I walked away from the warriors, keeping the stream beside me so as not to get lost. At a distance from the men I stopped. Kneeling at the shore I cupped my hands and drank. Then I drank more. I’d been avoiding the well water, and as much as I liked wine and mead it surprised me how delicious the stream water tasted.
The forest’s quiet quenched a different thirst. Before coming to Cadebir I’d been accustomed to being alone. As much as I liked my role in the camp’s small spotlight I sometimes felt the need to snatch minutes for myself. It was especially true after being dogged all morning by Lyonel.
My shoes crunched the bits of leaves and dirt that made up the forest floor. My palms read the texture of each tree I passed, this one rough and so hard a hammer wouldn’t dent it, this one smooth, with bark that came away like candy wrappers and smelled of gin. I slowed my stride and listened.
Something large splashed in the stream. A thick trunk served as a good blind for peeking, and there I hid. A man sat on the bank in shadow, his back to me. To get closer I stole from tree to tree, taking time to place my steps for silence.
King Arthur sat cross-legged on the shore, a pile of stones arranged in a circle beside him. He took up a stone, held it in both hands and spoke to it. Then he closed his hands over it, thought for a moment and tossed the stone into the stream. He selected another rock and repeated the ritual.
I didn’t want to disturb him, but I’d never seen this ring of stones thing before and I wanted to hear what he said to the rocks. I tiptoed closer to watch from behind the nearest tree. Hugging the trunk as close as I could, I leaned forward to listen.
With a sudden pounce, he leapt behind me and drew his knife against my neck.
I believe I said, “Whup!” I had never experienced a choke hold before.
King Arthur let go. I stumbled to a fallen log and sat to catch my breath while he laughed, loud and long.
“I hope you’re a better wizard than you are a spy.” He sheathed his knife.
“Me too.”
“It’s rude, you know, to listen to my prayers.”
“I didn’t know you were praying, Sire.”
“But you knew you were spying.”
“Yes.”
“Never do that,” he said, suddenly angry. “I might have slit your throat.”
“Yes, Sire.”
He calmed his temper with a deep breath. “I prayed to the gods for victory.”
“Not...God?”
“Bah. The people may worship as they choose, but I pray the old way. There may be some good in this new god. But the ancient rituals have muscle. They give me power to reach across the centuries and touch my ancestors.”
He sat beside me. The dead log had been lying there so long it didn’t move with his weight. The king’s forehead wrinkled and his lips opened and closed while he reached inside himself to come up with the words he wanted. “We were once a wild people of poetry and art. Every tribe had a bard. Magic lived in the forest.” He looked to the treetops, remembering. “That is my disappearing world. I am but a remnant of it. That is why you mean so much to me. You are proof that magic lives in the future.”
He stood and offered his hand.
It was my chance to tell him the truth. It was wrong to lead him on any further. But the truth would break his heart. And he would kill me.
I let him help me to my feet.
“Sire, my magic is nothing.”
“It’s everything,” he said. “You’ve returned my hope to me.”
-----
King Arthur reined Llamrai to a stop, sniffed the air and smiled. The sky, soft gray in the forest’s diffuse light, was beginning to darken to a cooler blue. The stream we’d been following, full from the previous week’s rain, bubbled nearby, and the ground was soft with decaying leaves.
The king sent the order back along the line to dismount and make camp. I slid down from Lucy’s saddle and fell. After riding all day, my legs were too wobbly to hold me. Maybe some of the men saw but no one said anything. I had righted myself and was picking leaves off my tunic by the time Bedwyr found his way to Arthur.
“Bedwyr. Good, good,” said the king to his sergeant. “Medraut will camp to one side of me and Lancelot to the other. They may tent with what companions they will. The others may suit themselves.”
Bedwyr nodded and strode off to carry out the king’s orders.
“Keeping close your best men or your enemies, Sire?” I asked.
“To do both is wise.” He tossed me a heavy rope and indicated with his chin. “Do as they do.”
Across the clearing, Gareth and Agravain tied a rope taut between two trees at about chest height. They threw a blanket over it and tied down the ends. In minutes they had a tent.
After watching the brothers for my instructions, I found a likely tree and wrapped the rope around it, fumbling. The rope's thick fibers splintered my fingertips and I couldn't tie it tightly enough to make it stay.
“Have you never tied a rope?” The king watched me, arms folded across his chest.
“I haven’t done much camping, Sire.”
“That’s the weakest knot I’ve ever seen.” He smiled, almost flirtatiously. “I’ll tie the knots. You get a blanket from Bedwyr’s cart. He should have saved a large one for me.”
I felt my cheeks blush hot. I liked the way he smiled at me. I smiled back.
-----
Medraut and Pawly offered to hunt for our dinner but Bedwyr had already sent Hew, the soldier from the wall, and the red-haired boy who’d driven my cart the first day. Instead, Bedwyr ordered Medraut and Pawly to gather dry brush for camp fires, fires Arthur allowed because we were still far enough west not to alert the enemy.
Sixteen men and one woman settled in as night rested on the forest. I felt safe as long as I stayed near the king. The tall trees surrounding our campground hid from view a forest as yet untrammeled by the likes of us. Tomorrow we’d push further in. For the night, the men stayed by the fires, perhaps as much in need of a safety anchor as I was. Animals crept near but not too, clicking and chirping outside our periphery.
Bedwyr, a good supply sergeant in any century, had brought extra blankets. I used one to cushion my sore behind. The small creatures we roasted were a welcome change from our dry lunch. We sat in a circle around the fire and picked at their sides, leaning across the flames at our peril to pluck a piece with a knife or grab with blistering fingers.
“I will tell you nothing of my strategy,” said King Arthur when asked, his voice low so only those nearest us could hear him over the crackling fire. “You will await orders.”
“But Sire...” Lancelot’s mouth was full.
“I do this for your safety, friends. This way if there’s a spy among us, as well there could be, our plans cannot be leaked to the enemy, because I’m the only one who knows them.” The king leaned across me to spear another piece of bird.
“I think it’s ingenious, father,” said Medraut, wiping his sleek chin. “How many of the enemy do you think we’ll find?”
“Not as many as on the River Douglas,” said Bedwyr.
“Thank the gods for that!” Gareth laughed out loud.
“Quiet, cousin,” said the king. “Let’s not alert the entire woods to our presence.” Gareth covered his mouth.
“How many did you take on at the River Douglas, Bedwyr?” asked Hew.
“Thousand.”
“No!” The red-haired boy gaped in awe. I reminded myself to ask his name as soon as I got the opportunity.
“It wasn’t a thousand,” said Sagramore. “Perhaps eight hundred.”
“Eight hundred, then,” said Bedwyr, flipping a blond braid over his shoulder, “and we had not five hundred men. It was slaughter.” He let the word hang in the clearing like an overripe plum, dangling from a bough. “They hadn’t a chance.”
Everyone laughed, covering their mouths to suppress their noise.
“They’d need more than double to best King Arthur’s men.”
“The river ran red!”
“Lancelot’s army was there, too,” said the king. “You haven’t seen Lancelot fight, have you, Hew?”
“No, your majesty.” The young soldier flushed, suddenly awkward, leading me to think he’d never before been addressed directly by the king. I knew that warm feeling of being singled out by his majesty.
“Watch him when we meet our enemy. Watch your back first, son, but when you can, learn from the greatest fighter I’ve ever known.”
Arthur and Lancelot shared a look of mutual admiration, maybe even of love. I recognized my reaction: jealousy.
“I follow the greatest leader Britain has ever had,” said Lancelot. “That is enough to make any man great.”
“Hear, hear.” The men raised their flasks and drank a solemn toast. I drank, too.
“Now, off to sleep,” said the king. “We’ve another day’s ride tomorrow, and I want all of you to be as good as Lancelot when we fight.”
In a shuffle of leather and clink of knives, the men picked up their blankets and saddles and moved off. Lancelot and Arthur lingered, sipping from their flasks. My flask, issued from the supply wagon, held stream water.
Bedwyr tossed dirt on the fire. “What about the lady, Sire?”
“Hmm?”
“Where shall Mistress Casey sleep?”
“In my tent, of course.”
My stomach took a leap and refused to land. I reminded myself the king thought of me as his protector and would keep me close.
“Yes, Sire,” said Bedwyr, keeping his reaction to himself.
Lancelot corked his flask.
-----
I squatted behind a bush, away from camp in the black woods but close enough to keep the fire in view. I was less fearful of the unknown among the blue-black trees than I was of what awaited me in King Arthur’s tent.
What did the king expect of me? Was sex required? What if I didn’t want to give it? I had sworn off married men. Could I refuse King Arthur?
What if I didn’t want to refuse?
My mouth hadn’t had the benefit of toothpick or mint since the night before. My most recent bath was a distant memory. It wouldn’t do to remove my clothes so near to camp. But if I stayed with the water I wouldn’t get lost. I hiked up my tunic and underdress, and waded along the edge of the cold stream, following it as deep into the woods as I dared. My passing made little waves on the shore, and sent small-footed creatures skittering. Their noises crawled across my skin and made me jumpy. I told myself not to fear. I could brave a mouse or two to be clean for the king.
I tiptoed to where the stream burbled away from the dim campsite into absolute darkness that sounded like water caressing rocks, creatures crawling in mud, and gods of the ancient, wild unknown whispering in a language long forgotten. There, the forest canopy broke and revealed a sliver of moon. No rabbit or deer or fiercer creature appeared in the thick of trees, though their scurryings betrayed their presence. I climbed the bank, removed my clothes, and draped everything over a branch. Naked, shivering, and with mud squishing between my toes, I hurried to hang my shoes, high up because I didn’t want to find spiders and mice in them later, hurrying because I didn’t want the king to worry and send someone to find me.
The water was cold but I forced myself in, wading to the center of the cold stream where I was able to stand but it was deep enough to swim. The water lapped quietly against the banks with a soft fwap, fwap. I stood, shivering, and listened to so much animal activity in the underbrush I wondered if I’d ever be able to sleep in the tent. But I was too nervous to sleep.
I held my breath and went under. No sight. Muffled bubbles and groaning brook, no animal scratchings or tiny footfalls, my senses altered for the cold, rapturous instant of fresh water flowing through dirty hair. I stayed under as long as I could, and came up with a gasp.
“...wonder if barbarians make the mating like we do.”
I knew Lyonel’s voice, stilted with that stiff, Gallic accent. He was close. I wiped the water from my eyes and made a frantic search but couldn’t find him. I could see the dim outline of my clothes where I’d left them hanging on the branch.
A splash. The furtive movements in the underbrush had stopped.
“It is an odd question.” Lancelot’s voice came from further downstream. I didn’t know whether to be relieved or more terrified.
“But aha!” said the nearer voice. “Here is a Saxon. I shall ask her.”
Lyonel’s voice came from between me and my clothes, but I couldn’t see him in the dark. I didn’t like the idea of returning to camp naked and besides, conditions looked bad for my getaway.
The water moved and I heard Lancelot swim toward me. He emerged from the woods with head and shoulders white against the black murk of the stream. What I had thought was a boulder became Lyonel when he stood, not ten feet from me. The water didn’t quite cover all his pubic hair and the triangle of his pelvis glistened wet. “Tell us, Casey,” he said, his eyes hot beyond flirting. “How does a Saxon woman, a wizard, mate? Do you have magic to please a man?”
“Of course not,” I said, outrage beating my heart as much as fear. “We’re all the same.”
“Oh? Will you test that tonight?”
Lancelot, still mostly submerged, said, “Cover yourself, cousin. You are rude.” When Lyonel did not obey him, he went on. “Perhaps she is not a wizard. She takes well to the water.”
My teeth chattered. I glanced past Lyonel’s shoulder at my clothes.
“Don’t worry, Casey,” said Lancelot, “no one will touch you. You are the king’s property.”
I stared at him, more shocked than afraid.
“You have done service to me and my family. I would not allow even Lyonel to hurt you under any circumstances, except those you and I have discussed.”
“Which—?”
“Do you not recall? I must make myself more clear.” His voice was calm, sweet. “Pose a danger to my king or my country and I will kill you.”
I remembered. By a different stream on a different day, he had threatened something like that.
“Get your clothing.”
I stayed in the water.
“Turn away, Lyonel.”
The two faced away, Lancelot still submerged and Lyonel standing, brashly naked in the frigid stream.
THIRTY
King Arthur knelt at the edge of a circlet of embers outside his tent. Otherwise, the camp was dark.
“I almost sent Bedwyr to find you.”
“I wanted a bath.”
“It’s cold. Come in under the blanket.”
I stooped under the rope. No fancy traveling pavilion for the king; the space was the size of a pup tent, with barely enough room for the two of us. King Arthur crawled in behind me.
“Here, face this way.”
Clumsy, I scooted and bumped. It was impossible to lie next to the king without touching him, though I tried. With Sagramore’s cloak to cover me I finally squirmed to face the fire, lying on my stomach.
King Arthur rose on his elbows. “Do not stray again without informing me. It’s your duty to stay close and keep me safe.”
“Yes, Sire. I’m sorry.”
He picked dried leaves from the ground and tossed them out of the tent into the fire, sending up sparks. “You seem to like bathing. Is it popular in the future?”
“Where I come from it is, Sire.”
He faced me squarely, sizing me up. “Are you truly from the future, Casey?”
I’d been at Cadebir three weeks and already Los Angeles seemed not future but past. I pictured traffic backed up in the Cahuenga Pass along the Hollywood Freeway, jets taking off over the Pacific Ocean from LAX, and my iPod, for which I’d never downloaded a note of music, hidden amidst the detritus of my purse on a soft bed in a cozy B&B in an English village. “All my memories before you are of someplace different,” I said. “It’s the future. I’m pretty sure.”
&nb
sp; “It must be fantastic.”
“It’s...busy.”
“What is this land like in the future—my land?”
“I haven’t seen much of it. But there are more people, more towns, more roads. It’s beautiful, though.”
“Peaceful? Prosperous?”
“Yes.”
“Who is king?”
“Uh, it’s a democratic government, elected by the people. There’s a queen, but she’s not really in charge.”
“A queen. How modern. And is it still called Britain?”
When I’d said “England,” Myrddin had bristled. “Britain. Yes. Or the United Kingdom.”
“Oh!” He threw his head back with a short, incredulous laugh. “How many years in the future, did you say?”
“About fifteen hundred.”
He shook his head in cheerful disbelief. “I must pray thanks to the gods. ‘United Kingdom.’” He let his smile fade. “But your family must be worried about you.”
“I don’t think so, Sire. They’re not expecting to hear from me any time soon.”
“You don’t live with them?”
“In my time it’s common for adults to live on their own.”
“No husband, no lover?” His lips formed a slight smile and the word “lover” at the same time.
An image of Mike and his cheekbones flitted through my brain and was gone. “No one, Sire. I’m my own master.”
His eyebrows went up.
“In my time, Sire.”
“Woman as her own master, and Britain with a queen. The future is indeed strange.” King Arthur thought on that while he gazed at the fire. “I wish...well. I feel awkward asking.”
A rush started near my nose and worked its way down my torso, through my groin and along my legs, not stopping at my feet but turning around and heading up again, shaking me so hard I was afraid King Arthur would see it in the dark.
Camelot & Vine Page 17
