What was it Arthur had? For the hundredth time, Carados cursed the drink that had stolen his brain, even as he knew that this rare encounter gave promise of something he would long for all his life, and search for ever afterward in vain.
GODS ABOVE, but it was vile! The smell of drink and sex, the reek of stale bodies and long hours of debauch, struck Arthur in the stomach till his gorge rose. He ran his eyes over the slouched bodies, some still too drunk to cover their nakedness, others sprawled among the empty hogsheads and spilled wine on the floor. Now the dogs were nosing around between the rushes, sniffing the splashed vomit and licking the dark pools of liquid puddled in the stones underneath.
What a scene in such a place as this! High overhead, a tracery of fine beams soared through the airy void to support the massive roof. Around the walls long mullions of stained glass let in rainbow shafts of red and blue and gold. Sorrow overwhelmed Arthur, and a strengthening anger too. This place was his royal birthright, not a common stew. He never thought to see it used like this.
At the far end of the hall ran a raised dais with a dining table, where the royal revelers sat. Arthur’s voice rang down the room. “Bring them to me!”
Kay nodded to his men. All the occupants of the high table, the six kings and their companion knights, were brought to their feet and herded down the hall. Carados found himself transported from a stoic resignation to a state of seething fury. A king to be called before a bastard upstart like this?
Rage overcame his judgment. “Whoever you are,” he ground out, “beware—”
“You may not speak to me,” came the calm reply. “I am King here, and you have usurped my place. For twenty years you have possessed my land. I have come to reclaim it from you now.”
“Darkness and devils—”
Arthur raised his hand to stem another furious outburst, from King Rience this time. “I understand that you held this land from King Lot. I know you believe that he took it by right. But that is over, and your reign is ended now. You may go in peace, for I am here to rule.” He signaled to Kay and Bedivere, and the whole party shuffled under guard to the door.
“Farewell, kings!” Arthur called. He raised his right arm in a royal salute. “Go in peace, and the blessings of the Great Ones on you all!”
AND THAT MIGHT have been that, King Vause later told his wife, if the great fool had been content to leave it there. It was all taken care of, the maids dispatched to their sculleries, the whores sent back to the town hardly able to believe that they had not been made spoils of war, and all the knights allowed to join their lords. No one had been killed, though it was plain from the faces of Arthur’s knights that they would not have been as magnanimous as their King. At last every man was safely mounted, ready to ride out.
But who would believe it? Vause shook his head. At the last minute, the would-be King had blown his own peace apart. His face glowing with that look of his, as if the Gods had granted him some special grace, he’d raised his long arms and waved them in the air.
“Peace to you all,” he cried, “and pray to the Great Ones to guide this kingdom now! Give thanks that this land is returned to the rule of Pendragon at last!”
And that, King Vause observed sorrowfully to his wife, his plump face dissolving in fear, he might have known the other five would never do. Pray for Pendragon? Rejoice that a bastard had put them off their lands? That was the insult they could not pocket up. That was the challenge that had to be avenged.
So that was why Carados had sent messengers flying north to King Lot. That was why they were all madly rallying, calling for men, for arms, to rendezvous for war. And he had no choice, he told his weeping wife through his own tears, but to honor his pledge. So that was that, war on this Arthur, if it meant death for them all.
SO THE BOY had done it!
Well, Merlin had known he would.
From his vantage point in the highest watchtower of Caerleon, the old man smiled down upon the scene below. He knew that he had not needed to return in body here. His spirit shape had sufficed to keep watch on what was happening, and to let Arthur know.
Let him know what? Merlin chuckled to himself. All that the boy needed to know.
A movement in the distance made him look up. The black bird was no more than a dot on the horizon as it flew down. But it landed on the wall beside him with a clatter of heavy wings, and its harsh crow came from another world than this. Merlin cocked his head. “So?”
He listened intently as the bird clacked in his ear. “So?” he cackled gleefully. “Good, good!”
Pleasure suffused him as he felt his own power. Now the Summer Country must make a new Queen. And the new Queen would be an irresistible prize to her kinsman Malgaunt. With war in the Middle Kingdom threatening their borders, her countrymen would demand she take a champion. Malgaunt would seize his chance, and she would have no choice.
Yes, yes! Let her fall prey to her cousin, who had spent his life lusting to possess her and the land. Then she would be well out of Arthur’s reach! Merlin’s old skin crackled, and he rubbed his dry hands together with a sound like sticks. The girl had always been a danger, he had known that since she was a child. Now she had grown bold and beautiful, she was a threat to be crushed without mercy, at the risk of all. If he had one sight of her, Arthur would be lost.
And they must never marry! The old man shook in the grip of his inner rage. No daughter of the Goddess would make a bride for his boy. No girl from the Summer Country could forget her Mother-faith, her body-hunger, her woman’s will. She would come between him and Arthur, and between Arthur and his destiny. And she would break his heart. This way she would be crowned and dethroned, wedded and bedded by Malgaunt, while Arthur fought on here to hold his own.
Merlin nodded tensely to himself. Yes, the six kings would keep Arthur occupied. Carados and the others would return again; they must. Indeed, they were gathering now, beating up men from the fields, from the farms and towns, to come again with a mighty host. They would send to King Lot for his aid as well, and Arthur would look out from Caerleon to find the earth black with his enemies as far as his eyes could see.
And then?
Merlin shook his head furiously, trying to clear his sight. But the darkness was coming down now, blinding his thought and vision. All his life, all his many lives, it had been so.
He moaned in misery. For when it came, it eclipsed everything. He had to feel what was going on, because he would see things, then not see them anymore. Yet darkly, darkly, he could see things slipping away.
Merlin’s spirit sighed like the wind in the trees, weeping aloud. He could feel himself being drawn back to the place he had left his body, in spite of his will. Gods, how he suffered in these times of trial! Why was he fated to feel his old body mutiny against its decay? Why was he forced to feed the lusts of his withered flesh!
Why?
He moaned again. For a lord of light as he was, to carry within him this darkness was a punishment beyond pain.
“One more task!” he cajoled the demanding flesh. “One more shape, one more form, let me complete one more task! Do not call me back yet, I beg of you, for I have one more thing to do. Let me leave word for Arthur to direct him in my absence, for he is young and headstrong and may easily go astray. Grant me a little time to tell him what he should know. Then I am yours, to do as you will with me!”
“One more task, then,” came the mocking reply. “One more task if you must, old fool, and then you are mine to do with as I please!”
CHAPTER 8
Jesu, Maria, what a land this was! What a wretched people, and this London of theirs, what a town! The Abbot clutched his worn black robe as tightly as he could round his thin frame, and plunged, head down, across the churchyard into the driving rain.
Faint wisps of thought tormented his absent mind. For a few moments he felt again the warm streets of Rome beneath his sandaled feet, saw himself moving toward the great Mother Church in all her glory, St. Peter on his rock—
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A sudden gust of sleet slashed across his face.
Dear God, this place!
And this news from the Summer Country, what would it mean? The Queen struck down—Good, good, he prayed passionately, let her die!—so perish all those who stand in the way of our Lord! But with a grown daughter poised to succeed, the Mother-right was strong, it would be reinforced. And that could only work against God’s purpose here.
Furious, he puzzled on. Till now, we have made great gains in Your name, Lord God. Slowly but surely we were bringing this land to You. And now this! Had she ruled on into a feeble old age, the pagan Queen might have been overthrown by one of the other petty kings here, forever coveting her lands. Or by a nearer enemy, the brother, cousin, whatever he was to her, whose jealousy was well known.
Yet now …
Now a young Queen, bold and beautiful. Doubtless a shameless pagan as her mother had been, reveling in her freedom, flaunting her band of knights. Knights? He gave vent to a savage inner laugh. Paramours and bed warmers, male concubines, warrior thugs to kill or pleasure her at her command. And this—this thing of iniquity to become Queen?
We must bear witness, there is no other way. We must send one to declare the Word of Christ. They must not continue in their wickedness unopposed. Think, think! he urged himself. There must be a way to disrupt the succession of queens. To turn these savages against one another, to feed their greed and envy till they destroy themselves. Yet who to send into the heart of the Mother land? Who is canny enough to weave this web for God, and brave enough to oppose the Mother-right?
He picked his way grimly through the deepening dusk. Ahead of him loomed a dark square of stone, squatting like a living thing beside the churchyard path. Another grievance burst upon his mind. Lord have mercy, that thing still here—still standing where Merlin had left it that day!
Yet would not any man leave standing the memorial to his finest hour? Let alone the great miracle Merlin claimed?
Merlin’s miracle.
The Abbot’s soul scorched in the flames of disgust.
How could I have allowed this devil play to be taken for holy work? he tormented himself. I who have seen the miracle of God’s love, who have felt the wonder of Christ’s resurrection and His life after death? Help me, Lord, he implored for the thousandth time, ease my troubled mind. When I agreed to Merlin crowning his boy on our ground, did I do right to accept these pagans here?
For how could this be a miracle, this trick with the sword in the stone? A true miracle showed forth the glory of God; this had brought nothing but a great youth who thought he should be King.
And for sure, that meant war, warfare with famine and the sword, death and suffering that would not spare the kingdom of God in this land, the struggling communities, the cells of holy men. Leaning into the shafts of windblown sleet, the Abbot pulled up his hood and tried to shelter his shaven head. Did I do right, O Lord?
And what an evil thing it was, this stone of theirs! As he drew near, he could see a sickly fern beginning to sprout from the hole where the sword had been. Yellow lichen was spreading like venom down over the sides, where knight after knight had braced himself in a vain attempt to draw the weapon out. Yet surely evil could be turned to good, or what was the point of their whole mission here? The good Christian had no choice but to start with the works of Satan, if he wished to bring this land to God.
And nothing should be beneath their notice here. They were warriors for Christ, not dainty diners at His feast. No chance should be neglected, not even this. If Arthur perished, then there was no loss. But if he came to good, the Christians would be foremost among those he had to thank. Proclaimed on Christian land, welcomed and honored by men of Christ, how could he refuse them permission to build their churches, to preach the Word, to grind the old faith and all its wickedness into the dust?
And the youth might win. The Abbot’s thoughts lightened even amid the gathering gloom. Young or not, he had shown a rare power, even a spiritual grace. In time, he could well be brought to God.
For a brief moment, the Abbot indulged himself with a vision of what might come. A Christian king, ruling a Christian land, would mean that a great church could be built here, ten times finer than this first poor attempt. The Abbot’s fancy took flight. There could be a church for each city, perhaps even one in every town. He dreamed on. A king who would bring all his people to the knowledge and love of Christ. A ruler who would impose Christian virtue and morality on his disordered flock, in place of the filthy customs these people followed now.
A shudder seized his fastidious frame. How these people lived! It was vile, beyond vile, to ignore the rule of God. To permit women to choose their own partners, when God had shown that women should be chosen and ruled by men. To allow them, young and old, to bed men without marriage, and even when married too—to take and discard men in love and lust, to practice their so-called thigh-freedom even when they were the mothers of young, or matrons of many years. It was loathsome, animal, vile.
Yet it was all that a Christian had to work with in this place. And God would forgive them for what they had to do. Averting his gaze, the Abbot hurried past Merlin’s stone, along the side of the long low church ahead, and ducked down a flight of steps through a small door into the gloom of the crypt. When the brothers had more time, when more money came from Rome— For the thousandth time he choked back the desire for better buildings, a better space that was large enough to meet in.
Yet the brothers looked easy enough sitting among the tombs. And the underground burial place was out of the wind at least. It was bitingly cold, but never plagued by drafts. The lone candle burned steadily in the center of the group, like the light of faith. There was much to thank God for in this stony space.
Jesu, Maria, bless what we have to do …
As he came in, the monks rose to their feet and bowed. Briefly he sketched a hasty blessing in the air and signaled them all to resume their seats. He hastened to the vacant chair at the head of the rough table where they sat. As he sat down, a door opened at the far end of the room and a young monk led a bedraggled figure in.
“Is this the man?”
The young monk bowed. “It is, Father Abbot.”
The Abbot stared at the creature with Brother Boniface, and a weary disfavor seized him, body and soul. Was this truly God’s instrument? “What does he want?” he said.
“He told the porter, service among the men.”
“So.”
The Abbot scrutinized the newcomer with disdain. Service among the men? What kind of man did he call himself? With his strange squat body, stubby arms, and pelt of damp black hair, the visitor looked hardly human, not made in God’s image, as the blessed were.
Cold as it was, the Abbot sensed a new chill and smelled the dank odor of standing water hanging in the air. Without reason, he felt the mist rising off the mere, and heard the mournful cry of waterfowl. His soul congealed. Is this your doing, Lord? Show me Your will …
Seated at his right hand, Brother Gregory seemed to read the Abbot’s mind. Born into a laboring family, Gregory made up in practical wisdom what he lacked in mystical grace. “They’re strong, these Lake dwellers,” he grunted quietly. “He’d be a good worker if we took him in. In God’s house, even the beasts of burden have their place.”
A murmur of assent ran around the group. The Abbot nodded. “But do we really need a beast like this?”
He turned back to Brother Boniface still standing patiently alongside his strange charge. “And why here with us? Why has he come all the way to London from the Summer Country, when there are other cells of brethren along the way?”
Brother Boniface nodded. “He says that he heard you made a new King here. That you and Merlin between you will bring in the rule of men.”
Men again, the Abbot noted. “Why did he leave the Lake?”
The young monk suddenly flushed a vivid red. “I could not say, Father. He speaks the language of the Old Ones, and I did not trul
y understand the things he said.”
The Abbot softened. The young monks often hated the customs here. Striving to be pure, they felt contaminated. “You have not been with us long, Boniface,” he said courteously. “I am sorry that you must find it so far removed from the ways of Rome.” He turned back to the creature squinting in the shadows, watching the proceedings closely, his black eyes on fire. “You!” he addressed him roughly in the coarse accent of the old tongue. “What are you doing here?”
The creature shuffled the dank skins around his shoulders and a grin broke over the darkness of his face. When he spoke, the sound he made was like an otter’s bark. “I saw it, up there!” He gestured to the churchyard overhead. “The great stone.”
“Yes?”
“The sign of the new King!”
The Abbot sighed. “It is true that God in His mercy gave us a miracle here,” he said with as much patience as he could muster. “The lost King of the Middle Kingdom was revealed to us by the Druid Merlin when he drew a sword from the heart of that great stone you saw. But what’s that to you? You come from the Sacred Lake. Your Lady there is far from our way of thought.”
The man’s lips twisted in a snarl. “She sent me away!”
“The Lady banished you from Avalon? For what?”
The guttural voice deepened with pure rage. “In the Lake village, we serve the Lady on the island, as our people have done since time was born. We ferry her people as they come and go, we bring them food and wine, we keep the causeways clear and the boats and barges in repair. On the island, she is the Lady, and all obey. But in the village, we are our own men.”
False, all of it, thought the Abbot, already wearying of the man’s coughing whine. Other people besides the Lake villagers brought offerings to the island, and many faithful souls provisioned the dwellers there. The Lady’s rule was not confined to Avalon; the Great One she served had been Mother of all the godless world till Christ was born. And what kind of men could call themselves their own masters when they permitted their women the freedoms enjoyed in the Lake village, or on the Sacred Isle?
Guenevere, Queen of the Summer Country Page 6