Grail Prince

by Nancy McKenzie

  Cordovic eyed the makeshift raft with contempt. “You’re crazy. This stupid thing won’t hold me up.”

  “Yes, it will. It’s how I learned.”

  Cordovic made a face. “All right. I’ll try it.”

  At the end of an hour of crossing and crossing again, Cordovic threw himself on the bank, exhausted. “I don’t see how pushing a raft around will teach me how to swim,” he complained. “All it does is make my legs tired.”

  “It’s simple,” Galahad replied, stretching on the grass and letting the strengthening sun warm his skin. “Every day I take away a piece of driftwood. When there’s none left you’ll be swimming.”

  “Or at the bottom of the river.”

  Galahad smiled.

  They donned their tunics and headed uphill toward the king’s house. As they passed the kennels Galahad said, “After breakfast I’ll show you my puppy. His name is Valiant. He’s out of one of the king’s own bitches. You can play with him, if you like. And then I want to see your mare.”

  Cordovic scowled. “I don’t care about your flea-bitten puppy. I’ve got a hound of my own at home. And as for my mare, I don’t think I’ll tell you where she is.”

  “I’ll find her. What’s her name?”

  “Swifty.”

  Galahad wrinkled his nose. “Swifty? I’m going to call her . . . Glory.” Cordovic sniggered. “Glory? That’s a sissy name for a horse. What’s the matter with you, anyway? Been spending too much time with that strange priest?”

  “Father Aidan isn’t strange.”

  Cordovic’s face lit. “I’ve heard he is. I’ve heard plenty about him. It’s all over Benoic how he slips through double-locked gates like a practiced thief and lurks around the queen’s garden when everyone knows Lancelot banned him from the town. Nothing keeps him out. They say he’s a ram in priest’s clothing who’s only after kisses from your mother!”

  Galahad’s fist smashed into Cordovic’s jaw. Cordovic found himself lying on his back with Galahad straddling him, pounding his fists into his chest. “Take it back! Take it back! You dirty coward! Take it back!” Cordovic could not stop him. The child’s eyes blazed with inhuman fury; he neither felt nor responded to Cordovic’s blows, but only increased the maniacal drubbing of his fists.

  “Help!” Cordovic screamed. “Get him off me!”

  Adults appeared from nowhere. Someone lifted Galahad off. Someone helped Cordovic up. Stunned, Cordovic stood rubbing his jaw while Galahad was led away, still shouting insults.

  Bors looked down at his son. “Be careful of that boy, Vic. He’s got a lot of Lancelot in him. Better pick on youths your own age.”

  “But isn’t he?”

  “He may be tall for his age, like his father, but he just turned five at the equinox, Galyn tells me.”

  “Five?” Cordovic stared in disbelief at the doorway where Galahad had been taken in. His chest still hurt from the pounding of those fists. “Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

  12

  THE BARGAIN

  "Ready!” Galahad shouted. He waited on the riverbank with Galyn and Bors while on the opposite bank Cordovic stood on a spit of mud among the reeds, staring down at the passing river with concentration. Galahad wondered why it still held terror for him. Now, at midsummer, the river was so low he could almost walk across. Suddenly Cordovic shut his eyes and flung himself into the water, surfacing with wildly splashing arms and kicking feet.

  “He’s off!” Bors cried. Valiant turned excited circles in the dust and barked furiously. Very slowly for all the effort he expended, Cordovic drew closer. Galahad thought in growing excitement about the mare. Every morning at dawn for the past month he had gone to the horse lines with Valiant at his heels, just to stand beside Cordovic’s mare. She had soon become accustomed to his presence, to his voice and touch, and to Valiant’s curious sniffs and growls. She had even begun to nicker at him as he approached, just the way Lancelot’s stallion always greeted his father. He was always gone before the grooms came by with hay and water. No one knew of his visits, not even Father Aidan. He did not know why he kept it such a secret. It just seemed of paramount importance that no one else should know.

  Not once in the long, hot weeks since the bargain had his attention wavered from his goal. While he sat on Aidan’s stool and recited verses, while he stood in the river with his cousin and patiently bore his curses and his insults, while he ate and slept, he thought only of Cordovic’s mare. He twisted his hands together. He was so close now! Cordovic, the selfish brat, would never drown himself to weasel out of the bargain, and that was what it would take.

  Bors shifted anxiously from foot to foot as Cordovic reached the middle of the river where the water was well over his head. Galahad wondered briefly why his mother spent so much time with Bors. He knew she despised him, yet they were constantly together. Bors hung on her every word, laughed at her jests, openly admired her skin, her gown, her golden hair, even though she laughed at him for his compliments and made fun of him behind his back. That made Galyn angry, but Bors seemed not to mind. Galahad shrugged. Adults were impossible to understand. Even Aidan had told him to mind his own business.

  Bors let out a great whoop as Cordovic struck shore, gasping, and pulled himself up the grassy bank.

  “Well done!” Galyn said warmly.

  Bors slung an arm proudly around his son. “That’s a damn sight better than I ever did in a river!” he cried, handing the dripping boy a tunic. “Well done, boy! I told you coming to Benoic would be good for you—look, now, you’ve befriended your young cousin and learned to swim! A good month’s work, if you ask me.”

  Galyn’s hand fell on Galahad’s shoulder. “Well done, Galahad.” He nodded toward Cordovic. “You boys have had some merry times together. I’m sorry it has to end.”

  Galahad looked up swiftly. “End?”

  “We’re leaving, lad,” Bors told him. “Been here long enough—settled some matters that, er, needed settling. I must be getting home. We set off tomorrow at first light.”

  Stunned, Galahad turned to Cordovic, who grinned. “Sorry, cousin. I guess I forgot to tell you.”

  “But—”

  “There’ll be a feast tonight,” Galyn interjected, seeing his face. “I’m sure your mother will let you stay up extra late this time.”

  “But—”

  “What, then?”

  Bors and Cordovic had turned and were already walking away. “Nothing.”

  Galyn considered him a moment. “Come. I’ve promised the queen to have you back by midday. She wants to see you. But first, let’s stop by the stables. I’ve a new pony for you to look at. Bigger and faster than old Cherub.”

  Galahad swallowed hard and clenched his fists against his sides. Valiant whimpered and jumped against his leg, licking the nearest hand. “No, thank you, Uncle Galyn. I don’t want a pony.”

  He turned and ran in desperate, pounding strides up the long hill to the king’s house with Valiant bounding beside him.

  Elaine stood at the window and looked out at the brilliant summer sun. The heat was a living creature, immense and suffocating, breathing its hot, fetid breath into the oven of the room. She pushed a damp tendril of hair from her sweating brow and placed her hand against her belly.

  “The pain again?” Adele asked, looking up from her stitching.

  Elaine shrugged. “Again and again. It’s ever-present now. Oh, this awful heat! I won’t be at all surprised if I lose this child.”

  “Touch wood!” Adele cried. “You tempt fate to say such a thing. Sit down and put your feet up on a cushion. I’ll send for a cool drink.”

  “No.” Elaine turned from the window and lifted a hand. “I want no servants near.” She slumped into a nearby chair. “I don’t care if I tempt fate. You must know by now I bear this child against my will. . . . You needn’t gawk at me; I’m not the first woman to resent the unborn.”

  “No,” Adele agreed uncertainly, “but you are young to feel so.”

&n
bsp; “I am five-and-twenty,” Elaine continued wearily, “and what has life brought me? I sit here exiled in this backwater, away from all that’s happening in Britain. I have no power; my husband has seen to that.” Tears sprang to her eyes. “Is it honorable to treat a woman as a broodmare? What do they do but pen me in my quarters and keep me from the companionship I choose? I may not ride out, I may not chance myself to a boat, I may walk only as far as the garden—and all because I am carrying Lancelot’s precious child!”

  Adele said nothing, but dipped her kerchief in her water cup and pressed the cool cloth to Elaine’s brow.

  Elaine gazed up at her. “Surely you must know by now that Lancelot does not love me. Has not cared for me one single moment we have been together. My sons are only tokens of his lapses in control.”

  “Oh, Elaine!” Adele said softly, laying a hand on her arm. “That’s a wicked thing to say!”

  “Would it surprise you to know that I do not love him, either? No, I see it would not. But I will tell you something few others know: I lost my heart long ago to a greater man than he. I had a destiny once. From childhood my mother planned it. She raised me to be King Arthur’s bride. As I should have been.”

  “But Lancelot is second only to the High King,” Adele said quickly. “Bearing his sons is no less honorable than bearing Arthur’s.”

  Elaine rested a hand on her belly. “I’m not talking of honor. I’m talking of love.” She looked into the younger woman’s eyes. “I love Arthur Pendragon as a man, not as a king. I love everything about him: his voice, his eyes, his hands, the sound of his laughter, the cold fury of his rage. I love him with every fiber of my being, and I’ve loved him every waking moment of every waking day since I first set eyes upon him.”

  Adele paled. “Why then did you marry Lancelot?”

  Elaine’s eyes narrowed in amusement. “Why do you think? What future does a woman have without a husband?” She shrugged. “I married him to make my cousin weep. And weep she did. The memory of her anguish is still a balm to my soul.”

  Adele retreated a little, staring at her, but Elaine did not notice.

  “Do you have any idea what I would give to go back to Britain? To spend a summer in Gwynedd by the western sea? Or a month in Camelot? I have a pain”—she struck her breast lightly with her fist—“here, waking and sleeping. It is dread that I shall never see my homeland again.”

  Adele sank to her knees at Elaine’s side and took her hot, moist hand between her own. “Never is a long time. Perhaps, in a few years . . . Wait until your sons are of fighting age, and you can find them wives in Britain—”

  “My sons!” Elaine cried. “He is taking away my sons! He will take them away and I will never see them again!”

  “What nonsense is this? Of course you will—”

  “Do you imagine I have power over my sons? Just look at Galahad! I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I’ve seen him alone this past month! Galyn and Bors have thrust him into the world they chose for him, because they do not trust Aidan and they do not trust me. And what is he become but another dirty urchin wrestling with his fellows in the dust? A common boy who smells of dog breath and horse sweat, that’s what he is become.”

  “Dirty? Nonsense, Elaine. Galahad is always—”

  “That boy is a fine, virgin cloth woven of godly thread, and they have used it to wipe the mud from the soles of their boots! Have you forgotten the prophecy? ‘He shall wield the sword of righteousness in Britain. . . .’ How can he do that if he is not trained? But now that Bors is finally going I shall remedy what I can, I shall—” She stopped suddenly at the sound of footsteps racing down the corridor.

  “What will you do, Elaine?”

  A frantic pounding sounded at the door. “Mama! Mama!”

  Elaine rose unsteadily. “I shall set his feet upon a new path.” She turned to face the door. “Enter!” Galahad came in, white-faced, and fell on his knees at his mother’s feet. “Galahad! What has happened?”

  “He’s a cheat! Cordovic is a cheat! Let me kill him! Please?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Elaine glanced quickly at Adele. “Leave us.” Adele made her reverence and, after a long hesitation, went out and closed the door behind her.

  Elaine waited until she had gone. “If he’s a cheat, he’s no worse than the rest of his family. What has he done to you?”

  “He made a bargain with me! He made a promise and he broke it!”

  Elaine stroked his hair and kissed him. “Tell me about it.”

  In fits and starts, Galahad told her the whole story, describing the mare, revealing his daybreak visits, confessing the drudgery of the tedious hours spent in the river with Cordovic. “Today he swam across the river. And now he’s leaving and he still won’t let me ride his mare!”

  Elaine snorted. “Cordovic’s not fit to wipe your boots. Forget him. If you want his horse so badly, take it. He owes it to you. But I can’t see why you make such a fuss about an animal. One horse is much like another. Now attend me, Galahad. I have an errand for you. It’s important.”

  Galahad looked up into her pale face. Her blue eyes, so like his own, looked enormous. “What is it, Mama? Are you ill?”

  “I am today. It is this child of Lancelot’s that sickens me. You must take a message to Father Aidan.”

  “Shall I bring you more medicine?”

  “Yes, yes, I would be grateful for it, but that is not the message. Attend me now. Tell him . . . tell him Bors has proved to be a worse fool than I thought him. Tell Aidan that well is dry. He will know what I mean.” Her clammy hands gripped his. “Tell him that. Have you got it?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  “And tell him this also. Bors spoke to Galyn about me. Galyn sent a courier to Britain—to Lancelot. Tell Aidan it is time for the ceremony. You and I will beg off from this farewell feast. I am too ill to attend it, and you . . . we will find some excuse for you. Tell Aidan to be in the chapel an hour past moonrise. We will meet him there.”

  “Am I going with you?” Galahad stared up at her. “To the chapel with Aidan? What for?”

  She smiled and bent down to kiss his forehead. “Tell Aidan an hour past moonrise. Don’t forget.”

  He ran lightly down the road, his heart soaring. He darted into the stableyard with Valiant leaping at his side, past grooms busy fetching water, and slipped around back to the horse lines. Everything was quiet. All the horses had their noses deep in hay. One pretty bay face turned toward him and nickered softly.

  “Glory!” Valiant danced jubilantly in the grass as Galahad untied the mare from the ground lines and stood with the lead rope in his hands. There was no time to run for her bridle. The bit only caused her pain, anyway. The halter would have to do. He led the mare to a corner of one of the outbuildings where a wooden tub stood half-full of dirty clothing. He turned the tub over and climbed up on it. Grabbing Valiant and stuffing him into his open tunic, he threw a leg over the mare and slid onto her back. She shied sideways, and then stood patiently.

  “Glory! My beauty!” he whispered, stroking her neck. The puppy squirmed against his chest and yipped with glee. “Shhh!” Galahad laughed. “Ready, Valiant? Let’s go!”

  His legs moved against her side and she threw up her head in alarm, out of long habit, and danced sideways. Galahad grabbed for the mane, startled at the bounce in her step. Thrice he nearly lost his seat and only just managed to save the pup as the mare tossed her head and spun, fearing the yank on her mouth that always followed the weight on her back. Finally, Galahad dug his heels into her side. She bolted.

  The town flew by in a blur as they thundered down the winding road. Galahad prayed aloud the great gates might be open—he knew he could not stop her. But the unsettling bounce was gone. She was as easy to ride as the coracle on a breezy day, with her head stretched out before her and her legs reaching for the ground in a steady rhythm. He could feel her life, her pride, her joy as she fled from imprisonment and followed her eager will. A
gainst his heart the dog lay still, a curl of fur, cowed by the whip of speed. Miraculously, the gates opened to admit a wagon full of timber. Galahad crouched low on the mare’s neck and swept past the guards in a blur. He held firmly to the halter rope. The mare leaned comfortably against his hand and increased her speed. Her excitement filled his entire being until he laughed aloud and clung to her whipping mane, willing her onward, past the open fields and into the forest.

  Finally, in the sweet, pine-scented cool of the forest shade, she slowed. He sat up as she shortened her stride into a canter, holding her head relaxed now, arching her neck in a long, lovely curve. Her coat was dark with sweat, but he could feel the undaunted eagerness in her stride. She had plenty of run in her still. They cantered down the forest track at an easy pace, the thick carpet of pine needles muffling the beat of her hooves. He knew, without knowing how, that he was meant for this, that horsemanship was part of his destiny, that things that came so easily to him, things he seemed to know already how to do, were part of his future, part of God’s plan. He’d been right to take the mare. She was meant to be his.

  Eventually Galahad drew her to a trot, and then a walk, as they neared the edge of the lake. Valiant poked his head out of the tunic and sniffed excitedly. Galahad slid off her back, set the dog on the ground, and ran his hand down the mare’s chest. Her sweated coat was drying; she was cool enough to drink. He led her to the water, where Valiant was already playing in the shallows, and then tied her lead rope to a sturdy branch.

  “You stay here, Glory. We’ll be back soon and we’ll do the ride again. Come on, Valiant. Find the coracle!”

  He dragged the coracle and paddle from their hiding place. Valiant leaped in eagerly and sat between Galahad’s knees all the way to the island. A robed figure awaited him on the shingle.

  “Father Aidan! I have a message from my mother.”

  The priest nodded slowly, his face hooded even in the heat. “I thought as much. Tie the dog.”

  He turned and walked slowly up the path to the hut. Galahad loosed the thong from his waist and bound Valiant to a sapling. “Be a good boy and stay here. You can’t come this time. He must have his medicines out. Wait for me.”