Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  Once inside my quarters I looked about, sorry that they were too small to allow Brigit to share them with me. It would have been a relief to tell her what had happened, but each cell was separate from the rest, connected only by the colonnade, and I was loath to go padding about in the middle of the night looking for her. So I undressed by myself, and going to the pitcher, filled the bowl with water and scrubbed my face in an effort to wash away Maelgwn’s touch.

  It infuriated me that my cousin should have felt free to make such a suggestion, and I was as angered by his lack of respect for the High King as I was for myself. Surely Arthur would have the man punished when he heard of it.

  If he heard of it.

  The first blaze of rage was subsiding and the voice of reason began asserting itself. This was not the sort of thing one wants to bring up about a necessary ally, and I was all too aware of Arthur’s need to rely on Maelgwn while we got the Saxon matter under control. Making a fuss about this purely personal incident could jeopardize the whole alliance.

  Then too, Arthur and I were still so new to each other, this might add an unpleasant tension to our relationship. I didn’t want him thinking I was some silly young girl who couldn’t keep a randy courtier in his place. And in fact my words to Maelgwn had implied that I would not tell Arthur if he backed down.

  I lay awake for some time debating the situation, at last concluding that if it bothered me this much, it was likely to upset Arthur a good deal too.

  As the convent bells began to ring for the midnight prayers I decided not to mention the matter. Arthur and I would be leaving in the morning while Maelgwn remained here; there was no reason to see him again for some time, and perhaps by then I would have been able to discuss the problem with Arthur. For the present it seemed best to ignore it.

  Chapter XXIX

  The Temple

  Having been so wakeful during the night, I slept later than usual and woke only when Vinnie brought me a bowl of porridge.

  My governess was full of chatter and I listened sleepily while she extolled the virtues of Chester. Not only did the baths function well, the merchants were amiable and the jewelers eager to bring out antique pieces for her inspection.

  “Isn’t it a handsome signet?” she exclaimed, proudly extending a pudgy hand so that I could admire her new ring.

  “Very nice, Vinnie,” I said, studying the carved jet in its gold mounting. “Where did it come from?”

  “They say the jet is from Whitby, but I’m sure the workmanship is Roman,” she confided, turning her hand this way and that in order to admire the thing.

  “Be careful not to lose it,” I cautioned, for though she had slipped it onto her thumb, it was still obviously too big.

  “Oh, I’ll put it in my purse once we’re under way,” she responded. “But after all, what are jewels for if not to be displayed?”

  I remembered Arthur’s comment about subsidizing the cavalry and smiled to myself.

  Later, while Vinnie checked to see if I’d left anything in the cupboard of my room, Brigit helped me get dressed, and I asked how her visit to the hospital had gone.

  “Ah,” she sighed, “Kaethi would have loved it. I’ve never seen so many vials and bottles for salves and unguents and potions, and special little jars to hold herbs, each with its own name on it. It must have been a fine pharmacia at one time. The nuns do their best at keeping it up, and care for the local people as well as the soldiers. If there isn’t one now,” she added wistfully, “I’d like to see a healing center like that at Arthur’s court.”

  Bedivere arrived and the packhorse was loaded with our luggage, while Vinnie ran about the courtyard urging the young men to be careful with this bundle or watch out for that. One would have thought the dresses they contained were the most precious in the world, but perhaps to Vinnie they were. At least she had not fussed when I returned to wearing my tunic and breeches.

  As we set out for the Praetorium I made a point of riding next to Bedivere, for I had a specific favor to ask.

  “Is there any chance you could tell Palomides’ aunt that I want to order one of the down quilts for the High King’s bed? Her cousin makes them, and she thought it would be possible to get one. But I’m not sure how to pay for it…”

  I faltered, suddenly realizing such an act assumed I was willing to become Arthur’s bride. I flushed, startled by the thought. Perhaps ascribing my confusion to maidenly modesty, Bedivere gave me an amused look and allowed that something could be arranged.

  Arthur was waiting for us at the Commandant’s quarters, cheerful and happy to be on the road so early. I was glad to see he was not one of those people who are sour and cross during the first hours of the day.

  Caesar frisked playfully beside him until Arthur spoke firmly to him, at which point the pup sat down, tail wagging and eyes bright.

  “Well, that’s certainly progress,” I said, preparing to slip down from Featherfoot’s back.

  Arthur grinned and put up a restraining hand. “No point in dismounting, I’ve already said goodbye to the men who will be staying here, and Maelgwn sends his apologies for not seeing us off.”

  I raised my eyebrows, both relieved and surprised. “Is his wife worse?”

  “No, I don’t think so. But he showed up this morning with a black eye that would do credit to a warrior. Said some whore gave it to him in a dispute over payment.”

  Arthur laughed and turned to Bedivere. My face went scarlet, and I pulled my mare’s head around and leaned forward to inspect the reins and bridle, letting my hair screen my face and the bulk of the horse’s neck hide my shame. The virtues of charity, which Vinnie had listed for me more than once, were not uppermost in my mind, and I prayed roundly that the Goddess would change my cousin into a toad.

  There was a bit of commotion as Griflet and Bedivere left for the easterly gate, and by the time our farewells had been made I had forgotten the insult.

  Bridge Street was lined with crowds waiting to wish us well. They packed the colonnades and filled the steps leading down to the bridge, waving and cheering and pelting us with field flowers. One group even threw a handful of nuts at us, which I knew would make Vinnie happy.

  “What on earth…” Arthur exclaimed, catching one of the hard round things and trying to identify it.

  “I think they’re walnuts”—I laughed—“from some old garden nearby. Vinnie told me it’s a Roman custom to wish a couple fertility.”

  “Great, if they don’t leave me with a bruise as big as Maelgwn’s,” Arthur said with a chuckle.

  I couldn’t suppress a giggle, thinking it wasn’t likely I’d be dealing with him as I had with my cousin, and joined his laughter with my own.

  So we left Chester, in a flurry of hearty gaiety. Even Caesar seemed to enjoy it, for he barked now and then from his position across the front of Arthur’s saddle. Arthur rode with one hand on the pup’s back, steadying him and keeping him secure.

  We had come into Chester with a handful of men but we left with almost a score of Maelgwn’s nobles traveling with us. It made for a bright and lively entourage, and we set off at a quick pace down Watling Street.

  When we came abreast of Minerva’s shrine I looked across the quarry, noting a scatter of flowers strewn below the statue. Stern and proud in battle, quick of mind and very wise, this Roman deity was only another face of the Goddess and I asked Her now to bless the journey Arthur and I were beginning.

  The afternoon at the races had proved most useful for Arthur, and we were soon in a discussion of the horses he had bought and breeding arrangements he’d made. His most immediate concern was to develop an animal that could make his plan for a fast-moving cavalry unit a reality.

  “The Saxons have the advantage of slipping in and out in their long-boats, striking without warning and disappearing before help can arrive. And they seem to have more chain mail than we do. But they can’t bring horses with them, and if I can train the men to fight from horseback, we’ll even the odds considerabl
y. We need mounts with the speed to catch the raiders before they can get away, and the size to overwhelm massed groups. Between the Shires of Rheged and the animals from Chester, I hope to develop a line which serves both purposes.”

  “Won’t that take some time?” I asked, thinking of the years of breeding ahead.

  “Time,” he sighed: “that’s my greatest fear. Ambrosius beat back the main Saxon advance, and Uther more or less held the borders, so there hasn’t been a major revolt among the Federates since The Troubles. But it appears there’s a new wave of invaders massing on the Continent; people who have been pushed out of their own lands by other invaders from the east. It’s these men who pose the greatest threat. If I can just get our forces whipped into shape before the Saxon wave crests, we’ll be able to survive even a major assault.”

  He grimaced. “If…if the British kings will follow me, if the alliances among the northern kings hold, if the cavalry can be developed, if the Irish stay quiet to the west, if we don’t have any more famines or plagues…sometimes it all seems like a pile of leaves that could blow apart at the first puff of wind.” He frowned deeply, as though trying to fulfill The Cause by the sheer strength of his own will.

  “And if it does hold?” I prompted.

  “Ah, that’s the thought to keep,” he responded with a sigh. “If we can work fast enough, and time doesn’t run out, we’ll create a whole nation and a lasting peace. I’d like to see trade increased with the Continent, as well as with the Mediterranean cities. They have much more to offer than just wine and glass, and if we can redevelop the tin mines in the south, and the grain production to the north…” He paused then and stoutly patted Caesar’s back. “Who knows?—maybe even the dogs will be in demand.”

  The pup, who lay draped like a bedroll across the horse’s withers, wagged his tail feebly and raised his head. Arthur looked down at him and smiled gently.

  “Poor tyke, for all your bounce and fierceness, this can’t be much of a way to travel for you. I wonder,” he asked, turning to me, “if he’d do better in the crate with the pack train after all?”

  “I don’t know.” I hesitated. “Maybe we should ask Brigit about it.”

  “If he were bigger, he could trot along beside us,” Arthur mused. “But I’m afraid he’ll get under the horse’s hooves, or kicked, or frightened and run away. Ah well, friend,” he added, giving Caesar a further pat, “in the end it will be worth it. I promise.”

  Arthur’s face was full of tenderness and concern, and I marveled that the depth of the man’s compassion was equal to the height of his dreams.

  About midday we came to a clearing in the woods where an old track runs down from the hills to the west. It is a spot of ancient beauty, where a sacred spring gushes on the greensward, sparkling in the sun like a dewdrop amid green ferns.

  Behind the spring a ruined temple sat near the edge of the dark forest. It was in better repair than many I’d seen in the north, and while there were tiles missing from the roof and some of the colonnade of columns had collapsed, it did not have the forlorn look of an abandoned building.

  The men took their horses to the edge of the stream formed by the spring’s runoff while Arthur and I walked to the well. A traveler’s cup stood in its niche in the rockwork, and after making an oblation to the local gods we each drank. Arthur cupped some water in his hands and gave it to the grateful pup.

  One of the lieutenants approached, gesturing toward the rear of our cavalcade. I turned to discover the Road was full of people. Farmers, woodsmen, fisherfolk from riverside settlements along the way, they trudged into the green and gathered in knots of cheerful conversation at the edge of the stream. There were well over twoscore of them, all seemingly in the best of spirits. It made our traveling group one of the largest I’d ever seen, and I wondered how we’d manage at the inns.

  Merlin went past us and walked slowly up the steps of the half-ruined building. A white-haired hermit had come from inside, standing between the columns by the door and blinking in the sun as he looked to see what gift the Road had brought to his shrine.

  I watched, fascinated, as the two men greeted each other solemnly. Next to the wraithlike guardian of this ancient spot, the Enchanter appeared hale and vigorous, and hardly more than middle-aged. I wondered if it was simply the comparison, or if each had put aside his worldly image in favor of a form closer to the heart of his matter. With a respectful nod Merlin accepted the elder’s invitation to enter the temple.

  “There’s no man Merlin is not willing to learn from,” Arthur said when I mentioned it. “Always in my childhood he stressed that every person has his own story, his own wisdom…and it is a foolish leader, or scholar, who doesn’t remember that.”

  A butterfly had caught Caesar’s attention and we followed him toward the trees as he bounded after it.

  “What do you suppose they are talking about?” I asked.

  “Probably the ways of the Gods.” Arthur shrugged lightly, calling Caesar to his heel and bidding him sit.

  “But the hermit wears a cross.”

  “Merlin won’t mind,” Arthur answered, praising the dog for coming but having to bend down and push him into a sitting position. “It’s possible that the Christian is learning as much from our Sage as Merlin is from him. Out in the country the Christians care more for wisdom than for dogma and aren’t as concerned with power as they are in the towns. Haven’t you noticed that?”

  I recalled Brigit’s acceptance of other ways besides her own. Perhaps he was right, and it was only the city priests who scorned all other gods.

  “How do you feel about the Christians?” I asked, thinking this was as good a time to find out as any.

  Caesar was now sitting placidly and Arthur smiled down on him, then gestured toward the trees, and the dog went running ahead as we moved into the shade.

  “Christians?” he repeated. “Their teachings seem about the same as any other. They beg their god’s help for themselves, and call for curses on their enemies. I’m sure every god can be helpful at one time or another. But I can’t say that I would follow their White Christ alone, and I don’t condone their meddling in politics. The people need to follow those teachings they feel most comfortable with, and as long as I’m king, I’ll not favor one religion above another. I can’t afford to risk losing the people’s trust, and the leader who tries to impose one set of beliefs on all his people deserves to be viewed as a tyrant.”

  We stopped at an old log where Caesar was investigating a wood-mouse burrow, and Arthur’s brows knit with concern.

  “I will not have the people divided by holy quarrels, and what or whom I choose to pray to in the little privacy I have is strictly up to me.” He glanced briefly at me. “I understood your father raised you with much the same philosophy.”

  “Yes, yes, I couldn’t agree with you more,” I said, nodding vigorously. It was apparent that the subject was important enough for him to have considered my background before asking for my hand. I should have guessed that Arthur’s determination to unify his realm would override all else, and any religion that tended to be exclusionary would definitely not be encouraged.

  Suddenly all my fears of Roman courts and dogmatic restraints vanished. There seemed a wholeness of spirit between Arthur and me that filled me with the sheer exuberance of joy and I wanted to run and sing and dance in the April sunshine. The beauty of it flowed through me and I threw my hands up and laughed with pure delight.

  Caesar leapt up, hopeful of a game. I made a lunge for him and he dodged away, dashing about in a circle and coming back to charge at Arthur. Of a sudden we were all three running and laughing in ever-widening circles across the green, chasing the wonder and lightness of springtime itself.

  Brigit joined in the game, then several of the younger guard and the people from Chester, until everyone became part of the whirling circle, laughing and capering about as if we were a troop of sidhe. It was like the dance on Beltane morn, a celebration of pure pleasure in l
iving. The Many-Named Spirit of this place was blessing us in the ancient way.

  The gaiety and good nature continued even after we stopped for breath and the men brought the horses up. Now, instead of separate parties come together by chance on the Road, there was a bond of kinship that ran through the people like a heady wine.

  On Brigit’s advice Arthur returned the pup to his crate, promising to let him out the moment we next stopped. When he returned to my side the High King gestured toward the noisy crowd who were preparing to fall in behind us.

  “It seems,” he said wryly, “that the people have heard there’s a wedding to take place at Winchester, and nothing will do but that they escort us thither.”

  I looked at him blankly for a moment, but the grin that broke across his face was so contagious I smiled too. It was, after all, a wonderful compliment, for what better homage could a people pay their king?

  “They feel it, Gwen. They know something new and exciting is happening, and they want to be part of it.”

  His face shone radiant with hope and enthusiasm, and as I looked at him I realized that though he might not have been raised at the Sanctuary, he was certainly the stuff of which heroes are made.

  The festive mood carried well through the afternoon, and we caught up with the baggage train where they had made camp on the outskirts of Whitchurch. Arthur and his men stayed there, and the new people who had joined our party set up an informal camp of their own in the nearby woods while Brigit and Vinnie and I were escorted to a hostelry in the settlement.

  My ladies and I were given a large room set well back from the noisy courtyard and after two nights in a nun’s cell I was glad of the companionship. But I noticed that my chaperone went about unpacking with red eyes and an uncharacteristic silence.

  “What ever is the matter, Vinnie?” I inquired as she took out Mama’s comb and mirror.

  “I should have known,” she said, sniffing. “My mother always said no good would come of riding horses.” A large tear hovered on the rounded apple of her cheek, then slid over the curve and ran down to her chin.