“The real problem lies with the pirates, the Saxon raiders who slip along the coast in their longboats and devastate any steading they come to.” Bedivere cast me a quizzical glance. “Are you really interested in this, or just being polite?”
“Of course I’m interested, or I wouldn’t ask,” I countered, piqued at the notion that he thought I was just making small talk. “I don’t know what your southern queens are like, but a Celtic queen is a working queen.”
He laughed then, tossing back his head and roundly enjoying himself. “I’ll remember to tell Arthur,” he said, and I wondered whether that was good or bad.
The morning was full of good-natured bantering, with Bedivere dropping back occasionally to check that the wagons were keeping up with our new pace. He even encouraged the Magician to move a little faster, and once I caught him watching me with that half-amused way of his, as though we shared some fine secret. Perhaps he too was waiting for an adventure.
In the early afternoon a rider came pounding down the road toward us, so Bedivere excused himself and went to meet the man. I noticed that Merlin suddenly grew more alert and joined in a hasty conference among the front riders of our party, after which Bedivere rode off the way the messenger had come while Merlin ambled over to my side.
“It seems we are about to be joined,” the Wizard commented laconically. “The High King’s party is on its way out from Chester.”
“Arthur?” It was so unexpected, the name popped out like a hiccup.
“Of course Arthur. He’s the only High King Britain has, M’Lady,” Merlin noted dryly.
“Oh…” The imminent arrival of the man who from here on would control my life filled me with confusion and consternation; now even the days of freedom on the Road must give over to protocol and royal trappings. A slow panic began to push against my heart as the horses carried us relentlessly forward.
“If you wish, we can stop and pitch the tent so you can receive him in proper style,” the Enchanter suggested, his reedy voice barely carrying over the sound of our hoofbeats.
I stared at him, wondering what was expected of me. “And if we don’t stop?” I asked, half hopeful of averting the impending rendezvous. Perhaps the King would turn around and ride away.
For a moment I caught a gleam of laughter in those shrewd old eyes. “Then I suppose we shall meet him on the road.” He shrugged, still watching me slyly. “Certainly it would save everyone a good bit of trouble, not having to bother with making camp and all that.”
I thought of the fuss entailed, and smiled pleasantly. “There’s no need for that, M’lord,” I said. “I’d as soon meet him on horseback as not.”
Merlin nodded without comment and we continued on our way.
Vinnie, I knew, would be furious. I could hear her already, decrying that I had gone to my prospective bridegroom dressed more like a stable hand than a fancy queen. But, I told myself, it’s me he’s coming to fetch, not my wardrobe, and he may as well know what he’s getting from the start.
There was a commotion up ahead, and a band of horsemen came bearing down on us. The front riders hailed each other as our two parties drew together with much milling and jostling. After a moment a young fellow on a large chestnut horse broke out of the rest and came to a stop in front of Merlin.
He had the fair coloring I remembered, with the tanned skin of one who spends a great deal of time outdoors. His hair was tied back with a leather thong, and in the two years since he had come to Rheged he had indeed grown a mustache, though it was neither as thick nor as impressive as King Ban’s had been. His eyes were set wide and seemed to sweep across the scene as if to memorize it in one glance, and my first impression was of tremendous confidence coupled with a keen and energetic nature.
He scarcely looked at me, but smiled fully at Merlin.
“Arthur,” the Sorcerer said without preamble, “I believe you have met Guinevere before.”
The High King gave me a polite nod, swung his horse into line next to mine and motioned for the caravan to continue.
“Is there any news that won’t wait until this evening?” he asked the Wizard as we all moved forward again.
“Not that I can think of,” the Magician replied, “except that your sister Morgan is several days behind us. I told her she was welcome to join us if she could catch up.”
Arthur grinned at that, and nodded. “Then, if you don’t mind, I’d like to get acquainted with my bride.” For the first time he turned his attention to me with a quick and merry smile.
The Enchanter nodded silently, and giving me a last amused look, dropped back to his plodding pace.
Arthur glanced at the press of men and horses around us, and grabbing Featherfoot’s bridle, pushed forward in a trot, forcing our way through the foremost riders.
When we were clear of the pack the horses moved out smartly on their own and my groom turned to me with a grin. “A bit hard to talk privately in all that bunch of people,” he said amiably.
I nodded and inquired how he knew where we were.
“Bedivere sent a messenger to Chester, so I held over an extra day on the chance you would be coming along soon.”
“You planned it this way?” The idea intrigued me; perhaps Arthur wasn’t as much concerned about protocol as I had expected.
“Let’s say I hoped it would work out like this. Waiting for a formal meeting just before the wedding wouldn’t give us much chance to get acquainted. And since I wanted to make arrangements for copper from Great Orme’s Head, I stopped off here while Merlin and Bedivere went on to Rheged for you. Merlin didn’t expect you’d be ready to travel so promptly, so I had to promise to return to Winchester when I was finished here unless I got word you were on the road within three days of his arrival at Ambleside.”
I smiled inwardly, thinking how disconcerted the Enchanter must have been to find me all packed and ready to leave the next morning.
There was a pause and Arthur looked quickly at me. “I hope I haven’t offended you. That is, I realize it’s not exactly the usual way for people in our situation to meet.”
I laughed and shook my head. “No, not at all. I’m just a little surprised.”
“Good,” he announced with an air of satisfaction.
We rode a bit in silence, the shyness settling between us. Now that we were free of the crowd Featherfoot pranced excitedly and I had to keep her on a short rein.
Suddenly Arthur blurted out, “I understand that you are fond of horse racing.”
I nodded, hearing a good-natured challenge in his voice.
“Well, what are we waiting for? There’s a solitary oak at the top of the next hill. Are you game?”
“Of course,” I shot back, and then his chestnut was bounding ahead and Featherfoot was scrambling to catch up. I was glad Arthur hadn’t made me a patronizing offer of a head start, and I gave my mare her head and kicked her vigorously with both heels as she lengthened from canter to gallop.
The Road carried us over a hillock, then dipped down to a copse of holly and ash. Beyond, I could see a long even stretch that gradually rose to the crest of the hill where a gnarled oak stood in silhouette. Arthur glanced back and gestured toward the tree, and I nodded briefly. His animal was big and powerful, with the wide chest and good wind of a proven hunter, and I knew if I was going to catch him it had to be here, where the slope of the Road would work to my favor.
I crouched low over Featherfoot’s neck, urging her forward with voice and heel, and drew level with the hunter’s rump as the shade of the holly trees flashed by.
Arthur had the advantage of a more powerful steed, but I was lighter, both in body weight and in the fact that I carried neither shield nor sword. He glanced around, and for a moment I was afraid he might pull back and give me the race just because I’d caught up with him. I was on the inside as we approached a gentle curve and skinned past him and headed up the long, gradual incline toward our goal without waiting to see what his reaction was.
Bot
h animals were running flat out, ears back and necks extended, and I looked back once to see that Arthur was as intent on overtaking me as I was on keeping ahead of him.
The staying power of the hunter began to tell, and I could feel the ground shake under the pounding of his hooves as we thundered up the incline to the hilltop. I hadn’t raced like this since Kevin left, and the blood was roaring in my ears as we headed for the finish.
As always, Featherfoot was full of heart, but inch by inch Arthur was drawing even with us.
When we reached the shade of the oak I looked across at my adversary and realized we were neck and neck, without so much as a nose’s difference between us. I also saw the flush of excitement on Arthur’s face that matched my own, and when he threw up one arm and pulled up on his reins, I did the same.
The horses slowed, then came to a halt at the edge of an elm grove. My heart still pounded and the day spun bright and glistening around us as we sat and stared at each other, panting for breath and grinning.
“My compliments, M’lady,” he said at last, “you’re every bit as fine a horsewoman as Gawain said.”
“Gawain?” I queried, then laughed as I remembered our escapade along the Old Track in Rheged.
“Of course,” Arthur said. “You don’t think I’d send off for a wife without asking around about her first, do you? And you certainly left a lasting impression on my best young warrior. I thought he must have been exaggerating some, but after what I’ve just seen, I’d say he was right.”
We began ambling down the Road again, now well ahead of the caravan.
“What else have you heard, M’lord?” I asked, wondering if he knew I was not overly keen to become his wife.
“Well,” he drawled, “Bedivere just gave me one of his cryptic looks and allowed that I wouldn’t be disappointed.”
I smiled at that, both relieved and amused at Bedivere’s diplomacy.
“He’d make a good ambassador,” I mused.
Arthur nodded in agreement. “I’ve often thought how lucky I am to have the people I need so close at hand.” His voice had deepened now, and I stole a quick look at him. The laughter and playfulness lay not far under the surface, but his expression told me we had touched a subject of far greater import to him than any light banter would ever be.
“There are so many things that need to be done, and sometimes I get impatient with people who want to quibble about this or that. Bedivere is tremendously helpful in getting others to see the importance of a new idea without ruffling anyone’s feathers. It’s a skill I’m afraid I’m not blessed with,” he added ruefully, “but he’s always been good at it.”
“He told me you were raised as fosterlings together,” I said, and Arthur nodded.
“In and out of scrapes, like any boys,” he answered with a grin. “But it’s in the years since then that I’ve really come to rely on him. When you’re surrounded by all manner of people wanting all sorts of things, it’s nice to know there’s one person you can count on for an honest and impartial reaction. Someone to sort of steady things when the boat seems to be rocking overmuch. And he does a wonderful job of keeping court life in perspective for me.”
I thought of Brigit and nodded.
A sizable troop of travelers came into sight, merchants and businessmen and a farmer or two drawn together in the camaraderie of the Road. We turned out to let the larger party go by, though by “proper” protocol the High King had the right of way. I looked at Arthur again, curious as to what sort of ceremony he did stand on.
He was watching the people trail past, smiling and nodding to those who greeted us with the good spirits of the day. In the center of the group was a dark-haired man astride a big, sturdy horse, followed by attendants and packhorses in good order. The man himself was richly dressed and his cloak was fastened with a solid round pin very like those the Saxons favor. I wondered if he was a trader from the Continent; clean-shaven and well manicured, he could have come from Constantinople or even Rome itself.
“What is the court like?” I asked Arthur cautiously when the Road was free and open again. “Is it very Roman?”
He shook his head impatiently, but when he spoke it was with bemusement, not anger. “I don’t know why that term keeps coming up. I get so tired of people saying we’re too Roman, when in fact we’re not Roman at all. The Empire began to fall apart a century ago, and Britain has had to look out for herself whether she wanted to or not since the barbarians took over Rome. That way of life, that system of government, even that way of thinking is part of the past. We can’t go back and resurrect something that no longer exists, even if we wanted to. It just won’t work. We need new ideas, new directions, a new system…”
He turned in the saddle to address me directly.
“We’re a separate land. We have to look to our own people, our own defenses, our own talents. The barbarians are moving in from east and north, and the Irish are always a threat to the west. If we don’t use all our resources to keep them at bay, we’ll be swept into oblivion.”
The intensity of his conviction shone on his face like a fever, and I could see how he had been able to rally men to his side right from the start.
“So,” he said earnestly, “that means using everything that might help, whether its source is Roman or Celtic or even Saxon. If an idea, or a system, or a weapon is useful in this struggle, we should take it up and use it. To criticize and refuse to consider something simply because it’s Roman in origin is stupid and shortsighted. And it’s blind prejudice to assume that all Roman ways are corrupt or bigoted or effete, or worse, that they are somehow sacred and must be followed even if they don’t meet our needs.”
He paused, and a sheepish little smile crossed his face. “Merlin says I get so carried away by the meat of a subject, I forget someone has simply asked me to pass the salt. I guess I haven’t really answered your question, have I?”
I’d been holding my breath while Arthur was describing what Bedivere called The Cause, and now I let out a soft whistle.
“Well, you didn’t exactly address the question I thought I asked,” I said, beginning to smile. “But you sure told me a lot about the more important things. If I’m going to be your queen, it helps to know what we’re working for.”
The term “we” had slid in without thought, and I realized too late how presumptuous it might be. But Arthur was looking at me long and fully, his eyes searching my face. A slow, rich smile welled up from some inner relief of his own. We stared at each other in silence, and he reached over and laid his hand briefly on top of mine. I looked down and saw the Dragon Ring winking in the spring sunshine.
“All right,” he said affably, turning his attention back to the Road. “Let’s back up a bit. What do you want to know about court?”
“Oohh…everything. Lots of little things,” I amended. “Will I be allowed to ride horseback or do the women all have to travel in litters? Is there lots of entertaining to do? And must I learn to eat lying down?”
The last question brought a chuckle from my companion. “The only time I’ve ever had to dine that way was when I visited a northern kingdom some years ago and my host had nothing but couches to sit on,” he said with a droll, sidelong glance in my direction. “Abominable habit! One I hope my queen would never try to force on the people. Besides, we’re generally too busy to lounge around like that. As often as not, unless it’s a special feast, I eat with the men around a communal fire, and the fellows who have families go off to eat with them.
“We are not what you would call a ‘fancy’ household, Gwen. I’m not sure that anyone, except Queen Igraine, even owns a litter. I hope you aren’t expecting a lot of fine trappings and leisure. Some of the kingdoms in Wales still maintain that style of living, but we in the south and midlands are a much more ragged lot.
“One day, perhaps, when we’ve got peace in the land and aren’t always on call to stop some fracas somewhere, then it would be nice to have the luxury of a fine proud palace and some
of the comforts the southerners still remember from before The Troubles. But until then, we have to make do with what’s available.
“Of course,” he added hastily, “it isn’t always roughing it in a soldiers’ camp. The Christian centers are well organized and pleasant, and some of the cities are trying to repair the damage of war and plague and famine. With any luck, the whole country will prosper once we get the squabbles under control and reestablish our borders. Everywhere I go, I look around and think about what could be developed in the future.”
We had reached a rise where the road overlooked a dark and formidable wildwood to the west, while to the south and east lay the gentler hills of farming country. We paused and looked out over the scene, and Arthur asked, “Have you traveled much?”
“Only in Rheged,” I answered.
“I’ve been all over in the last three years,” he mused. “And Britain is an amazing land, with more variety than I ever dreamed while I was growing up at Sir Ector’s. Why, just over there is a forest that leads to the Wirral; a strange, dark place full of ancient spirits and haunts. And in the south there’s soft green downs that roll like endless breakers toward the sea, and the great plain of Salisbury with the Giants’ Dance they call Stonehenge. We have rugged cliffs and broad river valleys and sunny shores and unbelievable marshes that stretch for miles in all directions. There’s the highlands in the north, and your own lakes and mountains in Lakeland. And in Gwynedd I’ve found a hill fort on the coast that’s one of the most magical spots in the realm.”
He was spinning out a kingdom of wonder, and now that he was focusing on North Wales, I felt a tingle of anticipation. “What’s it called?” I asked, hopefully.
“Dinas Dinlle. It’s a bit beyond Caernarvon. On a clear day the waters are blue and green, and the cliffs rise up proud from the surf…I’m sure Bedivere could describe it better than I can.” He paused and then grinned. “It’s in your cousin Maelgwn’s land, so perhaps you already know it.”
Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy) Page 28