Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  “Good heavens, girl, you’re shivering,” he said suddenly, pulling away from me and unfastening the pin that held his cape. “I’ll not have it said I kept my bride out freezing just to enjoy the Goddess’ blessing.”

  He slung the cape around my shoulders and swept me forward into the light that poured through the Hall door.

  Tallia was spreading two pallets with fur and fleeces for our comfort beside the hearth. The children were bundled off to other areas, and our hosts had their own quarters, but for propriety’s sake it was to be clearly seen that Arthur and I slept in separate beds, well chaperoned by all our own men.

  I smiled ruefully to myself, knowing I had already experienced a far greater and deeper union with this man than that which propriety was so busy guarding against. I had seen and accepted our fate here, tonight, on the crest of this ancient hill, and all the other ceremonies would be just that: rituals to please the people and make public the commitment that had been made in the privacy of my own heart.

  As sleep claimed me, I wondered if Arthur himself had any idea what had happened.

  ***

  Next morning Pellinore bade a noisy farewell to his family, expressly designating Lamorak to act in his stead while he was gone.

  “Poor boy needs something to cover his disappointment at not being able to come with me,” he said as we clattered down the steep side of the hill, followed by our escort and the men Pellinore was bringing as well. “Besides, do him good to have a taste of responsibility while I’m gone. Gives him experience along that line and frees me up for a little questing on my own.”

  “Still chasing the ladies?” Arthur teased.

  “Ah, M’lord, I cannot tell you how hard it is to cope with an appetite such as mine. It’s a ravening beast, howling and bellowing like a pack of hounds. I must follow wherever the Goddess leads, no matter what. Infernally hard to make a wife understand that,” he added soberly. “Oh, I try not to get lured away…can’t run a tribe and be always out following the scent, you know. But when She beckons, the chase is on and I have no choice but to pursue. One of these days I’ll catch Her, and then I’ll hold the very Goddess in my arms.”

  Arthur nodded. “The dream of every man,” he said softly.

  “Ah, but it’s a curse, too,” Pellinore averred. “You think you’re master of the whole of the Universe, plowing the stars and casting your thunderbolts into the heart of Creation, and you give yourself over to Her completely. But when it’s over, you discover you’ve embraced some poxy beast with mismatched limbs and a cast in one eye. You have no idea how much trouble it can lead to, lad, and it’s not a Quest I would wish on anyone else.” He hastily made the sign against blasphemy, just in case the Goddess took offense.

  Arthur did likewise, and we rode for a while in silence. I thought about the Goddess and Her many faces, realizing I’d never considered how She appeared to a man. Maiden, mother, hag of wisdom and old age, for me She was the embodiment of life and death, of fertility and ancient strength and power. Cathbad had described Her as land and seasons, stars and tides, implacable in war and glorious in the bearing of new life. That Her very nature could also drive men mad was understandable, but that men saw it as a curse as well as a challenge had not occurred to me.

  I wondered if Arthur had ever experienced Her thus, and if he had, would he ever tell me. Perhaps, I decided, it was a question best left for the future.

  The sun was gilding the tops of the grasses, and little eddies of steam rose from the meadows below. The lambs of spring gamboled in the pastures, staring at us in sudden amazement and dashing back to the ewes, where they fell to their knees, butting into the comforting udder even as their tails wagged frantically. The older animals simply raised their heads, small chins moving sideways in a constant chewing motion as they watched us pass. The shepherd lifted his hat in greeting, and his dog smiled with lolling tongue, but kept a careful eye on us nonetheless.

  This was the face of the Goddess I liked most, and I thanked Her for the gifts of husbandry and plenty with which She had graced this year, and vowed to make a personal sacrifice to Her when we reached Winchester.

  Chapter XXXI

  Morgause

  When we caught up with the cavalcade we were met with rowdy cheering by the Cumbrian leaders who had joined our caravan overnight.

  These were men who had fought beside Arthur in the Great Battle and, like Pellinore, had a special loyalty to the young man they had helped make High King. They swallowed him up in a chorus of current news and the happy recounting of past glories, so I dropped back beside Merlin and contented myself with watching Arthur at work.

  He moved among them easily, responding to them as eagerly as they did to him. For those who called out in the native tongue he had a Cumbrian answer, slipping into Latin only when someone specifically addressed him in that language. It felt like a family reunion, and I thought of the bond I had so often seen between my father and our men at home. Perhaps that is the first quality a leader must have, that he be able to meet his warriors on an equal footing, neither arrogantly superior nor coldly aloof, but as one of them.

  Merlin remained as silent and withdrawn as Arthur was outgoing and vocal, so I gave myself over to the mood of the journey. Here in the Marches the sense of the Other engulfed the thrusting hills and crumpled ridges. The land was alive with mists and secret winds, and I understood now why the Welsh kingdoms had never been conquered by Rome. Obviously this was a border guarded by the fey as well as men.

  Wherever a hilltop overlooked the Road there was evidence of a fort or ancient steading. Sometimes there were the familiar outlines of walls and ditches leading like giant steps up to sentinel towers by the gates. And sometimes all you could see was a plume of smoke rising from some fire in a courtyard that was hidden behind a screen of trees. Always there was the feeling that our progress was being observed, and I was glad that the Road was in the hands of our allies, not our enemies.

  We made camp that night in a lovely dale sheltered between two softly folded hills, and Arthur suggested that after dinner I should meet the local nobility.

  Lavinia helped me change into a dress while Brigit tried to get the snarls out of my hair and we had a chance to catch up on our own news. Their day had been as quiet as mine, though Brigit grinned and said she’d had a terrible time with Caesar the night before, as he seemed to be looking all over the camp for Griflet or Arthur or me.

  “He wouldn’t settle down until I finally tethered him to the tent pole and he curled up at the foot of my bed and went to sleep,” she concluded while Vinnie grimaced at the memory of having to share her quarters with a dog.

  “I’ll go find him and take him for a walk as soon as you’re finished,” I told Brigit, and she allowed that he would no doubt be delighted to see me.

  The baggage animals were quartered near the stream and as I picked my way across a marshy patch the pup made a mad dash toward me, muddy paws flying and shaggy face full of gleeful welcome.

  “Heel, Caesar!” Arthur bellowed.

  The command came too late, for the young animal had already launched himself full force against me. The impact sent us both tumbling into the wet grasses, though the pup scrambled into a sitting position immediately and sat, eyes laughing, while Arthur came up to us.

  “I think he’s glad to see you,” my bridegroom suggested, snapping his fingers and ordering the dog to heel once again. Caesar whipped around to Arthur’s side as fast as he could, looking up at his master and then back to me with eager expectancy.

  “Are you all right?” Arthur asked, helping me up and surveying my mud-spattered dress with dismay.

  I hastened to reassure him that neither my garment nor my disposition was damaged beyond repair, and we headed for higher, drier ground.

  We found a soft spot on a small rise near a clump of elders. The bark at the base of the larger trees was shredded where a badger had scratched its claws clean and sharp, and Caesar’s interest was immediately piqued.


  “Too bad he’s not old enough for the field yet,” Arthur said, dropping to the ground and stretching his legs out while he leaned back on his elbows. “I could have used him as a hunter today, believe me. Do you realize we have over a hundred people to feed now that the local leaders have joined us?”

  I found a scatter of wildflowers and picked a few, along with several strands of young ivy, then sat down nearby and began to plait a garland for the dog.

  “That many?” I asked.

  Arthur nodded thoughtfully. “Goodness knows how we’ll handle it when we get to Winchester, what with the westland lords from Cornwall and Devon and Somerset, as well as the men from Wales and the northern lairds down from the glens. Winchester has only a limited amount of space, and I don’t want to see regional factions falling out over who uses which facilities. I think I’ll send Merlin ahead to discuss it with Cei; Cei’s particularly good at handling this sort of thing, and I’m sure he’ll find a way to make everyone comfortable.”

  “What’s he like, your foster brother?” I asked, and Arthur laughed. Caesar came lolloping over and threw himself down between us, and the High King put a steadying hand on his back.

  “Arrogant, difficult, with a sharp tongue and the eye of a hawk. Not much for diplomacy, I’m afraid, but he’s great with details. That’s why I’ve asked him to be my Seneschal. Bedivere gets people to agree; Cei makes sure they comply with their agreements. I asked Merlin once if he’d foreseen all this when he brought the three of us together as children, but he just smiled and said my closest companions would each bring a special skill to the aid of Britain, and I mustn’t think it would be limited to just the family I was raised with.”

  “How much does the Enchanter know of the future?” I asked, sliding the finished circlet of greenery over Caesar’s head.

  “Much more than he tells, of that I’m sure. He sees his glimpses of Sight as guideposts, not as a substitute for hard work and dedication, and says that no matter what the Fates have spun, we have the free choice to weave it as we will. It’s important to make our own decisions, instead of leaving them up to someone else, or blaming what happens on the Gods. But sometimes it’s a real tangle, trying to take every faction into account!

  “Take the wedding, for instance. Everyone agreed it should be on Pentecost because this year that feast falls on the last day of April, and when the sun goes down, Beltane begins. That way the spring festivals of both Pagans and Christians are recognized. But deciding where to have the actual ceremony was quite another matter.”

  He sat up and began to tickle Caesar’s nose with a grass stalk.

  “I suggested that it be held at Glastonbury because the Tor has been sacred to the Lady since time began, and with the Christian chapel nearby it seemed a reasonable way to satisfy everyone. But the Archbishop of London had a fit; he thought we should have the wedding in London, because he claims that’s the most important Christian center in Britain!”

  Arthur snorted and tossed away the grass stalk. “What a foolhardy idea! It took all of Merlin’s wisdom and Bedivere’s persuasion to get the fellow to realize how impossible that would be. London’s as much Saxon as Celt these days, and even though we have a truce with the Federates, it would be sheer stupidity to assemble so large a party of our best leaders in such a place. We ended up promising the Archbishop he could help officiate no matter where the wedding was held, and that’s when he finally agreed to Winchester. Merlin says he sees no danger in it, so I went along with it.”

  Arthur was silent for a minute, fuming over such shortsightedness. It was obvious that he considered the meddlesome bishops a problem and I wondered what sort of alliance could be forged between this free-spirited monarch and the ambitious, dogmatic churchmen.

  “Do you mind having a Christian wedding as well as one that follows the Old Ways?” he asked, turning his fine level gaze directly on me. It was the first time he’d inquired about my own preference on anything.

  “No, not really,” I said carefully. “Ceremonies must be structured to meet the needs of the people. You and I both know that public rituals are for bards to sing of later; vows of the heart are made much more privately. Or at least, that’s what we do in Rheged…” I added softly.

  There was an awkward silence, and suddenly Arthur got to his feet and indicated we should head back toward the camp.

  “I understand your sister will be leading the rite of the Old Ways,” I said, standing up and trying to smooth out my dress. “Are you very close to her?”

  “Morgan?” We turned and started down the hill. “Yes, and no. I got to know her when I made the retreat at the Lake after the Great Battle. I had beaten the northern kings on the field, but I wasn’t certain they would accept me as High King. She helped allay the last of my own doubts, and was instrumental in convincing them I was the Goddess’ choice for High King as well. She’s truly dedicated to what’s good for the people, and I trust her implicitly on that level. But as a person, I know her almost less than I know the Queen Mother. Morgan was sent away to a convent before I was born, and I didn’t meet her until after I had bested her husband in the Great Battle. Believe me, it was a relief to have Urien sue for peace, as I was loath to make both my sisters widows in one day. I don’t need two women versed in the black arts plotting against me; one is quite sufficient.”

  “Which is that?” I queried, unsure what he referred to.

  Arthur kicked a clod out of the way and the viciousness of the action made me glance over at him. He was stamping stubbornly along, glaring at the ground as though it were a living adversary. His eyes had narrowed and I could see the muscles of his jaw clench as he struggled with the words.

  The change in mood was appalling, and I wondered if he resented my asking about his kin.

  “There is no love lost between Morgause and myself,” he said at last. “And I prefer not to speak of her. Although I did not wield the weapon, she blames me for Lot’s death, and perhaps a good deal more. I have taken in Gawain and his younger brother Gaheris because they are my nephews, and are proud, honest young warriors. And I will welcome Agravain and Gareth at court as well, when they are old enough. But their mother must never presume to call upon me as kin. I will not allow it.”

  His voice was strained and tense, and unexpectedly cold for a man who generally radiated life and energy. It was clear that whatever trouble lay between brother and sister was not likely to be mended soon.

  As we came to the clearing he went down on one knee and put the lead on Caesar’s collar, pausing for a moment with his hand on the circlet of flowers that graced the pup’s neck. Suddenly Arthur took hold of my hand and looked up at me.

  “I didn’t mean to speak so harshly, Gwen. I…I just can’t talk about my sister, that’s all. It’s not that I want to exclude you…but I have no way to explain about Morgause. And I’d appreciate it if the subject did not come up again.”

  I stared down at his face and found misery laid across it like the stripes of a whip. Instinctively I reached out to him, running my free hand over his hair as though he were a child frightened at Samhain.

  “Of course, love,” I reassured him. “It’s all right. Whatever it is, it will be all right.”

  He turned his head to one side and I could not see his expression, but after a long minute he sighed deeply and looked up. The bitter rage was gone and his eyes once more held the sparkle of enthusiasm I found so dear.

  “I almost believe you could make it all right,” he said, only half in jest.

  “Well, I can try,” I bantered, still wondering what we were talking about.

  He pressed my hand to his cheek, then smiled softly. Caesar had been watching us uncertainly and now began to cavort happily as we headed back to camp and the promise of fresh, hot food.

  I could not see what this strange interchange had to do with the realities of our present lives. As with the gray wraith of Arthur’s old age that had come to me on the Wrekin, his anger had appeared like a ha
lf-hidden world that emerges on a misty night and then is gone when the warmth of day arrives, so that you do not know what is real and what is fey. No matter what its source, I decided, I shall not trouble that well of poison in the future, and perhaps time will draw the pain from him. And in the meanwhile there are new kings to meet and another night to spend under the stars.

  After dinner people began moving between tents and firesides, forming little knots for conversation or games of chance. The various leaders of small Cumbrian kingdoms drifted by, stopping to meet me and pay their respects to Arthur. The High King was pleasant but aloof, with a tension beneath his graciousness, and I noticed that he let others do the talking.

  Pellinore sat with us for part of the time, his boisterous good nature filling the firelit circle.

  “Wonderful way to catch up with what’s going on elsewhere,” he said after a young man from one of the coastal valleys had come and gone. The news most frequently exchanged had to do with King Pellam, the king struck down by his own sword, whose wound had still not healed.

  “Nothing much one can do to come to his aid, either.” Pellinore’s big voice dropped in awe. “Hideous idea, born of a hideous act. What ever happened to the fellow who dealt that dolorous stroke?”

  “Balin?” Arthur sighed, and the flame in the fire hissed suddenly, “I understand he and his brother killed each other in combat without knowing who the other was until it was too late. Kin killing kin…it’s a tragedy to burst the heavens, to drive the sea away, to open the earth with anguish.”