by Mary Stewart
She looked up at last, her face serene again. "I had your letter, and Arthur's, but there is so much more that I want to hear. Tell me what happened at Luguvallium. When he left to ride north again Colgrim, I knew he was not fit to do so. He swore he must take the field, even if he had to be carried in a litter. Which, I understand, is what happened?"
For Ygraine, the "he" of Luguvallium was certainly not her son. What she wanted was the story of Uther's last days, not the tale of Arthur's miraculous coming into his kingdom. I gave it to her.
"Yes. It was a great fight, and he fought it greatly. They carried him to the battlefield in a chair, and all through the fighting his servants kept him there, in the very thick of the battle. I had Arthur brought down from Galava at his orders, for him to be publicly acknowledged, but Colgrim attacked suddenly, and the King had to take the field without making the proclamation. He kept Arthur near him, and when he saw the boy's sword broken in the fight, threw him his own. I doubt if Arthur, in the heat of the battle, saw the gesture for what it was, but everyone else did who was near. It was a great gesture, made by a great man."
She did not speak, but her eyes rewarded me. Ygraine knew, none better, that Uther and I had never loved one another. Praise from me was something quite other than the flattery of the court.
"And afterwards the King sat back in his chair and watched his son carry the fight through to the enemy, and, untried as he was, bear his part in the rout of the Saxons. So later, when he presented the boy at last to the nobles and the captains, his work was half done. They had seen the sword of kingship handed over, and they had seen how worthily it had been used. But there was, in fact, some opposition..."
I hesitated. It was that very opposition that had killed Uther; only a few hours before time, but as surely as the blow from an axe. And King Lot, who had led the opposing faction, was contracted to marry Ygraine's daughter Morgan.
Ygraine said calmly: "Ah, yes. The King of Lothian. I heard something of it. Tell me."
I should have known her. I gave her the whole story, omitting nothing. The roaring opposition, the treachery, the sudden, silencing death of the King. I told her of Arthur's eventual acclamation by the company, though dwelling lightly on my part in that. ("If he has indeed got the sword of Macsen, he got it by God's gift, and if he has Merlin beside him, then by any god he follows, I follow him!") Nor did I dwell on the scene in the chapel, but told her merely of the oath-taking, of Lot's submission, and Arthur's declaration of Gorlois' son Cador as his heir.
At this, for the first time, the beautiful eyes lighted, and she smiled. I could see that this was news to her, and must go some way to assuaging the guilt of her own part in Gorlois' death.
Apparently Cador, either through delicacy, or because he and Ygraine still held aloof from one another, had not told her himself. She put out her hand for her wine, and sat sipping it while I finished the tale, the smile still on her mouth.
One other thing, one most important thing, would also have been news to her; but of this I said nothing. But the unspoken part of the tale was loud in my own mind, so that when Ygraine spoke next, I must have jumped like a dog to the whip. "And Morgause?"
"Madam?"
"You have not spoken of her. She must have grieved for her father. It was a fortunate thing that she could be near him. He and I have both had cause to thank God for her skills."
I said, neutrally: "She nursed him with devotion. I am sure that she will miss him bitterly."
"Does she come south with Arthur?"
"No. She has gone to York, to be with her sister Morgan."
To my relief she asked no more questions about Morgause, but turned the subject, asking where I was lodged.
"In the tavern," I told her. "I know it from the old days, when I was working here. It's a simple kind of place, but they have taken pains to make me comfortable. I shan't be here for long." I glanced round me at the glowing room. "For yourself, do you plan a long stay, madam?"
"A few days only." If she had noticed my look at the luxury surrounding her, she gave no sign of it. I, who am not normally wise in the ways of women, realized suddenly that the richness and beauty of the place were not for Ygraine's own comfort, but had been deliberately contrived as a setting for her first meeting with her son. The scarlet and gold, the scents and waxlights, were this ageing woman's shield and enchanted sword.
"Tell me -- " She spoke abruptly, straight out of the preoccupation that, through all else, bound her. "Does he blame me?"
It was the measure of my respect for Ygraine that I answered her directly, with no pretense that the subject was not uppermost in my mind as well. "I think you need have no fear of this meeting. When he first knew of his parentage, and of his inheritance, he wondered why you and the King had seen fit to deny him that birthright. He could not be blamed if, at first, he felt himself wronged. He had already begun to suspect that he was royal, but he assumed that -- as in my case -- the royalty came sideways...When he knew the truth, with the elation came the wondering. But -- and I swear that this is true -- he gave no hint of bitterness or anger; he was anxious only to know why. When I had told him the story of his birth and fostering, he said -- and I will give you his exact words --'I see it as you say she saw it; that to be a prince one must be ruled always by necessity. She did not give me up for nothing.'"
There was a little silence. Through it I heard echoing, unspoken save in my memory, the words with which he had finished: "I was better in the Wild Forest, thinking myself fatherless, and your bastard, Merlin, than waiting yearly in my father's castle for the Queen to bear another child to supplant me."
Her lips relaxed, and I saw her sigh. The soft underlids of her eyes had a faint tremor, which stilled as if a finger had been laid on a thrumming string. Color came into her face, and she looked at me as she had looked all those years ago, when she had begged me to take the baby away and hide him from Uther's anger. "Tell me...what is he like?"
I smiled slightly. "Did they not tell you, when they brought you news of the battle?"
"Oh, yes, they told me. He is as tall as an oak tree and as strong as Fionn, and slew nine hundred men with his own hand alone. He is Ambrosius come again, or Maximus himself, with a sword like the lightning, and the witchlight round him in battle like the pictures of the gods at the fall of Troy. And he is Merlin's shadow and spirit, and a great hound follows him everywhere, to whom he speaks as to a familiar." Her eyes danced. "You may guess from all this that the messengers were black Cornishmen from Cador's troop. They would always rather sing a poem than state a fact. I want fact."
She always had. Like her, Arthur had dealt with facts, even as a child; he left the poetry to Bedwyr. I gave her what she wanted.
"The last bit is almost true, but they got it the wrong way round. It is Merlin who is Arthur's shadow and spirit, like the great hound who is real enough; that's Cabal his dog that his friend Bedwyr gave him. For the rest, what shall I say? You'll see for yourself tomorrow...He is tall and favors Uther rather than you, though he has my father's coloring; his eyes and hair are as dark as mine. He is strong, and full of courage and endurance -- all the things your Cornishmen told you, brought down to life-size. He has the hot blood and high temper of youth, and he can be impulsive or arrogant, but under it all he has hard sense and a growing power of control, like any good man of his age. And he has what I consider a very great virtue. He is willing to listen to me."
This won another smile from her, with real warmth in it. "You mean to jest, but I am with you in counting that a virtue! He is lucky to have you. As a Christian, I am not allowed to believe in your magic -- indeed, I do not believe in it as the common folk do; but whatever it is, and wherever it comes from, I have seen your power working, and I know that it is good, and that you are wise. I believe that whatever owns and moves you is what I call God. Stay with my son."
"I shall stay as long as he needs me."
Silence fell between us then, while we both looked at the fire. Ygraine's eyes dreamed und
er their long shadowed lids, and her face grew still once more, and tranquil; but I thought it was the waiting stillness of the forest depth, where overhead the boughs roar in the wind, and the trees feel the storms shaking them to the very root.
A boy came tiptoeing to kneel on the hearth and pile fresh logs on the fire. Flames crept, crackled, leaped into light. I watched them. For me, too, the pause was merely one of waiting; the flames were only flames.
The boy went away quietly. The girl took the goblet from the Queen's relaxed hand, and held her own out, a timid gesture, for my cup. She was a pretty creature, slim as a wand, with grey eyes and light-brown hair. She looked half-scared of me, and was careful, as I gave her the cup, not to touch my hand. She went quickly away with the empty vessels. I said softly: "Ygraine, is your physician here with you?"
Her eyelids fluttered. She did not look at me, but answered as softly. "Yes. He travels with me always."
"Who is it?"
"His name is Melchior. He says he knows you."
"Melchior? A young man I met in Pergamum when I studied medicine there?"
"The same. Not so young now. He was with me when Morgan was born."
"He is a good man," I said, satisfied.
She glanced at me sideways. The girl was still out of hearing, with the rest of the women at the other side of the room. "I should have known I could hide nothing from you. You won't let my son know?"
I promised readily. That she was mortally ill I had known as soon as I saw her, but Arthur, not knowing her, and having no skill in medicine, might notice nothing. Time enough for that later. Now was for beginnings rather than endings.
The girl came and whispered to the Queen, who nodded and stood up. I rose with her. The chamberlain was advancing with some ceremony, lending the borrowed chamber yet another touch of royalty. The Queen half turned to me, her hand lifting to invite me with her to table, when suddenly the scene was interrupted. From somewhere outside came the distant call of a trumpet; then another, nearer, and then, all at once, the clash and excitement of arriving horsemen, somewhere beyond the monastery walls.
Ygraine's head went up, with something of the old lift of youth and courage. She stood very still. "The King?" Her voice was light and quick. Round the listening room, like an echo, went the rustle and murmur of the women. The girl beside the Queen was as taut as a bowstring, and I saw a vivid blush of excitement run up clear from neck to forehead.
"He is early," I said. My voice sounded flat and precise. I was subduing a pulse in my own wrist, which had quickened with the swelling hoof-beats. Fool, I told myself, fool. He is about his own business now. You loosened him, and lost him; that is one hawk who will never be hooded again. Stay back in the shadows, king's prophet; see your visions and dream your dreams. Leave life to him, and wait for his need.
A knock at the door, and a servant's quick voiced. The chamberlain went bustling, but before him a boy came pelting with the message hurriedly relayed, and stripped of its courtly phrasing: "With the Queen's leave...The King is here and wants Prince Merlin. Now, he says."
As I went I heard the silent room break into hubbub behind me, as the pages were sent scurrying to refurbish the tables, and bring fresh waxlights and scents and wine; and the women, clucking and crooning like a yardful of fowl, bustled after the Queen into the bedchamber.
3
"She's here, they tell me?" Arthur was hindering, rather than helping, a servant drag off his muddied boots. Ulfin had after all come back from the chapel; I could hear him in the adjoining room, directing the servants of the household in the unpacking and bestowing of Arthur's clothes and furnishings. Outside, the town seemed to have burst open with noise and torches and the stamping of horses and the shouting of orders. Now and again one could hear, distinct through the hubbub, the squealing giggle of a girl. Not everyone in Amesbury was in mourning.
The King himself gave little sign of it. He kicked free of his boots at last and shrugged the heavy cloak off his shoulders. His eyes came to me in an exact parody of Ygraine's sidelong look.
"Have you spoken with her?"
"Yes. I've just left her. She was about to give me supper, but now I think she plans to feed you instead. She only got here today, and you'll find her tired, but she has had some rest, and she'll rest again all the better for having seen you. We hardly expected you before morning."
"Caesar-speed." He grinned, quoting one of my father's phrases; no doubt I, as his teacher, had over-used it rather. "Only myself and a handful, of course. We pushed ahead. The rest of them will come up later. I trust they will be here in time for the burial."
"Who is coming?"
"Maelgon of Gwynedd, and his son Maelgon. Urbgen's brother from Rheged -- old Coel's third son, his name's Morien, isn't it? Caw couldn't come either, so he's sent Riderch -- not Heuil, I'm glad to say, I never could stand that foul-mouthed braggart. Then, let me see, Ynyr and Gwilim, Bors...and I am told that Ceretic of Elmet is on his way from Loidis."
He went on to name a few others. It seemed that most of the northern kings had sent sons or substitutes; naturally with the remnant of the Saxon armies still haunting the north they would want to stay watching their own borders. So much, indeed, Arthur was saying through the splashing of the water his servant poured for him to wash himself in. "Bedwyr's father went home, too. He pleaded some urgency, but between ourselves I think he wanted to keep an eye for me on Lot's movements."
"And Lot?"
"Headed for York. I took the precaution of having him watched. Sure enough, he's on his way. Is Morgan there still, or did she come south to meet the Queen?"
"She's still at York. There is one king you haven't mentioned yet."
The servant gave him a towel, and Arthur disappeared into it, scrubbing his wet hair dry. His voice came muffled. "Who?"
"Colgrim," I said mildly.
He emerged abruptly from the towel, skin glowing and eyes bright. He looked, I thought, about ten years old. "Need you ask?" The voice was not ten years old; it was a man's, full of mock arrogance, which under the mischief was real. Well, you gods, I thought, you put him there; you cannot count this as hubris. But I caught myself making the sign.
"No, but I am asking."
He was serious at once.
"It was tougher work than we'd expected. You might say that the second half of the battle was still to fight. We broke their strength at Luguvallium, and Badulf has died of wounds, but Colgrim was unhurt, and rallied what was left of his forces some way to the east. It wasn't just a case of hunting down fugitives; they had a formidable force there, and a desperate one. If we had gone in any less strength, they might even have turned the tables on us. I doubt if they would have attacked again -- they were making for the east coast, and home, but we caught them halfway there, and they made a stand on the Glein River. Do you know that part of the country?"
"Not well."
"It's wild and hilly, deep in forest, with river glens winding south out of the uplands. Bad fighting country, but that was against them as well as us. Colgrim himself got away again, but there's no chance now that he can pause and remuster any sort of force in the north. He rode east; that's one of the reasons that Ban stayed behind, though he was good enough to let Bedwyr come south with me again." He stood still, obedient now to his servant's hands as he was dressed, a fresh cloak flung over his shoulder and the pin made fast. "I'm glad," he finished, briefly.
"That Bedwyr's here? So I --"
"No. That Colgrim escaped again."
"Yes?"
"He's a brave man."
"Nevertheless, you will have to kill him."
"I know that. Now..." The servant stepped back, and the King stood ready. They had dressed him in dark grey, his cloak collared and lined with rich fur. Ulfin came from the bedchamber, holding a carved casket lined with embroidery, where Uther's royal circlet lay. The rubies caught the light, answering the flash from the jewels at Arthur's shoulder and breast. But when Ulfin proffered the box he shook his he
ad. "Not now, I think."
Ulfin shut the box and went from the room, taking the other man with him. The door latched behind them. Arthur looked at me, in another echo of Ygraine's own hesitation. "Am I to understand that she expects me now?"
"Yes."
He fidgeted with the brooch at his shoulder, pricked his finger, and swore. Then, with a half-smile at me: "There's not much precedent for this sort of thing, is there? How does one meet the mother who gave one away at birth?"
"How did you greet your father?"
"That's different, you know it is."
"Yes. Do you want me to present you?"
"I was going to ask you to...Well, we'd better get on with it. Some situations don't improve with keeping...Look, you are sure about supper? I've eaten nothing since dawn."
"Certain. They were running for fresh meats when I left." He took a breath, like a swimmer before a deep dive. "Then shall we go?"
She was waiting beside her chair, standing in the light of the fire. Color had run up into her cheeks, and the glow of the fire pulsed over her skin and made the white wimple rosy. She looked beautiful, with the shadows purged away, and youth lent back by the firelight and the brilliance of her eyes.
Arthur paused on the threshold. I saw the blue flash of Ygraine's sapphire cross as her breast rose and fell. Her lips parted, as if to speak, but she was silent. Arthur paced forward slowly, so dignified and stiff that he looked even younger than his years. I went with him, rehearsing in my mind the right words to say, but in the end there was no need to say anything. Ygraine the Queen, who had weathered worse moments in her time, took the occasion into her hands. She watched him for a moment, staring at him as if she would look right through his soul, then she curtsied to the ground and said: "My lord."
He put a hand out quickly, then both hands, and raised her. He gave her the kiss of greeting, brief and formal, and held her hands for a little longer before he dropped them. He said: "Mother?" trying it out. It was what he had always called Drusilla, Count Ector's wife. Then, with relief: "Madam? I am sorry I could not be here in Amesbury to greet you, but there was still danger in the north. Merlin will have told you? But I came as quickly as I could."
