The Chessboard Queen (21 page)

“That will settle them,” Geraldus said with pleasure.

He was surprised to see how ready Guinevere was to leave. Her clothes were packed and her gear was ready. She smiled at him in a sort of apology.

“I don’t understand it myself, but this time I feel that I must get back, no matter how much I love to be here. It will always be the place I think of as home, but somehow I find myself thinking more and more of Caerleon and wondering what is happening there and if everything is being done properly. Could it be that I have two homes now?”

“It is very likely, Guinevere. I am only surprised that it didn’t happen sooner.”

But it was a hard farewell, as always, and Guinevere’s neck ached from turning to see if her family were all still there at the gate, waving good-bye. When they could be seen no more, she sat disconsolate upon her horse for an hour or two until, creeping insidiously into her mind, came images of Caerleon, of Arthur and Gawain, of Caet watching her with silent adoration, and of Lancelot. She began to be more interested in her arrival there.

They were but a few hours away, in the last stretch of forest before the town, when it happened.

Geraidus and his choir had drifted farther ahead than usual, working out a rondelet. Guinevere followed at her own pace, enjoying the stillness of the day. Suddenly they were jolted by a wild shriek as a troop of men leaped out of the surrounding trees. Meleagant rode out from his hiding place as the foot brigades surrounded them. He grabbed the furious Guinevere from her horse.

For a moment she was so astonished and outraged that there was nothing she could say. Finally she found her breath. She beat against Meleagant’s armored chest, bruising her hands.

“How dare you!” she screamed. “You barbarian boor! Put me down at once!”

Meleagant laughed. “I told Arthur I could steal something from him and you are mine until Easter unless he and his lisping ‘knights’ can retrieve you! I hope that pack horse has warm clothing in its bags.”

This made Guinevere angrier. She kicked so suddenly that he almost dropped her. “Arthur will punish you for this! My father will! If you dare lay a hand on me. . . .”

“Don’t worry about that, my dear,” he purred. “Not but what you might be fun to tame. Leodegrance is an old adversary of my family, but I respect him. I just want your upstart husband to know that I could have you if it pleased me and there would be nothing he could do to stop me. Now, quit that kicking or you’ll injure my horse. Who taught you such unladylike behavior?”

He looked over his shoulder and Guinevere followed his glance. With no weapons, Geraldus was doing his best to fight off Meleagant’s men. He was being easily defeated. She was more afraid for him than herself. She yelled at the attackers.

“Don’t you dare hurt him! He’s a saint! Angels flying all around him. You’ll fry in Hell!”

Her warning, however, was not needed. Those who slashed their swords at him were startled to see them bend in the air before they ever reached him. A man who tried to pull him from his horse was flipped upon his back without ever being touched. He picked himself up in an instant, however, and was away and down the road without a backward glance. The others soon followed him. They weren’t sure about angels, but there was something protecting the man and they wanted no part of it.

“Thank you!” Geraldus called. “Can’t you help Guinevere, too?”

The voice of his alto was so close to his ear that he jumped. She sounded out of breath.

“There was very little we could do for you. We aren’t used to this sort of work. Anyway, we’re bound to you and she’s far away already. You’ll have to ride for help.”

“It’s all right,” he reassured her. “Don’t worry, Arthur will rescue her.”

Geraldus spurred Plotinus to a gallop for the first time since he had owned the horse. His only hope was to reach Caerleon soon. The poor steed had not been pressured to do more than walk for the last twenty years, but he tried to respond, dimly remembering his days in battle. They managed to reach the gates of Caerleon before sunset.

Geraldus leaped from the almost prostrate horse and straight onto the first person he saw: Lancelot.

“Guinevere!” he gasped. “Meleagant. He’s kidnapped her!”

Lancelot caught Geraldus as he fainted. He heard only one word clearly, “Meleagant.” The son of the man who had killed his father. He gripped Geraldus’ arms painfully as he came to.

“Meleagant! What has he done?” he shouted.

“Ow, stop that! Guinevere,” Geraldus panted. “On our way here he ambushed us. He captured her. There was nothing I could do. Arthur back yet?”

“No, not for a day or more, they say. Do you know where Meleagant is taking her?”

“To his fortress. I must tell Arthur!”

“But there is no time. Which way is this fortress?”

“Northwest, through the mountains. But. . . .”

He was talking to the air. Lancelot was halfway to the stables. Geraldus called after him.

“This is for Arthur to decide, Lancelot! He’ll know how to deal with Meleagant!”

Lancelot did not appear to have heard. Geraldus grabbed one of the guards who had come running at the shouts.

“Where is Sir Cei?”

The guard pointed to a figure coming toward them, and Geraldus, having caught his breath, hurried to meet him. He gave his news as quickly as possible. Cei’s face hardened as he listened.

“That scum!” he spat. “He thinks it’s all a great joke, ‘stealing’ something of Arthur’s. Arthur is going to be furious. I’ll send a messenger to him at once. This is going to be tricky.”

Meanwhile, Lancelot had saddled Clades and was halfway mounted before it occurred to him that he might need a cloak, or at least his sword and shield to confront that monster with. There was a young man shoveling out the adjoining stall.

“You there! Go to my quarters at once and fetch my gear. Hurry!”

The man stared at him stupidly. “Why?” he asked.

“What?” Lancelot glared at him.

“Why should I go? My job is cleaning the stables.”

“Because I ordered it. Because your Queen has been kidnapped and I am going to rescue her . . . if I get my weapons!”

At that the man’s face changed. He looked almost intelligent. “I’ll get them for you, Lancelot, but only if you saddle another horse for me.”

It was Lancelot’s turn to stare stupidly. The man laughed.

“I want to go with you.”

“You must be insane!” Lancelot yelled.

The man shrugged, but did not move.

“Very well. You may come with me. But hurry!”

Gareth shook the straw out of his hair as he obeyed. He snatched up his own bag as he grabbed Lancelot’s and was back by the time Lancelot had readied another horse.

“You won’t regret taking me,” Gareth promised as he handed over the sword. “I will stay by your side whatever happens.”

“Just keep up with me,” Lancelot muttered grimly.

Ignoring the cries from the guard and the frantic waves of Geraidus and Cei as they realized what he was doing, Lancelot du Lac, greatest Knight of the Round Table, galloped off to rescue his beloved.

Chapter Eleven

Arthur lolled against the pillows in his tent, relishing the chance to relax unwatched. It had been a good trip, worthwhile. Craddoc had been more than eager to swear allegiance to Arthur, especially if he received protection from Meleagant in return. It had not surprised Arthur to learn that Meleagant had decided to go on an extended hunting trip just at the time that Arthur was to have visited. He considered it a compliment. The man was more wary of him than he had hoped.

It had been a good recruiting trip, too. The new men were fresh and enthusiastic, as were some old men. Ector, Cei’s father, had gotten quite carried away and promised to come down in the spring and help with the training. This journey had shown the mettle of some of Arthur’s fosterlings, too. He had not previously noticed Bedevere much, but the boy had blossomed into a diplomat of rare persuasion. All in all, Arthur was satisfied and more at ease than he had felt for years. Now, as soon as he could get home to Guinevere. . . .

He set down his wine cup and drifted off into a semiconscious dream, familiar and never quite fulfilled.

Someone was making an outrageous racket outside. Arthur started awake, knocking over the cup. He stuck his head outside the tent. The guard hurried over.

“What is all that noise?” Arthur demanded.

“I’m not sure, sir. I believe that a messenger has arrived and insists on seeing you at once. The watch told him you had retired, but he refuses to wait until morning.”

“If the man wants to see me that badly, send him in! Who told the watch that it was their decision to make?”

The guard did not answer. He was already gone.

Arthur stretched and mumbled as he wrapped himself in a proper cloak instead of his fur blanket. The watch should have been able to figure out for themselves that any man who wanted to see him in the middle of the night must have a good reason. Those men would have to be switched to some duty less mentally taxing.

He had hardly sat down again when the tent flaps were pulled open and Cheldric burst in. He was breathing heavily and trying to slip his cloak off with his one arm as he bowed to the King.

“Sir Cei has sent me to you with evil news, my Lord. The Queen, on her way to Caerleon, was kidnapped by King Meleagant.”

“What!” Arthur leaped to his feet. “This is no subject for humor, sir.”

Cheldric backed a pace. “I would not have come all this way for a joke, sir. The roads are treacherous. All the able-bodied men are preparing to set out at once, upon your arrival.”

“When did this happen?” Arthur snapped. He no longer doubted. This was just the sort of trick which would appeal to a mind like Meleagant’s. He ground his teeth. Just the sort, too, that would amuse the other powerful kings like Maelgwn. He knew that unless Guinevere were retrieved soon, versions of the story would be all over Britain, most of them implying that Arthur couldn’t keep his own wife at home.

“It was almost three days ago, sir,” Cheldric replied. “Saint Geraldus was slightly wounded and took some time getting to Caerleon. I was sent out at once. We think they may have already arrived at the fortress.”

Arthur stiffened, his fists clenched against his thighs. Three days. If that unspeakable bastard of a baboon and a village idiot had so much as mussed her hair, he would have the man’s ribs out and laid one by one upon a table. If the man had done anything more, he would do the job with his own knife.

He moved so quickly that he almost knocked Cheldric over and did ram into the guard on duty outside.

“Agravaine!” he hollered. “Bedevere! Torres! Get up! Get out here! We’re leaving at once for Caerleon. Pack your weapons and a change of clothes. Everything else stays behind. Cheldric, you remain and see that the tents and kitchens are brought later. Well, hurry! Where are you all?”

He strode over to the nearest tent and pulled the occupant from it. Torres struggled groggily to stand. The woman next to him snatched the blankets and hid beneath them. Torres was torn between anger and embarrassment.

“What . . . what are you? How dare you. . . . Oh! King Arthur! What’s wrong?”

“We’re heading for Caerleon tonight and then north, to teach Meleagant the folly of flouting a king! Get your sword and tell your friend there good-bye.”

He pushed Torres back. There was a muffled squeal as he tripped over the mound of blankets.

Agravaine emerged from another tent, Gaheris peering out from behind him.

“We’re almost ready, Uncle, but what about Gawain? We can’t wake him!”

“Dress him and tie him to his horse. He’s coming with us.”

They pounded into the night with little regard for the safety of men or horses. Arthur led the way. Those who saw his face as he passed by them barely recognized him, and some of the younger men, who had known him only in peace, realized now why he had been able to defeat the Saxons at Mons Badon, despite the odds. Gaheris got a glimpse of him as he sped by. The look in his eyes frightened his nephew. There was something about it that reminded him of his dreaded Aunt Morgause. But he and Agravaine had no time to compare impressions. They were too busy trying to keep up with the others while leading the sleeping Gawain on his horse. His wrists were tied about its neck and a rope from ankle to ankle held him to its back. But he tended to twist about as if attempting to lie on his side and this caused him to slide over until he was hanging against the horse’s flank like a parcel.

“This will never work!” Agravaine exploded as he dismounted for the third time to right his brother. “One of us will have to ride behind him and hold him.”

“All right.” Gaheris clambered up behind Gawain and wrapped his arms about Gawain’s waist. “This won’t be easy. He’s a lot bigger than I am. You’ll have to lead both the horses. I can’t hold on and guide, too.”

Agravaine could barely hear the riders ahead of him. Swearing freely, he grabbed the dangling reins and yanked the party along. It was not the first time he wished he had been born into a less interesting family.

The morning was still gray when they arrived at Caerleon. Cei was at the gate to meet them.

“A messenger came from Meleagant last night,” he told Arthur as soon as he was close enough to hear. “He said that the Queen would be his guest until Easter and requested that more robes and a lady’s maid be sent to her, as she had only the things on her pack horse with her.”

Arthur clenched his fists. It was a full minute before he could trust himself to speak.

“Send the man back at once. Have him tell Meleagant that my wife shall dine with me at Caerleon before the week is out, and I will use his beard to wipe my hands. She will not need any more clothes.”

“Yes, Arthur,” Cei replied. He was startled by the sudden fierceness in Arthur. Even as a boy, he had never given way to anger. Cei had not suspected it was possible. “What do you want me to do then?”

“Food for everyone and fresh horses. Send Lancelot to me—and Merlin. We leave again as soon as we can be fed and armed. I intend to see just how well Meleagant can withstand an attack upon his fortress.”