Igraine dropped her hands and looked at Anwen. “Yes,” she said simply. “I cannot think properly, Anwen. I need another clear head and you have always been sensible and discreet.”
Anwen wiped her damp palms on her gown. “As a true and faithful wife, my lady, you are within your rights to send a note to the King, thanking him for his attention and discouraging him from further flattery. Tell him you are devoted to your husband.”
Igraine pressed her full lips together, hiding their pillowy softness. “Such a note would be read by every person who handles it between here and the fortress.”
“Yes, my lady. If it is the truth, what does it matter?”
Igraine’s gaze met Anwen’s. Then it slid away. Igraine got to her feet and went to the unglazed window and pulled the heavy curtain aside.
“I see,” Anwen said.
Igraine leaned her forehead against the cool stone walls and closed her eyes. “I am a wicked woman,” she breathed. “I cannot stop thinking about him.”
“It does not prevent you from writing such a note. Even if it is not the full truth, you must remain loyal to Gorlois to keep the peace.”
“Not yet, Anwen. I cannot compose such a final note as that just yet. I need time.” Igraine’s tone was pleading. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered yet did not move away from the window. “Time to bring myself to it,” she added.
Anwen understood. “If not for Gorlois, you would go to him…”
Igraine sighed. “It cannot be, no matter how much my heart wills it so.”
“I know something of that state, my lady,” Anwen told her.
Igraine glanced at her, surprise building in her eyes. “You?”
Anwen couldn’t meet Igraine’s eyes. She had been indiscreet enough. “Please forget I spoke, my lady.”
“Anwen, look at me,” Igraine commanded.
Anwen reluctantly lifted her chin once more.
Igraine’s expression was kind. “Who was he?” she asked.
“It doesn’t matter, my lady,” Anwen assured her. “It cannot be, just as you said.” Her heart swooped sickeningly as she recalled Steffan’s face in the great hall.
Anwen pressed her hand to her middle to halt the dizzy sensations. It gave her an idea. “My lady, tomorrow you must be ill and take to your bed.” It was a perfect solution, for it did not commit Igraine to one action or another, and she could avoid any interactions with the King, too.
Igraine drew in a slow breath, considering it. Then, with a small smile, she nodded.
Chapter Nineteen
In three days, Steffan had learned that when Uther demanded his presence, it was because he felt uncertain. As a new king should appear decisive lest his subjects lose faith in his leadership, there were few people in the kingdom before whom Uther dared reveal his doubts. That was the real service Steffan could provide.
The morning after the disastrous supper, Uther sent for him. Steffan could guess why. He presented himself in the antechamber and the steward opened the door for him.
“What took you so long?” Uther demanded as the door closed behind Steffan.
“I came immediately,” Steffan pointed out. “If you want me to appear faster, then you must ask Merlin to cast a spell which will let me walk through walls.”
Uther snorted. “Merlin,” he muttered.
Liquid trickled into a cup.
“Wine, Steffan?”
“Mulled?”
“Gods, no,” Uther replied.
“Then yes, thank you.”
“Ha!” Uther said, sounding pleased. “Here.” A cup was pressed into Steffan’s hand.
Steffan drank. He needed the fortification. Uther’s temper had grown chancy, the last few days. “You sent for me,” he reminded Uther.
A swirl of heavy cloth sounded. Uther was pacing. “She’s ill, Steffan. She did not rise from her bed this morning. This is my doing!”
Steffan lowered his cup. “The lady Igraine?” he asked carefully.
Uther sighed. “Who else?”
Who else, indeed. “Are you spying upon her, my lord?”
“I spy on everyone,” Uther said. “My brother died from poisoning. I trust no one. I prefer to see the knife coming.”
“I thought…was not the poison a Saxon device?” Steffan asked.
“They say so,” Uther said dismissively. “The lady Igraine…” Then he gasped.
Steffan braced himself. “What is wrong?” he asked sharply.
Uther’s hands gripped his arms and squeezed. “Nothing at all. You said something a moment ago which just told me what I must do.”
“About the lady Igraine?” Steffan asked.
“Walk through walls, you said,” Uther replied and Steffan heard him pouring more wine. “That is what I will do. I will walk through walls to speak to her.”
Coldness settled in Steffan’s chest. “You would defy Gorlois and the peace of this country to speak to a woman?”
“Not if Merlin casts a spell,” Uther said bluntly. “Find him, Steffan. Bring him here at once.”
“Merlin?”
“Merlin,” Uther said flatly. “Try not to dawdle this time.”
Steffan held out his cup. “I still don’t know where the table is,” he said apologetically.
Uther chuckled. “They move, anyway,” he said, taking the cup. “Hurry, man!”
Steffan hurried. He knew the way to Merlin’s room well enough now to avoid the stumbling points. He hammered on Merlin’s door. “Merlin, for the love of the gods, open!”
The door opened almost immediately. “Steffan, what ails you?”
“Not me. Uther. He commands you attend him at once.”
Silence. “I see,” Merlin said. “Move back, Steffan. I will come at once, as commanded.”
Steffan stepped back and heard the door close. He gripped the staff. “You must talk Uther out of this madness, Merlin,” he said, keeping his voice low.
“Walk with me,” Merlin said, his voice just as low. “Igraine, you mean?”
“He wants you to use your magic and take him to her.”
Three steps.
“Uther doesn’t believe in magic,” Merlin said flatly.
“He’s not in his right mind,” Steffan said. “His steward said he hasn’t slept for days. Not properly. And he drinks all the time.”
“Uther has never slept well,” Merlin said, his voice remote. “He fills his bed so he is never alone…I presume his bed has been empty for the days he has not slept?”
“I didn’t think to ask,” Steffan admitted.
They turned into the antechamber and Steffan reached out for where he thought Merlin’s arm would be. He found soft cloth. “You must halt this,” he said, as softly as possible.
“Prince Merlin,” the steward said heartily. “The King awaits you.”
Merlin’s finger closed over Steffan’s wrist. “You must come with me.”
Steffan followed Merlin into the King’s chamber and found his way over to the warm corner where he would not trip Uther up or be in the way.
“My lord King,” Merlin said, his tone grave.
Uther hissed. “Nephew.”
“You need my help with something, I believe?” Merlin’s voice shifted as he sat. Then he added, “A sleeping potion, I would guess from your appearance. You would not have me attend you for a silly love potion.”
Uther’s tone was flat. “You know why I summoned you. If Steffan told you, or if he did not, you still know.”
“I do,” Merlin said. His voice was low.
When he said nothing else, Uther made a soft sound of irritation. “We have never agreed completely, you and I, yet we both served my brother well enough. I ask you to serve me now, as High King, if not as your last remaining relative. You have heard the rumors, you saw what happened last night. A fever grips me, Merlin, such as I have never felt. I will not sleep or eat until she is mine. For the sake of this country, you must help me in this before I tear it asunder in
my need.”
“She is not yours to have, Uther,” Merlin said, his tone sharp.
Uther gave the same hissing sound. “I know women, Merlin, as you do not. I understand their hearts and minds. She is not indifferent to me, even though she is afraid to raise her eyes in public.”
“You would insult your greatest ally to have your way?” Merlin asked.
“Of course not!” Uther cried. “Why do you think this has not gone beyond foolishness yet? If I cared nothing for Gorlois’ enmity, I would have had my fill of her months ago, then laid siege to his fortress and razed it to the ground. My brother did not work his entire life to forge this peace only for me to destroy it in a night of pure folly.”
Steffan relaxed a little. Strained, Uther might be, yet he was clinging to reason despite it.
“I know you, Merlin,” Uther said. “I see how you work, how your mind turns. You and I come at life differently. Yet I have watched you over the years arrange matters in ways which everyone calls magic. I saw you raise the standing stones with music and engineering. Yet everyone sings of the magic you cast to lift them with one hand. That is the magic I demand of you now. The magic you weave with your mind and your knowledge.”
Merlin remained silent.
“I want you to bring her to me. Or take me to her. I am certain you can do this. You know the by ways, the secret paths, the hollow hills.”
“It is no simple matter you ask for,” Merlin said. “The risks—”
“I am your king!” Uther roared.
“It is not the King who asks me this favor,” Merlin said sharply. “The King would know better than to risk everything for the sake of a woman. No, Uther, it is the man who begs me now to help him.”
The little silence throbbed with tension. “You will hold a lifetime of disregard against me, then.”
“Your disregard plays no part in this,” Merlin said.
“You say that, yet—”
“I have not said I would not help you.” Merlin’s voice rose above Uther’s.
Steffan drew in a startled breath.
Uther did, too.
Then, his voice eager, Uther said. “You must speak to her. Tell her…no, I will write a letter—”
“No, Uther,” Merlin said, with a snap in his voice. “If I am to help you, then it will be done my way.”
Uther’s silence was pensive. “And what will this cost me?” he asked, a wise note in his voice.
“Nothing,” Merlin said. “I do not do this for you. There will be a child—”
“There is always risk of that,” Uther said dismissively.
“There will be a child,” Merlin repeated firmly. “I want the boy given to me to raise.”
“A bastard for a bastard?” Uther said. There was a hard note in his voice. “If there is indeed a child, then it will not be raised in my court, as a threat to my legitimate sons.”
“There will be no other sons, Uther. This son will become your heir whether you wish it or not.”
The silence crackled. “Do you have any idea who you are speaking to?” Uther asked. He sounded amused.
“I do,” Merlin said evenly. “You, apparently, have forgotten who you are speaking to.”
“I do not believe your visions of the future, Merlin. I never have.”
“You are too much of the earth,” Merlin said, his tone one of agreement. “The child, Uther. Yes or no?”
Uther hesitated. “If there is a child, you will have it with my blessing,” he said heavily. “Now…” His tone was expectant.
Steffan heard Merlin get to his feet. “I will have a sleeping draught made for you. You must sleep before tomorrow, Uther. Your judgment is adrift while you are in this state. Tomorrow, you must move through the coronation ceremony and the feast which follows and offend no one.”
“That is all?” Uther demanded.
Merlin’s voice came from farther away, by the door. “I will give you more instructions once the arrangements have been made.” The door opened.
Steffen gripped his staff. “My lord, do you have any need of me?”
Uther’s tone was distant. Drained. “No, Steffan. Not anymore.”
Steffan escaped the room. He walked faster than was wise when there were usually many people in the antechamber waiting to speak to the King, yet no one tripped him up or collided with him. Steffan moved to the outside corridor. When he felt tapestry beneath his feet, he halted.
“Merlin!”
No answer.
The man was fast.
Steffan made his way to Merlin’s borrowed room and used his staff to rattle the door.
It opened. “You’d better come in, then,” Merlin said.
Steffan barely waited for the door to close behind him. “How can you think of helping him in this?” he demanded.
“I’m not helping him.” The sound of glass tapping on glass came softly.
Steffan hissed. It was the same impatient sound Uther had made.
Merlin’s voice came closer. “It only looks as though I am giving Uther what he wants. For this one moment in time, his desire and my work coincide.”
“Your work?”
“Destiny is an overwhelming force, Steffan. I warned you I am a politician. This is my power. By giving Uther what he wants I am serving my master.”
Steffan frowned. “Fate,” he concluded. “You are serving the future.”
“Very good.” Merlin’s voice was far away again. There were more soft clinks and taps. The flap of cloth.
“The child…” Steffan breathed. “You care about none of this but the child to come.”
“Not just a child,” Merlin said. “A king. The greatest king of this age, Steffan.”
“Greater than Ambrosius?” Steffan asked, astounded. It was uncomfortable relegating Ambrosius to a lesser rank. “Ambrosius brought peace to Britain.”
“It won’t last,” Merlin said. “Now my father is dead, the Saxons are already preparing. Next summer, or the one after, they will spill into Britain by the thousands. It will be the Flood Years all over again.”
“You cannot know that. How could you?”
Merlin didn’t answer at once. When he did speak, there was a thread of amusement in his voice. “I could tell you I saw the Saxon invasions in a vision, or in the stars, but I will not. It is nothing but common sense, Steffan. I have spent my life studying my father’s enemies and I am wise as to how they think. They will test Uther’s strength and find it less than Ambrosius’. Uther is a soldiers’ king, yet he needs the people behind him, too. They do not understand him as the soldiers do, so their support will be wary. The Saxons will use that wedge to drive themselves into the heart of Britain.”
Steffan shuddered. “And Uther’s son?” he breathed.
“He will rid all Britain of them,” Merlin said. “That, I have seen in the stars. He will forge a lasting peace, Steffan. One which will serve a generation, at least. His ideals—the ideals I will teach him—will last forever, in song and poem.”
“How can a king born of such wrongness be so great?”
“The kind who wants to put things right. A man who knows what right is. A man like you, Steffan.”
Steffan shook his head. “There must be another way than this…dishonesty you are undertaking.”
“There is not.”
“How can you condone it? You are a thinking man!”
“I can see farther ahead than you,” Merlin said. He came much closer—Steffan could sense him standing just in front of him. “Consider what will happen if Uther does not get his way. It is a simple matter to predict. Go on.”
Steffan swallowed. “Me? You are the politician, you said.”
“And you are a learned man. If Uther were to avoid entanglements with lady Igraine, then what?”
Steffan frowned. “I suppose…he will become king and perhaps find a queen to create an heir.”
“And before that could happen?” Merlin prompted.
“The Saxon flood,” S
teffan breathed. “It is coming no matter what happens, isn’t it?”
“My father’s death made it a certainty,” Merlin said. “This is our one chance to find a way out of the dark years ahead, Steffan. I will do everything in my power to make sure it happens.”
Cold, invisible fingers walked up his spine. Steffan shuddered. “I cannot see the future as you can,” he told Merlin. “I can only act upon what I see before me and what I see is wrong.”
“It is wrong,” Merlin said. “Yet the King will achieve so much more through trying to rise above that ignoble beginning. Trust me, Steffan.”
The soft rattle of metal against leather sounded.
“What are you doing?” Steffan asked.
“Packing.”
“Are you not here to help Uther with this…seduction?” The word made his mouth twist.
“The matter will require me to travel,” Merlin said. “While I am waiting, I am packing in anticipation.”
“Waiting for what?”
A soft tapping sounded on the door.
“Ah,” Merlin said. His voice shifted as he crossed the room to the door and opened it. “Good morning, Gorlois. Come in.”
Steffan drew in a sharp breath.
Soft boot steps. Then, “Steffan!”
Steffan turned so he was facing in Gorlois’ direction. “My lord Cornwall.”
“You fare well, in the King’s service? I saw you at the high table last night.”
Steffan’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “As with everything, my lord, it is both good and bad.”
Gorlois cleared his throat. “Prince Merlin, forgive me for barging in. My wife, Igraine, is ill and we have no physician with us. Given the current circumstances, there are few men I would trust in this King’s town. There is no love lost between you and Uther. I wonder…would you come and treat her? The coronation is tomorrow. She must be on her feet for that.”
Steffan fought to keep his surprise and dismay from showing.
“I will come at once, Gorlois,” Merlin said.
“You will? Thank you.” The relief in Gorlois’ voice was painful to listen to. “I must…I prefer to return to the house at once, do you mind? You know where we are lodged?”
“I do,” Merlin said. “Here, let me get the door for you. I will be along shortly.”
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