Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  They sounded fascinating, and I wished my window looked out onto the Square, but short of actually leaving the house there was no way I could see what was going on. So I had to be content with Brigit’s description until I had a chance to ask Arthur himself.

  He came about midday, bringing the dogs with him and insisting we take them for a run. Rushed and harried and vaguely distracted, he hustled me out the door with barely time to grab a shawl.

  “Easier and safer to talk out here,” he explained as we loped across the meadow.

  There was a tense excitement in his voice and a quick glance at his face confirmed the unease that was beginning to prickle around me. The reality of last night’s news came fully awake, banishing the blithe cheerfulness of the morning.

  Without further word we scrambled up the rampart, slipped the leads off the dogs, and turned to look out over the parapet. On the plain below the makeshift camps spread out for miles, and Arthur pointed to the different banners whipping in the wind while I struggled to tie the shawl under my chin.

  “It appears that the doire’s Second Sight is more than a little accurate,” he said at last, “—at least where the man named Theo is concerned.”

  “The strangers who speak a foreign tongue!” I cried.

  Arthur turned to look at me abruptly, one eyebrow raised in surprise, as though I had developed the Sight myself. I explained that Brigit had seen them this morning. “But what are they like, and why did they come?” I queried.

  “Theo is very much as Nimue described him: half military man, half pirate. He was a sea commander for the Visigoths, but since the Franks have driven them into Iberia, Theo’s been moving from one coastal kingdom to another seeking a patron. When he reached Brittany, King Ban suggested he come see me, and since Bors was looking for a way to make it to the wedding, he volunteered to act as pilot and sponsor. They dropped anchor yesterday at Weston-Super-Mar; Bors says there are five ships altogether, and Theo is willing to swear allegiance in return for safe harbors and whatever military action might come up. Which gives me, I suppose, a navy.”

  “Do we need a navy?” I asked, unsure even how such a thing would be deployed.

  Arthur turned round, facing out across the top of Sarum, and squinted against the wind that perversely changed with him.

  “Even if we don’t need it now, there may come a time when a navy would be useful to keep the Irish quiet. It would certainly be easier to deal with the Saxons to the east if I didn’t have to worry about the Irish in the west.”

  We began to walk along the parapet, the dogs ranging happily ahead of us.

  “I’m still not sure what to make of Nimue’s warning about the spies,” Arthur went on. “She and Merlin have spent all morning trying to determine more closely what she heard, but so far it’s still unclear.”

  I was shocked in spite of myself, for it hadn’t occurred to me that Nimue’s absence meant she was with the Wizard. I glanced at Arthur, wondering if I should warn him about what the Goddess had in mind for the Sage, but a cold band laid itself across my neck and I immediately decided to remain silent. The Goddess had already warned me not to meddle.

  “I think,” Arthur continued as we came in sight of the Companions’ tents, “that we need to prepare for battle without seeming to…if that’s possible.” He stopped to watch the individual riders practicing on the drill field, then gave a short laugh and pointed to Griflet, who was pounding up and down the field at breakneck pace. “Our young Kennel Master has a flair for fighting too, it seems. I’ll wager he’s more spirit than skill at the moment, but the day may come when he’ll be a valuable warrior.”

  Arthur knelt down to slip the leads back on the pups and motioned for me to join him. The two of us crouched in the lee of the wall, well hidden from sight or sound.

  “No matter what form the treachery takes, you should be better protected,” he said softly. “Suddenly giving you a formal houseguard might arouse suspicion, but I could send Griflet over. He’s young enough to be viewed as a page put at your disposal, yet I daresay he’d fight like a lion if you were ever in danger. He doesn’t know what the situation is, of course; I’ve told no one else except Bedivere. But from now on I want you to take Griflet everywhere with you, and find a place for him to sleep at your house as well.”

  “Hmmph,” I snorted, “between the priestess and Griflet, my household staff has doubled and taken on a pair of dogs to boot. I hate to think what it will like be in a week!”

  For a moment Arthur was caught off balance by my banter; then he grinned and stood up.

  “With any luck, by this time next week we’ll all be under one roof, and then it will be up to Cei to find room for everyone.”

  And so we left it. Arthur went off to talk with Griflet about his change of quarters while I took the dogs and headed for the house.

  The wind was behind me now, capricious and unreliable, full of rough buffets and sudden whacks. The dogs were straining at the lead, pulling me along, and it seemed I was being propelled toward a future where the threat of battle and loss mingled with the festivities of the wedding. It was frightening and exciting at the same time and betokened a moira not even the Lady herself could have devised.

  Chapter XXXX

  Morgan le Fey

  By midafternoon the wind had turned to heavy gusts that whipped around corners and snatched at the bunting and banners of the town. Griflet, having moved his meager possessions to my house, accompanied me and the pups on a visit to Igraine, and we fought our way into the teeth of the wind like fish traveling up a turbulent stream.

  The Square was full of people, most of them clustered around a pair of stone-and-anvil men set up in the far corner. Their forge flared golden red when the capricious wind hit it, and the whine of the blade sharpener came and went like keening in the night.

  “One of the King’s gifts to the people,” Griflet explained. “He’s had the smiths set up both here and on the plain so that anyone who wishes can have scythe or knife or plowshare repaired at the King’s expense. Part of the wedding celebration, you know.”

  Griflet’s explanation was so ingenuous I looked at him sharply, but there was nothing to indicate he was dissembling. No doubt that had been Arthur’s original intent, but it surprised me that Griflet didn’t recognize preparations for battle when he saw them. Clearly sword and spear and weakened buckler would all be attended to in between the domestic items ordinary people brought forth. That it could be done under the guise of the King’s largesse and without arousing suspicion was a stroke of minor genius, and I wondered who had thought it up.

  We were windblown and breathless by the time Ettard answered our knock, and I felt very rumpled indeed while we waited for the Queen Mother to join us. The dogs lay at our feet, rising quietly when we stood to greet our hostess. I introduced Griflet, and Igraine smiled indulgently.

  “My dear,” she said, “I have known this boy from the day of his birth. Don’t forget, his father has been part of the King’s household since before we were married.”

  There was something in her tone that tugged at my heart, for she spoke as though Uther were not dead but, like the God King of old, merely slept somewhere while the rest of us kept the Court in trust for him until his return. Perhaps it is always like that if one has loved someone deeply; with that person’s death time stops, and future generations are only shadows compared with what one remembers. Certainly it seemed to have been that way for my father after Mama died.

  “I beg your pardon, M’lady,” I apologized, and she smiled softly.

  “You can’t be expected to know and remember what you have only heard about,” she said, seating herself next to the brazier and drawing a robe across her lap. The chancy wind was pushing against the shutters, and every so often a draft cut across the room.

  “Now, tell me how you came by the Irish hounds,” she suggested.

  “You know about these dogs, M’lady?” I asked as Griflet brought the pups to her chair. Caesar wa
s all enthusiastic friendliness, but Cabal was barely polite. It was clear she was going to be a one-person animal, and that person was Arthur.

  “Of course I know about wolfhounds, child, though from long ago,” Igraine said. “A number of Irish settled in Cornwall, and Gorlois was very fond of his dogs, so he kept a wolfhound or two in the kennel.”

  It was the first I had heard of Irish colonists in the south, and I wondered how they figured in the present situation. Was it possible they too posed a threat?

  I looked at the Queen Mother and wished I could tell her about Nimue’s warning. It would be so comforting to have a more experienced person to confide in, and I was sure she would know better than I how to deal with duplicity and treason. But remembering Arthur’s caution not to mention it to anyone, I held my tongue.

  We talked about the pups, and when I told her their names and how they had come by them she laughed with the light, high heart of a girl.

  “I knew he’d do well to marry a Cumbrian,” she said, daubing at the tears of amusement that dampened her eyes.

  A mad clatter suddenly interrupted us, followed by such a pounding on the door I thought the elements themselves were demanding entrance. Ettard no sooner undid the bolt than the door flew open and a dozen armed men rushed into the room. They wore a badge I did not recognize, and came to attention with their backs against the wall, filling the room with menace.

  Griflet leapt to his feet, dagger drawn and both dogs alert beside him, their hackles raised and throats rumbling.

  A swarthy man, barely taller than a child, strode into the room. His head and arms were of normal size, but his bandy legs were stunted, and one shoulder was hunched high and crooked. I caught my breath, thinking it was the Dwarf God Bilis Himself. He surveyed the situation within the room, then turned to the Queen Mother.

  “Your Highness, the Lady of the Lake has come to pay her respects.”

  I looked hastily at Igraine, hoping I should leave so that mother and daughter could meet in private. But the Queen Mother put her hand firmly on my wrist, pinning me to the chair, as she said, “Tell Morgan we shall be happy to receive her.”

  Igraine shifted her grip so that her fingers closed over mine in a reassuring manner. There seemed to be no sound but the roar of my heart in my ears and Morgan le Fey entered the room.

  The Priestess was smaller than I had remembered, but her dark, pointed face and animal quickness hadn’t changed. She surveyed the scene before her with a steady and inscrutable air. I would have risen to my feet out of sheer panic but for Igraine’s hand over mine, and at last the Priestess came forward and curtsied to the Queen Mother.

  “My Lady,” she said formally, her voice smooth and polite, “I hope I find you in good health.”

  “Indeed, child, as well as can be expected,” the Queen Mother answered, “considering you’ve stormed in here like a marauding army. You needn’t be so dramatic with me, you know.” With regal serenity she turned to me. “Guinevere, may I present my daughter Morgan, Queen to King Urien and High Priestess of the Goddess.”

  Igraine looked sternly at her daughter, and there was nothing for it but that Morgan must curtsy to me as well. The Priestess murmured some small formality and I attempted a wan smile, grateful that Igraine spoke again.

  “I was just about to order tea, Morgan. Will you join us?”

  The Lady nodded, and with a signal dismissed her dwarf lieutenant and the men who had escorted her. Griflet, looking as unstrung by this encounter as I felt, announced that he would like to take his refreshment in the kitchen, where he could also fetch the dogs a drink, and when the tea things arrived Ettard withdrew to the other side of the room and I was left alone with the two Queens.

  Morgan accepted a cup from her mother, and reached for a biscuit.

  “I believe having a cup of tea and a good chat is my mother’s solution to every problem in the world,” she said amiably, sitting so as to face the two of us and making a point to include me in the conversation. “When I was a child, no matter what else was happening, Mother always insisted we must observe teatime.”

  Igraine nodded her head, but avoided the invitation to exchange reminiscences. “Taking tea in the afternoon is a very civil habit to get into,” she said. “It ends the working day well, provides a chance to gather the family before the evening activities begin, and is a thoroughly beneficial custom. You might consider reinstating it at court, Gwen.”

  “I’m sure the new Queen will have ideas of her own about what to do at court,” Morgan pointed out, her silky voice making light of the challenge behind her words.

  I could think of nothing to say and was relieved when she went on chatting. She spoke about her trip and the need for an armed escort because the Roads were so crowded with riffraff on the move these days. I watched her carefully but could find no sign of emotion, even when she expressed pleasure at being in the south again.

  “I left as a child, you know,” she said, not looking at her mother, “and what with being schooled in the north and then married to a northern king, I don’t get home often. Not that I dislike the area,” she added with a nod in my direction. “Lakeland is one of the most beautiful and unspoiled parts of Albion, if you like oatmeal and mutton, but I do miss the sunnier clime, and all the flowers of Cornwall.”

  She finished the last of her biscuit and turned to me directly. “I understand that Cathbad was once your tutor.”

  “Yes.” I nodded, feeling a fool as my voice stuck in my throat. Morgan’s tone had become a little friendlier and I told myself it was absurd to be frightened of her. After all, Igraine had been remote and unapproachable in the beginning, and she had not proved to be an enemy. Perhaps the Lady simply needed some reassurance about my own motives and attitude. “I was raised in the Old Ways, as much as any other,” I ventured.

  “So you’re familiar with the Wedding Rites?”

  “Oh, yes,” I assured her. “I’ve already gone through the Blessing…”

  A draft slid icily around my ankles as Morgan’s look froze my words. With a toss of her head she let out a curt expletive about amateurs dabbling in holy ritual.

  “Just where did the Blessing take place, M’lady?” she asked, regaining her composure almost immediately. Her eyes were still full of anger, however.

  “At the temple near Avebury. I understand the priestess there is a pupil of yours, so I thought…”

  “You did not think very well, I’m afraid. Those are rites sacred unto the Goddess, and should be performed by no one other than her appointed Lady. Who is this so-called priestess?”

  “Nimue,” I answered, dreading the idea that I was exposing my new friend to Morgan’s wrath, yet hoping that when the Lady knew who had officiated everything would be all right. “She is one of your own students, isn’t she?”

  Morgan’s eyes widened when she heard the name, then narrowed coldly, and she shrugged.

  “She was one of my attendants for a time. But she lacked the ability to fit in, and in the end I had to ask her to leave.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” I murmured.

  “I am too.” Morgan sighed like a long-suffering parent. “She had such promise, but took upon herself too many…things. And now it is most regrettable that she should so have profaned your preparation.”

  “Surely it’s not profaned, M’lady,” I said quickly, trying to reassure her. “I…I can’t speak of the rites themselves, but the Goddess was present, of that I am certain. Who actually calls Her forth can’t make that much difference, can it?”

  I had completely misjudged the situation, and the Priestess turned on me scornfully.

  “Are you that stupid, girl, not to realize that as the Lady of the Lake I am the only one through whom the Goddess speaks? I would expect such ignorance from some dull-witted Roman girl, but not a child of the Cumbri! Call yourself raised in the Old Ways? You might as well have grown up in a convent, for all you understand of life.”

  Morgan was on her feet and pac
ing by then, moving with Arthur’s sure stride from one end of the room to the other. One hand nervously twisted the black curl that hung down by her ear, and she was such a contrast to her mother’s fair composure, it seemed likely the title “le Fey” hinted at her being a changeling child. I remembered our first meeting and half-expected her to vanish in a fit of rage, with or without the magic of a Druid’s Mist.

  Igraine had been silent during our entire conversation, and now she settled back in her chair and took a sip of tea as she watched her daughter wear a path through the rushes on the floor.

  “Goodness, Morgan,” the Queen Mother said, putting down her teacup. “When I married Gorlois there was no great fuss over which priestess conducted the Blessing. I can’t see that it matters all that much now.”

  “But Gorlois was only a duke, not a High King,” Morgan flared, “and besides, in those days the Old Ways were only just starting to come out of hiding, so there were undoubtedly exceptions made here and there. Now the rites have been reinstated and must be adhered to by all who seek the Goddess’ favor.”

  “Well, either way, it seems that what is done is done, and we should go on with the rest of the ceremonies as planned,” Igraine suggested sensibly.

  “With all due respect,” her daughter snapped, still pacing, “you are a Christian now, M’lady, and have no right to question the judgment of the Goddess. No,” she added thoughtfully, “I will have to purify the girl and perform the rites all over again, as though nothing else had intervened.”

  She whirled about and approached my chair, staring directly into my face with those cunning, savage eyes.

  “It means you will be brought to me at sunrise tomorrow for exorcism, and we’ll spend the rest of the day giving you a proper initiation. I’ll send my people for you at first light.” Without waiting for an answer she turned on her heel and would have left the house had her mother not spoken up.