“The sign!” Arthur was beside himself. “The Lady promised me a sign to defend the right!” He turned a blind gaze on Guenevere. “And to defend you, my Queen!”
Leaning forward, he reached out and seized the sword. The waters parted, and the hand that held it sank. In the dusk of evening, they could not see who or what moved below the glassy surface of the Lake. But the gift had reached its destination, without doubt.
The sword lay quietly across Arthur’s lap. Awed and speechless, Gawain, Kay, and Bedivere gathered around Arthur to admire the prize. Even in repose the long silver blade flashed fire, and the massive hilt of gold with its smooth gemstones was made for a warrior’s grip.
Down the blade ran a line of ancient runes. Arthur turned to Guenevere. “Can you tell these marks?”
The sword was light and strong within her hands. The runes leaped in the half-light like living things. Guenevere turned the blade this way and that as she struggled to make them out. “ ‘She Who Is and Was, Made Me for Your Hand,’ ” she spelled out at last. “ ‘They Call Me Excalibur.’ ”
“Excalibur!”
Arthur sighed in bliss and fell to his knees. Reverently he grasped the blade and brought the hilt to his lips. “You are mine now,” he whispered, “and you and I shall never part, till the last battle on the last day on earth.”
Guenevere could not hold back. Gently she reached out to the great form kneeling in the bottom of the boat. Arthur looked up and set Excalibur down to reach for both her hands.
“You too, my lady!” he cried passionately. “From now on, you and I will never part! For me you will always be the sun in winter, the light in the darkened hall.” He was weeping now, dashing away great tears. “Marry me, Guenevere! Take me for your love!”
She was shuddering so hard that she could scarcely stand. Now the vision that had come to her in the Council meeting could no longer be contained. “Hear me, Arthur,” she said tremulously. “You spoke of your one desire to win back your father’s kingdom. Now we talk of uniting your lands with mine, to make one greater kingdom of the two. Have you thought …”
She paused to breathe, and let her soul take flight. “… have you thought that together we could build something greater yet? That it lies in our power to turn back the tide of lawlessness that threatens our land, and bring back the glory it once knew?”
Arthur’s face was very white. He did not speak.
Guenevere surged on. “That we could make all these scattered kingdoms into one, and turn this country into an island of the mighty once again?” Now she could hardly speak. “That we are destined to become High King and Queen?”
Now Arthur felt the force of what she saw. “You are the Throne Woman,” he breathed. “Take me to your throne, and I will deliver this whole country into your hands. You say I might be High King of these islands? I will make you High Queen of all the world! You and I shall so rule that our names will never die!”
Guenevere seized his hand, and the blood sang in her veins. “Let us make the sacred marriage then, not as our mothers made it, changing with the years, but in a new mating, to become forever the mother and the father of this land!”
“And of many children,” Arthur cried with shining eyes.
And suddenly she was trembling, and something caught around her heart. She could feel the cold wind of death and the breath of sudden loss, but of what, she did not know. “Children?” she said faintly. “If the Mother blesses us. If the Great Ones permit.”
BUT THAT SHADOW passed with the moment, and Guenevere was in high spirits again as they rode back to Camelot. Arthur’s gentle kiss as they pledged their love gave Gawain, Kay, and Bedivere the signal for whoops of delight, much back-slapping, and uproarious mirth all round. The hours on the road seemed nothing as they hastened back joyfully to make nightfall and home. At last they crossed the causeway, gained the outer courtyard of the castle, and threw down their reins to the grooms who came to their aid.
Flushed with laughter, Guenevere turned to Arthur and took his hands. “My lord—”
“Your Majesty?” It was the stately figure of the chamberlain. “A stranger arrived, only moments ago. We have not yet enquired his business here. Will it please you greet the man?”
She looked at Arthur, smiling into his eyes. “A visitor for you or me, my lord?” she murmured happily. “Well, we shall find out.”
INSIDE THE GATEHOUSE, a different air breathed from the low stone roof, brick floor, and clammy walls. A group of knights and men formed a crowd around the roaring fire on the hearth.
“Make way for the Queen and King Arthur!” cried the guard.
The group around the stranger parted at once. In the center stood a wild, aged man, richly clad. His thick gray hair flowed down to his shoulders and beyond. He had the golden eyes of the Old Ones and a smile as old as time. He stood like a shadow of darkness in the green twilight of the room. As they came forward, his gaze raked both of them and pounced like a hawk on Guenevere.
“Merlin!” cried Arthur in ecstasy.
And Guenevere found herself looking into the mad yellow glare of the stranger who had haunted her days and stalked her waking nights.
CHAPTER 18
He was dressed like a king in a velvet gown of forest green and a traveling coat of thick furs that swept the ground. Gold earrings writhed like serpents in his ears. A circle of silver held back his flowing hair, and his fingers flashed with jewels as big as thrushes’ eggs. As he raised his arms the torches leaped up the walls and flickered with blue and yellow light. Everything about him was strange and wonderful. “Merlin!” Arthur cried again. “So, boy, so!”
The old man’s thin lips split in a cackle of delight. Arthur sprang forward and crushed him to his chest. Merlin returned the embrace, clapping Arthur on the back in a pantomime of joy. But over Arthur’s shoulder, the fierce unsmiling eyes never left Guenevere’s face.
She was numb with shock. Merlin here, Merlin the enchanter, the old prince of darkness himself?
Oh, I have seen you before, sir, though you think I do not know who you are.
Fragments of remembered voices rang in her head.
“Make no more queens, for there is one coming who will sweep you away”—yes, you were a beggar man then, old sir. “Merlin’s messenger” you called yourself.
For a second the crazed old derelict reared up in her mind’s eye. A moment later another shape took his place. A stately bard, pacing toward her on the Hill of Stones. Another soothsayer, miraculously granted a vision of a future that excluded her. Another voice, speaking against her right. “The Gods themselves have sent Malgaunt to Guenevere. He will rule this land, he will be the father of many kings …”
Merlin, Merlin, oh, I know you now …
He saw at once that she had recognized him. Another yellow smile split his ancient face as he released himself from Arthur’s clasp. “Madam, forgive us!” he declared with an old-fashioned bow. “My lord, will you present me to the Queen?”
Arthur was like a puppy as he bounded around them both. “With all my heart!” he cried ecstatically. “For you two must be friends! Give Merlin your best welcome, my lady Guenevere.”
“Greetings, Lord Merlin.” Guenevere forced a smile. “Tomorrow we shall feast your arrival here.” And tomorrow will be soon enough, she prayed, to tell him of our plans.
But Arthur had no thought of holding back. “Oh, Merlin, so much has happened!”
A quick alert awoke in Merlin’s eyes. “Tell me, my lord.”
Arthur waved his arms self-consciously. “The Queen and I—that is, I and Queen Guenevere—”
“Sire?”
Arthur turned color and grinned. “Confound you, Merlin, you came too late for what has happened here!” His eyes sought Guenevere with a look of shining love.
The old man’s smile vanished like snow in spring. “Too late?”
And suddenly Guenevere saw him clad from head to foot not in furs but in creeping toadflax, his long crooke
d fingers straining toward her like briars, his eyes darting poison, and the tongues of serpents hissing from his mouth.
Then her sight cleared, and understanding came to her in a flood. He never thought that his boy, his puppet Arthur, would act for himself. He thought he had time to promote Malgaunt’s claim and dispose of me.
He was so intent on forwarding his own schemes that he never thought to look behind. And Arthur was coming behind him to find me.
Arthur—
A surge of joy filled her from head to foot. Arthur proved to be his own man after all.
“So then, the Queen and I have agreed. We’re going to be married, Merlin!” she heard Arthur say, and her heart overflowed.
“This is good news! Joy to you both, my lord!” Merlin stood smiling broadly, clasping Arthur’s hand. He reached out toward Guenevere, and she forced herself to clasp the cold leathery fingers between her palms.
“It grows late, sir,” she said, “and you must be longing for your rest. I will give orders that you are lodged near the King.”
Merlin bowed. “Yes, he and I have much to discuss.”
Guenevere looked at Arthur and tried to put her heart into her eyes. Arthur, beware, he is not as he seems. There is more here than you and I can know. But her mouth said only a few cool words of farewell. “Blessings on your counsels then, my lords. And may they bring peace and comfort to us all.”
MERLIN—!
Gods above, what is he trying to do?
Dismissing the servants, Guenevere paced the Queen’s apartments to think. Merlin …
First the wild wanderer who cursed her path to the throne. Then the blind Welsh bard, Malgaunt’s champion.
Merlin’s malice in action against her. To make her marry Malgaunt as the price of her throne. To ensure that she and Arthur would never meet, or fall in love. But why? What lay behind it? And where would it end?
She came to with a start, cold and terrified. While she pondered, the fire had burned out. She sank onto a couch, covered her face, and wept. Oh, Arthur, Arthur—where is the joy we had together, only hours ago?
“My lady?”
It was one of the Queen’s women, leaning over her. Above the white collar, her face was full of concern. A faint memory stirred in Guenevere. “You were here when my mother was struck down?”
The young woman smiled sadly. “You sent me running for herbs and salves.”
“And I did not know your name.”
“It’s Ina, my lady.” She moved lightly to the cold hearth, and set to work on the fire. “The Queen took me in when I was ten years old and my mother died of the plague. She would not want to see you now, so sad and alone.”
“Oh—” All Guenevere’s anxieties surged up afresh. “—I have much on my mind, Ina—the treaty with the Middle Kingdom and its king—”
A flame leaped up on the hearth, and Ina stepped back to admire her handiwork. “Well, then, my lady.” She had the face of a clever little cat, her broad cheekbones and slumberous eyes giving her an unmistakable look of the Otherworld. “If you have worries, why not ask the King?”
Guenevere stared at her in amazement, and began to laugh. Why not, indeed?
Joyfully she found her voice. “Send at once to the King’s apartments. Say the Queen would like to see him at the first convenient hour.”
“King Leogrance, lady?”
“No, Ina, King Arthur, send for him!”
BUT SECONDS LATER, she was in agony.
“Ina, I can’t see the King like this. I’ve been on a horse all day; I must smell like a horse, or worse!”
“Let me call for another gown, my lady.”
“Call for two! Four! And for someone to see to my hair!”
“Yes, madam—and refreshments for the King?”
Swift as a bird, Ina darted to and fro, calling up the page boys to take care of the fire and the chambermaids to perfume the apartments and make them sweet and clean. In between she oversaw the waiting women as they freshened Guenevere’s skin, dressed her hair, and slipped her into a pale blue chamber gown with a great collar of white fox fur. Then with her own hands she touched Guenevere’s wrists and temples with patchouli, the fragrance from the East that her mother had loved so well.
“There, madam!” she cried proudly at last. “Fit for a king!”
BUT THE KING did not come. When the knock came at the door, it was a red-faced Sir Gawain who stepped through with Sir Kay and Sir Bedivere to confront Guenevere’s disappointed stare, shifting his great bulk from foot to foot.
Gawain had never been so uncomfortable in his life. Gods above, what an errand for a man who lived by the sword. He’d rather face an army single-handed than fool around in a lady’s chamber like this!
“Your Majesty, the King begs your forgiveness,” he said awkwardly, “but he cannot come.”
Dear Gods, Kay thought, what an oaf Gawain is; he’s only making matters worse! Sighing, he stepped forward to try to smooth things over. “Lord Merlin came with many affairs of state. The demands of the kingdom press in on the King now.”
Then it was Bedivere’s turn. “Lord Merlin bows to your displeasure too, Your Majesty,” he said in his quiet tenor, his soft brown eyes pleading for favor again. “Only for the good of the country, he declares, would he dare to come between a king and his queen.”
Guenevere smiled graciously. “Thank you, sirs. Will you take some refreshment? I will be with you shortly.” Then as calmly as she could, she withdrew to the inner chamber, where it was all she could do not to roll on the floor and howl.
She threw herself into a chair to think.
Merlin!
Always Merlin!
He had not been here an hour before he had taken Arthur from her, flaunting his power, twitching Arthur’s chain! But why should Merlin come between her and Arthur now? He knew that they planned to marry—surely he would not try to change Arthur’s mind?
Why should he?
Why not?
Suddenly she saw it all. Kay had said that Merlin would always expect to come first in Arthur’s heart. So when Arthur married, Merlin would want some simpleminded girl for him—a devout princess of the Christians, say, schooled in silence and submission to men. No wonder he wanted Arthur under the sway of the monks in black!
Yes!
Guenevere sat bolt upright. And no wonder he planned to get her out of the way. No wonder he had tried to make Malgaunt King in her place. No wonder that he had lied to Arthur, telling him that she was pledged to Malgaunt, and not free to marry him!
So—now that she saw the game, she could play too.
Calmly she returned to the outer chamber, where Sir Gawain, Kay, and Bedivere stood awkwardly, drinking wine before the fire. “My compliments to the King,” she smiled, “and tell him that I shall wait for him, however late he comes.”
IT WAS PAST owl-light and almost dawn, as the palace yawned and stirred and made ready to begin the day, when Arthur came at last. He looked like a ghost, pale, stiff, and old, from the hours of dealing with Merlin’s demands. “You are tired, my lord.”
Guenevere’s heart yearned. Gently she drew him to a seat by the fire, knelt at his feet, and took his hands in hers. “Soon, my King,” she told him tenderly, “when night comes, you will sleep your fill. But before then, when the court gathers in the Great Hall, let us announce our betrothal to the world.”
Arthur nodded and smothered a great yawn. One tired finger gently touched her temple and traced the line of her jaw. Absently he framed her face in his hand and turned it upward for a kiss. “And how soon after that, my love, can we be married?”
When he kissed her, Guenevere knew that whatever Merlin had said, Arthur was still hers. He wanted her, she could tell, as he had never wanted anything before.
And she wanted him. His first kiss in the boat on the lake at Avalon had felt like a flower against her lips, or the downy flutter of a newborn bird. But now he had taken her mouth, and the fire he lit in her was something new. She laug
hed softly to herself. Did she think she had loved Cormac, when all she loved was the idea of him? Now she knew Arthur, she was longing for his touch, and more—for the embrace that would make her a woman, and the love that would make her his.
“GUENEVERE, GUENEVERE …”
Gods, she was lovely! He longed to touch her as she knelt there with her body warm against him, and held himself back with a groan. Could this all be true? Or was it the heat of the fire, the heady spiced wine she had pressed into his hand, or the deathly fatigue of recent days deluding his senses now?
Arthur felt he was a lost soul, a soul lost yet found, a man who had yielded himself up to the mists of an endless dream, only to stumble on something that he did not know. But he knew this was no dream. The soft arm pressing trustingly against him now, the promise of her full yet slender form, were real enough to banish all his tiredness and all dreary thoughts of state.
And soon he would make her his; soon he would possess the woman of the dream in reality. Soon they must marry, he told her, breathing hard after that endless kiss. Tonight they should announce their wedding to the world. It must be within the week, for a king could not leave his kingdom unattended for long. And besides, he murmured, kissing her again, why else should they delay?
CHAPTER 19
“Make way for the Queen!”
Guenevere always loved the evenings in the Great Hall when the wine went around by torchlight and all the court came in its finery to gossip and rejoice. But as she came in that night, she knew that the glow she wore owed nothing to the soft bloom of the candles or her royal gold and pearls. “The Queen!” bawled the attendants at the door. “Make way for the Queen!”
“The Queen!” came the reverent murmur from the crowd. “The Queen!” And as they spoke, she saw herself shining in white and gold, a woman clothed in love, reflected in the mirror of all eyes.
Oh, Arthur … Arthur, my love …
And there he was, waiting for her by the entrance, surrounded by his knights, with Merlin at his side. In his rich red tunic and white cloak he looked pale and deathly tired, but there was a glitter about him that matched her own. His fair hair was crowned by a wreath of gold, and a collar of jewels glinted at his neck. As he held out his hand, gold bangles shone around his wrists. But the smile he gave her was brighter than them all.
Guenevere, Queen of the Summer Country Page 15
