Arthur began to smile, but there was no warmth in his face, where the wrinkles were now more pronounced. "I think that I shall marry Talwyn. She's pretty, she's pleasant. She would be a sweet change from Guinevere," he mused.
Gawaine shuddered. "Not Talwyn!"
"Why not?" the king demanded. "You turned her down. Now, hearing that I want her, do you want her after all? That's petty of you." He poured himself some wine, as he had with increasing frequency of late. Since Lancelot had saved Guinevere, Arthur had seldom been without a winecup.
Gawaine shook his head vigorously. "No, no, not for me. The girl's been so fond of Guinevere. She fought to save her. You can't think she'd want to marry the man who nearly killed her."
"Virgin's blood, do you think that Guinevere corrupted her, too?" He pronounced his wife's name like a curse.
"No, no, of course not," Gawaine hastened to say. "No doubt the girl is innocent. But young Galahad loves her. He told me that he means to marry her."
"Indeed." Arthur's tone became cold. He rapped the table with the scroll of battle plans. "Galahad is a young warrior of uncertain parentage—perhaps he was Merlin's bastard, or very likely Merlin just fancied that he was—and no fortune."
"In fact, Galahad is my son," Gawaine declared, letting the pride show in his voice. "He'll have a fine inheritance."
"Your son? And you've never spoken of it until now? I don't believe you. You're just trying to vex me. First you pretend that Lancelot is going to Orkney, and now you claim that Galahad is your son," Arthur said, scowling. "Surely any girl would rather be a queen than be married to a man of lower station. Any woman except my last queen." Ignoring a pup that was wagging its tail and looking up at him with adoring eyes, he imbibed more wine.
"I believe that Talwyn and Galahad have some sort of understanding," Gawaine explained, desperately grasping for an argument that might have some weight, though he feared this one would not. He clenched his fists, but left them by his side and tried to make his tone persuasive.
"You mean he's tumbled her." Arthur gulped down more wine.
"No!" He did not think it wise to suggest that Talwyn might not be a virgin. "She's a good girl. I mean that you should find someone else."
"What do you care?" Suspicion filled his voice and he eyed Gawaine as if he were an enemy. "What's your part in this? Galahad looks nothing like you, acts nothing like you. How could such a skinny, pious youth be your son? When you turned down Talwyn as a wife, did you take her as a mistress instead? That sounds more likely."
Gawaine slammed his fist on the table. "I did no such thing! I care about Galahad. And poor Talwyn's not healed from her wound. Just let her rest."
"What do you think I'm going to do, force her while she's weak? Such tender matters must wait until I've defeated that wretch Mordred." Finally, Arthur consented to pat the begging hound.
“You've become a tyrant."
"Only to Guinevere, who much deserved it."
"It started with Guinevere. But it will never end." Gawaine could not look at Arthur any more.
As soon as he could manage to finish his interview with the king, Gawaine made haste to Talwyn's room. That is, Guinevere's room, where Talwyn now was recuperating. It was hard for him to be in that chamber. He could almost see Gareth and Agravaine lying dead on the floor.
He remembered how he had hesitated to kill Arthur, even when Guinevere's life was at stake. Lancelot would have killed Arthur. And Lancelot had killed Agravaine. Gawaine remembered how he had wanted to kill his own father, Lot, when Lot had led his men to rape a town's women. But Gawaine had refrained, and later his mother had killed Lot. Why do I leave the villains for the women to kill? Gawaine wondered. Is it because the men are my own flesh and blood, too close to kill, too close to cast away, too close to me?
Talwyn stirred restlessly in the queen's bed. Her wound ached, and she tried not to think of other, worse pain.
To Talwyn's surprise, Gawaine entered her room. Odder still, his air was almost timid. "Might I speak with you?"
She stared at him vacantly. "Yes, Lord Gawaine." No one could say anything that would interest her. Words were nothing. How strange it was that other people didn't see that. She looked beyond him at the hanging of women picking apples that covered much of a wall, but she barely noticed it.
The tall man shuffled awkwardly, and she tried to turn her attention to him.
"Are you healing?"
"The physician says I am," she replied indifferently. There was nothing to live for.
"You might be better off with Lancelot and Guinevere. Do you want to join them?"
The sound of the familiar names nearly made her choke. "Is it possible?" She had hoped... she had not dared to hope. "Did Lady Guinevere send for me? Do you know where they are?"
Gawaine nodded. "I believe I do. Are you fit to travel?"
She stared off again. Guinevere hadn't sent for her. Guinevere didn't want her. No one wanted her. "It doesn't matter. Nothing matters. You'll tell me what to do, or someone else will."
A wrinkle creased his forehead, but he looked worried rather than angry. "If you stay here the king will." His voice was sharper. "He has spoken of marrying you."
"Marry the king?" Talwyn spat out the words. She lurched forward so quickly that her wound felt torn. She let out a small cry of pain. "He has a queen."
"He had one. He wants another. He has thought of you."
"Queen Talwyn?" she almost shrieked. "Then I'd become Mad Talwyn indeed. I'd jump out of the window first. Where is Galahad? Doesn't he love me after all? Why isn't he here to help me?" Not thinking about modesty though she was wearing only a woolen bedgown, she swung her feet out of the bed.
"As I've said, Galahad does love you." Gawaine's voice softened. "It is better if you go to Lancelot and Guinevere now. They would never let anything happen that you did not want."
"I never want to see the king's face again. Yes, I'll go." She nodded vigorously.
"Will your wound permit you to travel? It would be better to leave as soon as possible," he said, anxiety in his voice.
She didn't know why he cared what happened to her, but she would take advantage of his offer. "I'll leave tomorrow, if you can arrange it. I don't want to stay under the king's roof," Talwyn proclaimed. She felt not a trace of indifference now.
The next morning was rainy, but she did not mind. All she wanted was to be gone from Camelot. She asked Luned to help her put on her chain mail, though its weight sorely hurt her back, because she thought that would disguise her amidst the many warriors—although there were fewer now. She did not want the king to discover that she was leaving and try to detain her.
She carried a pack of her clothes, and a basket in which the queen's cat was concealed. "Go to sleep, there's a good cat," she whispered. After one small mew, the aged cat made no sound.
When Talwyn went to the stables, she found that her horse had not been saddled by a groom. Instead, Gawaine was waiting for her, with her horse ready. Rain dripped from his red beard.
"I hope that you are well enough for this journey." He sounded surprisingly solicitous.
"As well as I'll ever be." She saw a life of hopelessness stretching out before her.
"It should be fairly safe. Mordred's troops are moving in the other direction. I wish I could accompany you, but I'm busy with battle plans. My man, Hywel, will ride with you, in case you become weak. He'll be here in a moment."
"Whatever you say. He can ride with me." She wanted only to be gone.
"Would you mind carrying a message for me?" he asked tentatively, looking at her as if he hardly dared to beg a favor.
"What, do you have a message for Lord Lancelot?" Surely he wouldn't have one for Guinevere.
Gawaine shook his head. "For Lancelot? No, only that I am a friend as always, but surely Lance knows that.
"The message is for someone else." Gawaine sounded almost shy, which amazed her. He did not look into her eyes, but pulled on his beard. "I think that
someday you might meet a woman who will tell you that she is my daughter. If you do, please tell her that I loved her and am sorry that I didn't do more for her."
This message caught Talwyn's attention. A secret daughter! Perhaps there were some interesting things in the world after all. "But who is she and how shall I find her?"
Still evading her gaze, Gawaine looked over her horse as if seeing whether it was in shape for the ride. "I don't mean to charge you with looking for her. If no one ever tells you she is my daughter, don't worry. But I think that you may cross her path, and if you do, please tell her."
"Of course. What a strange message."
Then Hywel, who was as short as his master was tall, entered the stable and Gawaine changed his tone. "Do you have everything you need?" Gawaine asked her. "Did you pack your winter things as well as your summer things?"
She nodded again, astonished at his solicitude.
"Hywel, did you see that food was packed for the journey?" Gawaine asked. "We mustn't starve the Lady Talwyn."
"I was planning to starve her, but you stopped me just in time," Hywel grunted. "When have I ever forgotten about food, Lord Gawaine?" He looked out with less than great enthusiasm at the drizzling morning.
Just as Gawaine was helping Talwyn into the saddle, a horse clattered up over the cobblestones to the stable.
The breathless rider opened his visor.
"Lord Gawaine! You're still living!"
Gawaine gave the moon-faced young warrior a cool look. "Alive, indeed, Blioberis. How did the gatekeeper let you in so early? Are you tired of the fare in Mordred's camp? Do you expect the king to bid you well come?"
"Mordred said that Lancelot had killed you. I should have known it was a lie. Mordred is ruthless. I am returned to beg the king's pardon." Blioberis dismounted and bowed his head.
"So you have learned that Mordred lies. And horses have four legs and hens lay eggs. I will not forgive you unless the king does," Gawaine reproached him.
"Mordred's negotiating with the Saxons to join him in rebellion against the king! The king must fight before they come in force to join him!" cried Blioberis, so wild-eyed that he must be telling the truth. "I left because I won't fight beside Saxons."
"Saxons! That rotten whoreson!" Gawaine's face was redder than his beard. He shook his fist.
Talwyn shuddered. Saxons! She had thought her father's idea that the Saxons were still a danger was madness, but perhaps it was not. How many people would they murder?
Gawaine seemed to notice her shivering. "You should be off while you can, Talwyn," he advised. "Go on, and Godspeed."
She nodded and started to ride off. Then, leaving Gawaine's man, she turned her horse back to Gawaine, who was walking away from the stable. Remembering that he was going to war, she wanted to say a better farewell.
"Everyone loves you, Lord Gawaine," she told him.
"Thank you, Talwyn. That was very kind." He smiled for the first time that day.
"What a nice, fatherly man Lord Gawaine is," Talwyn said to his man as they rode down the hill.
Hywel lifted his eyebrows but made no reply.
Anna tried to enjoy the smell of the convent garden's white roses. They were so full they almost fell off their stems. She told herself, I am Anna. I am sitting in a garden, not riding through the forest. I must seem to be at least a little content because Guinevere is sitting beside me. She's alive, and nothing else should matter.
Anna longed to saddle her horse and ride away from the convent. She longed for people to stop calling her Anna.
Guinevere held her hand. Anna tried to concentrate on her lover's hand and stop remembering striking down her students and thinking of Talwyn's and Creiry's deaths.
The sister porter entered the garden. "There's a warrior to see you, Anna," the nun said.
"A warrior! Will I be called to fight? Dare I see him without my chain mail?" She looked down at her black robes, where her sword was hidden, and touched it. She wasn't sure whether she was frightened at the thought of a fight, or relieved.
“No fighting!” Guinevere exclaimed. “Has Arthur found us?”
"I don't think this one will want to fight,” the nun said. “He looks as if he has been wounded recently."
Anna strode to the convent's massive door. She had not yet learned to walk in nun-like footsteps, and she didn't much want to. She couldn't allow the porter to let the warrior in until they knew who he was. Guinevere followed her.
There stood Talwyn, pale and leaning on the doorframe. She was thinner than she had been, and her eyes had lost their familiar luster.
"Talwyn!" Anna and Guinevere cried in unison. Guinevere threw her arms around the girl before Anna could do the same. They both held her. Anna felt as if a weight had lifted from her heart.
"We thought you were dead," Guinevere choked, tears streaming from her eyes.
"I'm well," Talwyn said, and collapsed.
They put her in a bed and cared for her. Guinevere refused to leave her side, even to sleep. She sat by the bed and held fast to the sleeping girl's hand.
The sister porter came bearing a mewing gray cat. The cat leapt out of her arms and ran to Guinevere.
"The stablehand said this cat was in a basket on the girl's horse," the nun told her.
"Grayse." Guinevere bent over and stroked the cat, which rubbed her ankles, then jumped in her lap and fell asleep.
Anna watched Guinevere and Talwyn with pleasure.
The next day, Talwyn ate a large bowl of porridge at Guinevere's coaxing.
Anna brought her watered wine.
"Why did you come here when you are so weak?" Guinevere asked the girl. "You should have waited until you were stronger."
Talwyn flushed. "I couldn't wait. The king wanted to marry me, but Gawaine saved me. I hate the king now."
"Marry you!" Guinevere gasped. She clasped both of Talwyn's hands. "How vile!" She shook with rage.
"King Arthur is a far worse man than I ever imagined, but I'm glad Gawaine saved you," Anna said, trying to smother her regrets that she might never see him again.
"Gawaine is a good man," Talwyn said, smiling.
"Yes, I suppose he is," Guinevere admitted.
Anna sighed with relief at finally hearing those words.
After her initial rage, Guinevere slumped in her chair. “Thank God and the Virgin that you are safe,” she said. “If only Creirwy had lived, too.”
“She did.” Talwyn almost smiled. “Luned told me that Cathbad took her to Fencha.”
Anna wept with joy, and held Guinevere, who did also.
Then Anna finally persuaded Guinevere to go off to her room and sleep. Anna took her chair beside Talwyn.
Fidgeting with the covers, Talwyn told Anna, "Mordred's fighting to overthrow the king. He's bringing Saxons with him." She shivered at the word "Saxons."
Anna exclaimed with horror and closed her eyes. Not war with the Saxons again!
"I don't like the king any more," Talwyn said, "but I hope Mordred doesn't win. They say the Saxons are brutal when they fight. What if they burn the countryside again?" Her voice faltered. "Is it true that they rape and kill all the women?"
A strangled sound came out of Anna's mouth. She turned her face away, and looked out of the window, at the peaceful scene of black-robed nuns walking in the garden. She had heard of Saxons attacking convents and raping all of the nuns.
She knew all too well that the British also had raped Saxon women, that British men raped British women, and so forth, but the thought of the Saxons was too much for her. "Mordred would bring the Saxons down on us?"
"I can fight if I have to." Talwyn tried to rise from the bed.
"No, dear, never again," Anna said, quieting her own demons for the moment and taking Talwyn's hand. "Rest and all will be well."
When Talwyn dozed off, Anna sat on the bare convent chair and wondered whether she could fight for the king who had nearly burned the woman she loved. But how could she not?
&nb
sp; Sister Branwen came to take a turn sitting by Talwyn, and Anna went pacing through the passageways.
Thinking that Guinevere never would understand, Anna wrote a letter begging to be forgiven, took her sword and the chain mail that Gawaine had given her, and left while her lover still slept.
28 THE DEATH OF ARTHUR
Percy rode up breathlessly to his family's villa and could not help noticing that it looked shabby now that he had lived at Camelot, though his father had repaired a wall that had been tumbling down. His mother, father, and brother all rushed to greet him. All of them were grimy from working in the garden like peasants, he noted with dismay. His mother Olwen's brown braid was nearly undone. None of them wore clothes as fine as those at Camelot.
"I've been away looking for the Holy Grail, but now I've heard there's a war on. I'm going off to fight for King Arthur. Mordred, a warrior of the round table who claims to be the king's son, is attacking him with a band of rebellious warriors," Percy exclaimed, his words running together. "Will you come to fight for the king?" he asked his brother and his father. Surely such important news would bestir them.
Indeed, they all turned most gratifyingly pale.
"Why, I've never even learned to fight, except a few lessons from father. Of course I won't," said his brother, Illtud.
Percy tried not to show his disgust. "But you know how to fight," he said to his father, Aglovale, whose beard was now mostly gray.
"And I also know how not to fight," his father replied, brushing his dirty hands across his old brown breeches. "I have shed enough blood for Arthur."
"Were you wounded in the Saxon War?" Percy asked. "You never tell about it. Everyone but you tells war stories."
Aglovale grimaced. "I don't want to keep living in it. Stay home with us, son. You don't know how horrible it would be killing the other warriors you know."
"Stay home! Then I'd be less than a man," Percy replied in horror, wondering how his father could speak in such a way without shame.
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