Bedivere allowed that a harvest big enough to have extra for bartering at a fair was a sure sign of prosperity. “Sounds as though you’ve secured the south,” the lieutenant said, beaming.
“Let’s hope the whole of Britain,” Arthur amended.
I was looking forward to the fair—it was ages since we’d put aside royal duties and danced in the meadows with our people. Besides, this would be my first visit to Winchester, and memories of Igraine’s story came often to mind. I took her golden torque from my jewel box, admiring once more the little pop-eyed animals at the ends of the twisted rope of gold. Each time I put it on I wondered about the many moments in the lives of royalty they had seen or heard—Ulfin had said she’d been wearing it the night of the feast, when Uther first began their courtship.
During the summer I’d made a concerted effort to overcome my aversion to Shadow—it was one thing to ask Arthur to get rid of Dormarth and quite another to let the handsome white mare go unridden because I refused to face down my fear. Arthur had bred her to one of Gwyn’s Welsh Mountain ponies, and the resulting foal was a fine chestnut filly with flaxen mane and tail. I had named the youngster Etain and turned my attention to the dam as soon as the little one was weaned.
By the time our entourage was ready to leave for Winchester, I was astride Shadow once again. Pennants fluttered in the morning breeze, bells on bridles jingled, and the brass rondels on the Companions’ halters gleamed in the sunlight. It promised to be a lovely outing. And to add the final touch, Lancelot rode into the courtyard just as we were leaving.
“What wonderful timing,” Arthur called, hailing the Breton with good cheer. “Your horse fresh enough to carry you on to Winchester?”
Lance reined in before us, gave me a formal nod, then turned his attention to the High King. “I can’t stay long—sent Beaumains on to Joyous Gard already. But I had an encounter with Morgan and thought I’d best come back to warn you.”
“Does it require a military response?” Arthur’s smile had faded at the sound of his sister’s name, but when Lancelot shook his head my husband began to grin again. “Then let’s be off to Winchester. You can tell us about it on the way to the fair—surely you’ve time enough for that. If you want to leave from there, you can head directly for London and pick up Ermine Street.”
Arthur swung aside his stallion, insisting that the Breton ride in the middle. Clearly uncomfortable with the situation, Lance cast me a helpless look but took his place between us.
“It seems,” he began once we were through the gate, “that the Lady still has designs on the High Throne of Britain. I would have thought that the experience of losing Accolon would have tempered her desires, but she’s convinced herself that her lover betrayed her by being fainthearted. The whole thing has only served to make her more determined.”
He went on to describe his visit to the Sanctuary. Listening to him, I shivered as though the cold, dark water of the Black Lake itself were pouring over me.
“Morgan is twisting the Old Ways into something bitter and narrow—she’s become a fanatic on the subject of the Goddess. There’s no more recognition given to the Mabon or Cernunnos, or even the Green Man of old. She’s proclaimed a new kind of Paganism, based on the most ancient of wisdoms, and it centers entirely on the female principle.”
I shook my head in disbelief that the power of the Great Gods should now be perverted into such a shallow concept.
“She lives in virtual isolation, the Academy having collapsed,” Lance went on. “Half the old families have converted to the teachings of the Irish saints, the rest are put off by Morgan’s stridency. It would be pitiful, if it were not so dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” Arthur questioned.
“Morgan has nothing else to concentrate on now. When I first arrived she was both surprised and gracious. We dined and chatted amiably enough—she was particularly anxious to hear about you, though later I realized she never once asked about Uwain.”
I thought of the boy Arthur had banished so summarily and wondered what had happened to him.
“Anyhow,” Lance resumed, “as the evening progressed Morgan began spinning out dreams and hopes for the future of a unified Britain, much as we do here. But there is one major difference; she wants to see a monarchy powerful enough to dictate that all people worship her Goddess. All people,” Lance added emphatically. “Pict and Scot, Roman and Cumbri, the Ancient Ones and the new Germanic immigrants…all people must be made to bow before the Great Mother.”
“But surely she knows I won’t allow such a thing,” Arthur burst in, his hackles rising at the very notion. Of all the things he had always believed in, freedom to choose one’s own gods was one of the strongest.
“She knows that.” Lance nodded. “Knows it all too well. But she has no scruples about overthrowing you if she can find another to take your place. That was the offer she made me,” he added slowly.
Arthur turned in the saddle to stare at his lieutenant, shocked in spite of himself.
“She came right out and suggested…?”
“Indeed,” the Breton confirmed. “Stressed how I was raised within the precincts of the Sanctuary; that the Goddess had loved me for years, giving me skills and talents most other men lacked. How together She and Morgan had groomed me for this position, and now just waited for my answer. It’s a very flattering argument, and she can weave a wondrous web.”
“What did you say?” I asked, remembering how she had seduced Accolon.
“I told her flat out that I wasn’t interested. For a few minutes I wondered if I’d made a mistake, if I should have gone along with the scheme enough to find out what she would do. But her dwarf sat beside her, methodically sharpening his dagger on a hand stone, and I don’t take well to an implied threat. She knows what I think of her plans, and will have to look for other means to disrupt your reign. There’s one further thing I noticed, however…”
We were both watching him closely, and he turned to face Arthur directly. “Of all the men she spoke of, you are the only one she accorded any respect. Indeed, there was even a sense of affection and attachment. Perhaps the very fact that you are not attainable makes you that much more special to her, for I would swear the Lady loves you not as a brother, but as a consort—and seeks other men to replace you because you are inaccessible to her.”
I shuddered involuntarily, for incest is an ancient taboo, and repugnance at the very idea runs deep and strong.
Arthur turned his face away, disgust and a kind of blind fury twisting his features.
“That is basically all I have to report,” the Breton concluded. “She let me go without any fuss, and I came to warn you immediately. Though she couldn’t woo me away from you, she may well try another…or at the least stir up trouble among the Companions.”
“Obviously,” Arthur said with a sigh, “I will have to keep up my guard. Can’t say that’s anything new, however.” He looked at Lance and grinned. “I am well blessed to have a lieutenant so true and trustworthy; may your loyalty be sung of for years to come!”
The compliment fell into a well of silence. Lance flushed, staring at his horse’s withers and biting his lip while I squirmed inwardly. The love Lance and I shared had nothing to do with disloyalty to Arthur, yet for the first time I felt awkward and uncertain, as though the ground I was riding on were shifting fearfully under Shadow’s hooves.
The conversation swung to other things—Geraint’s having named our stronghold Camelot, Enid and Geraint’s forthcoming marriage, and the news that Tristan had become lieutenant to a Prince of Brittany.
“Howell’s a good man, and steady,” Arthur allowed. “Tris’s life should be more manageable now.”
And so we rode blithely on to the Winchester fair, through a countryside where peasants in the stubbled fields and swineherds by the oak groves, smiths who’d set up forges next to stream crossings and hurdle m
akers carrying home loads of hazel rods, all turned to wave a greeting to their rulers. No doubt they thought our lives one long parade of splendor, without the cares or worries of the common man.
Arthur waved back to them, cheerful and good-natured, exuding confidence in all the ways the world wanted to see, while Lance and I rode in silence, each wrapped in our own discomfort.
***
And all the time Isolde’s words floated in my thoughts…no one promised it would be easy.
Chapter XXXIV
The Declaration
Gwen, you know I love you…and I want you to come away with me.”
Lance’s voice was husky and low, and I stared at him in astonishment. We were standing in the birch grove atop Winchester’s hill, the sounds of the market drifting up from the greensward below, carried by the barest of breezes. Here, hidden in the shade of the trees, Lance had turned and taken me in his arms.
“I thought that leaving Court, that putting you and Arthur behind me, would make things better,” he went on. “But oh, my dearest, it doesn’t help at all. Not a day goes by but what I think of you, miss you, want you with me. I didn’t intend to come back—it was the urgency of Morgan’s action that drove me to it. And now that I have, now that I see you again…”
He was staring into my eyes so that my knees went weak and my spine seemed to melt until the only things that held me upright were his hands and voice.
“But I can’t face Arthur, loving you like this, knowing you love me as well. I cannot play him false, Gwen. He is my friend as well as my King, and one of the finest men on earth. Better to be open and honest about it and make the break clean so as not to drag us and him through half-truths and duplicity. We both saw what that did to Tristan and Isolde. But if we tell Arthur outright, explain what’s happened…We’ll go to Joyous Gard, or Brittany—or even Arabia, if necessary. Away where we can love openly and without guilt. The whole of life is there to share, if we but reach out for it.”
The breeze freshened, lifting my hair and tugging at my shawl. Lance slid an arm around my shoulders, and we began to walk—slowly, aimlessly—through the trees. The idea of going to live with him was so new, I couldn’t take it in all at once.
“What kind of future would we have?” I asked. “You know I cannot have children.”
He nodded, slowly and thoughtfully. “Aye, I accept that. It is worth it to me to have you beside me.”
I heard the words but saw in memory the many times I’d watched him stop to play with the youngsters, helping a young lad mount a horse for a lesson in the stableyard or pausing to console the tot who’d fallen and scraped a knee. Lance’s way with children was wonderful to behold, and to condemn him to a life without any of his own seemed dreadful.
The sounds of merriment and celebration drifted up from the vale below, led by a piper’s quick, lilting tune. We had reached the edge of the grove, and I peered down at the fairgoers, as though by diverting my attention I could put off answering him.
The green was full of tents and booths, stalls and blankets where the peddlers spread their wares. I could make out each band of merchants, each clan of farmers, each laughing, colorful group of celebrants who had come to frolic as well as trade. They were my people, my subjects, the ones who called me Queen.
And in the midst of them was Arthur. Arthur Pendragon, a King of majesty, a man with a hidden heart. My own heart ached suddenly to see him there and find myself here.
“That is,” Lance whispered, “if you are willing to leave him.”
The very thought brought a physical pain and I turned to look at the Breton, to tell him no, it could never be.
Yet it was with Lance that I had found love and tenderness and all the joyful sharing of the spirit that makes life sometimes wonderful. With Lance it was enough that I be just who I was, without struggling for crown or children or the strength and courage of all those Celtic Queens.
The idea of a life based on my own desires rather than the needs of others danced dazzling before me, as sweet and poignant as the nightingale’s song. “I don’t know,” I stammered. “I…I’ve never considered such a thing. I must…must think about it.”
Lance was stroking my cheek with the back of his hand, gently pushing back the wisps of hair that had escaped my shawl. I turned into the caress, kissing his palm, letting him cradle my head in his hand.
“I will think about it,” I promised, and he nodded.
“I know it’s abrupt—it wasn’t until he was praising my loyalty that I realized I cannot carry this secret any longer. Take your time, my love. You’ll have the whole winter to think it through…in the summer, when the hedge sparrows have returned to the gardens, I’ll come back for your answer. Then, if you want, if it would be easier, I’ll talk to him first. I’ll have to do that sometime, anyhow.”
“No,” I cried, remembering how well we’d all worked together, how deeply hurt Arthur would be…maybe more by the loss of his lieutenant than his wife. “I’d rather tell him myself.”
I stared up at my love, torn no matter which way I moved, and he smiled gently. “Until next time,” he whispered, lifting my fingers to his lips.
And then we were running pell-mell down the path to the green, mixing with the crowds who had gathered around fire eater and shaman, prize bull and prancing pony. Lance bade a noisy farewell to Arthur and galloped off toward London while I turned back to my husband and my subjects.
***
By autumn the construction of Camelot was virtually complete. Below the hill the workers’ tents at Cadbury were replaced by solid houses filled with people come to be part of the dream: merchants and craftsmen, vendors and artisans. Signs were hung, gardens were planned, fancy horses filled the stalls, and there was a new influx of youngsters coming to Court.
Sometimes I worried about what would happen to my women if I left with Lance. But at other times I could not get away from them fast enough, particularly the redhead from Carbonek, who spent her time crying because the Breton had not come back to Court. One or another of the warriors had attempted to distract her; even the Orkney brothers each tried their luck at courting, but she brushed them aside, saying only Lancelot would do.
Gawain appeared to be philosophical about it, casting his attention elsewhere, and Gaheris shrugged it off as well, but Agravain made snide remarks and brooded darkly on being rebuffed.
Elaine herself ignored them, continuing to praise the virtues of her “one true love,” and I tried to avoid her whenever possible. The only other thing she spoke of was the disappearance of her cat, who had, I suspected, gone off to produce another litter of kittens.
But one evening at dinner the girl let out such a scream that the entire Hall fell silent.
“Tiger Fang…my Tiger Fang,” she gibbered, pointing at Agravain with a trembling hand and fainting dead away.
The handsome warrior from Orkney never paused in his strut across the room, but his hand moved to the sporran he wore at his belt. Along with the other northern lairds he liked to carry his things in a fur purse, and the one he presently sported was made from the mottled skin of Elaine’s cat. The little creature’s skull had been removed, but the face was ghoulishly plumped out with stuffing and formed the flap of the purse.
“How could you!” I cried, enraged that he should kill a harmless pet and flaunt it in this stupid, senseless way.
He flicked me an insolent glance and kept on going, as cold and heartless as any Saxon I could imagine.
“Arthur, can’t you do something?” I begged, deeply shaken by the man’s cruelty.
“Nothing that would bring the lass’s pet back,” he answered. “I can’t banish him for it, vicious as it is.”
I was on my feet and moving toward Elaine as she came round to consciousness. Bedivere reached her at the same time, and between us and Vinnie we got the sobbing child upstairs.
; As Arthur said, there was little one could do about the cat, but I vowed to keep a good distance from Agravain in the future.
***
Frieda’s brother and sister-in-law had joined us at Camelot, adding their skills as barrel makers to our household. Now that we had a fine supply of wooden kegs, I intended to fill them with that famous Somerset cider, scrumpy. Nimue was helping me check the goat-hair mats we’d filter the apple juice through when I told her about the demise of Tiger Fang.
“None of the Orkney boys are easy to get along with.” Nimue sighed. “Poor Pelleas is still recuperating from Gawain’s treachery.”
“Have you seen the horseman?” I asked.
“Ummmh,” she answered, holding up the end of a mat and scanning it for tears. Something in her tone caught my attention, and I paused to consider her more closely.
The doire had a newly solid look; more than the dignity I’d seen at the cave or the gracefulness and majesty that happened when the Goddess spoke through her. It was as though she had ripened, somehow.
“Are you pregnant?” I asked, absolutely without preamble.
“No.” She laughed good-naturedly at my lack of tact. “But I think I am in love. That is, we are…maybe.”
“Sounds like an awfully cautious, one-foot-out-the-door commitment,” I joked, and she grinned. “Do I know him? Has he been at Court? How did you meet?”
A hundred other questions leapt to mind, for I couldn’t imagine the sort of man Nimue might choose after having loved the great Magician—she and Merlin had seemed to be the God and Goddess incarnate.
“I grieved for Merlin for several years—seeing his face in the swirl of bark on a tree, hearing his voice in the murmur of wind through grasses. At night I’d grow dizzy watching for him in the stars, and sometimes he’d come to me in dreams. I even went to Bardsey Island, back to the cave where I had laid his body. I spent an entire night at the foot of his bier, but found I was no nearer to him there than in my sleep at home. It was then I realized Merlin no longer had any use for the physical plane. He could reach me spiritually any time he chose, and it was up to me to go on with my own living.”
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