Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn (45 page)

Urging the stallion forward until we were knee to knee, he waited while I lifted aside my traveling veil, then carefully put the golden circlet around my neck. Pitching his voice to carry to our audience, he settled back in his saddle and said, “Well come home, my Queen.”

The riders who had crowded around us let out a cheer, and Arthur swung his steed around so that we could ride side by side. “Thought you’d never get here,” he continued as the people made way for us and both Cei and Bedivere pushed ahead to form an escort with the standard bearer. “It’s been a long year.”

“For me as well,” I replied.

This was neither the time nor place for private conversation, so we rode in silence for a while.

“Who stayed at Camelot?” I inquired at last, since the other face I had looked for was not in the welcoming party.

“Gawain and his men. He’s my lieutenant now.”

“Not Bedivere?” I was mildly surprised, having assumed Arthur’s foster brother would have been given the same position he had when we were young. One-handed or no, he had a cooler head and wiser counsel than the Orcadian.

Arthur shook his head. “As my sister’s son, Gawain stands closest to the throne. It’s only natural he would be among those considered for the Kingship if something happened to me.” The stallion was excited by Moonlight’s presence, swinging his head toward her, lips extended, teeth bared. Arthur gave him a quick rebuke and swung his head to one side. “You ought to know, Gwen…Gawain was one of your staunchest supporters in Carlisle, outraged at what his son and brothers perpetrated and eager to have you back. He wanted to come greet you, but I couldn’t leave Camelot empty.”

“And Mordred?” I asked finally, half frightened of what I’d hear.

“Still at Winchester, with the Federates.” Arthur’s tone was cool and neutral, leaving nothing more to be said on the subject, so I let the matter drop and simply enjoyed my homecoming.

People of all sorts lined our way: farmers, swineherds, smiths, and wainwrights, who left their work to watch our cavalcade move past; peddlers, merchants, and messengers; monks and Druids; nobles going courting; beekeepers taking their hives to new orchards—all those for whom travel was a fact of life swung off to the verge in order to let us pass. For the most part they were silent as the Banner went past, but when they saw me beside their King, a roar of welcome would burst forth.

Realization of how much the common people had missed me took my breath away, and tears of gratitude blurred my sight.

Not the nobles and the warriors, mired in politics and playing their courtly games, but the people. The people of the land—offering up their joy and dreams, their hopes and pleasure at my return. It was the thing I’d touched on after the night in the cave, the earth-dreams of humanity. Their song echoed in me like wind haunting a harp. It was this that gave me purpose, reflecting in my actions the very nature of my soul. It was this that balanced Arthur’s capabilities—this that made us what we were together. And while it might not be holy and sublime, I could no more deny it than Lance could deny his need to seek the spiritual life or Arthur turn away from his beloved Cause.

As Camelot’s hill came into view, a great wave of gladness surged through me. I had found my Grail, both within and without, and knew how blessedly lucky we were.

***

Life at Court began to return to normal for the first time since the events at Carlisle. Arthur and I moved gingerly into a reunion—when I tried to tell him about Joyous Gard, he stopped me abruptly, not wishing to hear—and though we bedded only occasionally, our teamwork in ruling had never been better.

There’d been some difficulties in getting salt delivered to the inland regions on a reliable basis, so we reassessed the system and sent Cei to Droitwich to make sure our changes were implemented. The Royal Messenger service had declined for lack of new recruits, but with a new proclamation reducing the taxes of any family who had a member willing and able to perform the arduous service, we were inundated with applicants.

Finally, there was the matter of the horse farms at the monastery in south Wales. Since Illtud’s death, the monks had begun demanding payment for working with the horses, to which Arthur replied that as long as it was his cavalry that kept their barns safe, they could jolly well contribute to the upkeep of the mounts. The clerics ranted and raved at such a notion, so Arthur had Gwyn start bringing the animals to his pastures outside of Glastonbury, in the hope of putting an end to the bickering.

I took pains to get to know the new men better and spent more time with the ladies-in-waiting. And I tried not to think about those who were no longer part of the Fellowship—the men in Brittany; Perceval, who had stayed less than a year at Court before deciding to make a pilgrimage to the Holy Land; and those who had died on the Quest.

Most painful of all was the memory of Gareth. As at Joyous Gard, everyone missed the gentle warrior, and once I was settled in, I sought out Lynette, who had remained at Court, helping Enid run the household in my absence.

She was seated in the doorway of her hut, taking advantage of the sunlight to do some sewing while the toddler played at her feet. After an exchange of greetings I told her how deeply sorry Lance and the others had been, and that I hoped she didn’t blame them for her husband’s death.

Gareth’s widow looked up at me slowly, her eyes as hard as Kimmins’s wife’s had been. “Frankly, M’lady, there’s plenty enough blame to go around: the King for ordering your escort to go unarmed, Lancelot and his men for saving you by force, Agravain for starting the melee against them. No one knows who dealt the blow…so I lay it at the Gods’ feet. I’ve no time for recriminations, not with three children to raise and household work to do.” She shook out the little smock she’d been making and let her glance stray toward the boy. A softness came over her features.”I still cry for him, you know—silent, at night, so as not to wake the youngsters. But we’ll make it through somehow. The one who won’t let go of it is Gawain. Someone has to help him with his grief, M’lady, for it is eating him alive, like a poison in the blood.”

Her assessment proved all too true. The red-headed Prince of Orkney carried a brooding anger everywhere he went, and even the most casual remark would send him into fits of rage, as though his own pain required him to flay anyone who came within range.

“I’m right glad to see you,” he allowed the first time we met in private, “but I wish that wretched Breton had had the courage to come back as well. He’ll not get away so easily, you know. He’ll pay; someday I’ll make him pay for cutting down the very lad who idolized him.”

“Oh no, Gawain,” I exclaimed, horrified to realize he believed Lance had personally delivered the fatal stroke. “Lancelot was on his horse, with me in front of him. He never even drew his sword.”

“I might have known you’d defend him, Your Highness.” Morgause’s son looked at me coldly. “Not even the King will admit it, but I know…I know in my heart the coward turned on him. Gaheris and Agravain—even my son, Gingalin—had the chance to fight before they died. But to strike down my brother who was unarmed was a despicable act, an insult to the honor of my family…and I’ll not rest till I have vengeance!”

Not only would Gawain not listen to reason, his mood seemed to darken further as the summer days lengthened.

“I don’t know what to do,” Arthur sighed one night in June, moving slowly about the room as I undid my hair. “He’s been bullying me for months to go after Lance in reprisal for Gareth’s death.”

“Maybe with time he’ll listen to reason.”

“Not likely. It’s coming up to a year now, and the grievance just grows deeper. I was hoping Father Baldwin could calm him some, but even the Church can’t quell his thirst for blood.”

I thought of the Orcadians’ vendetta against Pellinore and Lamorak and knew that Arthur was right. The family feud—that nemesis of the old Celts—was running full tide in Gawain.

“Worse yet, he’s gathering others to his side, the followers of Agravain and the like,” my husband went on, sitting disconsolately on the edge of the bed. “They’re the strongest faction left in the Round Table, and I’m in danger of losing my hold on them unless something is done.”

I turned to stare at him, shocked by the idea that all he’d accomplished was so close to dissolution.

“Come here, girl, and give us a kiss,” he said with a sad, hopeless smile. “I could use a little holding.”

Never, in all our lives together, had Arthur asked me for anything. The simple admission of a need had always been beyond him, and I turned to take him in my arms with a newfound warmth of love and affection.

***

It was Mordred who suggested a solution to Gawain’s demands when he came to make his summer report on the Federates. I watched him ride up the cobbled drive, a man of grace and bearing, with a face as unreadable as stone. He greeted me politely enough in public, and I invited him to join me in my garden for a chat, wanting to see for myself where we stood with each other.

“I am very glad you are safely home,” he said in his smooth, unruffled way. “I never meant to harm you, M’lady. It was Lancelot I wanted to bring down.”

His voice was earnest and his manner contrite enough. I watched him carefully, trying to find contradictions between what his mouth said and what his body showed, but the façade was seamless. So we talked of inconsequential matters and parted amiably enough, though I knew that thenceforth I would be as guarded with him as he was with the world. The mother in me, remembering the child I had loved and raised, cried out to see him walk away a stranger…but perhaps there are times when that is what a parent must do.

Later, when Arthur mentioned how set Gawain seemed to be on vengeance, Mordred spoke up quickly.

“Wergild,” he announced. “It’s the price of a man’s worth. Among the Saxons, if someone is held accountable for another person’s death, he can give the survivors the amount of the man’s worth, and all blood debts are considered paid. It keeps grievances from becoming vendettas. Why don’t you see if Gawain will accept that from Lancelot? Use it to balance the books of honor, so to speak.”

It was an intriguing idea, and one that Gawain allowed he would consider, provided that Lancelot himself pay over the price in person.

“He’s not to come back here,” Arthur said hastily, wanting to stop that idea before it took root. “Let Bedivere carry the message and return with the payment.”

“No!” Gawain’s face flushed to crimson, and his voice was steel. “I will accept it only with a personal apology, and if it means tracking him down in Brittany, so be it. We of King Lot’s clan have spent our lives in your service, Arthur Pendragon. And as my King you owe me something for all those years. The chance to reestablish my family’s honor is what I request. Come with me to Brittany and help me redress this insult.”

The demand was outrageous, but no amount of arguing could change the Orcadian’s stand, so by mid-July the boatmen of London were making ready to take Arthur and a party of warriors across the Channel—not so many as to cause the Franks concern that we were invading but certainly more than a personal bodyguard.

“I don’t like it, Arthur,” I fussed as the day of departure grew close. “I don’t trust Gawain to stay within the bounds of diplomacy. You know how hotheaded he can be. Besides, there’s too much that needs attending here at home for you to go away just now.”

“And too much at risk among the Companions if I don’t,” he answered, turning away from the work that lay strewn on our table and going to stand by the window, looking out. When he didn’t say anything more, I ventured a comment of my own.

“Surely you don’t
want
a confrontation with Lancelot…” We had not spoken of the Breton since my first attempt was rebuffed, and now I was feeling my way along the subject like a person tiptoeing across a bog.

“Don’t say it, Gwen! Don’t beg for his life, no matter how much we both loved him.” The words leapt from him—angry, pleading, full of bafflement. The force of his response startled me, and I instinctively took a step back. “You see,” he went on grimly, “there’s something else, love—a need of my own, if you will.”

So the crack in the dam was still there, the feelings still trying to find a way out. I sat down and stayed very still, hardly daring to breathe, praying that at last he would open his heart.

“Do you remember when you returned from Brigit’s convent?”

“After being kidnapped by Maelgwn?”

“Aye.” Arthur spoke without looking at me. “I wanted vengeance—as any man would, whose wife was raped. Wanted a chance to even the score, to prove to the world I was strong enough to protect you and punish anyone who hurt you. But you begged for his life…and I listened. I swallowed my pride and my instincts, and I heeded your wish. This time I’m not after my rival’s blood—the tangle of our lives is too thick a knot to untie with a sword. But I must take action of some kind, and not be dissuaded by you as I was when you sought to protect Maelgwn.”

“
Protect
Maelgwn?” The very idea lifted me to my feet and sent me prowling across the room. “You thought I was protecting him? That scum? That toad? Oh, love, it was you I was scared for, you I wanted to save!”

I had come to my husband’s side. Though he continued to stare out the window, I put my hand on his arm with full confidence that he wouldn’t shrug it away. And I spoke aloud, for the first time, the fear that had consumed me in the convent.