The Road to Avalon (Rediscovered Classics)

by Joan Wolf

  The boy Mordred was at least an heir, although Cador would have preferred a son of unquestioned legitimacy. But even if Mordred were to be given the preference over younger children, Cador felt it would be safer to have others behind him. Life was precarious.

  It was not possible for Arthur to marry the boy’s mother. She was still a handsome woman—and here Cador’s eyes flicked approvingly over the vibrant figure of the Queen of Lothian—but too old for childbearing. Besides, there was always the question of incest.

  A few murmurs had been heard when Arthur had announced the name of Mordred’s mother, but by and large the tribal Celts had a forgiving view of such things. They were all accustomed to blood marrying blood within the clan. It was almost impossible to avoid, given the nature of Celtic society. But Morgause could never be his wife.

  Cador’s eyes circled the tables, stopping at the face of a particularly pretty young girl who was seated toward the bottom of the room. Nola, Madoc’s daughter. Madoc, a prince from the extreme west of Wales, was of good blood. And the girl was very pretty. She would have to be, if the king were to be brought to consider putting aside Gwenhwyfar.

  Cador’s eyes moved back to the head table, to the face of the queen. It was sheer physical pleasure just to look at her, he admitted. He could quite understand Arthur’s reluctance to put her aside. Any man who had got Gwenhwyfar into his bed would feel the same.

  But she was barren. Five years they had been married, and never any sign of a child. Not even a miscarriage.

  The boy, Mordred, was the final proof. Until his appearance it had always been possible to wonder if the fault was perhaps Arthur’s. One had never heard of his leaving any bastards behind during all the long years of his campaigns against the Saxons. But then, even as a boy he had been fastidious.

  Cador wondered if perhaps Arthur himself had feared to find out if he were the one responsible for his childless marriage. Perhaps that was why he had so adamantly refused to consider replacing Gwenhwyfar. He might feel differently now, with the proof of his own potency sitting at the table with him, looking so uncannily like Arthur himself had looked when first he came to Venta.

  As Cador watched, the king’s dark head bent closer to the red-gold one of his wife. Gwenhwyfar looked up at him, saying something. The green of her eyes was visible all the way across the room. Cador’s senses leapt, and his mouth curled with wry self-knowledge. No, it was not going to be easy to persuade the king to set aside Gwenhwyfar.

  The seat to the right of the queen was empty, and it was not until the main course was being removed that Bedwyr put in an appearance. Cador watched him stride across the floor, his fair head held with unconscious arrogance, his big body as powerful and graceful as the lion he was called after. There had been some problem with a horse, Cador knew. That was why the prince was late.

  “I wish I could join the cavalry,” Constantine said, and Cador looked at his heir.

  “Would you like to? There is not likely to be much fighting now, you know.”

  “But to serve under the prince!” Constantine’s dark eyes were shining.

  The prince. In a room full of princes, there was only one who was the prince. In all of Britain, when you spoke of the prince, there was never any doubt as to whom you meant. Cador watched as Bedwyr took his usual seat next to the queen and leaned across her to speak briefly to the king.

  They would be talking about the horse.

  Gwenhwyfar listened quietly and said nothing. Then Arthur gave Bedwyr a quick smile and turned away to talk to the woman on his other side, Morgan, the Lady of Avalon. Gwenhwyfar poured wine into Bedwyr’s cup while a servant filled his plate. Then the queen watched with amused affection as Bedwyr began to eat. He glanced up from his plate, saw her watching him, and they both laughed. A thought flitted across Cador’s mind and he frowned and looked quickly at Arthur.

  The king was talking to Cai. Morgan, seated between them, appeared to be listening. Cador had never before seen Merlin’s youngest daughter, and he had been surprised by how small she was, how young. He had expected her to be a much more imposing figure, the famous Lady of Avalon. It was a title that somehow did not suit this small, fragile woman with the great brown eyes.

  She looked up suddenly and those eyes met his. She had felt him watching her, he realized, as she held his gaze with her own. They looked at each other for a long moment, their faces grave, and then she smiled very faintly and nodded. Cador had the disconcerting feeling that his mind had been read.

  There was obviously more to that small figure than appeared on the surface.

  The after-dinner entertainment consisted of some excellent jugglers, then a troop of acrobats, and then a harper. As the program concluded, Arthur rose and said pleasantly that he had not yet met all of the wives and sons and daughters and would be happy to do so now. Prince Mordred, he added, would also be pleased to speak to any of the princes who had not yet had a chance to be introduced.

  As Cador watched, the center of the dining room became filled with people, talking among themselves in small groups, waiting for their chance to speak to either the king or to Mordred. The boy, Cador was happy to see, appeared to be carrying out his role very well. Morgause was not far from him, but he never once looked her way for guidance.

  He might do very well, this Mordred. He was not Arthur, of course. You couldn’t picture this boy taking the kind of instant command Arthur had. But he did not have to. The king was only thirty-one. There would be many years for Mordred to grow in authority.

  But it would be safer to have other sons behind him.

  Arthur was talking to Madoc now, and as Cador watched intently, the Welsh prince presented his wife and his golden-haired daughter. The king said something to the girl and she smiled, showing pretty white teeth. Then Arthur’s head turned—like an animal scenting danger, Cador thought. With a murmured excuse, the king moved over to the group around Mordred, which now included the Lady of Avalon.

  Before Cador could see what it was that had brought Arthur so quickly, his attention was claimed by Ban of Dyfed. The two of them backed into a corner and proceeded to talk about the problems of the succession.

  Morgause had called Mordred and Morgan to her side, and in too public a fashion for either of them to demur. Morgan reluctantly left her small group of former patients and walked over to stand beside her sister.

  It had quite obviously never occurred to the Queen of Lothian that the formerly happy relationship between Mordred and Morgan was necessarily going to be changed. Mordred was very pale as Morgan arrived at Morgause’s side. He did not look at his mother. The occasion for the queen’s summons was an old man who, she told them triumphantly, had actually fought under Merlin in Constantine’s wars. Wasn’t that amazing?

  Morgan made some sort of remark which must have been acceptable, as the old man beamed at her. Mordred stood stiff and white and said nothing. Morgan wondered despairingly how she was going to extricate them from this awkward situation, when there was a quiet step at her side and Arthur was there.

  He spoke to the old man. He was charming to Morgause. He called over a prince whose father had fought under Merlin too. Then he excused himself and Morgan, saying there were other people who wanted to meet her, and in a gesture that dated back to their childhood, he put his hand on the nape of her neck and steered her away.

  It was silly to be distressed by such a small incident, Morgan told herself. But she was nonetheless grateful for the comforting pressure of Arthur’s familiar hand on her neck. The hand tightened suddenly and she looked up to see Urien approaching her, a faintly apprehensive look in his light blue eyes. He looked at the king’s face, faltered, and stopped.

  Don’t be an idiot. The thought ran in Arthur’s mind as clearly as if she had spoken to him. He glanced down, saw the look in her eyes, and suddenly grinned.

  “Urien,” he said cheerfully. “Come and say hello to the Lady Morgan.”

  The handsome face brightened and the Prince of
Rheged came to join them. Arthur dropped his hand and turned to speak to Urien’s father, who had come up beside him.

  The crush of people around Mordred seemed to have lessened and Arthur judged he could now properly make a formal departure from the dining room. He looked around for his wife. She was surrounded by a group of admiring men, not all of them young. His eyes passed on and found Bedwyr, talking to his brother on the far side of the room. Cai, Arthur knew, had already left.

  Arthur caught Bedwyr’s eye and the prince moved to join him. “The queen and I are going to retire,” Arthur said. “Will you escort the Lady Morgan?”

  “Of course,” Bedwyr replied promptly, and turned to Morgan, offering her his arm. Urien reluctantly stepped back. Bedwyr was wearing a short-sleeved tunic and his bare muscular arm was covered with short golden hairs. Morgan put her small square hand on his forearm and smiled up at him. “I’m sorry I missed your program this afternoon,” she said. “Cai tells me you got Arthur out on the field. How clever of you, Bedwyr.”

  He smiled back, very blond and blue in the light from the chandelier, and answered her humorously. They chatted with ease while they waited for Arthur to collect Gwenhwyfar and make a ceremonious exit.

  The queen’s admirers parted at the king’s advance. He came to a halt beside her, said, “Time to let all these people go to bed,” and with a polite formal gesture, he offered her his arm. They began to walk with dignity down the center of the room. Bedwyr and Morgan fell in behind them, followed by Morgause and Mordred.

  Gwenhwyfar looked at her hand reposing so formally on her husband’s arm. He had put his hand on Morgan’s neck in a gesture that had looked to Gwenhwyfar to be purely instinctive. Arthur, who never touched anyone without making a conscious decision to do so.

  Jealousy, so physical that it made her feel sick, rose within her. I will not feel like this, she told herself fiercely. I will not.

  Behind her she could hear Morgan saying something to Bedwyr. His deep voice replied, sounding so natural, so familiar, so sane. Bedwyr, she thought, and clung to the image of him as a person caught in a swamp would cling to the one piece of solid ground that remained under his sinking feet.

  The following morning Cador and Ban requested an audience with Arthur. Gwenhwyfar saw her father in the little hall, saw the angry look on his face, and thought she knew what the meeting was likely to be about. They wanted Arthur to take another queen.

  Gwenhwyfar left the hall and went down the long corridor that led to the kitchens at the back of the house. Then she walked around the outhouses: the bakehouse, the storehouses, the meat house. She was watching a wagonload of vegetables being delivered when she saw Cai approaching. He squinted a little in the sun, then put up his hand to shade his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You look pale.”

  “I’m not suffering from morning sickness, if that is what you mean,” she replied.

  There was a pause. “Come for a walk in the garden with me. It’s too dusty for you here.”

  She fell into step beside him and they walked in silence until they had reached the cool green oasis of the garden. “What is it?” he asked then quietly. “Can I help?”

  Gwenhwyfar looked at him in surprise. He had sounded genuinely concerned. She and Cai had always got along well enough, but she had never been able to get over the feeling that Arthur’s foster brother disapproved of her. Or disapproved of her and Bedwyr.

  His hazel eyes looked very kind, however, and much to her own astonishment she said, “Cador and Ban are going to ask Arthur to take another wife.”

  “Probably.” He sounded unconcerned. “It won’t be the first time. You must know that.”

  She averted her face. “Yes, I know. But it is different now, Cai. Now that Arthur has Mordred. Now it is quite clear why Britain still has no heir from Arthur’s marriage.”

  “It doesn’t matter.” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “That will make no difference to Arthur.”

  “Won’t it?” Her voice was muffled. “He said to me once that our childlessness might be his fault, but now that he knows it isn’t . . .”

  “Gwenhwyfar.” His voice was a curious mixture of impatience and compassion. “You are torturing yourself for no reason. Arthur will never put you aside. I am surprised I should have to tell you that.”

  Her eyes went back to his face. “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because I know Arthur. He would no more replace you as queen than he would replace Bedwyr as cavalry leader or me as his second-in-command. Arthur is always loyal to his friends.”

  There was a long silence. A fish jumped in one of the decorative basins near them. “Sometimes, Cai,” Gwenhwyfar said at last, “I don’t know where loyalty lies.”

  It was a remark that took them precariously close to things they both knew were too dangerous to discuss. Yet she was asking for his help; he knew that too.

  “Think of him as a friend,” he said finally. “That is the feeling he has for you and for me and for Bedwyr. And one is not jealous of one’s friend; one rejoices to see him happy, as he rejoices for you. You will not find a better friend in the world than Arthur. He will stand by you till death. Never doubt that for a minute.”

  The fish jumped again, making a little plopping sound as he reentered the water of the basin. “Where did you learn to be so wise?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

  He smiled wryly. “In a hard school, believe me.”

  “Why does life hurt so much, Cai?” she asked suddenly, despairingly.

  “It always hurts for those who feel deeply,” he replied. “It is the price we must pay.”

  “It would be nice sometimes not to care.”

  “Easier, certainly. But would it really be worth it?”

  She smiled at him, her beautiful face flawless in the morning light. “I suppose not. Come along. You and I have to get through yet another day of this festival!”

  Cai grinned at her approvingly and they moved toward the palace together.

  Chapter 36

  IN the months that followed the festival, a number of things vital to Britain occurred.

  Cai left for Rome to meet with the new Emperor of the West, Anthemius. It was the first official British embassy to Rome since the days of Constantine. Cai was the obvious choice for ambassador. Thanks to Merlin, his Latin was educated, grammatical, entirely Roman. He was also shrewd, intelligent, and a good judge of men. Cai would make the proper impression at the court of the emperor.

  Gawain decided he would rather remain in Camelot than return to the north, even as a king. Arthur insisted that he hand his rights over to Gaheris formally and, in order to legitimize the transfer of power, went himself to Lothian to see Gaheris installed as king.

  Morgause went with Arthur and Gawain, and once back in Lothian, she had decided to remain. In the north she was still the undisputed queen, and would be until Gaheris married. In Camelot she was ecliped by the younger, more beautiful Gwenhwyfar. Both Gwenhwyfar and Arthur were privately delighted by her decision.

  Arthur began to build ships, to repair the roads, and to mint coins. He also levied a tax on all the regional rulers. They protested bitterly, but in the end they paid. The projects the high king was undertaking were too valuable for the Celtic leaders to risk seeing them halted for lack of funds. For the first time in living memory, Britain began to export grain to Ireland and to Gaul.

  Cador asked the king if he might send his son Constantine to Camelot to train with the cavalry. What Cador wanted for his son, Arthur realized, was an education in the art of leadership. It was what Arthur wanted for his son too, a school of the kind Merlin had arranged for him and for Cai. In talking it over with Bedwyr, they decided that Constantine would make a good companion for Mordred.

  As soon as the other kings and princes realized what was happening, Arthur found himself besieged by a horde of other applicants.

  “Send some of them to Valerius,” Bedwyr recommended as he and Arthur discussed the situation one autumn morning.


  Arthur looked amused. “They don’t want to go to the foot, Bedwyr. The cavalry is the fashionable choice. After all, Valerius does not prance around on fire-breathing black stallions and thrill the populace.”

  Bedwyr looked down his arrogant nose. “Very witty.”

  Arthur’s amusement deepened. “You’re saddled with them, my friend. I cannot say yes to Cador and no to Edun.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Bedwyr asked. “Make a special cavalry unit for them?”

  “I think we had better give them their own quarters. They will need more than just the training we give to the ordinary cavalry officers. They are princes, after all, and will be the leaders of their tribes. You needn’t do it all yourself. We have experts enough in Camelot. But I would like you to be in charge of this project, Bedwyr. It will take a strong hand to guide it properly.”

  “How many princes do you mean to take?”

  “We had better set an age limit, let us say between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. That will give you a manageable group.”

  “What it will give me is a group of restless young colts who will have to be kept busy morning to night if they’re to stay out of trouble. Unfortunately, there is no war to keep them occupied.”

  Arthur crowed with delighted laughter. “You should understand the problem better than anyone else,” he retorted when he got back his breath.

  Bedwyr had watched the king’s mirth with resigned good humor. “Oh, all right,” he said. “I’ll take on your princes for you. But make the age limit nineteen. Agravaine is too good to exclude.”

  “Nineteen,” the king agreed, and by the beginning of spring a collection of twenty noble princes, including the king’s own son and cousin, were lodged in their own house in the cavalry enclave at Camelot.

  Spring passed into summer. Cai returned from Rome with news of trouble in Gaul. Euric, King of the Visigoths, was seeking to throw off the empire and hold Gaul for himself. The Emperor Anthemius, hearing of Arthur’s great victories, was requesting an alliance with Britain.