Queen of the Summer Stars (25 page)

I was on the parapet the day the nomads came marching down from the north. Singing and clapping and half dancing as they walked along, they numbered less than a dozen—small, dark people decked out in piebald furs and heavy jewelry who followed rather than led a handful of reindeer. There was a fair commotion when they were challenged by the guard at the gate, but he let them through, and Enid came to fetch me, announcing the newcomers expected an audience. Arthur and Lance were off meeting with the Caledonian chieftains in the mountains to the west, so it fell to me to handle whatever came up.

Someone routed Tristan out of bed to act as interpreter, and when I reached the Hall Tris was grumbling like a bear who’s been wakened too early in the spring. “I have no idea what she wants. Whatever tongue she speaks, it isn’t Pictish,” he mumbled.

A girl standing at the head of the delegation mimicked the Cornish warrior’s yawn, and the rest of her party giggled. They were as weathered as if they’d never lived under a roof, and the men glanced about the Hall uneasily. But the saucy young woman faced me across this impasse of languages with a fine bravado.

“She’s a Gern-y-fhain…hereditary leader of the Prydn,” Gawain called out, making his way across the Hall without looking at Tristan.

He began an animated conversation with the girl; both spoke as much with their hands as their voices, and at one point the redhead from the Orkneys all but collapsed in laughter, which sent the Prydn into gales of merriment of their own.

“Her name is Ragnell,” Gawain reported, “and she brings her people and animals south for the winter pasturage. She also wants you to know she comes from a long line of famous Gerns.”

I smiled inwardly, amused that even in the north the tradition of powerful queens was passed from generation to generation. Looking at the outlandish creature, I wondered if I seemed as ludicrous to her as she did to me.

Ragnell caught my gaze and gave me a regal nod of recognition. I returned the gesture with equal solemnity, and then suddenly we both burst out laughing.

“She says the tall-folk have put up fences across her pasture, M’lady,” Gawain explained. “All people need pasturage, so she’s willing to share with you, within reason. But fencing off what the Mother made for everyone is selfish and…and not acceptable,” he added with chagrin.

“What would she have me do, tear down the fences and let our horses run loose?”

Gawain cast me a quick look, then turned back to the nomads. By now the smell of their poorly tanned pelts was beginning to pervade the room, and one of the men took to scratching himself industriously—no doubt the warmth of the indoors had made his lice more active.

“She is willing to allow you your fences, provided you allow her the use of the water,” Gawain explained after another animated exchange. “She wants you to divert the stream so as to form a pond outside the fence.”

I stared at the Gern in astonishment, wondering what on earth I was doing bargaining with this impish creature—I suspected that the men would have made short work of her request, shooing her away to find pasturage somewhere else.

“I know the area she’s speaking of,” Gawain interjected. “It’s out by the barrows, beyond the henge with the white pebbles. Her men and I can dig that diversion in three days’ time.” There was a sudden flurry of exchanges between Gawain and Ragnell, and after much coaxing he turned back to me. “She also says she’ll give you a charm for a safe delivery.”

My eyebrows shot up in surprise because the pregnancy didn’t even show yet. She grinned at me and adroitly sidestepping Gawain, ran up the steps to where I sat in the carved chair and laid her hands on my belly.

“May thy wealth be gloriously healthy,” Gawain translated as Ragnell intoned her blessing. “She herself has borne two bairn, though only one lives.”

At such close range the smell of the girl was overpowering, and the dirt crusted around her fingernails was appalling. But when she looked up from her chant her dark eyes were large and loving, as when I’d seen the Goddess in Nimue, and for all that I didn’t understand her language, her message was clear.

For a bare moment we were sisters in the hand of the Mother. Then caution returned, and she backed away from me even as I smiled and thanked her for the blessing and promised her her water.

With that they were gone, running and skipping out of the Court like acrobats on a holiday, though I suspected it was more from relief at escaping this encounter than their own high spirits. Whatever they thought of this meeting, I was deeply touched by their Queen.

Everyone who had seen them go through the courtyard came crowding into the Hall, curious as to who these strangers were.

“Prydn…fairy-folk…the Ancient Ones who call themselves the firstborn children of the Gods,” Gawain announced. “There weren’t any Prydn in the Orkneys by the time I was born, but my governess had grown up with one of their changelings who’d been left on her family’s doorstep one deadly winter. They have a saying—‘Better to lose a child to a warm hearth than bury thy wealth in the cold heath.’”

Surprise and uneasiness stirred through the household at the realization that we’d just hosted a people one step away from the Otherworld. But while many of the courtiers made the sign of the cross or that against evil, I was filled with admiration for Ragnell’s courage in coming to Court and asking that I redress what she had perceived as a wrong.

“Ugh.” Velen sniffed with disdain. “How could you let her touch you, Your Highness? Why, the whole Hall reeks of their smell.”

I was tempted to say I knew cleaner queens who were far more dangerous than this little wildcat, but I held my tongue.

***

At the end of the week Gawain came back from his irrigation project, cocky and cheerful and bearing a gift from the Gern.

“Ragnell gathered them herself,” he announced, carefully handing over a half-dozen white quartz pebbles. “From the base of the Standing Stones. She says they are gifts of the Great Mother because they reflect the light of the moon.”

He made the sign against evil while I stared curiously at the small, sharp-edged rocks. “They scatter them around the stones,” he explained, as though that cleared up the mystery.

I might not understand what she used them for, but the Gern’s gift pleased me, and I asked Gawain to convey my thanks if he saw her again.

“Oh, we’ll be meeting.” He shook his head in admiration. “Wonderful woman, that! More spunk and spit than any I’ve yet met in the south…with the possible exception of Your Highness,” he added quickly. “Can’t remember when I’ve had such a good time.”

And with that he swaggered from the room, shoulders swinging and good humor fairly pouring off him.

***

“Whatever did you put in this stuff?” I asked Velen with a grimace. The brew Morgan’s lady gave me daily had taken on a decidedly different taste.

“It’s a new herb,” the midwife said smoothly. “After the third month new medicines must be added to the tonic.”

I watched her carefully, thinking for the hundredth time that I didn’t like her but had no way of dismissing her without getting into a row with Arthur. Maybe I could send her away and pretend she’d decided I didn’t need her after all. But that idea made me even crosser; who was Morgan to force me into tarnishing my honor with a lie?

It was a fine autumn morning—the sort when the vales ring with the bellowing of stags and squirrels begin to search for warm places to sleep the winter through—altogether much too nice to let it be spoiled by Morgan’s lackey. So without another word I marched down to the stable and took Shadow out for our usual ride to the Crag, a pinnacle little more than a mile away.

The wind blew fresh and smelled of snow, but the leaves of the birches still spangled like golden coins against the darker green of the wildwood, and I smiled in spite of the chill. My mare was edgy and full of twitches, moving her ears constantly and snorting at any shadow on the path, and I kept up a steady stream of reassurances to her.

It was only when we’d reached the top of the Crag that I saw the clouds, low and heavy and driven by the wind. My stomach tightened suddenly, and I turned back toward home; no doubt we would reach the fort before the storm, but I was beginning to feel uneasy and had no desire to linger.

Nausea struck on the way back, and I pushed Shadow to a faster trot, wanting to get to my chambers as quickly as possible. No matter what Arthur said, I wasn’t going to take any more of Morgan’s “special medicines”; in fact, I’d send Velen away as soon as I could find her.

A gust of wind lifted Shadow’s mane and sent a flurry of dead leaves across the path, uncovering a stoat, which raced for cover. The silly mare shied violently and for the first time in years I found myself unseated. By the time I overcame my surprise Shadow was out of sight, well on her way to the stable.

Cursing roundly, I got to my feet, a rush of pain rising with me. The twisting, turning ache was tying my midsection in knots. I managed to lean against a tree, waiting for the cramping to subside before I began to walk home. When it didn’t abate, I staggered blindly forward until a crippling pang doubled me over and I ended up crawling on hands and knees along the path.

This was more than the shock of falling off my horse, and I started to cry with fear and frustration.

How could I have been so gullible as to have accepted medicine from Morgan? Now, with the child’s life in jeopardy, my own stupidity seemed enormous, and I sobbed in fury and disgust with myself as well as the High Priestess. Even the Gods must have heard my imprecations, for when I could crawl no farther I gave Them a tongue-lashing that all but blistered my mouth.

***

The party from the fort came for me as soon as they saw Shadow was riderless, but though they carried me home on a litter and put me into the comfort of a bed, it was too late. After three long hours writhing in pain and rage, I lay exhausted and the child was no more.

Enid sat beside me, trying in her crisp way to give me solace, but it was Ragnell who reached across the abyss of my misery and eased my heart.

Gawain brought the Prydn Queen through the side door of my chamber, and she stood looking down on me, great tears of grief streaking her face. I didn’t know when she’d lost her own babe, or how, but such details were unimportant. She perched on the bed next to me, put both hands on my temples, and slowly, softly, began to croon. I closed my eyes, letting her fingers draw away the misery of my soul.

The wordless lament wove a shelter around us—a lullaby of sorrow sung by every mother who has ever mourned. Together we cried for the whole of humankind, born to dream of eternities, waking to find the grave. Slowly, gradually, my anguish was absorbed by that of generations past and made more bearable with this sharing.

Once, just before going to sleep, I reached for Ragnell’s hand and kissed it in gratitude before putting it back to my temple. If ever there was an act of compassion, it was hers.

I slept the day and night around, and both Ragnell and Velen were gone by the time Arthur arrived. He burst into the room looking wild-eyed and windblown and let out a bellow you could hear a mile away.

“For goodness’ sake, Gwen, whatever possessed you to go riding when you were that far along?”

“Riding?” I flared, sitting up in bed and wondering how he could be angry at a time like this. “I’ve been riding every day since I was old enough to walk! It wasn’t the ride that did it, Arthur; it was that awful medicine Morgan sent. I knew I shouldn’t be drinking those potions, I don’t care what your sister said!”

“Now let’s not start that.” Arthur threw his gloves on the table and asked Enid to fetch him something hot. I’d never seen him so riled, as though some sea of emotion had broken through his floodgates. He rounded on me with a howl. “Morgan’s got no reason to do us harm, and your constant suspicion is unseemly and not worthy of my wife.”

“Unseemly? How seemly is it for you to come raging in here full of accusations instead of sorrow when we’ve just lost a child, Arthur…a child?”

The word stuck in my throat, choking me with tears, and I turned my face away hastily. A huge emptiness was opening within me, threatening to swallow my whole life.

Arthur’s temper had cooled, and he came over to sit beside me on the bed, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Of course I’m sorry…but they told me you might not survive…”

Listening to the silence that followed, I thought how little I understood this man; his own child dead, and he felt not grief but anger.

“Gwen,” he said firmly, still holding me at arm’s distance, “there’s something you must understand. I don’t care whether we have children or not, but I do care if you live or die.”

The shock of his words went through me like a blade, slicing and numbing at the same time.

“I’m happy with our life as it is, lass—can’t see that a child would be anything other than a bother. I was pleased about this pregnancy because you wanted it so much, but since kingship isn’t hereditary, it doesn’t matter to me if we have a child or not—and there’s more than enough children born already.”

His voice had gone cold and hard-edged, and an expression of bitter disgust fled across his features, making a mockery of the man I knew.

I stared at him in disbelief. Raving one minute and turned to ice the next—for the first time I truly saw him as Uther’s son.