Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  “What is it?” I whispered when the music ended.

  “A nightingale. Have you never heard one before?”

  I shook my head, hoping it would begin again.

  “Oh, we have lots of them in the south, where they’ll sing you to sleep on any spring night. I’ll ask Merlin to guarantee it for you,” Arthur added as we turned to walk back toward the house. My skirt brushed against the border plants, filling the air with the fragrance of mint.

  “Does Merlin work that sort of magic?” I asked, thinking it a good bit below his normal activity.

  “Well, not usually.” Arthur’s tone had a light, whimsical note to it. “But he has a terrible soft spot for young ladies, so perhaps he’d make an exception for you.”

  “The King’s Sorcerer?” I exclaimed, incredulous. It was impossible to imagine that somber and majestic sage being vulnerable to a young girl. I looked at Arthur in amazement, still thinking he must be joking.

  “Shhh…it’s a State Secret. He mentioned it only once, and I couldn’t tell if it was a prophecy about his own death or an ironic comment on human nature.” Arthur’s voice slipped from banter to more serious matters. “Merlin’s been the one man who has always been there when Britain needed him, and he dedicated his life to The Cause long before either you or I were born. There isn’t a skill, an art, an idea he wouldn’t learn or pursue if it would help. Druid, military strategist, diplomat, engineer, doctor…and sometimes Wizard…he’s woven it all together and kept the notion of civilization alive. Without him we would have been lost long ago. He’s closer to me than a father, Gwen, and I think it would be nice if he could find a little human loving somewhere along the line. No one should grow old alone.”

  There was something deeply touching about Arthur’s comment, and I slid my arm through his as we went in to join the rest of the party.

  But later I remembered Merlin’s discomfort on the evening I came and sat by him for dinner, and it seemed possible that Arthur was right. I just hoped that whatever woman recognized it would be worthy of him.

  Chapter XXXIII

  The Reunion

  Revived and refreshed, we left the villa next morning for the last stage of our journey. Arthur rode at the head of the entourage while Vinnie and Brigit were in the litter. I sat next to Agricola in his carriage and was sure that even in the days of the Empire there had never been a stranger or more elegant procession.

  The expression on Pellinore’s face when we came into sight was one of startled amusement, but he managed to greet us without bursting into gales of laughter. The rest of the people’s reaction varied, depending on where they came from; the sturdy northerners guffawed outright, while the more elegant folk of the south nodded and curtsied and made room for us to pass. In the end I found myself of two minds about the contraption, since the thing was comfortable, for all that it was outrageous. I had no intention of giving up horseback riding permanently, however.

  In typical Roman fashion the Road Builders had sought to scale the Cotswold escarpment with as few concessions to nature as possible. We struggled up three steep segments of Road devoid of switchbacks, and anyone in a carriage or litter dismounted, for the poor animals couldn’t be expected to haul the extra weight up so steep an incline. Even Vinnie got out and walked. And when we paused near the top, panting for breath and sweating in the morning heat, it was to look back at a view that took my breath away.

  The dramatic, rocky outcrops of the scarp thrust out above its forested flanks, while down below the flat Vale of Gloucester spreads westerward around the knoll where the Roman city perches. Silver rivers lace their way through green forests and lush meadows, and in the west, seemingly close enough to touch, the blue hills of southern Wales offer protection. It is a world reduced to tabletop size, and I gasped at the sheer wonder of it while Vinnie stood speechless beside me.

  “What did I say about Britain’s beauty?” Agricola asked with a smile.

  Whether it was joy and relief in reaching the crest of the Cotswolds or the fact that we had come into Arthur’s personal kingdom of Logres, our progress soon took on the air of a traveling festival. People came from everywhere to join the procession, and they weren’t just adventurous young men and local lords with their seasoned warriors; women and children had come to join the fun as well. Whole families were falling in behind us, laughing and singing and putting aside all other thought save that of escorting their king to his nuptials.

  We made camp on the edge of a woods like none I had ever seen before. Agricola explained that the deep shade of beech trees prevents the growth of scrub or bracken underneath, so the trunks of the trees become tall columns rising from a clear floor. I thought of Kaethi’s description of living temples for the Old Gods; with the late-afternoon sun dappling the fringe of new leaves and bluebells filling every path and open space, it was like a fairy woods, peaceful and pretty and untouched by worldly cares.

  The bright mood was contagious, and the people took this chance to pay their own simple respects to their king. A piper played his music for us in the soft twilight, and a family of acrobats came to our fireside and offered to entertain us. They spun and leapt and tumbled in the meadow. When I asked the mother of the family if she and her troupe would perform during the wedding feast she blushed and stammered, but the oldest son bowed formally and announced they would be honored to do so. Then they all went running back through the trees to their own camp.

  I looked up to find Arthur watching me, and wondered suddenly if I should have asked him first.

  My husband-to-be had seated himself on a nearby stump and Caesar, always at his side, dropped down next to him.

  “You really do like people, don’t you?” It was half question, half statement, and it caught me by surprise.

  “Of course,” I said, unable to tell if he was teasing or not. “Don’t you?”

  He thought for a moment, then answered slowly: “Yes, but I don’t seem to have the knack for making the common people feel comfortable the way you do. I can get them fired up over ideas, but that’s not the same as making individuals feel good about themselves. It’s a fine trait in a queen,” he added, “along with Celtic pride and the ability to ride well. Now, if we can just do something about your wardrobe…”

  He couldn’t hide the grin, and I grabbed a bannock and lobbed it at his head. Caesar sat up with a sharp bark, hopeful I’d send one his way.

  “You’ll have to learn to duck quicker than that, M’lord,” called a familiar voice from the shadow, and Bedivere strode into the circle of firelight. He looked tired and dusty, but was obviously in good spirits.

  “Well come, brother,” Arthur cried, jumping up and greeting his fosterling with a hug. “You made better time than I expected.”

  “Aye,” said Bedivere, looking quickly at the food that was piled on the makeshift table. “We didn’t exactly stop to dine with nobles, or even at inns. In fact,” he averred, reaching for a roasted pigeon, “I can’t remember when we last ate.”

  “I think,” Griflet said from behind him, “it was at Palomides’ parents’, sometime last week.”

  The boy looked every bit as weary and road-stained as Bedivere, but his eyes sparkled as he presented Arthur with the hand end of a leash that was attached to a second puppy.

  She was a creamy-white copy of Caesar, and for all her skittishness from the long journey, the moment she and Caesar sniffed noses she was right at home.

  “I already have a name for her,” Arthur announced, gesturing for the newcomers to help themselves to the food. “A good Celtic name, to balance the blend of cultures in the kennel. Do you remember the story Merlin told when we were children, about the war dog named Cabal?”

  Bedivere shook his head, and Arthur shrugged. “No matter. It was a jumble of things, as I recall, about an animal that was a shape-changer—sometimes a dog, sometimes a horse, depending on which its owner needed. Anyhow, it was full of great spirit, brave and loyal and fierce, as all such creatures should b
e. I could have sworn it was one of Merlin’s tales. Ah well, the name has been in my mind all this time, I think, so she shall have it as a homecoming present: Cabal…yes, that will do nicely.”

  “But why should she bear a war dog’s name?” I asked, expecting him to have picked something more feminine.

  “Because she will be my four-footed warrior. Bitches are always the best attack dogs. Didn’t you know that?” When I shook my head, he went on: “Maybe they have more of the protective instinct. It’s a male you want if you’re hunting, or needing protection from wild animals, but it’s the female that does best on the battlefield. Won’t you, Cabal?”

  The pup turned and looked up at him, focusing for the first time on the human who knelt down to greet her. She leaned her scruffy chin against his leg and drank in Arthur’s presence, oblivious of all else. The gentleness and concern in Arthur’s face were beautiful to behold, and I couldn’t help smiling at the scene.

  “Here we are—over here!” Bedivere called, waving to someone beyond the fire circle. “It’s Palomides. He wanted to wash up before being presented to you.”

  “Ah, so you were successful on both missions! That’s wonderful,” said Arthur, giving Cabal one last pat before standing to greet the dark-haired youth who made his way into the light.

  I hardly recognized the boy with his hair combed back and a short cape of elegant brocade slung over one shoulder; the firelight accentuated his Arab features and he moved with a lithe, animal grace.

  “M’lord, may I present Palomides, horseman extraordinaire and eager subject who would like to join your court,” Bedivere announced with a flourish that was both lighthearted and complimentary.

  The lad came forward and knelt on one knee before his king, and when Arthur put his hand on the youth’s shoulder, Palomides looked up with the same loyalty and devotion as Cabal. How eager they are for a leader, I thought, and how well Arthur meets that need.

  “I understand,” my bridegroom said, smiling and motioning for Palomides to rise, “that you have met M’lady Guinevere before. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t have known to send for you.”

  The boy’s dark countenance flushed, and he bobbed his head in my direction but was unable to meet my eyes.

  “And,” I said quickly, “if you hadn’t thought I was just another page, I might not have seen what you could do on a horse. So we are much indebted, and honored that you have chosen to join us.”

  Palomides looked up at that and smiled fully—a beautiful white flash of pleasure, his embarrassment gone.

  The three newcomers began catching up on their food while the puppies nuzzled each other at our feet and we exchanged news.

  Bedivere reported they had passed the Lady of the Lake on the Road, traveling with a full military escort and a number of druids and young priestesses. She had suggested they stay and accompany her, but Bedivere had declined on the ground of being needed to help with the wedding caravan; word of the masses of people following us had reached him long before he came within sight of our camp.

  “Did Morgan say anything about her husband?” Arthur asked.

  “Urien?” Bedivere thought for a moment, then shrugged. “Only that he was coming down the eastern Road from York, and should make Winchester in time for the ceremony. Are you concerned?”

  “No,” Arthur answered slowly. “He said he would be present for the occasion, and I trust his word. After all, one has to start mending broken fences somewhere.”

  Pellinore joined us, bringing with him a portion of ale a local farmer had contributed for the King, and soon political concerns were put aside as the drinking horns were filled and the evening turned to the merriment of toasts.

  The next morning we were met on the Road by a group of men riding hard from the south as though hurrying to intercept us.

  “By heaven, it’s Cei!” Arthur cried, forgetting whatever we had been talking about.

  He spurred forward, laughing and calling out greetings to Gawain and Gaheris as well. They met with a round of jests, and suddenly I saw Merlin among them.

  The Magician had not been in evidence for some time, but I was so used to his odd behavior I had not thought to ask his whereabouts. Now it appeared that he had already been to Winchester, had conferred with Cei, and was rejoining our party with Arthur’s Companions in tow. Such a schedule would have meant hard riding even for an experienced messenger, and I wondered if Merlin had been using his shape-changing powers; only a bird could have covered so much distance so easily.

  After conferring with them briefly, Arthur dropped back to explain that there had been a change in plans, and we would be turning onto an ancient track that crosses the Road near Liddington Castle. I glanced up at the ridge he pointed to, realizing that the long grassy lift of it terminated abruptly and boasted an ancient fortification at its top.

  As we drew closer, the walls of the massive hill-fort came to life with cheering children and banner-waving women. At its base, where the Ridge Way met the Road, a contingent of warriors stood smartly at attention. These were the first of Arthur’s home guard I had seen, and I eyed them curiously. Some wore bits of antique armor of the Roman style which had no doubt been handed down from father to son after the Legions left. A few had newer leather tunics, and the leader was garbed in a shirt of chain mail. They saluted smartly when we rode past and drummed their spear butts against the ground.

  Arthur gave them a wave, and they fell in behind us as the caravan veered off across the grassy slope of the downs. Agricola’s carriage was ill-suited for the rougher track, so I went back to riding Featherfoot, while he stayed on the paved Road and promised we would meet again before the wedding.

  Arthur was busy with Cei and Gawain and others of the household who hadn’t seen him for nigh onto a month now, so Bedivere came to ride beside me for a while. His eyes twinkled and he appeared to be genuinely pleased to see me again.

  “And how does Logres seem to Your Ladyship…to you, Gwen?” he corrected himself, and I smiled.

  “More exciting, more beautiful, more welcoming than I had expected,” I answered gaily.

  I told him about the people we’d met and he nodded at my description of the whole procession dancing on the green beside the ancient well, and laughed when I contrasted Pellinore’s hill-fort with Agricola’s villa.

  “And all the while,” I concluded, “we’ve been riding into the very heart of spring. It’s unbelievable.”

  “And you’re not disappointed with Arthur?” His gaze was so warm and confident it didn’t occur to me that the question was impertinent.

  “Good heavens,” I exclaimed, “how could I be disappointed when he’s so…so…”

  I groped for words, and Bedivere reached across and laid his hand over mine. The smile that he gave me was slow and rich, rising from within rather than glancing quickly off the surface.

  “I’m glad. It’s just as important to have a happy queen as it is to have a contented king.”

  I nodded happily. “And what of you? How was your own trip, besides hurried and harried?”

  “It was good. Busy but good. And Brigit’s family welcomed us as though we were lost relatives. In fact, Sean’s wife was delivered of a baby girl three days after you left, and they asked me to tell you they’ve named the child for you.”

  It was an honor to be so remembered, and I thought of the young mother’s eyes, bright and shining as she wished me many children and allowed me to touch her belly for luck.

  “How is Brigit?” Bedivere asked. “I didn’t see her in the procession.”

  It was a simple question, made casually from one friend to another, but of a sudden I looked at him more closely and realized that our growing confidence and trust was mutual. He had not hesitated to ask about my own inner feelings, and I knew it would be quite all right to ask about his.

  “You thought of her a lot on the trip?” The look he gave me was so open, and so easy to read, I burst out laughing. “She’s doing fine,” I assur
ed him, “though I haven’t seen her much except at bedtime and mornings. She’s a very good, truly remarkable person, and a man would do well to treat her gently and woo her softly. She’s quite devout in her faith, you know.”

  “Aye, I am aware of that.” He sighed, but without rancor or sadness. “It is a belief I have never thought to study, but perhaps she would be willing to teach me.”

  “At least you could ask her,” I said encouragingly, and was glad to see him nod thoughtfully as he rode off to join Arthur and the rest of the Companions.

  The richness of the day rose all around me, full of hope and excitement and the sweet, lifting song of larks. It was good to know that Brigit, coming south out of loyalty to me, was riding into a future that could include love and marriage for herself as well.

  In the afternoon we left the old track and made our way down to the plain below.

  “Avebury,” Arthur said as we headed for the entrance to the largest henge I’d ever seen.

  “Everyone honors the sanctity of a stone circle, and there should be enough room here to accommodate this mob.”

  We rode across the causeway which cut through the towering bank and crossed over an inner ditch that yawned both wide and deep. I was amazed to discover it was indeed big enough to embrace the masses who followed us. There were at least a hundred Standing Stones ranged in a circle along the edge of the huge ditch. Some were tall and slender, while others were broad and fat, but all seemed to be balancing on tiptoe, and I marveled at the power the Gods had contained in such a place.

  When the campfires came to life, pale streamers of smoke began to rise from half a hundred sites, filling the air with the tang of woodsmoke. I stood beside an immense boulder and looked out across the scene, really seeing for the first time the thousands who had gathered in our wake. It was a sobering sight, for all that it spoke well of the people’s love for Arthur.

  Arthur’s Companions joined us for dinner and introductions were made all around.