The Idylls of the Queen

by Phyllis Ann Karr

“Why should I tell you my craft? No, it was not invisibility, which is less comfortable than you might suppose. In part, it was swift travel.”

  “Oh. Up the far side and around the shore behind us in the darkness, eh?”

  “Not in the darkness. In the sunset.”

  “You’ve been here that long?”

  “Could I hear two brave knights fighting on the shores of my Lake, and not come up to watch them?”

  “Then you know why we come.”

  She shook her head, her long hair stirring about her shoulders. “I watch the battles of knights, but I do not eavesdrop unasked on their private conversations. I did not even guess the quarrel was in bitter earnest until you stood so long with your sword at his neck.”

  “Would you have saved him at the last moment?”

  “I suppose so,” she said. “He is a companion of the Round Table and a nephew of the King. But I was curious to see what you would do. I was reasonably confident you would not strike him down.”

  At least Nimue had told the truth about not eavesdropping on our conversation. But if she, like everyone else, thought of Mordred as Arthur’s nephew, then I began to doubt how much help her craft could be to us. Unless, not knowing I had just learned Mordred’s parentage, she were still referring to him as the King’s nephew for my benefit. Or unless Morgawse and the old priest had been mistaken—the issue of who, exactly, had fathered Mordred was still clouded, in my mind at least. “If you don’t know why we’ve come,” I said, “you’re a surprisingly long time in asking.”

  “You would not have come here, stood on the beach calling me, and threatened to throw stones into the streets of my city, if you did not intend to tell me the reason.”

  “Why not use your arts to find it out?”

  “Why should I do that,” she countered, “when you will soon tell me yourself?”

  “Because,” I said, “we come to ask your help in finding out the truth of certain matters. It would help establish your reliability if you could first tell us about the affair itself.”

  She turned from me and began very calmly walking into the Lake. The water did not even ripple about her legs.

  I splashed in after her. “Oh, no, Dame of the Lake—you’re not going to walk away from us like this!”

  “I have saved your King’s life,” she said without turning. “I have saved it three times: from Morgan’s ploys with the false Excalibur and then the fiery cloak, and from the craft of that poor, love-crazed enchantress Annowre. I have played the guardian for Arthur and his court, as Merlin begged me, even though when I first came to your King, when I was but an ordinary maiden with no skill nor magical craft, Arthur laughed at me and only said, as the ruffian Hontzlake of Wentland kidnaped me screaming from the King’s hall, that now they would have peace and quiet from my noise. I do not need to demonstrate my reliability at your command, Sir Kay. No, not even at the comand of your High King himself.”

  We were waist deep now, and the water was cold. “It’s not guarding us very well, Dame Nimue,” I said, “to let the Queen burn for murder while you play in your Lake with your paramour and never bother to find out what’s happening in the world above you.”

  “Sir Pelleas is my wedded husband by the three rites, ancient, modern, and mystical, and I have never had any other love. I have always known well enough when to come and save your King. Would you prefer I hovered constantly about your corrupt court, muttering in the King’s ear, like Merlin?”

  “So you only come out to save the King, not the Queen.”

  She was walking as quickly as if we were on dry land. I had to fight the water resistance to keep up with her. It was almost at my chin now. It should have been half over her head, but her voice came up clearly, with no sound of bubbling or gurgling. “Best go back, Sir Seneschal, before you drown.”

  I shouted, “Dame Nimue!” and made a grab, catching her arm. She whipped up her other arm and I felt her hand on my forehead, pushing me under. The shock was worse than a lance to the helmet at full tilt—I suppose it was like being struck by lightning—I choked in a mouthful and noseful of water and thought for a moment I had died unshriven. Then she was walking back to shore, pulling me out with her. She had the water’s buoyancy to help her haul me; I was half floating (it was a good thing we had stripped out of our armor before I tried summoning her). As for herself, she came up perfectly dry.

  When we were about thigh deep, she set me back on my feet and thumped my back a few times. “Very well,” she said. “I know all that was in your head, and you should know now why I dislike gaining such knowledge. It was not pleasant for you, and it was still less pleasant for me. To see all the private sins and passions of another in a single moment! If sacramental confession were a tenth part so revealing, no man would ever turn priest.”

  I coughed a little more water out of my lungs. “Next time, at least do it on dry land.”

  “It could have been worse,” she admitted. “But I have no desire to search the minds and souls of twenty-two more knights and five chief servers, not though they may prove the cream of Arthur’s court.”

  “Then don’t read souls. But do something to save the Queen.”

  “Read Guenevere’s soul alone? I might find her innocent of the poison in the fruit, and Sir Mador might believe me and drop his charge against her. But perhaps the King would wish to know what else I had found in his wife, and perhaps he would believe me where he has refused to believe his sister Morgan and the gossip-mongers of his court.”

  “Ihesu, Dame, there must be something you can do! There’s a viper loose in court.”

  “There are probably several vipers, and the one who poisoned Sir Patrise might be the least dangerous of all. Well, I will join you again in the morning and come with you. Merlin prophesied ill of Guenevere, and if prophecies are reliable, it might be best for Arthur and his kingdom to lose her now—but she’s a kind and noble woman, and I will do what I can.”

  “We’d all have been better off without these damn prophecies,” I said. “Aren’t you going to offer us your hospitality, Dame Nimue?”

  She laughed. “My Lake? You wish to come down into my Lake and drown? Wet lodgings you would have with my mermaids, Sir Knight!”

  “We both know your ‘mermaids’ have no more scales than you do. We’re tired and wounded, Dame of the Lake, and you can cancel out the illusion for us.”

  “It is not my fault you wounded one another in your silly quarrel. And none of your companions, not even the King himself, no one but my Pelleas has ever seen my city.”

  “Plenty of our companions have seen your counterpart’s Lake city in Gaul. Lancelot and his cousins, Phariance and Leonses their teachers—”

  “Poor man! Is your curiosity so hot for what you’ve been denied? And you men put the blame on Eve and excuse Adam.”

  “Any woman as reluctant as you to welcome guests must be ashamed of her household. Your famous city must not live up to its reputation.”

  “Ask Pelleas,” she replied.

  “If he ever deigns to come visit his place at the Table again, I may.” I lowered my voice. “Dame Nimue, if you read my mind, you know what Mordred told me just before I called you.”

  “Of course.”

  “You say you’re a friend to Arthur’s court. Then do something to show Mordred you don’t care a stuffed gnat for that priest’s prophecy. Welcome us into your city for the night.”

  “You forget he’s not aware that I know of the prophecy. Shall we tell him?” Nimue shook her head. “A man entering his fourth decade is old enough to choose for himself whether or not to bind his soul to a prophecy. You must look for other safeguards against Mordred than coddling him. But I’ll send up a pavilion and servants for your needs. Your hard-working squires may rest tonight.” She started to leave, then turned back for a few last words. “You might try bullying Mordred into a better state of soul, Sir Kay. That would be more in your style than sweet words and soft treatment.”

  “I
suppose you can see everything that’s in my mind now,” I said.

  “No, thank the Holy Mother! Only what was stored in your mind at the moment I touched you. But I was interested in learning how nearly I could predict your arguments from what I had found out about you. Goodnight now, sweet knight.”

  She walked away from me into the Lake. I thought I should have been able to hear her footsteps as if she were walking on a paved road; but no one ever heard Nimue’s footsteps, unless she walked on dry leaves. I waded back to the fire.

  “You must have had a pleasant tete-a-tete,” said Mordred. “Does the Lady’s dear husband know?”

  “I wish you one as pleasant. She searched my conscience and now she knows I didn’t poison anyone. Felt something like getting your brainpan stirred with a hot poker. It might shake your head straight again.”

  “Well, she may search my head if she wishes. The secret’s festered long enough. Having shriven myself more thoroughly to you than ever to any priest, I may as well share it with Dame Nimue, too. Who knows? I might be able to make it common gossip.”

  I wondered if he hoped that circulation of the story would hurt Arthur as much as himself. But Gillimer and Lovel were near the fire now, pretending to be busy laying out bread, cheese, and ale, so I changed the subject. “Were you really so sure of my guilt, or were you goading me the way you’ve set up your brothers to goad your other suspects?”

  “I would have been very sure of your guilt indeed if you had swapped off my head as I expected.”

  Gillimer was the first to see Dame Nimue’s people coming out of the Lake, carrying lighted torches and walking through the water as if it were not there: seven assorted serving-men, three damsels and four older women, and four laden mules. Four of the men put up the pavilions, one for us, one for the squires, and even one for the horses; two more men and one woman began cooking a small feast; two women, tsking and shaking their heads, unwrapped the bandages Mordred and I had put on each other and began rubbing our wounds with salve—I suppose they might have been surgeons, but Dame Nimue’s magic medicines would have made my page Coupnez a surgeon. One of the maidens served us rare wine to help replace the blood we had lost, and the last pair of damsels, along with the seventh man, brought out instruments and provided a musical background, while the oldest woman walked around supervising everything.

  Five men, including the minstrel, stayed the night through, keeping a watch that might have been more courteous than necessary. The rest of Nimue’s folk, leading the donkeys, returned into the Lake half an hour after supper, a bit to Mordred’s annoyance. “Dame Nimue may be a chaste witch,” he muttered, “but she need not impose her rules on all her pretty damsels.”

  “Go to sleep,” I said. “You’ll need your rest for the morning.”

  “Your pardon, pure Seneschal. It was the carnal appetites of my father speaking. Not all of us can subsist on the idyllic worship of an unattainable lady.”

  I fell asleep wondering if it was me in particular he was still trying to goad into killing him, or if any murderer would have done.

  CHAPTER 19

  The Search for Morgan le Fay

  “Then rode Merlin unto Arthur and the two kings, and told them how he had sped; whereof they had great marvel, that man on earth might speed so soon, and go and come.”

  —Malory I, 11

  Next morning Dame Nimue brought up not only her husband Pelleas, but also a priest to shrive us and say Mass before we started out. It being Sunday, we should not have been traveling at all; neither, of course, should we have fought on Saturday after Evensong; but Nimue’s priest took both matters very lightly. Nimue herself, wearing an intricate silver pendant that seemed to be a cross set in a pentangle, the whole intertwined with some less Christian symbol, partook of the Sacrament with the rest of us.

  She had changed her complexion to one more suited for travel. Whereas last night her hair had been pale gold and her skin almost as white as her gown, today she wore her hair chestnut brown and plaited up demurely beneath a thin silk veil, while her skin was close to Spanish olive. She obviously did not intend to ride in a litter, though she could have if she wished. She was bringing along not only the seven men and seven women from last night, but also her priest and his two acolytes, four extra squires, fourteen laden sumpter mules, extra palfreys for herself and her husband, and a white Spanish warhorse in case Pelleas decided to joust on the way.

  “I hope you have enough magic,” I said, “to get this mob to Astolat by the appointed day.”

  “Speedy travel was one of my master Merlin’s finest arts, whether alone or with an army,” Nimue replied. “Queen Morgan le Fay is one of the chiefest of your suspect traitors, is she not?”

  “Yes, if she’s still alive,” I said.

  Nimue smiled. “She’s alive. How she will receive us may depend somewhat on her mood at the hour of our arrival, of course; but if I had any serious doubts, you may rest sure I would not risk my Pelleas.”

  Pelleas grinned fatuously and stroked his wife’s shoulder; and I thanked God that at least I had made my own free choice where to love. The man had, at one time, showed some kind of spirit, though he had never seemed quite sure what to do with it.

  “So Aunt Morgan is still in this world, as much as she could ever be said to be in this world,” remarked Mordred. “Knowing so much, Dame, have you also been able to see her guilt or innocence?”

  Nimue shook her head. “The present can be seen, sometimes, with the right tools and a knowledge of where to look. Queen Morgan can likewise read the past in her mirror, but I cannot. I can search the past only in memories, and that is scarcely reliable, when two minds remember the same events differently.”

  “And the future?” said Mordred.

  “It is hardly worth reading the future at all. The greatest skill in the world can see no more than shadowy outlines of what may, perhaps, come to pass, if all the persons involved do what you would expect them to do, if the wind blows favorably when it should, and if the battle is not lost for want of a horseshoe nail. Any competent general, if he can only read the present accurately enough, can also read the future as well as the most skillful mage.”

  “Merlin made prophecies that came true in remarkable detail,” Mordred insisted.

  “One or two,” Nimue acknowledged. “And a great many which are more vague than the Apocalypse, so that future ages may interpret them however they please. And a great many more that are already forgotten. Me for the honest and useful magic that I can control!” Nimue jumped into her saddle like an acrobat, took both reins in her left hand, and snapped her fingers.

  Pelleas handed up to her a small arrow, no longer than her middle finger, and attached to a thin chain. The little dart was winged with owl feathers and seemed to have dark threads or strands of black hair bound around its copper point.

  “What’s that?” I said.

  “A kind of lodestone. As ordinary lodestones point to the north, my dart points toward whomever I wish to find. It is fortunate I have some hairs from Dame Morgan’s head.” Nimue held the dart up by its chain, dangling it at elbow’s length. It spun around and pointed northward.

  “It seems you could have used an ordinary lodestone as well,” I remarked.

  “Only as it chances, Sir Kay. Mount, my lords, and prepare to ride.”

  I mounted, motioning our squires to do the same. Pelleas and the rest of Nimue’s people were already in their saddles. Mordred hesitated, as if sensing there would be no more chance for conversation once we were on the way. “How is it Aunt Morgan gave you the chance to obtain a lock of her hair, Dame of the Lake?”

  “Mount first, lad, or you could be left behind,” Nimue replied. I suppose she had a right to call him “lad.” She must have been almost old enough to be his mother, though she still looked to be in her early twenties. She had also kept her clean-shaven Pelleas to some extent from aging, though he was beginning to go silver at the temples.

  Mordred shrugged and mo
unted.

  Nimue lifted both her arms slightly, like a bird preparing for flight. “We exchanged locks of hair once, years ago, Dame Morgan and I.”

  Then she rocked forward in her saddle to cue her palfrey, and we were off. We seemed to be going at no more than a fast trot, maybe a little smoother than most trots—but I found it wiser not to watch the scenery, which was blurring together into streaks of green and brown as we passed by. A few times, glancing behind, I noticed that Lovel was riding with eyes closed and Gillimer looked a little green. Aside from the scenery slurring past, the ride was easy and no more tiring than a normal day’s trot, maybe less so. But once or twice, when I tried to shout back to Gillimer, he paid no attention; and a few times I saw Mordred’s mouth moving and nothing, apparently, coming out. So I assume we were moving faster than our words, leaving them scattered behind us on the path.

  When we came to a stream or river we had to slow down and ford it at ordinary speeds. Occasionally the forest was too thick for us to whir through heedlessly, and we had to wind between the trees no faster than regular huntsmen. And shortly before midday we paused for two hours while Nimue had her people not only prepare dinner, but pitch a canopy for us to eat beneath. Dame Nimue like to travel in a style befitting the Lady of the Lake. Nevertheless, even with the pauses and delays, we crossed all Sugales and half Norgales in a single day. The entire time we rode, Dame Nimue held her dart tirelessly up at elbow’s length, following in the direction it pointed.

  As night fell, a bit prematurely because we were in a deep, heavy wood, Dame Nimue’s dart began to glow and hum on its chain. Nimue halted the procession once more, glanced around, called for lights, and sat studying her tiny arrow while people kindled their torches.

  “I hope we find Le Fay early tomorrow,” I said, assuming Nimue meant to stop here and pitch her pavilions for the night.

  “We will sup with her this evening. I know by my dart that she is very near.”

  “Oh. I thought it was glowing because of the darkness.”

  “Yes,” said Nimue, “that’s the reason for its radiance, although we would need more light than this, or even than our torches, to go on at our daylight speed. It’s the hum that tells me the Queen of Gorre is near at hand.”