Queen of the Summer Stars

by Persia Woolley

  “It was a fine battle, that put an end to Cerdic’s plans,” the messenger concluded.

  “Then Cerdic and his sons are dead?” I asked.

  “Well, no, Ma’am. They slipped away in the confusion—at least we didn’t find them among prisoners or bodies. They probably headed northeast, for the safety of the Fens.”

  A rabbit scampered over my grave at mention of the Fens, that immense flat waterland, steeped in the sunset’s blood. Shrouded in mists, ruled by a dead moon the color of whey, it teemed with a secret life of its own. And hidden in its heart, beyond our reach or knowledge, our most powerful enemy would no doubt continue to plot our destruction.

  The messenger was grinning broadly, so proud of the victory that he overlooked the danger I saw too well. I thanked him for news of the battle and resolutely put my mind to other things.

  ***

  We held the last of our Councils just before Samhain, and after the Blood Month festival I brought my Court back to the Mote for winter.

  Of all the places I love in Rheged, this is second only to Appleby. Situated at the juncture where the narrow, turbulent Rough Firth joins the Solway, the settlement grew up on the hillside next to a huge blunt rock that noses out of the slope of Criffel’s pine-clad ridge. If Cheddar Gorge reminded Gwyn of the first day of creation, the Mote always made me think of man’s first home—-bold and magnificent as it stands guard over the gleaming firths, safe and homey in its clustered round houses with their heavy thatched roofs.

  As a child I loved to sit on the high, flat top of the rock, watching the black-headed gulls bank and glide below and staring at the waters that swirled around its feet. Sometimes they are multishades of blue, subtle and lovely, but at other times they roil, heavy and gray, with tides that twist and pull against each other.

  It is fitting that the Rough should be both beautiful and frightening, for it is the path that runs directly to the Otherworld. Nonny used to say the mottled shadows that flee over the water’s face were the mark of spirits coming and going between lives, and if you weren’t careful, they would draw you down to Annwn, that Otherworld Hall where Arwn Himself holds court among the dead.

  “I could take a coracle out into the current,” Taliesin mused one morning as we gathered winkles from the rocks along the shore. The waters were swishing and whispering in their flight up the narrow channel, and he paused to stare along their path. “I’d creep into the Glass Castle when Arwn wasn’t looking, and drink from the sacred caldron of inspiration…”

  “You and Gwion,” I teased, remembering the story of the lad who found himself in no end of trouble because of Ceridwen’s caldron of knowledge. But the boy called Shining Brow was staring off into space as though he hadn’t heard, so I went back to the winkles.

  The Irish jeweler who set up his shop at the Mote does some of the best work in the realm, and I wanted to commission him to make a series of rondels for the horse bridles. They were to be a gift to the Companions, and both Bedivere and I were at the man’s workshop discussing the project when Frieda burst through the door, panting and breathless.

  “M’lady! The boy, the changeling, took a boat out onto the water, and it capsized. You can see his body floating beyond the quicksand bank, and it’s drifting toward a whirlpool!”

  “Annwn, indeed!” I swore, rushing out to see.

  Sure enough, Taliesin’s lifeless form bobbed up and down in the turbulent waters. Bedivere was already running down to the shore, and as a horrified crowd gathered, the one-handed lieutenant grabbed fishing spear and net and pushed one of the little boats out into the current. He moved so quickly, using the hook on his leather gauntlet in place of his missing fingers, one almost forgot his disadvantage. Within minutes he had snagged the boy’s tunic and, pulling him into the boat, brought him back to the shore where we had gathered.

  Soaked to the skin himself, Bedivere worked over the inert figure, determined to bring the changeling back to life. An immense amount of water streamed from the boy’s mouth before he began to cough and sputter on his own and Bedivere turned the rescue effort over to someone else.

  “I thought he’d never come to,” the Champion admitted after we’d stripped the lad of his sopping clothes and bundled him into bed.

  The lieutenant’s teeth had begun to chatter, so I gave him a steaming mug of the brew Enid had made for Taliesin and led him to a seat by the brazier. He let me towel his hair dry and drape a quilt over his shoulders.

  “It was a brave thing you did, M’lord.” I came round to stare into his angular face with love and admiration. “You’re a fine man, Sir Bedivere of the Round Table—one of the best. And you’d make a good father as well. Have you no thought of marriage and a son of your own?”

  “Ah, Gwen, you know I’ve already given my love to one lady; I can’t very well take it back now and give it to another,” he replied slowly.

  “Just because Brigit didn’t want to marry doesn’t mean you can’t find someone else to love and share your life with,” I pointed out.

  “No…I suppose not. But I don’t want any other woman than Brigit, any more than I’d serve any other King than Arthur. That’s just the way things are.”

  It was said so simply I couldn’t argue with it. Yet it was such a waste. Bedivere had always been a kind of Pied Piper for children—they trailed after him in droves, anxious to learn from him, eager to emulate him. Like Lance, he always had time to stop and listen to a question, explain an easier way of doing something, or, as he had today, risk his own safety to rescue one in trouble. It seemed a pity that such men were willing to spend their lives alone when they’d make such good fathers.

  “At least—” he grinned good-naturedly—“Taliesin will live to sing another song.”

  So we laughed and left it at that. Afterward there were some who said Bedivere should have let the Gods have their way, for when he was recovered the lad told endless tales of having invaded Annwn’s Hall in search of the sacred vessel. I found his stories amusing and sometimes fancied I saw the strange light around his head that graces those who’ve been to the Otherworld. Perhaps in that way his name had been prophetic.

  ***

  Spring came early that year. The curlews moved inland to their nesting sites while the rooks played in the air, tumbling and falling like acrobats above the trees. Great flocks of swans and geese filled the skies, leaving the Solway for their northern haunts, and in the grasses the high squeak of field mice said the earth was warming again. I watched the Scales rise in the evening sky and knew Arthur would be seeing them as well, so I moved the Court to Penrith in order to be closer when he sent for us.

  The knowledge that I would soon be rejoining my husband brought a great lift of spirits, and when I went out to count the sheep at the inby, my heart was soaring.

  The young lambs gamboled across the green, bouncing and bounding as effortlessly as small clouds. They delighted in running and chasing each other, leaping about on springy legs until, suddenly lost, they began bleating so pitifully that it all but broke your heart. And once the ewe was found, such gladness of greeting, such nuzzling and happiness! Butting against the mother’s udder, each lambkin would fall to its knees, tail whirling in delight as it searched for the comfort of the teat.

  “Just like all young’uns,” the shepherd said, grinning.

  I watched the game played out over and over again—frolic, fear, loss, and the delight of reassurance when mother and child were reunited—and for the first time since Stirling knew I was ready to carry another child. The realization came with absolute certainty, and I laughed aloud with joy.

  This time there would be no medicine from Morgan, no worry about conception or health, not even consternation over Arthur’s attitude. I was sure and confident about the outcome as never before and convinced that once it was born Arthur would come to love his bairn. So I waved good-bye to the shepherd when the count
was done and headed back to Court with a new purpose in mind.

  Bedivere was busy stowing food into a saddlebag when I came into the kitchen, and he related the news a messenger had brought while I was out. Arthur had been making his headquarters at Liddington, the enormous hill-fort that guards the Roman Road where it crosses the Ridgeway. But with the arrival of good weather he’d decided to refortify the hill-fort at South Cadbury, where we had camped under the summer stars. It was a good location for permanent headquarters but wouldn’t be habitable for a while yet.

  “He’s asked me to join him, to help lay out the buildings,” Bedivere explained.

  I snorted, wondering if there was anything Bedivere couldn’t be—warrior, diplomat, bard, and now engineer.

  “Why don’t I come with you?” I asked, handing him the last of the jerky.

  “Because you have a court to move.” Bedivere closed the top on his miniature larder. “A single horseman can make better time than an entire entourage. I think Arthur will be sending for you soon, however—-perhaps a week or two after Beltane.”

  That made sense, so I resigned myself with a sigh; after managing on my own these last eight months, I could be patient for another fortnight.

  “When are you leaving?”

  “As soon as I get my clothes together.”

  “Ah, the joys of being a free agent.” I grinned, and Bedivere laughed.

  “Tired of being Queen already?”

  “Ready to be a woman for a change,” I shot back, and he lifted one eyebrow.

  “I’ll tell Arthur,” he promised, slinging the saddlebag onto his shoulder.

  “You might also tell him that his Queen has had enough of the north, and looks forward to returning to the civilized south,” I added as we walked down to the stables. I knew the comment would make Arthur laugh.

  Bedivere gave me a grin and a wave as he left, and I turned my attention to the Beltane preparations, for May Day was coming shortly.

  Griflet would take care of the Need-fire, and in the morning the May Queen would lead us all in the procession to turn the cows onto the summer pastures. Both humans and animals would be decked with garlands, and the sound of conch and cowbell, pipe and drum would welcome in Dame Summer.

  ***

  With my new resolve toward motherhood, I had a very personal interest in seeing that all went well, both for the land’s fertility and my own.

  Chapter XXI

  May Day

  But M’lady, with Bedivere gone and most of the men sleeping off their carousing, there’ll only be Uwain and myself, plus a couple of pages to accompany you.” Griflet was frowning in the Need-fire’s light, convinced the best way to protect his Queen was to have her stay home.

  “Nonsense,” I chided him good-naturedly. “What could possibly happen to us on May Day morn? It won’t take that long, and we’ll be back in plenty of time for the crowning of the May Queen.”

  The garlands of cowslips and kingcups, early roses and ivy leaves, had been plaited during the last few days, but I wanted to pick my own hawthorn blossoms from the magical thorn tree I remembered from childhood. “Mayflowers are part of the tradition,” I reminded the Kennel Master.

  “Aye,” he sighed. “But there’s hawthorn hedges everywhere—couldn’t you use one closer? I don’t feel comfortable traveling so far afield with the King gone and all.”

  “Well, I don’t feel comfortable about not having a child, either.” I lowered my voice and fixed Griflet with a conspiratorial gaze. “The flowers I collect tomorrow morning will help in that.”

  I counted on the young warrior being reluctant to argue with his Queen about such a personal matter, and when he blushed and looked away I knew the argument was won.

  “My women and I will be at the stables come dawn,” I concluded cheerfully, turning back to the dancing before he could say anything further.

  ***

  The eastern sky was just coming to color as we started out. We headed south toward a small, hidden glen in the midst of the forest where the ancient thorn tree had been drifted in blossoms in the years past. It’s a secret place with a holy well nearby, and I was counting on the presence of the Water Goddess to assure my future dreams.

  The tree stood at the center of a glade, its thick trunk fluted like a column. In the early light the clouds of flowers glowed ghostly white, and it exhaled the sweet, dear scent of May Days past.

  My women and I joined hands in a circle around it, softly chanting the Goddess’s blessing, calling the sun up through a golden dawn. Sweetly and gravely we began the small prayers and innocent steps of the dance. Light-footed, with arms slowly unfurling like the tender stalks of an early fern, we turned into the sunlight—warming, tingling, opening as the light of day flowed over us until we hopped and skipped and pranced with pride, full of the rich laughter of our own flowering.

  It was a beautiful celebration, calling forth the deep, thrilling unity of womankind, and when I dropped to the greensward my ladies-in-waiting showered me with clusters of mayflowers plucked from the tree. Soft as feathers—delicately touched by a tiny speck of red at the base of each petal, with little golden crowns in their centers—they filled my lap, caught in my hair, overflowed onto the grass. There were so many of them that when I was back astride Shadow I had to make an apron of my cape in order to carry them all.

  During the entire time our escorts had remained on their horses like sentries at the edge of the clearing, vigilant in protecting us and our rites. The beauty of the morning still enthralled us as we headed home, and we filled the air with May Day songs and laughter—not even Griflet’s nervousness could dampen the mood.

  It was where the path from the streamside meets the Road that the bandits swept down upon us.

  In the lead, Uwain barely had time to yell a warning before the brigands surrounded us.

  “Go for help!” Griflet commanded him as the women began to scream.

  The Kennel Master’s sword flashes free, his horse swinging sideways across the path in an effort to protect me. Three of the bandits surround him—a brutish arm lifts and slashes downward, its swordblade slicing through the air.

  Shadow shies in panic as time comes unhinged, and everything takes on a slow and languid look. Sound and color roar over me: Griflet tumbling from his horse, head bloodied, mouth open. His young body floats through the air before settling onto the ground beneath the horses’ hooves. Sobs and curses and the crunch of broken bones wash over me, mingling with the fragrance of the hawthorn flowers still clutched in my arms.

  A horse goes down, flailing wildly. For a moment our assailants’ onrush is checked as they are forced to veer around it. A gap opens, and I crouch forward, screaming for Shadow to bolt through it, but the frightened animal only jibs sideways. I wish vainly that I had Featherfoot under me—even my father’s stallion, headstrong as he was, would be better than this silly mare.

  In the midst of the melee Enid wrestles valiantly with a hefty warrior who is intent on reaching me. Her bravery makes me suddenly ashamed—I would have turned and run while others risked their lives for mine. My fear becomes anger, and I lash the brigand with my riding crop until, at last, he veers from my lady-in-waiting to me.

  “Unhand my people,” I demanded, glaring at the fellow. My voice came deep and furious. “I’m the High Queen of Britain, and I command you to call off your men.”

  “Good to know we’ve got the right one,” the bandit jeered, grabbing Shadow’s bridle. His face was half-hidden by a helmet, but Maelgwn’s badge was newly sewn on the shoulder of his tunic.

  “Just wait ’til my cousin hears of this,” I yelled over the racket. “He’ll make you pay for such insolence.”

  “It’s he who will pay.” The wretch lifted his head with a laugh. “‘Wherever you can find her’…those were his orders.”

  The words echoed and reechoed in my
head as he pulled Shadow away from the fracas, dragging us off the path into the forest. “I’ve got the prize,” he bellowed to his companions.

  Swearing by all the Gods I knew, I hauled back on the reins in an effort to break free until my poor mare reared and twisted violently under the conflicting pressures.

  “Enough of that,” the leader growled, raising his balled fist in threat. “I’d as soon deliver you to my lord unconscious as not.”

  There was no doubt he meant it. By now the rest of his men had left the path and fanned out around us. My captor snatched the reins from my hands, and we moved smartly into the wildwood.

  Stunned, I slumped in the saddle, sullen and silent. At least the brutal attack was over; the last I heard was the voice of a page calling Griflet’s name before the curtain of trees cut off all contact with the real world and I faced the nightmare alone.

  The harvest of mayflowers was still in my arms, and with the barest movement of my fingers I began dropping them a few at a time as we went along. I dared not look back to see whether they were catching on the brush or falling to the trail but hoped their unexpected presence within this dark and foreboding forest would mark the way for anyone who came looking for me.

  We rode without comment or discussion of routes. The ruffians obviously knew where we were, but even if I could escape, I would be hopelessly lost and easily recaptured.

  Eventually we reached a camp where a pair of guards greeted us with crude enthusiasm and several suggestive gestures. The tenor of their remarks reminded me that Saxons are not the only ones who rape and pillage. I glared at them imperiously, thinking royal dignity is cold comfort when you need quick action to turn the tide of things.

  They allowed me to dismount, but as my hands were being tied behind me Shadow suddenly broke free and streaked off through the forest. It brought a muttering of oaths, though no one bothered to go after her.

  A blindfold was dropped over my eyes, but I managed to spit on the bully in front of me before the cloth was jerked tight. Someone cuffed me in retaliation, landing a punch on my shoulder that wrenched it backward violently. Under the edge of the blindfold I could make out the boots of a man in front of me, and with a rage and strength I didn’t know I had, I brought my knee up hard and fast.