by Mary Stewart
He brought peace of a sort by Pentecost. Colgrim, with his new army, had broken bounds in the eastern regions. Arthur fought him twice, once not far south of the Humber, the second time nearer the Saxon boundary, in the reedy fields of Linnuis. In the second of these battles Colgrim was killed. Then, with the Saxon Shore uneasily recoiling into quiet once more, Arthur came back to us, in time to meet Bedwyr disembarking with the first contingent of the promised horses.
Valerius, who had been to help disembark them, was enthusiastic.
"High as your breast, and strong with it, and as gentle as maidens. Some maidens, that is. And fast, they say, as greyhounds, though they're still stiff from the voyage, and it'll take time before they get their land-legs again. And beautiful! There's many a maiden, gentle or otherwise, who'd sacrifice to Hecate for eyes as big and dark, or skins as silken..."
"How many did he bring? Mares as well? When I was in the East they parted only with the stallions."
"Mares as well. A hundred stallions in this first lot, and thirty mares. Better off than the army on campaign, but still fierce competition, eh?"
"You've been at war too long," I told him.
He grinned and went, and I called my assistants and went up through the new cavalry lines to make sure that all would be ready to receive the horses, and to check yet again the new, light field-harness that the saddlers' workshops had made for them.
As I went, the bells began to ring from the gilded towers. The High King was home, and preparations for the crowning could begin.
* * *
Since I had watched Uther crowned I had travelled abroad, and seen splendours — in Rome, Antioch, Byzantium — beside which anything that Britain could do was like the mumming of gaudy tumblers; but there was about that ceremony at Caerleon a young and springtime glory that none of the riches of the East could have procured. The bishops and priests were splendid in scarlet and purple and white, set off the more brilliantly by the browns and sables of the holy men and women who attended them. The kings, each with his following of nobles and fighting men, glittered with jewels and gilded arms. The walls of the fortress, crested with the shifting and craning heads of the people, stirred with bright hangings, and rang with cheering. The ladies of the court were gay as kingfishers; even Queen Ygraine, in a glow of pride and happiness, had put aside her mourning robes, and shone like the rest. Morgan, beside her, had certainly none of the air of a rejected bride; she was only a little less richly dressed than her mother, and showed the same smiling, royal composure. It was difficult to remember how young she was. The two royal ladies kept their places among the women, not coming to Arthur's side. I heard, here and there, murmurs among the ladies, and perhaps even more among the matrons, who had their eyes on the empty side of the throne; but to me it was fitting that there should be no one yet to share his glory. He stood alone in the center of the church, with the light from the long windows kindling the rubies to a blaze, and laying panels of gold and sapphire along the white of his robe, and on the fur that trimmed the scarlet mantle.
I had wondered if Lot would come. Gossip had gathered, like a boil, to bursting-point before we knew; but come, in the end, he did. Perhaps he felt that he would lose more by staying away than by braving the King and Queen and his slighted princess, for, a few days before the ceremony, his spears were seen, along with those of Urien of Gore, and Aguisel of Bremenium, and Tydwal who kept Dunpeldyr for him, flouting the sky to the northeast. This train of northern lords stayed encamped together a little beyond the township, but they came crowding in to join the celebrations as if nothing untoward had ever happened at Luguvallium or York. Lot himself showed a confidence too easy to be called bravado; he was relying, perhaps, on the fact that he was now hand-kin to Arthur. Arthur said as much, privately, to me; in public he received Lot's ceremonious courtesies blandly. I wondered, with fear, if Lot yet suspected that he had the King's unborn child at his mercy.
At least Morgause had not come. Knowing the lady as I did, I thought she might have come and faced even me, for the pleasure of flaunting her crown in front of Ygraine, and her swollen belly in front of Arthur and myself. But whether for fear of me, or whether Lot's nerve had failed him and he had forbidden it, she stayed away, with her pregnancy as the plea. I was beside Arthur when Lot gave his queen's excuses; there was no hint of any extra knowledge in his face or voice, and if he saw Arthur's sudden glance at me, or the slight paling of his cheeks, he gave no sign. Then the King had himself in hand again, and the moment passed.
So the day wore through its brilliant, exhausting hours. The bishops spared no touch of holy ceremonial, and, for the pagans present, the omens were good. I had seen signs other than that of the Cross being made in the street as the procession passed, and at the street corners fortunes were told with bones and dice and gazing, while peddlers did a brisk trade with every kind of charm and luck-piece. Black cockerels had been killed at dawning, and offerings made at ford and crossroads, where the old Herm used to wait for travellers' gifts. Outside the city, in mountain and valley and forest, the small dark folk of the upper hills would be watching their own omens and petitioning their own gods. But in the city center, on church and palace and fortress alike, the Cross caught the sun. As for Arthur, he went through the long day with calm and pale-faced dignity, stiff with jewels and embroidery, and rigid with ceremony, a puppet for the priests to sanctify. If this was needed to declare his authority finally in the eyes of the people, then this was what he would do. But I, who knew him, and who stood at his side all through that endless day, could sense neither dedication nor prayer in that still composure. He was probably, I thought, planning the next fighting foray to the east. For him, as for all who had seen it, the kingdom had been taken into his hand when he lifted the great sword of Maximus from its long oblivion, and made his vow to the listening forests. The crown of Caerleon was only the public seal of what he had held in his hand then, and would hold until he died.
Then, after the ceremony, the feast. One feast is much like another, and this one was remarkable only for the fact that Arthur, who loved his food, ate very little, but glanced about him from time to time as if he could hardly wait for the feasting to stop, and the time of affairs to come back.
He had told me that he would want to talk with me that night, but he was kept till late, with the press of people around him, so I saw Ygraine first. She retired early from the feasting, and when her page came to me with a whispered message, I caught a nod from Arthur, and followed him.
Her rooms were in the King's house. Here the sounds of the revelry could be heard only faintly, against the more distant noise of the town's rejoicing. The door was opened to me by the same girl who had been with her at Amesbury; she was slender in green, with pearls in the light-brown hair, and eyes showing green as her gown: not the gleaming witch-colour of Morgause, but a clear grey-green, making one think of sunlight on a forest stream reflecting the young leaves of spring. Her skin was flushed with excitement and the feasting, and she smiled at me, showing a dimple and excellent teeth, as she curtsied me toward the Queen.
Ygraine gave me a hand. She looked tired, and the magnificent gown of purple, with its shimmer of pearls and silver, showed up her pallor, and the shadows at mouth and eyes. But her manner, composed and cool as always, betrayed no trace of fatigue.
She came straight to the point. "So, he got her pregnant."
Even as the knife-twist of fear went through me, I saw that she had no suspicion of the truth; she was referring to Lot, and to what she took to be the reason for his rejection of her daughter Morgan in favour of Morgause.
"It seems so." I was equally blunt. "At least it saves Morgan's face, which is all that need concern us."
"It's the best thing that could have happened," said Ygraine flatly. She smiled faintly at my look. "I never liked that marriage. I favoured Uther's first idea, when he offered Morgause to Lot years ago. That would have been enough for him, and honour for her. But Lot was ambitious, one wa
y or another, even then, and nothing would please him but Morgan herself. So Uther agreed. At that time he would have agreed to anything that sealed the northern kingdoms against the Saxons; but while for policy's sake I saw that it had to be done, I am too fond of my daughter to want her shackled to that wayward and greedy traitor."
I put up my brows at her. "Strong words, madam."
"Do you deny the facts?"
"Far from it. I was there at Luguvallium."
"Then you will know how much, in loyalty, Lot's betrothal to Morgan bound him to Arthur, and how much marriage would have bound him, if profit pointed another way."
"Yes. I agree. I'm only glad that you yourself see it like that. I was afraid that the slight to Morgan would anger you and distress her."
"She was angry at first, rather than distressed. Lot is among the foremost of the petty kings, and, like him or not, she would have been queen of a wide realm, and her children would have had a great heritage. She could not like being displaced by a bastard, and one, besides, who has not shown her kindness."
"And when the betrothal was first mooted, Urbgen of Rheged still had a wife."
The long lids lifted, and her eyes studied my impassive face. "Just so," was all she said, without surprise. It was said as if at the end of a discussion, rather than the beginning.
It was no surprise that Ygraine had been thinking along the same lines as Arthur and myself. Like his father Coel, Urbgen had shown himself staunch to the High King. "Rheged's" deeds in the past, and more recently at Luguvallium, were chronicled along with those of Ambrosius and Arthur, as the sky accepts the light of the setting and the rising sun.
Ygraine was saying, thoughtfully: "It might answer, at that. There's no need to ensure Urbgen's loyalty, of course, but for Morgan it would be power of the kind that I think she can manage, and for her sons..." She paused. "Well, Urbgen has two already, both young men grown, and fighters like their sire. Who is to say that they will ever reach his crown? And the king of a realm as wide as Rheged cannot breed too many sons."
"He is past his best years, and she is still very young." I made it a statement, but she answered calmly:
"And so? I was not much older than Morgan when Gorlois of Cornwall married me."
For the moment, I believe, she had forgotten what that marriage had meant: the caging of a young creature avid to spread her wings and fly; the fatal passion of King Uther for Gorlois' lovely duchess; the death of the old duke, and then the new life, with all its love and pain.
"She will do her duty," said Ygraine, and now I saw that she had remembered, but her eyes did not falter. "If she was willing to accept Lot, whom she feared, she will take Urbgen willingly, should Arthur suggest it. It's a pity that Cador is too nearly related for her to have him. I would have liked to see her settled near to me in Cornwall."
"They are not blood kin." Cador was the son, by his first wife, of Ygraine's husband Gorlois.
"Too close," said Ygraine. "Men forget things too quickly, and there would be whispers of incest. It would not do, even to hint at a crime so shocking."
"No. I see that." My voice sounded level and cool.
"And besides, Cador is to wed, come summer, when he gets back to Cornwall. The King approves." She turned a hand over in her lap, admiring, apparently, the glint of the rings on it. "So perhaps it would be as well to speak of Urbgen to the King, just as soon as some portion of his mind is free to think of his sister?"
"He has already thought of her. He discussed it with me. I believe he will send to Urbgen very soon."
"Ah! And then — " For the first time a purely human and female satisfaction warmed her voice with something uncommonly like spite. "And then we shall see Morgan take what is due to her in wealth and precedence over that red-haired witch, and may Lot of Lothian deserve the snares she set for him!"
"You think she trapped him deliberately?"
"How else? You know her. She wove her spells for this."
"A very common kind of spell," I said dryly.
"Oh, yes. But Lot has never lacked women, and no one can deny that Morgan is the better match, and as pretty a lass besides. And for all the arts Morgause boasts, Morgan is better able to be queen of a great kingdom. She was bred for it, as the bastard was not."
I watched her curiously. Beside her chair the brown-haired girl sat on her stool half asleep. Ygraine seemed careless of what she might overhear. "Ygraine, what harm did Morgause ever do to you that makes you so bitter against her?"
The red came up in her face like a flag, and for a moment I thought she would try to set me down, but we were neither of us young any more, or needing the armour of self-love. She spoke simply: "If you are thinking that I hated having a lovely young girl always near me, and near to Uther, with a right to him that went back beyond my own, it is true. But it was more than that. Even when she was a young girl — twelve, thirteen, no more — I thought of her as corrupt. That is one reason why I welcomed the match with Lot. I wanted her away from court."
This was straighter than I had expected. "Corrupt?" I asked.
The Queen's glance slid momentarily to the girl on the stool beside her. The brown head was nodding, the eyelids closed. Ygraine lowered her voice, but spoke clearly and carefully. "I am not suggesting that there was anything evil in her relationship with the King, though she never behaved to him like a daughter; nor was she fond of him as a daughter should be; she cajoled favours from him, no more than that. When I called her corrupt, I spoke of her practice of witchcraft. She was drawn to it always, and haunted the wise-women and the charlatans, and any talk of magic brought her staring awake like an owl at night-time. And she tried to teach Morgan, when the princess was only a child. That is what I cannot forgive. I have no time for such things, and in the hands of such as Morgause..."
She broke off. Vehemence had made her raise her voice, and I saw that the girl, like the owl, was also staring awake. Ygraine, recollecting herself, bent her head, a touch of colour in her face again.
"Prince Merlin, you must pardon me. I meant no disrespect."
I laughed. I saw, to my amusement, that the girl must have heard, she was laughing, too, but silently, dimpling at me from beyond her mistress's shoulder. I said: "I am too proud to think of myself in the same breath as girls dabbling with spells. I am sorry about Morgan. It is true that Morgause has power of a sort, and it is also true that such things can be dangerous. Any power is hard to hold, and power misused recoils on the user."
"Perhaps some day, if you get the chance, you will tell Morgan so." She smiled, trying for a lighter tone. "She will listen to you, where she would shrug her shoulders at me."
"Willingly." I tried to sound willing, like a grandfather called in to lecture the young.
"It may be that when she finds herself a queen with real power, she will cease to hanker for another sort." She turned the subject. "So now that Lot has a daughter of Uther's, even if only a bastard, will he consider himself bound to Arthur's banner?"
"That I cannot tell you. But unless the Saxons make heavy enough gains to make it worth Lot's while to try another betrayal, I think he will keep what power he has, and fight for his own land, if not for the High King's sake. I see no trouble there." I did not add: "Not of that kind." I finished merely: "When you go back to Cornwall, madam, I will send letters if you like."
"I should be grateful. Your letters were a great comfort to me before, when my son was at Galava."
We talked for a while longer, mainly of the day's events. When I would have asked after her health, she put the query aside with a smile that told me she knew as much as I, so I let it be, asking instead about Duke Cador's projected marriage. "Arthur hasn't mentioned it. Who is it to be?"
"The daughter of Dinas. Did you know him? Her name is Mariona. The marriage was arranged, alas, when they were both children. Now Mariona is of age, so when the duke is home again, they will be wed."
"I knew her father, yes. Why did you say 'alas'?"
Ygraine l
ooked with a fond smile at the girl by her chair. "Because otherwise there would have been no difficulty in finding a match for my little Guenever."
"I am sure," I said, "that that will prove more than easy."
"But such a match," said the Queen, and the girl made a smiling mouth and lowered her lashes.
"If I dared use divination in your presence, madam," I said, smiling, "I would predict that one as splendid will present itself, and soon."
I spoke lightly, in formal courtesy, and was startled to hear in my voice an echo, though faint and soon lost, of the cadences of prophecy.
Neither of them heard it. The Queen was holding a hand to me, bidding me good night, and the girl Guenever held the door for me, sinking, as I passed, into a smiling curtsy of humility and grace.
7
"IT'S MINE!" SAID ARTHUR, VIOLENTLY. "You only have to count! I heard the men talking about it in the guardroom. They didn't know I was near enough to hear them. They said she was big-bellied by Twelfth Night, and lucky to catch Lot so early, they could pass it off as a seven-month child. Merlin, you know as well as I do that he never came near her at Luguvallium! He wasn't there until the very night of the battle, and that night — that was the night — " He stopped, choking on it, and turned with a swirl of robes to pace the floor again.