Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  “And miss all the excitement?” I exclaimed, sentiment giving way to bravura. The fact that we hadn’t known the sort of intimacy I wanted didn’t mean I wasn’t his helpmate. And there’d be time enough for sleeping once he and the men marched off to war; in the meanwhile, I was jealous of every hour that remained.

  “Ah yes, the Celtic queen…” he joked, looking about for his breeches. “Tell Bedivere I’ll be with him shortly.”

  The heavy gray clouds of morning had lifted, and the day turned fresh and bright, full of the loveliness of spring’s promise. People thronged to the Square, for word had gone out that the wedding feast would be held in spite of the sudden change in plans.

  I looked over the gathering, thinking of the dancing and music and happy celebration that should have filled the air. Instead, warriors from every camp were readying their weapons while leaders conferred, medics collected their supplies, cooks filled hampers and baskets, and the ever-important smith packed up his anvil for transport to the field.

  On the far edge of the crowd a supply train was making its way toward the gate. The wagons creaked and groaned as the drivers prodded the lumbering oxen, trying to get a head start on the faster-moving troops who would overtake them within the first few hours of the march. It was all the reminder I needed that dreams of laughter and gaiety and the sharing of sweet secrets must give way in times of war. There was, after all, no other choice.

  We settled down to work in the privacy of Arthur’s room, where maps and inventories and hasty sketches of potential routes were spread out on the long table.

  A small but steady parade of people came through the leather curtains bringing information and questions, taking away answers and orders. Cei checked in from time to time, and Bedivere too, but Merlin stayed with us constantly, and Nimue sat silent as a shadow next to me.

  I made lists for Arthur, keeping track of the problems as they arose and crossing them off as they were resolved.

  A platter of fresh-roasted fowl was brought in and we munched on it casually, not having time for a more formal meal. Arthur had just picked up a drumstick when Tristan and Dinadan sought admission, and he gestured toward the food as he made them welcome.

  “Sorry it’s not more elegant.” He shrugged. “But you understand how things are right now.”

  The Cornish champions nodded, and Tristan cleared his throat. “I hope you understand how things are with us, too,” he began.

  “We want you to know,” Dinadan interjected, “it is not our idea to return to Cornwall. King Mark does not like to risk battles outside his own land, and since we are sworn to him we cannot stay and take the field with you, though we would both like to.”

  It was the first I had heard that Mark was defecting, and I caught my breath and looked quickly at Arthur. He nodded slowly.

  “I understand it is a matter of honor,” he said, tossing the chicken bone aside, “and I want both of you to know you’re welcome at my court anytime you choose to come. As for King Mark, well…” He sighed, looking for the most tactful way to phrase it. “I was not totally surprised when I heard of his decision.”

  “I’m sure his absence does not connote disloyalty,” Dinadan put in discreetly, and Arthur smiled at the man’s efforts to soften the insult. I wondered what this would mean in terms of men lost, and how it would affect the other kings; it could be disastrous if it triggered a string of desertions.

  There were a few more words of apology and good wishes; then the warriors bowed to us and departed, and Arthur stared after them.

  “Someday,” Merlin said, watching the High King shrewdly, “they’ll leave King Mark, and possibly even come to you…but with a taint of scandal, I’m afraid.”

  He sounded so much like Kaethi, I was sure he knew more than he was saying, but a messenger from the north arrived just then and, after a hasty bow to Arthur, began reporting the number of curraghs that had landed at Carmarthen, who had resisted, and what skirmishes appeared to be shaping up. The lad was pale with exhaustion, but he relayed his information without stumbling once, and Arthur listened gravely and thanked him when he had finished.

  “So many Irish!” I whispered, appalled at the figures.

  “Don’t forget, Theo’s ships carry a great many more people per boatload. I don’t think we’ll be as outnumbered as it sounds.” Arthur’s voice was calm and assured, and I smiled at him hopefully.

  As the afternoon wore on things began to sort themselves out, and a kind of order emerged from the confusion. It even appeared that we might have a few minutes to ourselves before Arthur had to leave. I remembered the wedding present I’d made for him and sent a page hurrying to the house to fetch it.

  The boy returned and slipped into our chamber behind Cei, who came in carrying a pitcher of wine and a clutch of goblets. I gestured to the page to leave the package by the doorway as Cei splashed the wine into the glasses and handed them around.

  The Seneschal lifted his goblet to the light and squinted at it thoughtfully.

  “King Mark has turned tail and run south.” His voice dripped with scorn. “And Pellinore has left for the Wrekin.”

  I gasped aloud, unwilling to believe that the giant warrior from the Marches would so readily follow in Mark’s footsteps. Pellinore was the furthest thing I could think of from a coward.

  “Seems he thinks he can get home, gather up an auxiliary force, and still meet us outside of Caerleon. Cador and Geraint went off last night with Theodoric and a handpicked group of men, and everyone else, including Urien, is preparing to leave this evening with you.”

  Cei raised his glass in tribute to Arthur and took a sip of wine. I watched him roll the liquid around his mouth, wondering if he was checking it for poison, for I’d never before met a person who fancied himself a connoisseur of the grape. In the north wine is drunk with much gusto and appreciation, but without such elaborate rites beforehand.

  “There’s only one detail left,” Cei said, taking a further sip from the goblet, but grimacing afterward. “Who stays behind with the Queens?”

  There was a brief discussion, and it was decided that Bedivere should stay in Sarum to provide us with adequate protection in case the Saxons decided to take advantage of Arthur’s involvement elsewhere.

  “I think that’s the last of the details,” Cei concluded, “but I’ll come fetch you when it’s time to leave.”

  The Seneschal finished his wine with a gulp, then put the glass down on the table. “Pheeww, what a bunch of vinegar!” he exclaimed, making a terrible face as he strode from the room.

  Arthur rose and began to pace restlessly about, his sober expression deepening into an outright scowl. Finally he stopped and appealed to Merlin.

  “I’m still not happy about taking Griflet,” he said. “He’s only a well-meaning boy who’s spent more time in the kennels than with the swordmaster. And if, as you say, he’s likely not to survive his first encounter…”

  He sighed and turned away, angry and perplexed by the situation. I knew exactly how he felt, for it seemed brutally unfair that the eager young lad who had accompanied me south should pay for his loyalty with his life.

  The Enchanter spread his hands above the table and moved them slowly apart, as though smoothing out a wrinkle in the air.

  “Even those with the Sight do not try to play God,” he said. “The boy must follow his moira, and if that means death at this time, that’s between him and his gods. He would follow you on this mission with or without your approval, and at least this way there’s a bit of glory attached as well. If he survives, he may be the better for it.”

  He glanced over at Nimue. “And now I suspect the newlyweds,” he added, solemn as ever, “would benefit from a few minutes alone, so I think we’d best get on with my packing.”

  There was a bit of tense laughter as we all stood up and stretched, making halfhearted jokes as though loath to leave the camaraderie of the moment. As long as we were all together, going over plans and arranging details, we
were sharing an exhilarating challenge; once it got down to the specifics of what one was to take or leave, perhaps forever, it became a solitary and frightening business.

  Merlin and Nimue filed through the door, and Arthur began throwing clothes on the bed, then went rummaging for his saddlebags. I retrieved my package from the doorway and was undoing the straps when I realized that my husband was standing immobile, staring at something suspended from his hand. It was a talisman like the one Kaethi had given me, old and worn and obviously much used.

  “When I was a child,” he said softly, not looking at me, “this was the only thing I knew about my parents. Drusilla told me my real mother had put it around my neck before I was taken away, and I’ve kept it with me ever since. I had no idea then that it was a gift from the High Queen herself, but I used to look at it and wonder if the woman who’d given me up had hoped it would keep me safe.”

  He stood silently watching the little embroidered pouch as it swung slowly on its thong. I crossed the room, coming to a stop in front of him, and reaching out, laid my hands over his.

  “Knowing your mother, I’m sure she did,” I said, lifting the amulet and solemnly putting it over his head. “And it’s worked so far.” I was careful to keep my voice light and playful as I turned back to the table. “I brought you a little magic of my own, by the way.”

  The cloak shook out full and rich and heavy under my hands. I had not made it to serve as a battle cape, so there was no padding across the shoulders or upper torso, but it would keep him warm at least. And it was the best thing I had to send with him, except my love.

  He stared at it with admiration and ran his fingers gently along the embroidery that spilled over the shoulders and down the front panel. Stars and flowers and symbols of the Goddess burned bright against the dark green wool, and I held it up for him with pride and hope that he would like it.

  “It’s absolutely superb, Gwen…like fairy work. And much too elegant to wear on a field of blood and muck and gore. I should not like to see it shredded and defiled in battle.”

  “Nor would I, if you’re inside it!” I joked, draping it carefully over his shoulders and checking the length of it. “But it will bring you luck and victory and the blessing of the Goddess…or at least, of your wife,” I promised as his arms went around me and we came together in a hasty embrace.

  Suddenly he pulled back and looked down at me, a sheepish expression wrinkling his brow.

  “With all this confusion, I forgot to get you a morning gift,” he said contritely.

  I smiled and leaned my forehead against his chest, trying to keep my voice balanced somewhere between tenderness and teasing. “If you gave me a child this morning, it’s the finest gift I could want.”

  “Spoken like a true queen!” he jested, breaking into a smile at last. “And when I come back we’ll take that trip I promised. We’ll tour through the entire land, M’lady, and you can pick whatever spot you’d like for our very own retreat! Maybe a Welsh hunting lodge, or a manor in the Highlands, up beyond Dumbarton. Or a villa like Agricola’s if you’d prefer, with heated floors and a bath that works all the time!”

  “How long do you think you’ll be gone?” My voice betrayed me by sinking into a whisper, and I was careful not to look at him. Running my hand along his shoulder, I remembered I still didn’t know how he’d gotten that scar.

  “As long as it takes!” Arthur’s response was typical. “It depends on what we find when we get there. Most of the coastal kings swore fealty to me at the Coronation. If they’ve defected and joined with the invaders, I’ll have to battle each one down, and replace them with British rulers…men I can trust. We may be at it until fall, if that happens.”

  He turned away and began gathering last-minute items from the table, so I stuffed his clothes into the saddlebags. All the while he went on thinking out loud, much as my father used to do.

  “If the client kings stay loyal to me, we may be finished within a week or two. Of course, Theo is an untried factor; he talks military strategy well enough, and if he and his men are as good in combat as they sound, they may be able to hold the south shore for me. If he’s not that good…well, I’m confident I can count on the men who went with him, so even if Theo just supplies a ferry service, our advance troops should give the invaders something to think about!”

  I looked up as he lifted down Excalibur. The gold and silver flickered with an inner fire, still filled with the Power as in the morning at Hardknott. Keep him safe, I prayed to it as I knelt to buckle the sword belt in place.

  Cei was knocking at the door with the news that the Companions had gathered in the Square. Arthur cleared his throat and promised we’d be right out.

  “Merlin says he sees much bloodshed at the River Usk,” he said in a low voice, pulling me roughly to my feet. “He also said to tell you not to worry—I’ll be returning home in one piece and muleheaded as ever.”

  “You’d better,” I whispered, no longer attempting to keep up the banter.

  We looked at each other in silence, trying to say with our eyes the words that would not cross our lips, then came together in a crushing embrace…thighs, mouths, hands, tongues, and breath all intertwined. For a little moment that was all there was in the world, filling and consuming at one and the same time, until Cei’s voice cut sharply through the air.

  As though on cue we turned from each other’s arms, grabbing up map case and saddle bags and heading for the door. Neither of us looked at the other but we both strode through the archway with only one thought: to meet the moments ahead with as much verve and courage as possible.

  News of the impending departure had spread rapidly through the town, and the Square was a riot of noise and light. The late-afternoon sun was gilding everything with a hard brilliance, flinging its illusion over warriors and townsfolk alike. We stood on the steps of the Hall and squinted against the glare.

  People and horses milled about uncertainly, forming little knots of kinship. The Companions stood next to their mounts, while those who would be left behind fussed nervously at husband and father, son and brother. There was much adjusting of battle gear or exchanging of mementos, admonitions to stay out of drafts, and efforts to be sure that lucky charms and amulets were carefully tucked under the folds of tunics.

  I watched the little rituals meant to keep the finality of such partings at bay, and understood them fully for the first time. Sad, poignant, brave, honorable, they eddied around us like a great, silent sob.

  Arthur stood on the steps of the Hall and called for Bedivere to join him. As the crowd grew silent, the High-King formally gave over the Seal of Britain to Bedivere’s keeping, announcing loudly and in front of hundreds of witnesses that if he was killed and if there was a child born of our morning’s union, Bedivere was to act as Regent until the child was grown.

  Stripped of all pageantry, it was so simple and so heartbreaking: life and death in one and the same sentence. I stood there numb and tired and very close to tears.

  “M’lady,” came a familiar voice. “M’lady, I have a favor I would ask of you.”

  Agricola was pressing forward and I looked at him blankly, unable to imagine what boon I could grant to this man whose life was so rich and well ordered.

  “I was remembering your need for a ring of Roman workmanship for Lavinia,” he explained, “and it occurred to me that my wife had had just such a piece. I’d like to give it to you now so that you can pass it on to your governess. It’s not particularly valuable, but if I do not return from this battle, I’d rest easier knowing it graces the matron’s hand rather than some Irishman’s purse.”

  He carefully laid a gold-and-jet ring in my palm and closed my fingers over it while I stared at him, stunned by the recognition that no one was safe on a field of battle.

  “Oh, sir,” I blurted out, “surely nothing can happen to you!”

  “There, there, M’lady,” he said, taken aback by my reaction. “Of course nothing’s going to happen to me, and
I’ll be doing whatever I can to make sure the High King comes back in one piece as well. He’s the kind of leader one finds but rarely, and none of us will let him down.”

  I slid the ring onto my finger and mumbled a thank-you to the villa owner, more grateful for his reassurance than I could say.

  Arthur had turned and, seeing Igraine, made a point of bowing deeply and bidding her farewell. Then he was looking around for me, and I stepped forward to his side.

  He slid his arm around my waist, and we turned slowly so as to take in all the people in the Square. He brought his other arm up and I did likewise, saluting the subjects who had just that morning saluted us at our wedding.

  “To victory, and the cause of peace in Britain!” he sang out, and the throng roared its approval.

  The ringing clatter of hooves on stone broke through the crowd and a stableboy came running ahead.

  “Make way…make way for the King’s stallion!” he cried, dodging through the press of people.

  The animal himself plunged and pranced excitedly, halfdragging the groom to the foot of the steps. His coat gleamed like black metal and both mane and tail had been braided for battle. The trappings glowed in the late-aftemoon light, and the people drew back in awe as the great beast snorted, impatient for his master to be done with politics and get on with the journey at hand.

  After that, everything spun and fragmented and blurred around us; we dropped our arms as the war horns were sounded, the deep, belling notes of the aurochs horns making the hair on my nape rise, for it is a call to arms and death that every Briton knows. Arthur lifted my hand silently to his lips, acting out a parting for the public’s sake and giving my fingers a last, quick squeeze. And then he was striding down the steps and swinging into the saddle and the moment of separation had come.

  The Dragon Banner was lifted into place, and the crowd opened up to let the warriors through. Bedivere and I ran along at Arthur’s side, though I doubt he even knew we were there. The enemy had landed, his troops were ready, and all the last-minute things at home had been attended to. Arthur was already living on a different plane, heading for a rendezvous that was miles away on another day, and we who were to stay behind were as unremembered as seaweed left stranded by the tide.