Camelot's Blood (15 page)

“He said, ‘You think I do not know what I have done? Whose hands struck Tania down? I am lost. I am damned. Leave me.'

“I answered I would not leave him to her. ‘You must,' he said. ‘You and your brothers must grow to be men. It is only as men you will be able to defeat her. She means to destroy us all. While I live, she stalks me. While I live, you have some shield. Go. Live and keep our secret. She must never hear how much you know.'

“I left him at dawn the next day.”

These last words were spoken in a rush. This was the real pain, the knife that dug most deeply: that there had been no other choice.

“You never told anyone,” she murmured. “That your father was standing between you and Morgaine. Not even your brothers.”

“How could I?” He flung out his hands. “The very wind could be her spy. And even if I could speak in safety, what then? Gawain would go charging back and get killed for his pains. Geraint would follow because his sense of duty would override his judgment. Gareth was little more than a child.”

Laurel did not remember crossing the room, but she found she was suddenly beside Agravain, taking his hand and holding it between her own. They stood like that while he collected his wits again. In truth, she also needed time to let the pieces of his narrative fall into place in her mind.

It changed everything. Everything. She had seen Lot as a villain, a barbarous northern lord driven to madness by overweening love for his wife, without the faith or wisdom to cling to polity and reason. She had thought to hear that Agravain had left after cold, hard words had been exchanged. Perhaps Agravain had been driven out by a torrent of insults and, left alone by all his sons, Lot had been seduced by Morgaine.

She had been wrong. Completely wrong.

Agravain pressed her fingers gently before he withdrew his hand. “May I now ask why you needed to know this?” he inquired with studied blandness.

“Because you said Morgaine had some long hold over Din Eityn.”
Do not say over you, or over the king. “To
secure the fortress, that hold must be broken. I could not do this unless I understood the nature of it.”

“Can you break her hold?”

How to answer?
‘I will do my best, I promise you.”

To Laurel's utter surprise, Agravain kissed her fingers lightly. When he raised his head, she saw, all unlooked for, that she had given Agravain hope. Her heart swelled with emotion, unfamiliar and tremulous, but also with fear. Should she fail … should she wipe that hope from him …

I will not. I cannot
.

“Thank you, Laurel,” he whispered. He straightened then. “And now, I must go to play my part. What will you do, my lady?”

“I will go to visit Merlin.”

Laurel did not know what she expected in response, but it was not Agravain jerking backwards as if he had been stung. “Merlin? Why?”

“Because he once trapped Morgaine, but did not kill her. I would know why. It may become important to us.”

With obvious effort, Agravain brought himself back to some semblance of calm. “Of course. Of course, you are right. I … ”

“What is it, my lord?”

Agravain watched his hands flexing for a moment.
What are you trying to grasp?
‘Do not inquire too deeply there, my lady,” he whispered. “Do not … do not stray from your path. Merlin's knowledge is not all … wholesome.”

Something had happened to him last night. It occurred to Laurel he might have spoken to Merlin, and got more than he had bargained for. The thought chilled her. “I will be careful. These ways are not unknown to me.”

“No.” He was looking at her afresh, but he was not reassured, and she did not know how to make him so.

“Forgive me.” Agravain straightened and lowered his restless hands, bringing himself fully back to the task of the moment. “Now, perhaps you should wish me luck.”

“Good luck, my husband,” replied Laurel gravely.

Agravain bowed in solemn reply. As she watched, he schooled his face into its habitual sour expression, closing himself away behind his sturdy shutters and lowering the latches into place. Within a handful of heartbeats, he was Sir Agravain once again; cold, alone, acerbic, inscrutable.

Without looking back, he strode from the room.

Alone, Laurel blew out a sigh and looked around Agravain's spartan room, shoving her disordered hair back from her face. It was all so strange that for a moment she did not know what to do. Then, she caught a glimpse of her rumpled sleeve.

First I must get decently clothed
. She too had this day to face, this role to play. She could not fail to see it through.

Back to my own room. Get washed and some order made from this disarray. Make sure Meg and the others are all right
. Her responsibilities to her husband did not negate her responsibility to her own women, and this she had neglected over the past several hours. Cryda and Elsa at least, would be going out of their minds wondering what would happen next.

Fortunately, the dim corridor remained empty as she hurried down its length to her own chamber. She pushed the door open, and warmth wafted out over her along with a stench strong enough to make her clap her hand across nose and mouth.

“God Almighty!” she cried as she pushed the door shut behind her. “What is that?”

Cryda looked to Elsa, and then to Laurel, tears shining in her eyes. She gestured helplessly to a pair of buckets that stood beside the bathing basin. “It is the wash water. It's been … fouled.”

So it had. What should have been clear water was muddied, greasy and malodorous. In fact, judging from the straw that floated on its surface, it had been used to swill out the stable.

Laurel felt her stomach tighten. So, this is how Camelot shows its displeasure.

“Meg's gone to find out who was responsible,” said Elsa. Her tone said she didn't hold out much hope.

Laurel put her hands on her hips, trying to keep her breathing shallow, and her mind calm.
First things first
. “Well, there's no point in keeping this. Throw it out the window.”

Cryda and Elsa glanced uneasily at each other. “Meg told us to keep the windows closed.”

Laurel looked steadily at her maids for a moment. They, in turn, both studiously looked at the floor. Then, Laurel walked over to the shutters, undid the latch and pulled them open.

Her window overlooked the broad yard at the centre of Camelot's keep. She could see the stables and various outbuildings, and the busy, dusty expanse of the yard itself stretching towards the chapel and the walls beyond.

But not everyone was busy today. A small crowd clustered beneath her window. As soon as she opened the shutters, these idlers let out a rude hissing and shouting. Laurel, unable to believe what she heard, froze for a moment. This gave one of them time enough to pick up a clod of dirt and hurl it upwards. Fortunately, his aim was off, and it smacked against the wall beside her head.

“Hey!” shouted another voice. “You there!” A man-at-arms wearing a leather coat strode up to the jeering crowd. “Get back to your work! She's the king's guest!”

The idlers scattered before his order, quickly at first, but then — as it became clear he was not going to chase after them — more slowly. The man turned to glower up at Laurel. She nodded her thanks. In reply, he spat into the dirt, and sauntered away.

So
. Laurel sighed. “Well, they're gone for now. Let's get rid of this filth.”

Cryda and Elsa obediently emptied the buckets into the yard. Now there was no water at all. Laurel turned about, taking stock of the rest of the room. The fire was low, but the basket for fuel was empty.

“Do I need to ask?” She rubbed her forehead.

“No one has brought any today,” said Cryda. “We've been afraid … ”

Laurel didn't make her finish. “Yes, I can see why. All right. We will not remain here much longer. Three days at the most. We must make do for ourselves as best we can. We are still the king's guests, and there are limits to what outrages may be performed against us.”

“My Lady …' began Elsa, twisting her plump, capable hands together.

“Yes?”

“My Lady, what's happened? They say your … Sir Agravain has turned traitor against the High King.” Her face had gone ghostly white. “My lady, is it true? What's to become of us?”

“You hold your tongue, Elsa.”

It was Meg. She shouldered the door open with the yoke she wore around her neck. Two buckets full of fresh water hung from its ropes. “You have no business pestering our lady. She will tell us all we need to know in due time.” Meg set the buckets down firmly, splashing water onto the hearthstones. “Now help me with these, you fool girls.”

Cryda and Elsa ran forward at once, removing the yoke and lugging the buckets nearer to the dying fire.

“Now, my lady, do you wish to change?” inquired Meg, sounding for all the world like this was any other day.

“In a moment, Meg. I need to speak with you all.” Laurel licked her lips.
How do I begin?
Cryda and Elsa turned to her, hungry for explanation and reassurance, and she had so little she could give. “There has been a disagreement between Lord Agravain and the High King. Lord Agravain will be leaving at once for Din Eityn. He does this in defiance of King Arthur's orders.” She drew a deep breath. “I will be going with him.”

“Oh, my lady, not if he …' Cryda clapped her hand over her mouth.

“In this, I may choose to side with the king, or with my husband, Cryda. I choose my husband.” Cryda bowed her head humbly, whether that was from her words or Meg's uncompromising glower, Laurel could not tell. “It is difficult and uncomfortable now. Perhaps things will smooth out over then next day or so. Perhaps not. I am sorry you must suffer for this,” she added softly.

Believe me, my women, if there had been another way, I would have taken it
.

“And that should be more than enough for you,” snapped Meg, setting her fists on her hips. “Now, you can surely brave the yard long enough to find our lady some fuel for the night. Stay together and keep your mouths closed. Go!”

Cryda and Elsa both made their curtsies in acknowledgement. Then, keeping huddled together, as if hoping to go unseen, they slipped out into the corridor.

When she could no longer hear their footsteps, Laurel turned to Meg. “There are some things I must say to you, Meg, that cannot be repeated to any living soul.”

Meg folded her hands calmly in front of her. Laurel realized she had been perfectly prepared for this moment. It might even have been the reason she sent the other two away. Softly, carefully, Laurel told Meg of the plan, and of Meg's own part in it. Meg listened without interrupting until Laurel at last fell silent. Then, Meg lifted her chin.

“I will not leave you.”

Laurel stared. “Meg,” she said softly. “You must.”

But Meg shook her head and turned away, dipping her hand into one of the buckets to check the temperature of the water, and then lifting it a little closer to the fire where it could warm more fully. “You go to a foreign land.” She might have been speaking to the fire as much as to Laurel. She lifted the second bucket, all but setting it in the coals. “To God alone knows what place … ”

Laurel waved her words away impatiently. “Meg you must stand messenger for me to Lynet. There is no one else to send.”

In reply, Meg took up the poker and jabbed it angrily into the coals, breaking them open to release fresh flames. “Then you find must someone,” she said doggedly. “Won't it cause yet more talk if I abandon you now?”

“Yes,” replied Laurel firmly. “That will only strengthen this illusion we seek to create.”

Meg straightened up, keeping her back towards Laurel and her face towards the dwindling fire. When she did turn, she looked Laurel directly in the eye. It had been a long time since Laurel had truly seen her woman. Meg's stern face was brown and seamed from the years of work and care. Her once dark hair had all faded to grey. The skin bunched and sagged on her strong hands. Meg had served Laurel's mother, had served her, since she was a girl. She had denied herself husband and children to remain in that service. She had never done one thing that did not protect and strengthen Laurel and her family.

Humbled by this knowledge, it was Laurel who bowed her head this time.

When Meg spoke again, her words shook with anger though she remembered to keep her voice low. “I will not send you into danger alone. Let the others be seen to desert you. I will not do it.”

“Meg,” Laurel began again. “You do not desert me. You are my only steady friend, and the hope of my lord and our king. If you do not do this, then the whole enterprise will fail. Lynet will not accept the word of anyone else once the rumours begin to fly.” She stepped forward and took Meg's trembling, workworn hand. “I'm begging you, Meg. For Lynet's sake. For mine. Take this message home.”

Tears glittered in Meg's eyes, born of fear, of weariness, of anger that this new place which had promised honour had begun to drag them down. But this time, Meg kept both her tears and her thoughts to herself. Instead, she made a deep curtsy.

“It shall be as my lady requires.”

When she rose, they embraced, as they had not done since Laurel was small.
God grant it is the right decision
. Laurel prayed fervently. The thought of going alone into the north terrified her, but she could not show that. Not now. Perhaps not ever.

She pulled back. Meg was still visibly on the edge of tears. She could not be made to stay here, not without a real task.

“For now, Meg, I have another errand. Cryda and Elsa can dress me when they return. I need you to go down to the thatched house that belongs to Master Merlin, and say I would visit with him in the morning.”

Meg curtsied and relief was plain in her voice. “Yes, my lady.” She turned away, wiping at her eyes, adjusting the set of her shoulders as she closed the door behind herself.