When Agrisance cackled, the old sword scar on his cheek puckered till it swallowed up his eye, making him look like a death’s head grinning for its prey. Carados averted his gaze. “Laugh if you like,” he said sourly. “But they’ve succeeded in getting Lot’s son on their side.”
“Lot’s son?” Agrisance was still laughing, but the joke was fading fast. “What are you talking about?”
“Lot’s son!” Carados persisted. “The eldest, Gawain. He was at the assembly in London when Merlin proclaimed his boy. And he was so taken with this Arthur that he left his lord to follow him.”
Agrisance’s mouth formed a silent whistle of disbelief, and Carados noted with satisfaction that he was not smiling now. “In fact, Gawain was the first to swear his allegiance to this Arthur and offer up his sword. And the self-styled King was so delighted that he knighted Gawain there and then. Quite a stunt, eh? Rience and Vause said Merlin must have staged it all.” He took another pull of wine and felt it burn his throat. “But bad for Lot, and no mistake, his son and heir to leave the camp like that.”
Agrisance nodded. “It’ll end in blood, as soon as Lot gets to know.” Slowly he groped in his wine-sodden brain. “But Lot’s in the Orkneys, eight hundred miles away. If we don’t kill Merlin’s rabble, the cold and hunger will. So the lad’ll be dead before Lot gets to hear. Then all he’ll have to do is to bury the shame.”
There was a heavy silence before Carados spoke. “Unless it’s Lot’s fate to fall—to pay for the wrong—if he did wrong—years ago—”
Agrisance stared at him. “What?”
Carados could not shake off a growing chill. “Lot. And Uther. If they wronged the Mother-right—”
Agrisance could not contain his irritation. “Great Gods, man, spit it out! How on earth—?”
“Remember when Uther was making himself High King?” Carados drew a deep breath. “He seized Cornwall, then he took the Queen of Cornwall against her will. She had two daughters, and he gave them both away. He wanted the Queen to belong to him alone.”
“Well, so would any man!”
Carados shook his head. “Uther meant to break the Mother-right. To make sure that neither of the girls would come to her mother’s throne.”
“Well, there was sense in that.” Agrisance vaguely remembered it now. Uther had wronged the Queen, he had to admit, and yes, her daughters too, but war was war. “But where does Lot come in?”
Carados found himself shivering. “Uther gave the older girl to Lot.”
“To Lot? She could have done a lot worse. A lot!” Agrisance laughed, delighted with his own wit. “What happened to the younger one?”
“Morgan, she was called. If she’d been twelve, she could have been married off. But she was just too young. Uther put her in a nunnery till she was grown.”
Carados paused.
An old memory lit the fire behind his eyes.
Morgan, yes.
Child or no, he’d have taken her himself.
He could see her now, the tall thin body well sprouted for her age, the lean flanks, long thighs a man could take his time between, and sharp high pointed breasts that could take a man’s eye out if he moved too fast. And her eyes, that look they had! His flesh stirred. Eyes to drown in, black pools of midnight—Gods above, young as she was, the girl was more witch than nun! He could feel the heat in his groin. Yes, he’d have had little Morgan, anytime.
He glanced back down the table. The kitchen maid was still there, her fat breasts spilling from her bodice, her skirts around her waist exposing her all. Memories of last night returned to Carados, and he felt himself thicken and throb.
Agrisance’s voice reached him from far away. “So Uther put her in the nunnery for life?”
But Carados had lost interest. He reached for the wine and swallowed half a flagon down. The rest he sluiced into the kitchen maid’s open mouth and over her bare breasts.
“Whaa—?” She came to cursing, then fell into a simper as soon as she saw Carados. “Oh, sir—”
“And the older girl, the one who married Lot.” Agrisance was still droning drunkenly on. “What was she called? Morgause, wasn’t it?”
Carados closed his ears. Fate, blood, death, it was all with the Great Ones now. If Lot had done wrong, then he would surely pay. And if Lot’s fate was hanging in the stars, then theirs was too. If Lot went down, so did his loyal vassals, all of them. Time to take action, before it was too late.
“Oh, sir—” The maid giggled, a wet look in her eyes. Her mouth opened as she looked down and saw her wine-soaked breasts. She struggled to sit up. Her nipples glared redly at him through the blue-black lees of the wine, like devil’s eyes.
“The light you ordered, sir?”
Carados turned. The page set the burning torch in a nearby sconce. A shaft of light illuminated the Great Hall, and a last impulse of reason coursed through Carados’s mind.
Merlin was coming with his motley crew. The ragged army could have reached Caerleon by now. The bastard Arthur could be camped in the woodlands above, only waiting till dawn for the signal to attack. He should order the guard to be on full alert, call up the garrison, and set special watches on each of the four towers.
And he would.
Afterward.
He heaved the slut farther up the table and threw her onto her back. One hand found a fat purple nipple, while the other ground away at the hairy triangle below.
His mind was spinning.
Afterward, yes, he would—
The girl opened her legs. An acre of white belly, hips, and thighs spread out before him, and he let go of thought.
CHAPTER 4
One guard dreaming on the gate, a score or so of idlers on the battlements, and a sentry half-asleep on the watch—Caerleon could certainly fall to a surprise attack. From his vantage point in the woodland above, Arthur methodically studied the castle’s defenses and memorized what he saw. It would not be easy, and he had too few men. But it would not be the suicidal enterprise he had feared.
He stood for a while drinking in the early evening air, absorbing the life around him till he could have been one of the broad oak trees that covered the hilly bluff. When the outlying troop of men saw him walking back into the camp some time later, they nudged one another with an understanding air. Already they had learned that their leader, young as he was, had a way of rising above mortal preoccupations when he chose.
“Arthur! There you are!”
Arthur raised his eyes to the short figure hurrying toward him and stifled a sigh. He loved Kay dearly, but the tension engraved on his foster brother’s sallow face would not be denied.
“He’s not here,” Kay began abruptly. “There’s no sign of him!”
Arthur sighed. “If Merlin promised to be here, he will come.”
“Why did he ride away last night when we made camp?” Kay fretted. “Where did he go?”
Arthur smiled. “He is Merlin. Who knows?”
“You ought to know. He should tell you, you’re the King! And the commander of our forces, such as they are.” Kay gestured sourly to the men huddling over their campfires in the dank air. “It’s three days now since they had any food. They’ll find some game and such in the forest here, but it can’t support us long. What if Merlin doesn’t come?”
Arthur paused. It was hard for Kay, he knew. All his life Kay had been the son of a noble household, Arthur the child from nowhere taken in to be his squire. Kay had had the best of knighthood training to serve his father’s overlord, King Ursien of Gore. Then suddenly the unknown boy had leaped over him to a higher destiny.
But Kay had risen to the moment without hesitation and loyally thrown in his lot with Arthur when the call came. He had earned the right to be answered now.
Arthur took his arm. “Merlin will not fail us,” he said confidently. “But today is the feast of Penn Annwyn, a great day in the Welshlands, where the Dark Lord still reigns. Merlin is a Druid of the highest rank. Of course he will be needed for
those rites.”
“Ah!” Kay’s sardonic laugh showed what he made of this. “So our man of might is away with his spirits at this crucial time?” He leaned forward urgently. “But we can’t wait forever! Any minute now they’ll get wind of us in the castle and send a troop up here to flush us out.”
“Never fear. I’ve given orders to the men that we attack tonight before dawn, just as we planned.”
“So!” Kay’s face sharpened, and his eyes lit up. “Well, if we go in fast enough, one strike should do it, even without his help.” He did not need to voice the thought that struck them both: With or without Merlin, one strike is all we have.
“Courage, brother!” Arthur broke the silence. “I have seen how the castle lies. It will be ours.”
“Hmm.” Kay was not convinced. But there was no point in dwelling on the fear. He tried to lighten his tone. “Well, if we lose, we can always make a run for the Summer Country and take refuge there.” He stole a look at Arthur. “Their Queen’s a wonder, they say, and a rare fighter, too. And her daughter—”
“We will not lose.”
Kay pursed his lips. “So we win then, brother, you’ve decided that. And then?”
“First let us deal with the six kings below, the scoundrels who dare to call my kingdom theirs.” Arthur sighed. “And then we have a far worse threat to face.”
“You mean the Saxon hordes?”
Arthur’s eyes lost focus, seeing terrible things. “Someone has to deal with the men from the North and the terror they bring from across the sea.” He ran a tense hand through his thick fair hair. “And perhaps the Gods will say it must be me. But it cannot be yet. They will not send a half-fledged king who is not yet lord in his own kingdom, against men driven by the Horned One to destroy and kill.”
Around them the evening mist seeped from the ground. On all sides the forest darkened into night. A faint sound of movement caught Kay’s ear. “Who’s there?” he called.
Two figures were approaching through the trees, laden with harnesses that jingled as they walked. Arthur rose to his feet. “Gawain and Bedivere!” he cried. “You’ve settled the horses for the night?”
The bigger of the two men raised his arm in acknowledgment. From his broad fist dangled a brace of pheasants, while his companion shouldered a stick bearing a clutch of plump rabbits for the pot.
“Look, sire!” Gawain roared. “They ran into our nets, as if by magic!”
“Magic, eh?” Arthur glanced humorously at Kay. “Do you still think Merlin is not with us tonight?”
Smiling, he turned away. He moved through the camp and retraced his steps back to his vantage point on the high hill. Only hours now before his courage, strength, and good fortune decided his fate. Before the Great Ones revealed his destiny.
He paused on the bluff, soothed by the cool night air. The castle lay below, veiled and secret as it waited for the dawn. Sound asleep, Arthur mused, and ready to drop into his hand.
He bowed his head and allowed his thoughts to drift. Breathing deeply, he drank in the wholesome sweetness of the living world. The towering oaks and soaring pines had been here when time was born. Every gnarled root, every lofty crown of leaves, every low branch waiting to waylay the careless traveler was as old as the stars, and as uncaring, too.
Here in the heart of the forest he was soothed with a sense of littleness in the grand scheme of things. The night hours drifted by him as he mused. Dimly he could feel the mighty whole of which he was only a part. His call had come, and he had followed it. He was ready to die for it, too, if it was required. The Great Ones had decreed what was to come. The word of it was already written in the skies.
Then he frowned, all his senses alert.
What was that?
Surely not?
Gods above, no!
And there it was again; there was no mistaking now. Down below a light was flaring in the Great Hall. Fresh torches had come in. Early as it was, they were awake and stirring for the day.
Well, so be it. Arthur watched calmly enough, but his stomach sank like a stone. If the revelers in the Great Hall were rousing themselves, there was no hope of surprise.
And without that …
His small, untrained force against a whole garrison. His men, hungry, wet and cold, fighting on hopes and dreams against soldiers with full bellies who had slept in warm beds. His raw skill as a leader against the might of King Lot’s allies, even if the great King was not there.
So be it.
A light breeze blew gently through the trees. Beside him the night air shivered and took shape, and Merlin appeared. He nodded to Arthur. “It goes well?” he asked.
“Not as well as it might.” Arthur pointed to the light in the Great Hall below. “I hoped they’d still be sleeping off last night. But by the look of that, they’re on their feet again, and ready to go. No matter.” He turned to Merlin. “How was the feast of Penn Annwyn? Did it go well?”
Merlin let out a high cackle, crowing like a cock. “Well enough, well enough!” He rubbed his withered hands. “I have done good work, boy, since I saw you last!”
Arthur knew better than to question the old man. “I thank you, sir,” he said courteously. “And I am pleased to see you back. My knights have missed you—Kay above all. He did not see how we could attack Caerleon without you.”
Merlin’s head swiveled like a hawk’s. “But you did, I trust.”
“Yes, I did,” replied Arthur equably. “Still, I am glad you’re here.” He made his voice sound firm and confident. “We’ll give a good account of ourselves today, even though we’ve lost the element of surprise.”
Merlin peered curiously down at the light in the Great Hall. “Perhaps, perhaps not.” He did not seem concerned. “You attack at dawn?”
“Earlier, to take advantage of the dark—the men are making ready now.” Arthur gestured toward the camp. Sounds of quiet movement reached them through the dark. “D’you hear that? I must go.”
He turned to Merlin and tenderly put out his hand to take the old man’s arm. “Let me help you, sir, the going’s not easy here.” He raised his eyes to the stars, absorbing their cool, uncaring stare as they gazed down. “And when the men are ready, will you call on the Great Ones and say a prayer for our success?”
Merlin shook his head. “You do not need my prayers,” he said brusquely. “And I must go too. There is still much to do.”
So much to do …
Merlin raised his hand to his head and covered his eyes. A great weariness assailed him. Still so much to do, and only he to do it, such as he was. Gods above! His old bones protested, and his soul cried out. When would he be free? Free of the burden of Arthur’s destiny, free of foreknowing what was to come?
Nausea filled him. “Never” was the answer, he knew. But he could spare the boy some of the worst of it. The girl from the Summer Country, above all.
Merlin’s face grew pale with suppressed thought. That girl was Arthur’s evil fate; he must never marry her. No, she would have to be entangled in a dark fate of her own. Then she would be beset by troubles, assailed by enemies, and dragged down before Arthur had time to think of her again.
Yes, that much was plain. He nodded feverishly. A hard rain must fall on the Summer Country, the bad seed must flourish, and the Mother-line decay.
He muttered to himself in time with the chanting of his inner voice. No more queens. The girl must come into her own, and then just as speedily pass out of it. No more queens. New powers must triumph over the Mother-right now. Only so would he keep her from Arthur and save Arthur from himself.
Well, he had made a good start. It would not be hard to weave another thread of darkness into the loom of destiny, to change the fate of the Summer Country and its queens. Not hard, but hard enough, and thankless too. Merlin gritted his teeth and braced his old frame for the fray.
One day the boy would know all he had done. One day his work would be finished, and his old flesh and bones could escape to the place of
pleasure, where he could be free.
Pleasure—Gods, yes! How he longed for it! Spring was coming, and with it the old hunger, that sweet itch.
But not yet, he schooled his twitching muscles and rebellious soul. Not yet, there still is work to do. Another shape, another form, another task. He looked with a lover’s longing at Arthur’s concerned face, the big body arched protectively toward him, the hand outstretched in kindness to lead him on. He shook his gray head and turned his face away. “I must go,” he said.
CHAPTER 5
In the Queen’s apartments, the air was cool after the heat of the sun. The musky scent of patchouli that had been her mother’s favorite for as long as Guenevere could remember still hung sweetly in the air. But the silent figure propped up on the great bed would have no need of such things now.
The chief of the Queen’s doctors was a healer so venerable that the hands that gently probed this way and that were translucent with the passage of time. “She was alive when you picked her up—that gives us hope,” he murmured. “Yet it is strange …”
Guenevere roused herself from a waking dream of pain. “Sir?”
“Here, Lady Guenevere.” The doctor’s fingers parted the Queen’s bright hair. One gleaming wound showed where the horse’s hoof had slashed through to the bone. “But otherwise—” He shrugged, and spread his hands.
Slowly Guenevere followed his train of thought. Serene upon her pillows, her fiery cloud of hair unbound from its long plaits, the Queen seemed unmarked by her ordeal. Her body was soft and white, her face was calm, and she looked like a child asleep in her mother’s arms. “Yes,” Guenevere murmured, “it is strange.”
“The Dark Lord, Penn Annwyn, he came from the Underworld …”
In the shadows of the low arched chamber, an old crone of the household was knocking her head against the wall. “The Dark Lord sent his spirit to do his will,” she moaned. “He is coming, the Dark Lord …”
Goddess, Mother, spare me, spare her this—
Guenevere, Queen of the Summer Country Page 3