Teleri was very deft and gentle, and chattered cheerfully about head injuries the while, telling her assistant all the awful consequences she had seen. But I didn’t care. They finally settled me in some quiet monastic cell, with lots of blankets, and told me to lie quiet.
“Look after Eivlin,” I told Teleri. “She must not die.”
“I should think not! Come along,” she said to her assistant, “let him sleep.” They whisked themselves from the room, taking the lantern. I lay still in the warm, quiet dark. I must pray for Eivlin, I thought, and fell asleep thinking it.
ELEVEN
I woke up when the morning sun poured through the window onto my face, but I rolled over on my side and went back to sleep. I woke again when the abbey rang its bells for something or other, but resolutely kept my eyes shut. However, after a while I heard footsteps, and the door of the room creaked stealthily open, and I had to sigh, open my eyes, and sit up.
Gwyn stood frozen in the door, his dark eyes wide with remorse. “Did I wake you up?” he asked mournfully.
“No. I was already awake.”
“Oh.” He closed the door behind him, smiled a little, shyly. “Are you feeling better?”
“Very much so. Do you know how Eivlin is?”
“Who?”
“Eivlin. The woman who was so sick.”
“Oh! She’s still asleep.” He thought a moment, added, “Teleri told my mother she’s never seen anything like it before, that the girl doesn’t stir at all when there doesn’t seem much wrong with her. Teleri says she hopes your friend wakes soon.”
“So do I,” I said, feelingly, “so do I.”
Gwyn looked at me steadily and seriously. “I’ll pray for her,” he said at last. “Father Carnedyr told me to pray when I’m doing my lessons, and I’ll pray for her.”
“Thank you,” I said.
Gwyn shuffled his feet awkwardly. “I should be at lessons soon,” he blurted out, “but…”
“Come and sit down,” I told him, having to grin, despite everything. I would have done exactly the same thing.
He sat down next to me on the bed. “Tell me about Camlann! Does everyone ride warhorses everywhere? Is the feast hall roofed with gold, like Tegid says?”
“The Hall is roofed like every other hall, with good thatching straw. No one rides warhorses all the time, and they certainly do not ride them everywhere. But…”
Gwyn smiled. “That would make a mess, if they rode them everywhere. Once I rode Father Gilla’s mare into the refectory, pretending that it was a feast hall, and she knocked over the tables and broke a lot of crockery. I was thrashed for that three times—Oh. I’m sorry. Father Carnedyr says I always interrupt, and ought to be thrashed for it. But is the Queen very beautiful?”
He wanted to know everything, and could scarcely sit still to hear it. I could say barely three sentences before he would pour out more questions. It was not that he was without manners, but was simply quick-minded and excited. He wanted to be a warrior, he told me again in a confidential fashion, even though, “My mother says I am going to be a priest.” But Hywel had given him the spear, and he practiced with it every day; and had he really scared me on the road? I was glad he was there. I had no chance to think about Eivlin or the rest of the troubles, and he made me feel almost as if I were at home. I told him fine and splendid things about Camlann. I was still telling them when the door opened again and Teleri’s assistant stood there, a tray of food in one hand.
Gwyn, who had been leaning eagerly forward, eyes shining, abruptly stood up. His face dropped. “He was awake already, Mama,” he told the woman. “Truly, I didn’t wake him.”
The woman set down the tray. “Indeed? But he’s a sick man, my dearest, and you should not have come troubling him with your questions. And why aren’t you at lessons?”
He shuffled his feet.
“He came to see how I was,” I put in, hurriedly. “Since he was the one who found me, he felt responsible. And I’ve been glad of his company.” Gwyn shot me a grateful look.
The woman began to smile, but suppressed the smile, though her eyes glinted. “It is good that you should worry about the poor man, my white heart. But you must remember that he needs rest—and you need lessons. Off with you. Father Carnedyr must be waiting.”
Gwyn did not look pleased at the thought of his schoolmaster waiting for him, but he brightened again when I said, “Thank you for coming. If your mother doesn’t mind, come again later.” He looked at the woman and she nodded assent, so he ran off cheerfully. The woman laughed when he was gone, and carefully closed the door.
“Gwyn is your son?” I asked her.
“Mine,” she said. “Would you like something to eat?”
“I thank you. He’s a very fine boy.”
She sighed, brushing a strand of yellow hair away from her blue eyes, the gesture as graceful as a willow tree. “He is a fine boy, but a wild one. I hope he has not tired you.” I shook my head and she picked the tray up and brought it over. The food consisted of a bowl of porridge with honey, bread and butter, and fresh milk. The smell of it was magnificent. “Gwyn is clever. He is good at his lessons, and sweeter-tempered than a day in June. But he is imaginative and too high-spirited, and is always running off. He will get himself into trouble.”
“He says that you want him to be a priest.”
“And so he should be. He is bright enough, and it is a noble vocation and much needed in this age. And it offers its own kind of honor and glory to those that follow it.”
I said nothing, but began eating the porridge. It was delicious.
“You dislike the idea,” she observed. “Well, many men do. Gwyn, now, wants to be a warrior. If you will, do not encourage him in it, or tell him tales that might feed his desires.”
I looked back up at her, surprised, spoon in mid air. She stood straight and calm by the wall, smiling a little, plainly dressed, but her tone had something of command in it. I wondered where she was from. By her accent, she was not born in Gwynedd.
“All boys enjoy such tales,” I said. “And there’s no harm in a song. All they can do is make a boy want to be brave, and that’s no evil.”
“That is no evil, no. But they can also make boys love war and conflict, and value gold and strength of body above virtue and honesty. They have much to say of the glitter of worldly power, and little of kindness, peace, and nobility of soul. I would not have my son listen to them. I tell you this because you were telling him about Camlann.”
I looked carefully at the porridge, embarrassed. “Well…he asked me.”
“And you have been there?”
“I have been a servant there.”
She was quiet a moment, considering me, then said, “Your own loyalties are your own affair, but I must ask you to keep silence about them to my son. I have trouble enough with Gwyn without having him admire—and perhaps run off to—the Family of a man I consider a usurper and a tyrant.”
“Arthur is a very great king,” I said, stung. “A man given to the protection of his people, to the creation and defense of order and justice. And many of his warriors are good men.”
“Have you found them so? We differ then.”
I swallowed. “You are very fierce, Lady.”
She did not notice my use of the title, but shook her head slowly, meeting my eyes. “I have cause to be. Gwyn’s father was—is—a warrior.”
“Oh,” I said. “He…he didn’t disgrace your vows?”
She shook her head again. “No, at the time I had not made my vows. All I lost was my honor, though, God knows, that is loss enough.” She moved to the window and looked out. “All I am asking is that you tell my son no stories about wars and warriors,” she said, more gently.
It was reasonable, since he was her son and responsibility, and anyway could
be no more likely to become a warrior than I myself, so I agreed and ate my porridge in silence, wondering who she was.
When I finished, the woman turned from the window, smiled again, trying to lighten the air. “Here, let me look at your head.”
I let her. She looked, then put on some salve and bandaged it. When she finished she stood back, wiping her hands.
“How is Eivlin?” I asked her. “The woman I came with?”
“Still asleep. We are keeping her warm and comfortable.”
I was quiet a moment. “Will she wake up?” I asked.
Instead of answering, she looked at me closely. “Does it matter to you so very much?”
“Yes.” I had to say again what I had said the night before. “I love her.”
She looked at me for a moment longer, then smiled in a way that made me realize that she had distrusted me before. It was an open, warm smile that made her face breathtakingly beautiful. “You are speaking the truth,” she said. “Forgive me—there is so much evil done to women in these dark days that one is inclined to suspect it when there is none. Your…friend is fortunate.” She picked the tray up again. “Now,” she said, briskly, “you must stay in bed and rest. Teleri says that that is the best treatment for head injuries.”
“I’ll stay in bed, then.” Though, without Gwyn, it would be maddening for very long, and if Gwyn came I thought it might be difficult to stay off the subject of Camlann. “Are you going to send a priest to give me the sacrament?” Gwyn’s “Father Gilla” sounded sympathetic.
She smiled again at that. “I’ll speak to Father Carnedyr when he has given the children their lessons. Teleri will probably come by later, and you can talk to her as well, for that is what you’re wanting, is it not? You can tell Teleri that I—that is, that Elidan—is seeing about the priest…what’s the matter?”
Elidan.
After all my lord’s searching, I was the one who had found her, and quite by accident. But it had to be her. If she had taken her vows after Gwyn was born, or just before he was born, that made it eight years or so, the right time…
And it meant that Gwyn was Gwalchmai’s son, and it explained how Bran had found out about Elidan’s well-kept secret. Dear God.
“Lady,” I said, “I have heard your name before.”
She was startled, and for a moment, I thought, afraid; but if she was afraid she hid it quickly. Only her eyes narrowed a little as she said, “It is possible. My name is not common, but neither is it unknown. But I do not know where you could have heard of me. I am only a sister at St. Elena’s.”
“Whose father’s name was Caw, and whose brother was once king of Ebrauc.”
Her face froze. “That is nonsense,” she said at once, making amends. “You have heard of someone else.”
“Lady, I knew that you were thought to be somewhere in Arfon, and your accent is northern, however much you imitate the speech of Gwynedd. And you must have made your vows at the right time. Why should you deny that you are Elidan, daughter of Caw?”
She set the tray down again, hurriedly. “Very well,” she admitted, then bit her lip, straightened and went on more quietly and with great dignity, “I am Elidan, daughter of Caw. But I have renounced the world and the things of the world and…I have enemies. You must not betray me.”
“There’s no question of the world at large, Lady, but I fear I must tell my lord.”
“Your lord? Why, whose servant are you?”
“Gwalchmai ap Lot’s. He has been looking for you, Lady.”
“No!” she cried, “Not…no, I will never see him again. I swore to die first! You…listen, he deceived me, lied to me, perjured himself, murdered my brother, dishonored me and my house. I swore never to see him again. Tell him I keep my oaths!”
Her anger and horror left me speechless for a moment. Then it struck me that, if Gwalchmai had been there, he would have knelt at her feet and agreed with her, and this made me angry in turn. “He treated you badly,” I said, “but not as badly as all that. There are two sides to every quarrel, and your dishonor was as much your fault as his.”
At this the vehemence vanished and she looked at me coldly. “I forgot myself. Of course, you are only his servant. No doubt he told you some pretty story where I was all to blame. That was not the way of it…”
“He told me the story, but gave himself the blame. The only thing he couldn’t claim was that he won you by force.”
“So I am to be blamed as a willing harlot? That was what they said in Caer Ebrauc. My brother was kinder: he believed I was ensorcelled.”
“You are no fool, Lady; you cannot believe he cast some spell on you. And if you thought him a sorcerer at the time, that makes it worse.”
“But he was so beautiful!” she cried, then stopped, pressing her hands to her mouth. I stared, and she lowered them again, looking at me with a return of the anger. “Well, then, I have said it, and so he was. And he was nobly born, and famed, famed all over Britain though no older than myself. Every girl in Caer Ebrauc fell to sighing whenever his name was mentioned. But he looked only at me, as though I were more than the whole earth in his eyes. Dear God! He needed no other sorcery than his eyes and his words, I will confess it to you. I wished I could give him my soul. How could I refuse him anything in the bright world? But it was nothing to him. He took what he wanted, swore me an oath, and rode off. Then he broke his oath and killed my brother. He used me. But I am of no ignoble family, and I will not be used again. He deserves to die!”
Her voice was sharp with pain, but her eyes were fierce, hurt but clear, tearless. I remembered what the Emperor Arthur had said of her, that she would not forgive.
“Lady,” I said helplessly, then, resolving to persevere, “Lady, my lord nearly killed himself when he left you last, so he felt much the same. No, he didn’t tell me that. He barely admitted it when he was charged with it. I first met him because he was searching for you over all Britain, alone, in the dead of winter, simply to beg your forgiveness.”
She stared at me in disbelief for a moment. “To beg my forgiveness?” Her hands clenched, then relaxed. “To beg my forgiveness? How…no. How can he expect such a thing of me? I am not so weak and frail as to fall on his neck again when next he beckons. I will not say to him, ‘Very well, it was nothing, I will marry you.’ He wanted to marry me. After he killed my brother. I should have died the first day I saw him come riding into Llys Ebrauc with the sun behind him: and may I die truly if ever I see him again and give him my ‘forgiveness’.”
“But he has repented of it most bitterly!” I pleaded. “And, in Christ’s name, Gwyn is his son.”
At that her eyes froze me like the wind in January. “Not Gwyn,” she said, evenly but with greater force than any she had used yet. “Gwyn is my son. He will not take my child away. I will not let my Gwyn grow up a warrior in some fortress, to his own destruction. I will fight Gwalchmai with my bare hands if he tries to take Gwyn away from me.”
“You’d rather let your child be called a nun’s bastard?” I demanded, trying to get out of bed to face her.
“Yes, yes, far better ‘nun’s bastard’ than ‘warrior’s bastard’! You stupid fool of a servant, haven’t you learned yet that courts are cruel, dangerous and cruel? As earth is under me, heaven over me, and the sea round me, I will not let my son meet his father!”
As the words of her oath resounded in the small room, the door flew open and Teleri rushed in. She stopped in the doorway and looked from me to Elidan, then back to me. She came fully into the room and pushed me back into the bed with one hand. “You,” she said. “Sit down and be quiet. You should not go about shouting at your physicians. Now, Elidan, just what is happening here?”
Elidan glared at her, then drew a deep breath, almost a sob, and shook her head. “He…he is the servant of…of Gwyn’s father.”
Teleri’s eyebrows shot up and she stared at me in astonishment. “Indeed?”
“And he says that his lord is searching for me.”
“It’s true enough,” I said. Common sense was returning to me, and I saw, with a cold weight in my stomach, that they could very easily force me to leave. Which was all very well for me, but unthinkable for Eivlin. I realized, moreover, that the lady Elidan had some cause to fear discovery, and that my language had not been tactful. “It’s true that I’m his servant,” I said, “but my lord was not as guilty in the matter as this lady may have thought. And he repented very bitterly of the way he treated her. I have just told her that he searched for her all over Britain, and that in mid-winter, all to ask her forgiveness. I could swear to it that he means no harm to her, and certainly none to this convent.”
“Oh, indeed?” said Teleri. “Travel in mid-winter is a harsh penance for any man—but this is not to the point. I do not care, Elidan, whose servant this man may be. He is sick, and our task is to heal the sick. That is that, even if he does bring his lord down on us.”
“I am afraid for my son,” said Elidan.
“Ach. Your son. Yes.” Teleri’s frown deepened. “But, my dear, what is to be done? You cannot suggest that we throw this great ox out to die.”
Elidan flushed. “I…but no, I do not make war on servants. Only…Rhys ap Sion, you owe us something for the care we have given you and your friend. Swear that you will not mention my name to your lord when you see him again. Swear as you hope for salvation.”
“How can I swear an oath such as that? My lord Gwalchmai will certainly continue to search for you.”
“What was your lord’s name?” Teleri asked in a different tone.
“Gwalchmai ap Lot.”
Elidan turned away abruptly and went to the window. She held the sill, and I saw how the bones showed white with the force of her grip.
“You never told me your lover’s name,” Teleri said to her. “You never said that he was the Emperor’s nephew.”
Kingdom of Summer Page 22
