That night Merlin had a long talk with Leodegrance, after which Leodegrance had a long talk with Guenlian. The consequence was that they sent for Arthur to confer with them as they sat in the courtyard the following afternoon.
Spring had blown in gustily that week. The air was still chilly, but inciting, and something about the day was conducive to rash acts. Arthur tried to gain courage from deep breaths of the moist air as he hurried to the meeting. He had seen Guinevere that morning at breakfast, and she had smiled at him and inquired about his health in a tone that had set his heart pounding. He wondered if she had been told yet of his intentions. He was trying to consider what impression he should try to convey about himself to Leodegrance and Guenlian. He wanted desperately to be as elegant and assured as they, but had given that up as hopeless. He must somehow convince them that Guinevere would give up nothing in the way of comfort or care by marrying him. He wondered if he could make them believe how much and how truly he adored her.
He would have been deeply embarrassed to know how unnecessary the last worry was. His love for Guinevere was so obvious that the only person who hadn’t noticed it was Guinevere herself.
“Well, young man,” Leodegrance began in the tone used by all prospective fathers-in-law, “I understand that you wish to marry my daughter?”
“Yes,” said Arthur, looking miserably at his hands.
“Can you tell us why we should approve of such an alliance?”
Arthur didn’t look up and see the softening amusement of Leodegrance’s expression. He only heard the question, and suddenly all the reasons why he shouldn’t marry her came into his head.
“I know I’m only a crude soldier,” he blurted. “I have little education, save what Merlin has given me. I don’t know how to talk to fine people or to use a napkin. I am only really comfortable and at ease in a camp, preparing for battle and surrounded by those like myself. I am clumsy and my foster brother, Cei, says that I snore. I don’t even have a family name to give her. I have come from nowhere and am no one.”
He sank ever lower in his seat as he recited his defects. The hopelessness of it crushed him.
When he finished, Guenlian turned to Merlin. There were sparks of anger in her eyes.
“You haven’t even told him about his family yet?” she complained. “When is this perfect time you said you were waiting for, your deathbed?”
“What do you mean?” Arthur sat up again.
“My dear Arthur,” she said forcefully. “I really don’t think that any of your dreadful flaws are an impediment to marriage. If Guinevere is upset, she can show you how to use a napkin. This business of your family, however, is another matter. My cousin apparently doesn’t think the time is right to tell you the names of your parents. I can’t imagine why. You have certainly proved yourself in every way a successor worthy of your father and far more able to mold this poor battered island into a civilized country again. It is cruel for you to be allowed to think you are worthless. Your family is certainly as old and as respected as Guinevere’s. You need not worry about that. What I want to know is, one: do you love her enough to take care of her and protect her no matter what happens? and two: how does she feel about you?”
Arthur tried to stammer an answer to her questions but he felt as if someone had just picked him up by the heels and thrown him into a whirlwind.
“Merlin, what is she saying? Who was my father?”
Merlin grit his teeth. What
this
would lead to, he couldn’t guess. Was nothing to be left in his hands?
“Arthur, I said I would tell you someday. You may as well know it all now. You are the son of Uther Pendragon and his queen, Igraine. If you feel that you need a legitimate right of inheritance to rule the Britons, there it is. But I wanted you to take the crown on your own merit, without resting on anyone’s name or earlier conquests. Uther was obeyed but not loved. Guenlian is right when she says that you will do a far better job than he did. The matter at hand, however, is Guinevere. So you still want to marry her, now that you do not need the grandeur of her name to bolster your authority?”
“What an insane question! Of course I want her. It is I who was not worthy of her. I love her so much I am afraid even to speak to her lest I frighten her by shouting out my feelings too soon.”
Leodegrance gave the boy a look almost of pity. “That is something you must overcome soon. I take it, then, that you haven’t told her anything. No? Well, we will do that for you now. If she is willing, I can see no objection. Can you, my dear?”
Guenlian’s smile almost blinded him. “I can think of nothing to keep this man from joining our family, if that is what he wishes. I do think that you gentlemen should discuss her dowry, in case Arthur is not satisfied with the little we can offer. I’ll not have it said that our daughter could not bring something to her marriage appropriate to her husband’s position. Now, if you like, I will go and speak to Guinevere. If you will excuse me?”
Arthur was fast losing his capacity for clear and decisive thinking. His head seemed to be stuffed with some foggy, blue substance, and stars and comets were flashing through his brain. He vaguely knew that Merlin and Leodegrance were haggling over certain parcels of land and an amount of coins but it was some time before he bothered to attend to them.
“I don’t want any land. I have the site for my city already chosen. It’s a fine hill near Glastonbury Tor. Guinevere doesn’t need a dowry. There is nothing you have more precious than she is. But, if we must have something, all she need bring is the table you have hidden in the cave under your home.”
“What!” Leodegrance tensed his jaw. “How do you know about that? No one is supposed to know anything about it!”
“Matthew told me, long ago. He didn’t know much. It is perfectly round and will seat a hundred men or more. There are words carved on it but Matthew never had enough light to decipher them. There is supposed to be some sort of magic connected with it. It is very old and no one knows how it was put there or where it came from.”
“I put it in there,” Merlin said in a tired voice, “and it came from Uther, at least most recently. The last time he ever took my advice was when I told him it was too dangerous to have it about.”
“What do you want it for?” Leodegrance waved off Merlin’s protestations.
“I want a symbol for my new society, something exclusive and yet open to all equally, if they can earn a place. Ever since I heard of this table, it has drawn me. I think it is what I was looking for.”
“I see,” Leodegrance rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “It may be that you are indeed the one that I was to save it for. I must consider this.”
And, without further conversation, he strode off into the darkness of the castle. Arthur looked at Merlin.
“I suppose you are angry with me?” he sighed.
“No, I am resigned to anything now. But it does appear that I have a great deal to tell you. Come with me.”
And they wandered down the narrow path to the beach and were not seen again until evening.
Chapter Seventeen
Guenlian found her daughter alone in her room. She was sitting balanced in the narrow casement, staring out to sea. Guenlian came up to Guinevere gently and touched her shoulder. Guinevere started and slipped from her perch back to the floor.
“You startled me, Mother. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“I could see that. Lost in daydreams?”
Guinevere shrugged evasively. “Not exactly,” she hedged.
“She’s slipping away again,” Guenlian worried to herself. “Marriage would be a good thing for her. She lives too much in another world.”
“Come sit with me, darling. I want to speak with you about something important.”
Guinevere felt a thrill of apprehension. She couldn’t remember anything terrible that she had done lately, but her mother’s tone was so serious that she felt sure she was about to be reprimanded for something and braced to explain herself for whatever it was. So she was a little bewildered by Guenlian’s question.
“What do you think of Arthur, dear?”
“Arthur?”
“Yes. You wanted to meet him for years and now you have. What do you think of him?”
Guinevere mused for a moment.
“He’s different,” she said at last. “He always moves as if he knows just where he is going and the best way to get there. He got Mark to come with us, when I couldn’t even make him talk to me. I think I like him. But he doesn’t seem to care for me very much.”
“He doesn’t? Why ever do you think that?”
“He won’t talk with me. Every time I see him, he just mumbles and slides away. Do you think I offended him? Perhaps I didn’t thank him properly for saving my life. Or maybe he just doesn’t feel I would be very interesting to discuss things with. I’m not very well informed on what is happening, the way Sidra is.”
“You may be correct, Guinevere. But that isn’t the impression I got from him this afternoon. Far from being offended by you, this man appears to be very much in love with you. He has asked your father and me to arrange a marriage between you, if it pleases you.”
“A what?”
“He wants to marry you, my dearest child. How do you feel about that?” Guenlian watched her carefully. It suddenly occurred to her that, unlike other girls her age, Guinevere had never considered marrying anyone.
Guinevere was quiet. At first she only felt numb and then cold and a little frightened. She tried to imagine marriage. Her parents liked it well enough. It would be nice to have someone to share things with, to talk to every day, someone who loved her. Then she remembered Gawain and Risa. Her stomach turned. Could she do that? She didn’t see how. Yet Risa liked it very well. It was clear that it didn’t worry Alswytha. You could see that every time she and Mark were together. One almost felt embarrassed watching them look at each other. It was so totally private. She wondered if she could feel that strongly about Arthur.
“I don’t know him, Mother!” she blurted. She tried to picture Arthur again in her mind and only got a vague impression of strength and excitement.
“Do you want to know him?”
“Yes, I think I do.” Guinevere’s answer surprised herself.
“Then you must make him speak to you. He is only shy of you because he cares for you so much. Let him tell you about himself and his plans. He has many grand dreams, not only for you and for himself but for all of Britain. If you married him, you know, you would likely become queen.”
If she had hoped that would impress Guinevere, she was mistaken. The information seemed to surprise her and then she laughed.
“How very odd!”
“Shall I tell him that you wish to see him?”
“If I am going to marry him, I would like to do that first,” she replied, without a trace of humor.
Within an hour everyone at the castle had heard the news that Guinevere was engaged to Arthur. Her room was crowded with people fluttering around her with good wishes and obsequious comments that she didn’t understand. Although she had not made up her mind at all, so many people told her the matter was settled that she began to believe it was.
It was not until after dinner that she finally had the chance to talk with Arthur.
For the first time, she really studied him. He was tall and strong and handsome in the clean, chiseled Roman fashion. His normally pale skin had been tanned and roughened by weather and years of campaigning. His tousled red hair had probably once also been lighter, but the same forces had deepened it to a rich auburn. His hands, she noticed with satisfaction, were large and yet finely made, with long, tapering fingers. She thought of her own stubby fingers and wondered, inconsequentially, if their children could hope to inherit his.
She stood watching him so long that he flushed with embarrassment and gave her a look of such pure devotion that she smiled at him tenderly.
“If I am going to be your wife, Arthur, you really must stand closer to me,” she admonished him.
“Are you?” Arthur stuttered, “I m—mean, will you?”
“Everyone says so,” she answered. “Are you certain you want me?”'
“Am I certain!” he shouted and then made an effort to modulate his voice. “I’ve wanted nothing else since I first saw you. I will be so good to you, I promise. There is so much we can do together. We can make Britain a real country again. We will build a beautiful palace and everyone in the land will flock to our court just to gaze at you.”
“What a strange thing for them to do. I’m sure I could arrange some better entertainment.”
“Of course, anything you like,” Arthur responded. If she had suggested that he travel to Africa for a performing elephant, he would have picked up his sword and gone without a word.
Timidly, he reached out his hand and touched her cheek. His fingers were rough, like fresh leather, but curiously gentle. She smiled again and whispered, “I think I will enjoy being married to you.”
Arthur suddenly felt as if the whole world had been laid out before him. He knew without doubt that he could create a civilization grander than any the world had ever known. He could build cities more glorious than Rome or Jerusalem. He could defeat any foe and then convert them so thoroughly that they would serve him with devotion. The lightness in his head almost convinced him that he could fly.
Guinevere thought only, “There is something very nice about him. He makes me want to do something for him, like remind him to wear his cloak when it rains.”
Since there were no clouds in the sky, Guinevere settled for reminding him that it was time to eat and suggested that they join the others in the dining hall.
Arthur thought it the most wonderful idea he had ever heard, and they went happily in to be greeted by cheers and congratulations from everyone there.
The next day Mark drew her aside and surprised her by giving her a hearty kiss.
“Thank you, Guinevere. I know you will be very happy and now, maybe, I will be, too,” he grinned, the unscarred side of his face looking almost like himself again.
“Mark, what are you talking about?”
“Little sister, I could kiss you!”