He had pushed all his men well beyond their strength, but finally it was clear that they would have to rest, himself included. So he signaled a stop. Most of the men were so tired that they simply fell to the ground, dragging their saddles and blankets with them and trusting that their horses would be nearby when they awoke. No one suggested setting a watch. Arthur wanted more than anything to be able to join them, but being the commander had its curses. He carefully tethered his horse and then strolled over to where Mark and Guinevere had settled themselves. Guinevere still had one arm around her brother and was speaking to him in a low, urgent tone. As he approached, she gave Arthur a pleading look that stopped him in his tracks. This was the first time that he had really had time to see her face.
“Oh, holy Mother,” he thought with a kind of despair. “She is more exquisite than anyone told me!”
The distance between them seemed to lengthen, and he wondered if he possibly had the energy to finish walking to where she sat. .
Guinevere tried to give him a grateful smile. She was very glad that he had saved her and was respectful of the authority he had showed when he made Mark accompany them. Even now, covered with grime, he appeared impressive. She watched him come toward them, unaware that her gaze made it difficult for him to move. He was the biggest man she had ever seen, next to Timon. And while Timon seemed to be part of the forest he lived in, brown and sturdy as an oak, Arthur was different, like some force which has come to tame the wild things, yet is still half wild itself. His short hair was a rich auburn and his fine chin, normally cleanshaven, was now shaded by a stubble oddly darker than his hair. Although he felt clumsy and foolish, to her he appeared powerful, imposing, strangely exciting. Guinevere decided she liked him. There was something about him that reminded her of Gawain, only fiercer.
Arthur was amazed to find that it was still daylight when he reached them. He knew he had been walking those few steps for hours. Mark sat with his head buried on his bent knees, determined not to notice either one of them. Guinevere put her hand out to Arthur with a glance that made his head spin, so that he didn’t catch what she was saying.
“. . . and I don’t know what else to tell him to convince him,” she concluded, as Arthur tried to focus on the conversation. Who was she talking about? Oh yes, Mark. He sighed. He was more tired than he realized. What could he say to Mark? If only Mark would say something for himself.
He bent and touched Mark’s shoulder. There was a shrug as if to throw him off, but it was checked. Arthur thought it was a good sign. He wished that he had Merlin’s talent with words.
“Mark, you must listen,” he began roughly, surprised at the choke in his own voice. “I don’t know what they did to you. I don’t know why you won’t greet your sister or your old friends. We could not have rescued you sooner. We thought you were dead. You have a right to be bitter, spending three years and more in captivity like that. Please forgive me for not finding you before.”
That set Mark off. He sat up at once, his good eye blinking away tears.
“Forgive you?” he rasped. “Arthur, you always were an idiot off the field! I allowed myself to be captured. I made no attempt to escape, to send word that I still lived. I wanted to see no more of anyone! Do you understand? I’m sick of it all. I don’t want to go back. If I can’t be dead to myself, at least let me be so to the rest of the world. Look at my face! I’m half a corpse already!”
“Mark, your scars were honorably earned in battle. You have no cause to be ashamed of them. Listen to me, please! You needn’t fight again. You needn’t go near a battlefield. You are more important to me than that. So much has happened. I must have someone to help me build my city, someone who can read, who knows the old ways and who can call back the exiles. It is not enough to push back the invaders; we must create a new society for those who have survived. It doesn’t have to be Rome again. It can be better. A city of God and a city of Man combined. I have such plans, such dreams . . . but I need you to help.”
Mark looked at him with a kind of wonder. His answer was softer than before, but no less firm.
“You will build a new order, if anyone can. But not with me. It is too late for me. I have gone far beyond caring about what happens to the world. The stench of the dying, the dead, the rotting clings to me. I can’t look at anything now without wondering how long it has before it joins the refuse pile, and almost wishing that the time would come soon. I can no longer even desire the delights of heaven, but only to lay my body in the earth and shrivel into oblivion.”
Guinevere shrank from him. She could only see the ravaged profile of his face and his words, his voice were not of the brother she had loved. She wondered vaguely if she had been tricked by some roving demon into releasing him into the world.
Arthur regarded his friend with pity. “You sound like the mad Irish saints, howling that we live in a world filled with sin and decay, but they at least look forward to the purity of the next life. I have seen and smelled the same foulness as you have. I have wept over the bodies of men I sent to their doom. But it has only determined me to try, at least to try, to make something better! What good are you to the world like that? What will anyone gain by your death?”
Mark spoke slowly and with bitter defiance, “What do I care?”
Arthur sank back on his heels, defeated. His friend Mark was gone. He could not communicate with this man. All his pleasure in the accomplishment of a successful mission evaporated. Guinevere laid her hand on his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault. You tried. He’s not Mark anymore. I don’t know him. If we could only get him home!”
“No,” Mark dropped the word into the abyss between them. “I will not go back. I don’t wish to see them. You have Guinevere safe. Leave me behind.”
“Ride with us for one more day, Mark,” Arthur begged. “Just until tomorrow night. Then you may go where you wish. I will even give you a horse.”
Even as he said it he realized how foolish it was. Why would tomorrow make his feeling any different?”
“I don’t care,” Mark answered. “If you insist. Now let me be.”
His head returned to his knees.
Guinevere and Arthur rose. She was tall, only a few inches less than he, but so finely built that he felt like an oaf beside her. She moved away from her brother with casual grace, and he struggled to stay next to her without tripping on roots or the hem of her robe.
“My Lord Arthur,” she was saying. “I thank you very much for trying to help Mark and for coming to my aid. It was very kind and courageous of you to take so much trouble for me.”
He wanted to tell her that a trifling few days of his life, the danger of death, a lost night’s sleep were hardly worth her gratitude, that he would cheerfully have stormed the walls of Constantinople for the honor of having her beside him. But he could only stare at her like a homeless puppy, begging for notice.
She was puzzled that he didn’t reply. Then it occurred to her that he had probably had no rest at all in the last two nights. How rude of her to stand like this making conversation with the man, when all he wanted was a few hours’ sleep.
“But I am sure my father will better express our gratitude when we arrive at my home. Please excuse me now. I will stay with Mark, in case he . . . in case he wants something.”
She backed away, making a mental note to ask Sidra how one politely left a conversation like that. Arthur was still staring at her, and she felt she had not acquitted herself well.
He finally came to himself and returned to the place where he had left his saddle and blanket. “What a dolt I am!” he mourned. “She must have thought me a country clod, standing there, gaping at her, slack-jawed, unable to reply to the simplest sentence.”
He gave a quick glance around the camp, saw that everyone seemed to be taken care of, and dropped at once into a sound sleep.
He woke up suddenly to realize that it was already night. He jumped to his feet, conscious that he had neglected his men and fai
led to set a watch, but to his relief, everything was in good order. Some of the men were still snoring, but others had wakened and started a campfire, over which a whole pig was roasting. He called to his foster brother, Cei, who was watching the spit with hungry eyes.
“Where did that meat come from?” he demanded.
Cei chuckled. “It just wandered through the camp about dusk, thinking we were all asleep, and began rummaging in the packs. When it got to mine, I just lay there, my hand on my long knife—a swipe, a squeal, and roast pork! It’s only a small one, or I might not have been able to hold it,” he added modestly. “But it will feed us all tonight!”
Already the men were rousing to the smell of fresh meat. In spring it wasn’t often that they had anything but smoked or salted remains from the slaughter in the fall. This was a reward in itself.
Arthur noted that Guinevere was also asleep, next to Mark. His back was to her, but he had overcome his apathy enough to cover her with his cloak. Arthur wondered if he should wake her, but thought it might be indelicate. He saw to it, however, that the best cut of pork was saved for her.
Despite the desire of Guinevere to return quickly to her family, Arthur decided that it would be wisest to remain there for the rest of the night and finish the journey the next day. Now that most of the men were rested and their few cuts attended to, there would be no problem finding someone to keep watch. He doubted that the Saxons had tried to follow them, but it was just as well to be careful. All the men were in high spirits. They were immensely pleased with themselves. It boosted their morale wonderfully to know that the Saxons, who were so ferocious in battle, would run like frightened children from a ridiculous contraption such as the one they had created. Consequently, the banter that evening was light and cheerful. Most of the soldiers were too busy or too tired to be aware that the other person rescued was Mark. Arthur decided not to tell them. It wasn’t likely that Mark would let them know. He stayed away from them all and as far from the firelight as possible. Guinevere refused to leave him. She only got up for a moment to give a short speech of thanks for their daring and resourcefulness and then retired. They all agreed her words were appropriate and well-deserved.
The sun had barely risen when they left the next morning. Even traveling by the better roads, it would take almost all day to reach the villa, and Arthur guessed how eager Leodegrance and Guenlian would be for their return.
But he underestimated them. That same morning, Leodegrance had become disgruntled by the ordeal of waiting and decided to ride in the direction from which the party should return. Guenlian, seeing his intent, insisted on going with him.
“But my dear,” he argued. “You are needed here. Who will entertain Merlin? Who will arrange dinner for everyone?”
“Pincerna will see to the dinner and Merlin can see to himself. I am going with you.”
“But what if they were not successful?” Leodegrance cautioned.
Guenlian’s hands clenched. “All the more reason for me to be with you.”
He saw there would be no more discussion. The two of them set out, alone, together.
Leodegrance heard them singing before he saw them. His heart lifted. He urged his horse ahead and soon the whole company came into view. Arthur rode at the head and not far behind came Guinevere, riding behind some heavily cloaked man. As soon as she spotted them, she waved excitedly. Leodegrance and Guenlian hurried to her. Neither would be truly sure she was safe until they had their arms around her.
What was the matter with that man? He was trying to pull her away from them. Now he was pushing Guinevere from the horse and trying to escape. She was fighting him and yelling something they couldn’t make out. Then, Guinevere gave a sharp tug and managed to pull off the cloak.
Leodegrance heard Guenlian’s cry, a scream turned inward to a gasp. He suddenly felt as if someone had hit him hard directly below his ribs. He couldn’t breathe. Guinevere was hanging onto the man’s arm now, calling.
“Help me! He doesn’t want to come home! Hold him!”
They were with her at once. Mark knew there would be no escape now and found that he was sobbing too as his mother held him again, her hands searching him, touching, arms, legs, there and whole. “Oh my darling! Your poor face!” Kissing those hideous scars as if they could be charmed away like a childhood bump. Leodegrance, hands trembling, reaching out for him. How old his father had become! And Guinevere smiling as proudly as if she had invented him. For a sudden flash of time Mark felt that it might, after all, be possible to come home.
The rest of the journey took longer than anticipated, because neither parent wanted to be more than a hand’s reach away from their son. Guinevere happily traded places and rode behind her father, so that she could hug him and explain everything that had happened. It was well that Guenlian’s horse knew how to find its own way home, for she gave it little guidance. It was late afternoon before they were spotted by the guard, and as they rode in the entire household was at the gate, cheering.
“God Almighty!” Pincerna exclaimed. “It’s Lord Mark!”
“Can’t be, you old fool,” someone muttered, then, “I’m damned if you aren’t right!”
There was silence, as everyone tried to comprehend this miracle, and then the cheering became hysterical. Mark lifted his head and looked at them. He tried to pick out faces, to find one that meant something to him. But they were just faces, blurred and anonymous. The glow in the morning that for a time had convinced him it could be the same again had meanwhile vanished. He felt a fool to have believed that he could go home and be cosseted by his family and spoiled by the servants, and that the last few years would melt into nightmare, something misty and unreal. But with the first sight of the fields and brooks, the memory came back to him.
“Matthew and John aren’t here,” he thought with a jolt. “I am the only one left. Their ghosts will hound me, taunt me, every second I stay.”
As soon as he rode into the courtyard, Arthur felt a return of the sense of inferiority he had known before as he changed from his role of leader to that of guest. He could tell that this was Guinevere’s natural setting. As she dismounted and casually handed the reins to the stableman, Arthur noticed Gawain standing, leaning on the doorway. He grinned at Guinevere, who ran to him laughing and let him swing her around as he hugged her.
“I knew it was your idea!” she cried. “And I’m so glad that the days are getting longer so that you are awake to greet me! You won’t believe this, but we found my brother, Mark. He’s alive after all! Isn’t that wonderful?” and she hugged him again.
Arthur watched them in amazement. How could he treat her so casually? There he stood, one arm across her shoulder, not even looking at her, but chatting with some of the other rescuers. He had said she was like a sister, but a thought struck him with a suddenness that made him sick: She must be more than that. She must already be engaged to him. They looked well together, he had to admit. Suddenly all his heroics seemed a little flat. He looked around for Merlin.
Merlin wasn’t far. He had been watching Arthur as he observed Gawain and Guinevere and had guessed what Arthur was thinking. He would certainly do nothing to disabuse Arthur of the idea. Merlin had not really looked at Guinevere for some time. He knew she had grown but was startled and worried by how mature her beauty was. He had hoped somehow that it would fade as she grew older. He shook his head. It was clear from one sight of her that she was as naive as ever. It would never do to let that one around his Arthur too much. She didn’t belong. This idiocy of his about a marriage could only mean trouble.
Mark was hurried off to his old room and his own clothes were pulled from cedar chests for him to change into. Guenlian hated to have him out of her sight for an instant but resigned herself to it, only making him promise to bathe quickly, change, and come to her room before eating.
It was hard to bathe quickly with three years of filth to be scrubbed from one’s body, but Mark dressed as fast as possible and, his heart constricti
ng at the thought of having to face everyone, to explain, to retell all the horror, he left his room.
He nearly ran into Rhianna. She stepped back from him with a little gasp, then gave him her hand. The other hand was holding a small girlchild who stared at him with wide, familiar eyes.
It took Mark a moment to remember who she was. Then he gave the child a searching look, which caused her to hide her face in her mother’s skirts. Then he held Rhianna’s hand very gently. There was something about her that made people want to be gentle.
“I remember now. When Matthew came back from his leave, just before . . . He told me then. He said, ‘I have given Rhianna Grandmother’s ring. I never thought I would give it to anyone.’ He told us to take care of you, if . . . anything happened. But he was happier then than I had ever seen him.”
Rhianna smiled at him, a smile full of compassion and tenderness.
“Thank you,” she said. “I’m glad you’ve come home.”
They went together to Guenlian’s sitting room, where, to Mark’s relief, only a few people were gathered. After a few hearty slaps on the back and comments of pleasure on his return, Mark was even more relieved to know that no one planned on questioning him. Their minds were taken up by a message that had just come to Cador from Sidra. Guenlian only insisted that Mark sit on the same cushions with her so that she could have him always close enough to touch, should she need reassurance that he was truly alive.
Mark didn’t pay any attention at first. He was back in the mire of his own misery. Then a name caught him by surprise and jolted him to awareness.
“Alswytha, what about her?”
“Oh, I’m sorry dear,” Guenlian smoothed her hand through his hair. “I didn’t mean to remind you of them. Sidra has just sent us a note. It seems that since Aelle broke his word and attacked us again, not to mention kidnapping your sister, it is now necessary that some sort of decision be made about what to do with this girl we have as hostage.”
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