arm as the servants cleared away the dishes and departed. Morgaine nodded to her women, and they withdrew from the dais to sit on the benches before the nearest hearth, alert for their mistress’s signal, but out of hearing of her words.

  “Now then, Morgaine,” Gwiffert said pleasantly. “What great business brings you to my home?”

  “I have come to deliver a warning, Your Majesty.” If Gwiffert wanted to style himself a king, it did not harm to give him the use of the name. “There are thieves approaching your door.”

  “Thieves?” His surprise was false. Morgaine did not know if this was because he already knew who was coming to his lands, or because he suspected her of hidden motives. Still, it was best to play this game as it had begun.

  “Two are coming from the lowlands who seek to achieve your spear.”

  Gwiffert’s hand strayed to the spear’s shaft, touching it gently, as a man might touch his new bride’s hand, just to make sure she was still with him.

  “I see.” He laced his fingers together, and contemplated her for a long moment. “Tell me, Morgaine, why do you come so far to deliver me this warning?”

  Morgaine pulled back. Now it was her turn to show suprirse. “Surely, Majesty, it is to our mutual benefit that we aid one another. We who live on the borders between day and night have common cause.”

  “On the borders, we do.” His mouth stretched into a sly smile. “But you do not intend to remain in the borderlands.”

  Morgaine shrugged slightly and Gwiffert sighed. He was ready then cease his pretence. Good.

  “You are playing a dangerous game, Morgaine. You need Arthur strong when your son is grown. It is so much easier to lop off one head than deal with a hydra of squabbling kinglets. But he is growing stronger than you anticipated, and rather than lopping off heads himself, he’s leaving them in place to pay him tribute. This is his genius, and it is serving him well.” Gwiffert lifted one finger to make his point, “If, for a small price, kings such as Mark and Lot can keep and hold their thrones, and have aid against their enemies, why should they rebel?” He levelled that finger at her, sharp as a law man in high court. “You cannot risk Arthur’s lordship spreading further north and west than it has already gone. You will be found out if it does.”

  Morgaine was expecting all of this, and said nothing, but could not hide her eyes quickly enough. Gwiffert of course saw the flicker in her glance and leaned forward. “Unless you have already been found out?”

  “They have seen a shadow, and are starting at it. They know nothing in truth.”

  “Your shadow?” Gwiffert cocked his head. “Or only your lover’s?”

  You are as insolent as you are clever. Be careful Gwiffert. My patience with your play will last only so long. “They are one in the same.”

  “So you would have Urien believe, I am sure.”

  Morgaine felt her blood warm. Softly, softly, she counselled herself. Let him believe he knows what brings you here. “You are very blithe, Majesty, in your mists and glamours,” she answered sharply. “But it is Arthur who sends these thieves. One is his own nephew. It is only the first attack. When Arthur himself comes marching in the full blaze of sunlight with Merlin and his knights and his laws, then what of you? I know well his willingness to do whatever he must to hold and keep his lands, whether it violates the laws of man or his own god. Can you be certain Arthur will recognise these borders where you live? Or will you pay him the small price that he asks?” Her face went hard as stone. “Remember well, the price he asked of me was the life of my son.”

  Gwiffert’s mouth twisted into a smile of wry humor. “Why should I allow them into my lands at all? The last enemy you sent me has been a sore trial to me.”

  “Do not fault me for your weaknesses, Majesty,” Morgaine added the title slowly. “I do not send these two.” But it would behoove you to ask who does. This thought she kept to herself. If Gwiffert was going to play the fool, the fool’s reward was what he deserved.

  Gwiffert sat back. Morgaine nodded. He was angry at her slight, she could see as much in the set of his jaw. Nonetheless, she had reached him. His next question confirmed this.

  “What are their names, these thieves?”

  “The man is Geraint. The woman is Elen. It is she of whom you must take the most care. There is magic within her, and for all she bears my curse, she still walks free.”

  Gwiffert got to his feet, planting the butt of his spear on the floor. “Let us see what comes, then. You will excuse me for a moment, my lady.” He bowed, not without a trace of mockery. Morgaine tipped her head toward him and waited just long enough to see the anger and concern rising in his eyes. Then, she nodded her assent at being left. Gwiffert was uneasy at her calm acceptance of his command. He left the hall, marching with stiff shoulders and a tight grip on his treasured spear.

  She smiled as he disappeared through the archway and composed herself to patience. She would not delve the secrets of her host, at least, not while she was his guest. But let him fear she would. Those who feared what would not come grew careless with what might.

  Gwiffert’s home held many secrets, even more than Morgaine’s own. The place was a marvellous warren of doors locked with keys and enchantment. As to what waited within, she had only yet been able to discover a few secrets.

  Do you venture into one of those sanctums? She wondered idly as she took a sip of the red wine remaining in her goblet. Or is it to one of your towers you go? Perhaps to that empty mews you keep? What flies from there, little king? What returns?

  You have worked so very hard to make this place. She drank again, smiling at the place her host used to be. You hold it so tight and fast. Surely you are secure from all enemies and prying eyes.

  It was no hardship for Morgaine to wait. She had learned patience long ago, and under circumstances so far worse than these that this might be a heaven of comfort by comparison. Her ladies sewed on their fine work. Folk came and went from the hall, never looking up at her, their shoulders hunched, their backs ready for a blow. They always hurried, even the children, as if they feared they might be noticed if they stayed in one place too long.

  She shook her head slightly at this. Those who do not follow willingly will betray when they can, Gwiffert. This is the open door to your hall, but you don’t see that, do you?

  Eventually, Gwiffert returned. His eyes were glassy, and his steps faltered a little. Perspiration shone on his brow. Wherever he had ventured, it had taken him far away. She signalled one of the waiting women, who scurried forward with a jar of wine to fill her king’s cup as he sat down.

  The wine revived
Gwiffert quickly, bringing him wholly back into the room.

  “So, Majesty.” Morgaine smiled. “What do you see?”

  Irritation crossed his face, but was smoothed quickly away. Of course she knew, she could all but hear him thinking. “I saw a man and a woman. He carries the burden of blood. She carries a hawk and the burden of hate. I strength and weakness. I see honor that may yet crack in the firing. I see hope and fear and blood and love. I see the balance and the balance may tip.”

  Do you seek to riddle me? “What would tip that balance?”

  Gwiffert smiled, sly and tired all at once. “What will tip the balance for most men. Gaining what they believe is their greatest desire.”

  Morgaine nodded. It does not take an oracle to see so much. You could have spared yourself your efforts. “Can you make use of this knowledge?”

  “Oh yes, with a little extra that can easily be found.” He wiped his brow, and looked shrewdly at her. “Tell me of the hawk.”

  Ah. You’ve seen that too have you? So gifted. Morgaine hesitated for a few heartbeats, as if choosing her words. “The hawk holds Elen’s heart. Whoever is master of the hawk is her master.”

  “But she carries the hawk. She herself has mastery of it.”

  “Clever girl that she is, yes,” admitted Morgaine, not without grudging admiration. “But what she does not know is should she lose the hawk, or should it stray to far from her, her sensibility will leave her, her caution and her righteousness. She will become a wild thing of unmoderated feeling that feeling will overwhelm her. She will die eventually, but she will run mad first.”

  Gwiffert returned her a look of wonder, and, Morgaine thought, a little fear. “All this to one girl who crossed you.”

  Do not let his fear grow. “Urien’s life was not hers to take,” she said bitterly.

  Fear turned quickly to cleverness. “Is it yours?”

  Morgaine was silent at that.

  “Is it?” asked Gwiffert again. “You know there will be a price for this thing you ask of me.”

  She turned her head. “If there is a price, I will pay.”

  Gwiffert considered her carefully for a moment, and then nodded. “Yes, I expect you will.” It is you who should beware the unpaid debt, Gwiffert, not I. She kept this thought silent, and Gwiffert, confident in his power and prowess asked a question that must have seemed good to him. “Tell me, how might this fearsome spell you have be broken?”

  “Oh, no, Gwiffert,” she answered flatly. “That you shall not know.”

  “So be it.” Gwiffert got to his feet, cradling his spear. “I know what must be done here. What of you?”

  Morgaine unfolded herself smoothly and stood without aid. See, I am strong even here. “Urien readies his army. I will help as I may. We will stop Arthur’s men at the river and drive them back into their own lands.” She smiled. “You were right. He overreaches, and too soon. My son is not yet ready for the throne, although it will not be much longer.”

  “And what then?”

  “That will depend on how well you play your part.”

  He did not like being called an actor in her mummery, she saw that plain enough, and it sharpened her mind against her. “You are a bold woman, Morgaine.”

  “I am as I must be.” That much at least was unvarnished truth.

  “As are we all,” answered Gwiffert, and for the barest instant, Morgaine heard genuine sympathy in him.

  She looked him full in the face. Heed me Gwiffert. Hear all I say. “You would do well to kill them and quickly, Little King. There are four lives here that they may change, and do they change them and do they save them, all that you have woven will unravel.”

  He heard, and he thought, and while he kept his face careful and closed, he had already dismissed her words. “Leave this matter to me. They may reach this place, but they will go no further.”

  Ah, well. None can say I did not behave as I ought toward my host. Morgaine curtsied toward him. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I knew I would find faith with you.”

  Gwiffert bowed, and Morgaine saw the gleam in his eye as he did so. Why not? He believed he had her gratitude now, and in his heart he was surely already dreaming of how he would spend that coin. So, she only smiled, and let the Little King dream.

  Chapter Twelve

  Geraint woke with the sunrise, dishevelled and content. The air against his skin was cold with morning, and heavy with dew and the promise of rain. Their rude awning had begun to sag above them and it brushed Geraint’s head as he sat up. Beside him, Elen slept, curled in on herself, her arms crossed protectively over her breasts. She was scarred there. He had kissed that scar afterwards, and she had told him how it had come to be, and he held her while she cried.

  In sleep, her face regained its nobility and was without air of a hunted she-wolf that overcame her in waking hours. In sleep, at least, she was as she should be.

  God be my witness. She will be free and we will stand before my uncle and all the world as man and wife.

  Man and wife. Geraint drew up his knees and rested his forearms on them, looking out at the brightening world. Dew drenched cobwebs covered the hill like a blanket of mist. Flowers lifted their heads here and there, opening themselves cautiously to the leaden sky.

  What was this thing he had done? This vow he had sworn? His love was true, he had no doubt, and he would stand by her. But what would they face when he returned to court?

  What of my uncle, Arthur? What of Agravain and Heaven help us, Uncle Kai? Will even Gawain understand? Will she be able to stand firm when they counsel me to set her aside? He smiled. Yes. That much I think will happen.

  What of the rest? What of all I have not said? He shook his head. Her enemies are my enemies. She knows that. It will be enough.

  Will it? Be sure of that, Geraint.

  Elen stirred and stretched. She opened her forest brown eyes, looking up to him. For a moment, Geraint’s heart beat hard. What would she see? Did she regret the choice she made? Did her dreams speak to her of evil done?

  But no, she smiled at him, and her smile lit the world.

  “Good morning, my husband.”

  Husband. The word swelled Geraint’s heart with pride. “Good morning, my wife.” He brushed his fingertips down the length of her arm where it lay atop the blankets, taking delight in the smoothness of her skin. “You are well?” Do you regret what you have done?

  Her smile did not falter. “I am well.” She sat up, brushed her dark hair back from her face and made as if to pull the blanket aside, but she paused. “Husband?”

  Worry touched Geraint. “Yes?”

  Elen was looking at the edge of the blanket he’d spread beneath them warily. “There is … another thing you should know.”

  He quirked his eyebrows up. There was a hint in her voice seemed to say she was teasing, but he could not be sure.

  Elen gathered the upper blanket closer, sheltering her scar, or hiding it. “It is the custom among my people that the wife is permitted to ask for a gift from her husband before she leaves their bed on the first morning. If she does so, whatever it is, he must grant it.”

  “Very well,” Geraint said solemnly, but he suddenly felt keenly aware of his own nakedness. Not just in the matter of clothing, but of possession, of friend, of sign of rank and title and property. He had only himself now. He waited. Elen licked her lips, looking at the edge of the blanket, listening to some argument within herself. This was real then, not just some tease on the part of a new wife.

  The whole of her body had tensed. “If anyone steals Calonnau from me … you will kill her.”

  Geraint froze, stunned. A dozen possibilities had flitted through his imagination, but this … “Will that kill you?” he asked.

  “I believe it will, yes.” Elen replied softly.

  “You ask this of me?”

  She did. She faced him squarely and spoke without flinching. “I cannot again be under the command of an enemy. I cannot again be made to work against my ho
me … or you. This is what I ask, Husband.”

  No! With an effort, Geraint quieted the refusal that threatened to burst from him. I do understand. It is only selfish desire that makes me wish to refuse. But oh, Elen, it is a cold and bitter thing you ask.

  These thoughts too, Geraint shut away. He left off poring over his own desire and looked instead into Elen’s eyes. “I promise before God and Jesus Christ and Mary who is his mother, that if I must, I will do as you ask.”

  “I would that I never had to speak so to you, Husband.”

  “I know,” he answered simply. What more was there to be said?

  She scrambled out from under the blanket and reclaimed her battered and rumpled dress. Clothed once more, she went out to the fire, poking about in the ashes with a gnarled stick to see if any coals remained. Geraint let her go.

  It will not come to it, he tried to assure himself. God is kind. It will not be so.

  God was kind, but Morgaine was cruel, and the wrongs done blood to blood were very strong.

  Repeating quickly the sin of doubt, Geraint pulled his tunic and breeches on and and he too left their shabby wedding bed.

  There was little enough with which to break their fast. They ate bread and drank the small beer. Gooseberries grew at the edge of the woods. Elen had gathered some to help eke out the meagre meal while Geraint led the horses to the stream for a drink. The mundane task of caring for the beasts helped settle his spirits. The invisible world was always near. He and his brothers had more cause to know that than most. There was nothing to be done but face it. Gawain had done so, and his bride was safe at Camelot, waiting to be delivered of their first child, and Gawain had seen at least as much as Geraint.

  Hasn’t he?

  It is no accident that you are the one who inherited your mother’s eyes, Merlin had said. From whence came the eyes that see what you see? the elven lord had asked.

  The past closed over him so suddenly, Geraint felt as if he would drown. He was standing again in the wide stone hall, in the dark, his bare feet twitching against the frigid stones. He saw his father reeling from his chamber.