“I do.”
I smiled, letting gratitude fill me. “Is there a mirror?”
Lynet laughed. “The queen has a looking-glass, but I don’t suppose you ought to go into her chamber.”
So there was a queen.
“We use the well to see our reflections if we must, but there isn’t time now. You look quite presentable,” said Lynet. “Myrddin’s orders.”
“Thank you. I...I love baths.”
“You look pretty,” said Elaine.
I released a breath. Though I feared it would not be enough, I wanted very much to look pretty for the king.
FIFTEEN
“Wart!”
Myrddin and I stood in the small audience room where I’d met the king the day before. Or two days before. In losing time, I had lost track of it. I shifted from one foot to the other, picking at the edges of my muslin sleeve.
Myrrdin called at the faded red curtain. “The lady wizard is with me.”
“Enter.”
The old man pulled the curtain aside. Touching my shoulder, he guided me through the archway into a low-ceilinged chamber. Daylight found its way through tall windows at the far end, where a ladder led up to some kind of loft. At the room’s center, King Arthur sat behind a crudely-made wooden desk, studying a vellum document. Behind him, hanging from an iron hook that pierced its eye, leered the sideburn helmet of the Saxon I’d watched him kill.
The king did not glance up. “Please refrain from addressing me as ‘Wart’ in the presence of our guest.”
“Sorry, Arthur.”
Myrddin chose a chair facing the desk and relaxed into it, crossing his legs. I awaited instructions.
With his arms supporting his head like columns support a roof, King Arthur rubbed his temples and sighed. His salt and pepper hair was tied into a ponytail with a leather thong. The sleeves of his linen shirt were rolled up to the elbows, revealing a cloth bandage where his forearm had been sliced in the fight with the big Saxon in the woods. The document he perused was a map, which didn’t surprise me. What I didn't expect were the stacks and stacks of vellum sheets, bolted between slabs of wood, piled on the desk and floor. Books. Everywhere. Quills, too, with little ink pots like Myrddin’s. Maybe Myrddin wasn’t the only well-read man at Cadebir. But with shoulders hunched and shirt draping open, King Arthur wore the look not of a scholar but of an aging prize-fighter, stony with muscle and etched with scars.
Tapping a thick finger on the parchment before him he said, “Come around this side, mistress. I’ll show you.”
I didn’t expect to find the wolf-dog behind the desk. Cavall growled. Startled, I tripped over the king’s sword, which was propped against the desk in its scabbard.
“Hush, Cavall. Go away.”
Cavall cocked his big head, looking innocent.
“Go.”
The dog obeyed, slinking off to curl himself onto a pillow by the cold fire pit.
“Sorry, your majesty,” I said. Nervous, I righted the sword. It wasn't a broadsword, but shorter, and a good deal heavier than it looked. When I finally stood beside the king I saw my passport lying atop a stack of vellum on the desk, weighted by a smooth stone. I was also in a position to see the queen’s mirror, the looking glass Lynet had mentioned, hanging on the far wall near the ladder. A ray of sun glinted off its edge with a golden spark. It was too far away for me to get a glimpse of myself.
King Arthur reached a burly arm across me, brushing against my sleeve and recalling my attention. Standing so close to his shoulder, I could see the weave of the rough fabric of his tunic. He pointed to a spot on a crude map of southern England.
“You know Londinium.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
He moved his finger a couple of inches west and slightly south. “Here’s the Giant’s Ring. And there,” he pointed a bit southeast of that, “is Poste Perdu.” Indicating a mark further west he said, “This is Cadebir.”
Mesmerized by his cracked nails and weathered skin, I followed his hand along the uneven triangle he traced between the Giant’s Ring, Poste Perdu and Cadebir. On his middle finger he wore a silver ring with concentric circles etched on its round, flat face. Inside the smallest circle was a horseshoe shape and inside the horseshoe a little mark, like a hyphen. It was fine, meticulous work.
He was watching me. “You admire my ring?”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“It’s fashioned after the great stones of the Giant’s Ring.” He lifted his hand for me to get a closer look.
I bent to examine the Stonehenge pattern, inhaling his scent of herbs and something like oatmeal. “It’s beautiful, your majesty.” Unnerved at being so close to the man, I tried returning my attention to the map. Pointing to a spot slightly north of the Giant’s Ring, I changed the subject. “Is this about where you found me, your majesty?”
“Where you found me, yes. Nothing there but deep forest and wolves. Except the road. Tell me, how did you come to be there?”
His gray eyes challenged, his direct gaze flustered me. He could easily ruin me, as if I were a dry dandelion bloom and he a breath of wind. I remembered what Myrddin had said about lying to the king. “I don’t know.”
“Who sent you?”
“No one. I came on my own.”
“But you came to save me.”
“I guess...”
He turned away, releasing me from his eyes. “You may sit.”
Relieved, I stepped back around the desk, avoiding the sword, and took the chair next to Myrddin’s.
“The Saxons knew we’d be at that spot at that time.”
I sat erect. “I’m not a Saxon, your majesty.”
Myrddin picked through a jar of quills, looking for something with which to entertain himself. “Wart—Arthur—”
“I want to hear from the lady.” King Arthur sat back and waited.
I hesitated. Behind me at the fire pit, Cavall gnawed a bone, his teeth grinding against its surface. Mindful of the penalty for lying, I decided it was best to go ahead with the full truth. “Your majesty, I’m...from the future.” That was true.
“I see.” He didn’t believe me. “Has this to do with the Gap?”
“Yes, your majesty.” That seemed reasonable, in an unreasonable way.
“She arrived here through a gap in time,” Myrddin said, as though it were obvious.
“Do you have proof?”
I was reminded of the perilous position I held somewhere between dead prisoner and live avenger. I didn’t know the truth.
“I’m not sure how to prove it to you, your majesty. But I’ve known about you all my life. You’re a legend in my time. Books are still being written about you, fifteen hundred years from now. Stories are still being told.”
“What sort of stories?”
“I don’t know if they’re true.”
“Tell one.”
“Well. Um. Okay.” I thought of my storybook, tucked in a drawer in a place called a condo, where there was electricity. “One says your sword is called Excalibur.”
“I’ve named my sword?” He suppressed a smirk.
“Yes, your majesty. It shines in battle and it has magical powers.”
He laughed softly. “Would that it were magic.”
“You do keep it shiny,” said Myrddin. With a glass ink bottle, he absentmindedly made sunlight prisms on the floor.
The king leaned back, tipping his chair against the wall. “Go on, my lady. I’m entertained.”
“Okay. Uh...as a boy, you pulled your sword from a stone.”
“Perhaps Lancelot could do such a thing.”
“It’s how everyone knew you were destined to be king.”
“Not because the people needed me to lead them?”
I rushed to say, “I’m sure they did, your majesty.”
“Continue.” He let the chair land on all fours again.
“Have you sent Sir Galahad and the knights on a quest for the holy grail?”
“I haven�
��t. I’ve never heard of this Galahad.”
“Oh. Supposedly he’s the strongest knight. But maybe that story doesn’t happen. Or maybe it’s later. Or the other knights went.”
“These nights—?”
“Your men. It’s a title. But knighthood, maybe that was a later invention? Jousting too, probably.”
“Probably. What is it?”
I scooted my chair closer to the desk, enjoying his interest. “It’s a competition. The knights knock each other off their horses with a lance.”
“They kill each other for pleasure?” asked Myrddin.
“They don’t kill each other, mostly. I think the lance tip is blunt. It does sound ridiculous, though, now that I think about it.”
“Highly impractical,” said Myrddin, "at least during war time."
“Yes,” said King Arthur. “I can’t imagine why, with such silliness, I’d be the legend you say I am. Though I admit it’s amusing.” He laughed. Myrddin and I laughed with him.
“So you’re not going to seek the Holy Grail?” I asked.
“I’ve a war to fight, my lady.” He patted the desk. “But come, are there more stories?” His smile encouraged me to speak freely.
“Yes, many. Myrddin taught you things by turning you into animals. That’s one of my favorites.”
They looked to each other with raised eyebrows. “That’s true, in a way,” said the king. “Myrddin has his tricks. But tell me, will I not lead my army to battle, defend my people? Are there no stories of my might?”
“Oh tons,” I blundered on, emboldened. “There are at least a dozen battles. And castles, and fair maidens, knights in shining armor—oh, but you don’t call them knights, so I don’t know how much of it is true. I wish I knew all the stories, there are so many. The most famous one’s about Lancelot and Guinev—” I stopped.
“What happens in that story?” King Arthur was no longer smiling.
“It’s probably not true,” I said.
“Tell it.” He ignored the strand of hair that had come loose from his ponytail to hang across his cheek.
My mind sought a quick lie but came up empty. “Legend says there was a...love affair.”
A loud clatter startled me.
“Sorry.” Myrddin climbed down from his chair to retrieve an ink bottle from the floor. “Tiny spill.”
“Continue.” The king hadn’t moved.
A vinegar smell rose from the ink spill. Wishing for a tissue, I wiped my nose on my sleeve and looked at my lap. “I’m sure it’s not true, your majesty. In the story, the affair is revealed by your illegitimate son, Mordred.”
“His name is Medraut.” His voice was flat.
“The legends got a few things wrong.”
“Not as many as one might hope.”
Myrddin returned to his chair. The two men eyed each other.
So, the queen was indeed Guinevere.
“Splendid,” said the king. “I’ve gone down in history as a cuckold.”
“Oh no, your majesty,” I said, reminded of death sentences. “You’re known as righteous and wise, fair, judicious, and...and...kind...”
“We shall see.” Like lifting a heavy burden, King Arthur hoisted himself from his chair. He took up the stone from atop my passport, absentmindedly tossed the rock in his hand and ambled to the windows to gaze out over the camp. A breeze wandered in and tousled the muslin curtains, bringing work sounds with it: pounding hammers, men calling to each other, horse hooves trotting, a cart rolling by. King Arthur caressed the stone in his hand, thinking.
Myrddin caught my eye and shook his head ever so slightly. I didn’t know if he meant “Don’t worry,” “Don’t say anything,” or “It’s all over for you.”
Cavall stretched and yawned, then sauntered to his master’s side. The king pulled the shutter closed and scratched the dog’s big, white head before turning to me. “I believe you,” he said. “You are from the future. And for saving my life, I'm grateful.”
Relief made my nose tingle. I bowed my head, fighting tears.
“If you’re to stay, you must abide by my terms. You are not to practice sorcery, not the tiniest trick, without my express orders.”
That was a relief.
“As far as the others know, you are not from the future. You are a Saxon wizard who has defected to our side. You will not speak of the future, of the legends, or of the affair, on pain of death.”
“Yes, your majesty.”
“There is no proof of this affair, of course.”
“Of course, your majesty.”
King Arthur strode back across the room to loom over the desk, supporting his weight on arms as strong as girders. “I’m sorry if I seem ungrateful, my lady. I am in your debt. But I must be clear for the sake of our cause.”
I nodded.
“We are at war. Everyone works for his keep. Your job shall be Protector of the King. For now there’s little for you to do, but I will call upon you. You may recuperate here on the hill or visit Myrddin when he wills it. But I must ask you not to leave Cadebir without my permission.”
Because not everything the king said was a direct order, I was beginning to think he didn’t know the extent of my powers.
“Yes, your majesty.”
He lifted my passport and handed it to me. I zipped it into my pack.
The king studied me, scratching his stubbled cheek. “You haven’t answered one of my questions.”
I didn’t remember which one.
“Why did you come here to save my life?”
Why had I flown down through the ages to this time of all times? Why had the universe opened up and swallowed me? The question weighted my chest with the wonder at where I was and who he was. Why him? Why me?
He watched me, intent on Casey the wizard. Casey the actor had once wanted to command such attention but Casey the person had failed. I’d spent my life thus far desiring greatness and becoming nobody. In that rickety chair I sat facing someone truly great, history’s idol, the world’s, my father’s, mine.
“Because your life had to be saved, your majesty. Because Britain needs you.”
A lie, though I meant it with all my heart. I didn’t know the truth.
He considered it. Then he released the desk and stood, no longer needing to hold himself up. “I will save Britain.”
I didn’t correct him. The legends did not say King Arthur would save Britain. They said he would return one day when Britain needed him again. While the king and I gazed at each other, the Saxons, Jutes and Angles who gnawed at Britain’s shores were in the process of defeating him. It would take years, but Britain was already becoming Angle-land. England.
It was a lie of omission, but a lie nonetheless.
It was also my first act of treason.
SIXTEEN
“How did I do?” I trotted in the dust at Myrddin’s heels. “Am I safe from burning for now?”
I slammed into him when he stopped and turned on me, his black eyes hot. “I suggest you lower your voice when referring to the subject of flames.” He sounded stern, but he was more interested in what he saw beyond my shoulder.
I turned to look. Two men sauntered by, carrying a deer carcass strung on a pole between them. When I looked back, Myrddin was licking his lips. He glanced sideways, then pulled me off the path.
“Try to see it through Arthur’s eyes,” he whispered. “The Saxons are maddeningly close. Marauders disrupt our trade on the seas. What’s left of the British tribes is in disarray and has been so since the Romans left years ago. Arthur must coordinate these mobs into an army, and quickly. If we don’t defeat the enemy we’ll no longer exist. It’s that simple.”
“That’s a lot of pressure for one man. Not to mention his wife is sleeping with his—”
Myrddin slapped his hand over my mouth. “Don’t speak of it!” He quickly removed his hand and held both behind his back. “I beg your pardon. But perhaps you don’t understand. The queen’s indiscretion is treason, punishable by
death at the stake.”
“Wow.” Myrddin’s glare was unnerving. “Sorry. I won’t mention it again.”
He continued to glare.
“You have my word?”
“Good.” With an exaggerated sigh he offered his arm, and we began to stroll. “There’s also the strategic alliance to be considered,” he whispered. “Arthur’s friendship with Lancelot is crucial. Poste Perdu is a mere three hours away at a gallop. Lancelot brings with him the allegiance of the Belgae.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way.”
“Do. Now. I’ll be with you tonight at supper, but I recommend you keep your mouth closed at table, except to put food in it.”
“I’ll be careful. What are these buildings for?” We were strolling among the huts clustered near the hall.
“People live in them, those in Arthur’s circle. Lancelot and Elaine, for example. Caius and Andrivette live in the large hut just there. I’m not sure about the one across from it. Empty, I believe. Caius is the king’s foster brother, did you know?”
“Oh. Cai. Sir Kay.”
“From one of your stories, perhaps. Arthur also uses spare huts for allied chieftains, though some prefer to camp with their armies.”
“The tents below the hill?”
“Mmmhm. All in preparation for what’s to come.”
The war. A tingle heated the back of my neck, softly, like a beam of late afternoon sun. Cadebir fort may have been the most imposing in the land, but it was no larger than a Hollywood backlot: big enough to house the pretense of a full-out war, but not the real thing. Myrddin and I traversed it diagonally on the path that connected the southwest and northeast gates, passing hunters with the day’s catch, and servant women with their baskets. We’d all smile or nod, then, when they got past us, I’d hear excited whispers.
“Tell me,” said Myrddin, feigning disinterest, “do the legends say anything else about me?”
“Yeah. At least I think it’s you.”
He laughed. “Did they mistake my name as well? What did you call Medraut? Morbid?”
“Mordred. They call you Merlin, but I’m pretty sure it’s you.”
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