The Chessboard Queen (8 page)

Lancelot would not wish to embarrass them if it cost him his life. They knew that and congratulated themselves that they had managed to trick him into doing what they wanted. They could not realize that he perceived them, not as his benefactors, but as errant children who must be pacified and protected for their own good. There was something in his look, though, that made the Lady nervous. Suddenly he smiled at them and her heart turned over. He was more beautiful than the stars! How could she let him go? She stood to dismiss him and felt a chill as the dampness on her dress caught the air.

“Whatever your intention, you cannot ride unheralded into the house of a king. If you insist on setting off for Arthur’s court, then I must accompany you as far as the gate.”

“Oh, my Lady!”

“It is my duty. You will allow me that, won’t you?”

“Of course, I would be honored.”

“I should think you would. I have not been to the cities of men for two thousand years. We will see to it that you appear before Arthur with all the trappings of a king’s son.”

“Thank you, my Lady. But do you think it would be—”

“Yes, Lancelot, I do.”

That ended the matter.

Lancelot was so excited that he did not know what to do first. The sight of Torres reminded him.

“Come with me, brother. Wait until we tell your mother the good news.”

Torres clapped him on the back. “She won’t believe it. Wait until I tell her that I’m going with you.”

Lancelot stopped. “What?”

“You will need someone to burnish your armor after you return from your battles, you know. Fighting and praying don’t leave much time to clean up.”

“But, Torres.”

“Don’t you want me?”

“Of course.” Lancelot paused. He studied Torres closely. He had known him since they suckled together, playing with each other’s toes. He took him as much for granted as he took his shadow. But now he really looked at him. They might be brothers, after all, if hair and coloring were all one counted. Both had golden brown curls and hazel eyes in faces that easily tanned. But Torres’ face was open and humorous as though he had no thought of deception or fear of guile. He was gentle and kind and if he cared too much for the pleasures of the table and the bed, what else could one expect under the Lake? Yes, he did want Torres, very much. But what would Meredydd say to that?

“Alas!” she shrieked when they told her. “Oh, woe! It’s that evil woman, that witch! That serpent! First she lured you away from my arms to the iniquity of her house and now she wants to send you God knows where! How can you do this to me?”

Meredydd was only beginning. Torres knew her too well to let her go on, although Lancelot tried to reason with her until she ran down.

“Now, Mother,” he broke in. “Think about it. This is just what you always wanted. We’re going back to the world we came from to scourge it of its wickedness.”

“Huh! With Torres it’d be more likely to add to the wickedness, you slothful boy!”

“Mother,” Lancelot remonstrated while Torres struggled to hide his laughter. “Torres is going to help me, just as you taught us. He had no need of the world or interest in it. He goes only to take care of me. And I promise to watch over him. Is that not the love between brothers you have always wished for us?”

Meredydd eyed Torres skeptically. “Yes, I suppose I have. But I don’t believe that one would remember it if he didn’t think there was some fun in it for him.”

Nevertheless, she supplied them both with amulets, potions, and charms twisted into odd symbols that she vaguely remembered and fondly hoped were Christian.

At last they were ready. Adon privately wondered, from the little he had seen of human society, if sheer silk and cloth of silver were what warriors were expected to wear beneath their armor. And had anyone in Britain ever seen a material like the Lady’s gown, shimmering green and gray like the ocean in the wind? She had, after much consideration, decided on aquamarines and diamonds set in gold for jewelry—only rings, necklace, earrings, and a fillet about her hair. “One must have restraint.” The metal for Lancelot’s armor she had salvaged from the Great Flood, after all mortal life on earth seemed to have perished. It was, as she had promised, the finest ever made and he did not think that anything they had in the world now could dent or splinter it. They had made him a visor of pure silver, in the form of his own face and so light that he hardly noticed it. It fit onto his helm and could be removed for fighting, when peripheral vision was essential. The helm was crested with ostrich feathers. Adon had thought that too much, but it was Meredydd, oddly enough, who had insisted that they remain.

“My Granny told me stories about the soldiers before they all rode off, and she remembered the feathers well. Maybe not that sort, but feathers, certainly, and he should have them, too.”

So there were feathers and soft doeskin for his surcoat and riding trews, with heavier leather for his boots. Nothing had been overlooked, down to the trim on the horse’s bridle.

Lancelot showed no interest in the physical preparations. He had his own sort to make. It was with great trouble that Torres finally convinced him that fasting and keeping vigil would not fit him for proving his strength on the practice field.

“They say that Arthur wants men who can fight, as well as the pure of spirit,” he argued. “How long will you last in the field if you haven’t eaten or slept for a week?”

“All right, Torres. Give me the plate of pheasant. Yes, I see it. It’s hard to hide a platter behind your back.”

Lancelot resented the interruption, but would not hurt Torres by showing it. Torres could not help it if he did not understand. Lancelot sometimes wondered if the true sacrifice he was being asked to make was simply to live with those he loved. Sometimes, in the far reaches of the night, when he felt the weight of the stars on the Lake just before dawn swept them, glittering, from the sky, sometimes he knew that he could almost touch what he sought. If only he could escape just a little bit further. He would reach out until the pain in his muscles recalled him. Another moment . . . but it never happened and he wept for his unworthiness and resolved to be kinder and more considerate to those around him.

So he ate what Torres brought and slept when they told him to and allowed the Lady to arrange things as she thought best.

The day they were to depart, Adon’s bird brought the message that Arthur was no longer in Caerleon, but had moved his entire household to a new fortress-city he was building at Cadbury, which he had named Camelot.

“Where is that?” the Lady asked. “Has he already settled there? I don’t want us lost in a chaos of wagons and furniture.”

“He has been there about a month now, the goose says. He also tells me that it is an old place of magic, but I cannot put too much weight on that. He is a good enough spy, but not at all versed in history.”

“Very well, show us the way and we will go there. Torres! To Camelot!”

• • •

Camelot! Guinevere heard nothing magic in the name. And when she arrived, she saw only mud and buildings of raw wood unpainted and courtyards half tiled. She saw at once that the traditional heating system, with hypocausts sending warm air under the floor, would be impossible with all that timber. Arthur assured her that the construction was solid and sturdy, but she did not like her upstairs rooms any better because of that. Her distaste and despair showed so in her face that Geraldus felt obligated to pull her aside and point out to her that Arthur would never be truly happy there unless she was, even though his heart was set on the place.

“I’ve known you most of your life, Guinevere, and I know how much you hate change of any kind. But try to see it as Arthur does. It is fresh and new, untainted by the past. When it is finished, I think it will be startlingly beautiful because there will not be another place like it on earth.”

Guinevere grimaced, but acknowledged that he was right. “I know. I have heard it many times. I try to remember how important it is to Arthur, but I feel uneasy away from what I know. He asks only that we summer here, thank goodness. We would freeze in the winter, even if the roofs don’t leak, and I suspect that they do.”

“Is it Arthur’s fault that so much lore has been forgotten? He has accomplished a miracle here. The planning is brilliant and the craftsmanship painstaking. Have you seen the carving on the pillars in the Hall where the Table is to be set?”

“No, not yet.”

“It is incredible, a miniature forest on each one and painted so that each branch and leaf has its own color as well as shape. And there is a glass window at the pinnacle of the roof so the sunlight will pour down upon the table, leaving all else in shadow. There is not a villa in Britain that can boast of such splendor.”

“Yes, my dear Geraldus, I know.” She enjoyed his enthusiasm. Arthur needed people like that around him and she had not done her part. “I admit that I am an old hedonist for wanting every home to be as comfortable and familiar as that of my parents. You are right. I will try to see the beauty of Camelot as you do and encourage Arthur all I can in his dreams, if only you will grant me a warm corner for the winter.”

“Now you are teasing, Guinevere.” Geraldus smiled at her. “You know very well that you would be perfectly happy in a dripping cave if Arthur were there.”

She did not know that, but allowed him to think so. She was very fond of Arthur. She would go wherever he wished and try not to complain, but as for being happy? That had not occurred to her. Content was the most she had ever been. Except once, long ago. She tried to remember where and why. Sometimes it almost came back to her. A dream? No, but not quite reality, either. She recalled something silver and lavender, something both cold and warm, a touch, and within the halo of its love she had indeed been very happy, with that piercing joy which is almost pain. Some nights she woke without cause, thinking it still called to her, but the sensation faded before her mind grasped it and there was only her room around her and Arthur sleeping by her side. Then she would remember who and where she was and settle down again among the pillows, with a sense of loss which she could not explain.

She and Geraldus climbed to her rooms. The maids were busy there, hanging the arras and arranging the bedclothes, so they retreated to the balcony.

“Arthur knows how I love to stand high above and watch what is happening, and since there are no towers at Camelot, he made this for me. Look! You can see the gate from here and, on the other side, the practice field. I can sit here with my cup of wine and not only watch all the warriors trying to best each other, but also see who is coming to visit us.” Her laugh was genuine now. “When we are sure that this will hold more than a few people, I can bring the other ladies here with me and we can observe and comment on the knights without our talk disturbing them.”

“It seems strong enough,” Geraldus commented, “and very practical. Arthur may like to use it himself. Up so high, we can not only see everything, but also be seen by anyone across the courtyard.”

He pointed across the yard to the Hall. Merlin was standing in front of the doors, beckoning to them. When he had caught their attention, he cupped his hands and called to them. “Can you see Gawain from up there? We need him!”

Geraldus yelled back, but he was not sure he could be heard. The breeze seemed to blow the sound back at him.

“He had word that his brothers are coming! His brothers! He rode out to meet them!”

With broad gestures and pointing, he finally made himself understood. Merlin disappeared into the building.

“Guinevere, have you any wine handy?” Geraidus croaked. “I hate to shout like that; it spoils my voice for singing.”

She poured cups for them both.

“What do you think Merlin wants Gawain for?” he asked.

Guinevere shrugged. Merlin never confided in her.

“It is rumored that tonight he is going to bring the Round Table here,” Geraidus prodded.

“He and Arthur were closeted together for several hours yesterday,” she admitted. “But they didn’t tell me why. Arthur has been so excited since we came here that I can’t tell if something new is being planned.”

“If you don’t mind, I will go down there to see what I can find out.” Geraidus drained the wine. The cup tipped itself away from him and then back.

“Sorry,” he said to the air. “Next time you may have some.”

He returned to his conversation with Guinevere. “I wasn’t born when that Table was put in the cave under Leodegrance’s villa, and I have never seen it. I have heard that it is enormous, though, and would dearly love to see how he intends to move it.”

“Father never spoke of it at all, other than to tell us that it was not ours to touch. The cave was too dark to see it well, but I remember that it seemed to go on forever into the blackness. Yes, go and see what they are doing. Let me know what is happening. If Cousin Merlin is ready to place the Round Table at Camelot, then it would appear that Arthur plans to start enlisting his brotherhood of knights. That might be worth seeing.”

Geraidus considered that an understatement. The men of Britain had dreamed of nothing else for the past five years. Some had been training themselves or their sons all that time. When word got out that the Table was in place, they would arrive from every corner of the country to vie for a seat. Arthur was wise to wait so long. Not only was interest at the straining point, but the men were that much readier. The selection would be greater and the standards tougher. Once the Table. . . .

His mind returned to his first question. How was Merlin ever going to be able to move it?

Merlin was even more closemouthed than usual, though, and Geraldus could get no answers from him. Arthur looked worried.

“He sent word to my father-in-law not to be surprised or concerned if the ground shook a bit at his villa tonight. He keeps telling me he has no doubts, that what he did once, he can do again. But I don’t like the way he looks. He’s withdrawn into himself more than I’ve ever seen him and he won’t tell me what his plans are. He just says that everyone must stay indoors tonight and no one must light a fire of any kind. In the morning the Table will be in the Hall.”