Read Guinevere Online

Authors: Sharan Newman

Tags: #Historical Romance

Guinevere (6 page)

“How will they grow strong and wise on peasant milk, made from beer and barley bread? I will feed them myself with milk from good red wine and meat.”

They traveled with her everywhere and she nursed them as she rode. She laughed at those who assured her that she would ruin her figure and her health. Her friends respected her position too much to laugh at her publicly, but they privately speculated on what would happen to children raised so loosely. When women met at their homes or at the few remaining baths, the conversation always drifted from complaints on the degeneration of society to Guenlian with her brood of babies, three sons in six years.

“They seem to be everywhere children shouldn’t be,” one barren matron would cluck. “My dear, those boys have the run of the estate. The baby, whichever one that is, crawls about on the floor when there are guests to dinner! And Leodegrance only grins and warns you not to step on him!”

“She should never keep them at home with her,” another would moan. “The first winter illness will take them all, how well I know.” And she would sniff lugubriously.

“That would certainly be a fine stop to the Roman army she seems intent on building. It appears to me that she is determined to replace the whole twentieth legion by herself. If she continues like this, she may get delusions of imperial splendor. I wonder that Leodegrance allows it.”

“Well, it’s obvious why he doesn’t stop her. All those children. You know what men are like!”

And here the conversation would take another turn.

The gossip never bothered Guenlian when she heard of it, as of course she did. It was always the duty of some dear friend to inform her of what people were saying. It may even have occurred to her that one day one of her sons might try for the purple. Stranger things had happened. But after Mark there had been no more children for many years.

And then, when their hopes were almost gone, there was a fourth child, the last.

Guinevere, silent, even facing her first breath. She hadn’t cried out at all but had simply opened her mouth and taken a long, gasping sigh. Then she opened her great, green eyes.

She had focused intently on the face of Flora, who was holding her, enraptured with awe. It seemed to the old woman that the wisdom and mystery she had worshipped all her life lay in that deep, clear gaze. The silence was so complete that Guenlian began to panic.

“Bring him to me,” she commanded. “Why do you wait? Why doesn’t he cry? Is the child dead, deformed? Tell me at once!”

Flora wrapped the unresisting child in swaddling and brought her to lie beside her mother.

“It’s a girl,” she breathed. Guenlian sensed the strange tone of wonder in her voice.

“That was to be expected, I suppose. I can’t always have boys. If she’s strong and healthy, I see no reason to grieve. Take off those linens and let me examine her.”

But Flora was reluctant to give up the baby. She appeared almost reverent and refused to take her eyes from the baby’s face.

“She is not like the others,” the nurse whispered. “There is a light about her, a divine aura. I believe she was sent to us by . . .”

She clutched the child too tightly as a fearful thought occurred to her. The girl finally cried out.

“Stop your superstitious nonsense and bring me my child, Flora.” Guenlian hardly ever used such a tone of command. “We are Christians and civilized, rational beings, and we do not believe in signs. You know I will have no divining or prophesying over my children. Even Merlin knows better than to try to tell me their future. They will be whatever God and their own abilities decide and I leave that to them.”

Flora obeyed. She put the baby on a pillow next to her mother’s head and left the room.

Guenlian didn’t notice. She was filled with the wonder of her daughter. The crying had stopped, but it had done the baby good. Her face was a healthy pink and the wispy gold hair shone above her red scalp.

“Aura indeed!” Guenlian laughed and examined the baby further.

Her eyes were remarkable, the color so pure for a newborn. They were just the color of the first spring leaves, a soft yellow-green. Guenlian checked her hands, uncurling the fingers to see their length. She ran her hands down the bent legs and arms, turned the baby over, looking for birthmarks or blemishes. There was nothing. She was as perfect as any new human being could be.

“What a fool Flora is,” Guenlian whispered. “You are no angel or goddess, but a beautiful Roman child. You will have my mother’s name, Guinevere, and we will raise you to be a strong, brave woman, just as she was.”

Guenlian remembered all these things as she watched her daughter racing to join her brothers on their way to the stables. Guinevere was far from spiritual or even dignified as she hopped along beside John. He was obviously teasing her about something, for Guinevere blushed and tried to reach his head to knock his helmet off. He swept her up and she climbed to his shoulders, enjoying the view. Her laughter sparkled through the still, hot air.

“Can you spare a greeting for an old cousin, Guenlian, or do your children take up all your time as they do all your heart?”

Guenlian came back to the present with a start.

“Merlin, dear cousin!” she exclaimed. “I am delighted to see you here. Our blessed Geraldus has been awaiting your arrival for days. But I see that he, too, is off with the boys. Never mind. He will soon return. Until then you must make do with my poor greeting. You honor our household now that you are the sage advisor of two kings. Your laurels become you, do they not?”

She paused to look more closely at him. He was outwardly robust, but his eyes were veiled by worry and sorrow and his jaw was more firmly set than when they had been children together, or even at their last meeting. She linked her arm in his as they strolled to the house.

“Whatever your cares are now, let them rest while you are with us. Forget Saxons, Irish, and Piets! Turn away from the feuding lords! We will banish them all!”

She laughed and his face softened as he smiled in return.

“Dearest Guenlian. I don’t worry about the Saxon raiders or the mulish country lords. I leave that to the fighting men and the diplomats. There are deeper cares within my heart. But, if they are more serious, they are also more distant. I will take your advice and rest awhile with you. I have a mind to hunt with my old friend Leodegrance and his pack of cubs. And an evening in your hall is always a welcome change from the conversation of men who know nothing but tales of battle and glory and can hardly read their own names.”

“I didn’t know that such men dared speak to you, Merlin,” Guenlian laughed. “They all seem to be much too afraid that you will enchant them to have much to do with you.”

He returned her smile.

“It’s true. I see their hands flickering as I pass to ward off my evil glance. But some of the mightier lords feel that discourse with a wizard enhances their social standing as well as proves their courage. So I listen, night after night, to rambling talk of armor and horses, women and feuds. It will be a joy to listen again to the children’s tutor, what’s his name? The way he goes on about Virgil and Seneca! You would think they had been old friends of his! I doubt that one in a hundred of these so-called Roman soldiers knows of the fall of Troy or the founding of Rome. Arthur and I have discussed this many times. It grieves us to realize that these men have forgotten their past. They know the names of their ancestors to the thirtieth generation, but they know nothing about them. Those who truly are of Roman blood can’t even pronounce their names correctly. But now we are spending all our strength simply defending Britain. There is no time for history lessons.”

“Is the war going so badly, then?” Guenlian asked. She glanced abruptly toward the stable, where rowdy laughter could be heard.

“No, as a matter of fact, it’s going very well. You may calm yourself, cousin. I am aware that you don’t like to hear of my visions, but I can assure you that Britain will remain ours for our lifetimes, at least. Arthur is an able general and a fine man. He is doing what no one thought could be done. He is unifying the clans of the north and the settlers in the south and west. As you know, they normally spend their time fighting each other; now they march side by side, for love of him.”

Guenlian seized her chance. “We have wondered about this Arthur. Geraldus has told us only a little, and the stories of him often seem to contain as much myth as the ones we hear of you. I have heard that you know his family?”

She waited for a reply.

Merlin sighed. “Yes, I did. His parents are dead. They were unable to care for him, even before. So, when he was born, I took him from the arms of the nurse and gave him to old Ector to raise as a foster son. He spent his whole life there except for the times I took him traveling. Now you know as much as he knows.”

“You haven’t even told the boy his own parentage!”

“When the time comes, he will be told, as will you all. But it is not necessary to face yet and I would wait.”

A frightening thought flashed into Guenlian’s mind. Something in his voice, perhaps. Unlike Merlin, she never listened to her intuition. She suddenly realized that they were still standing in the courtyard.

“Forgive me, dear one. I said you should rest and not be bothered, and I have kept you here standing and answering questions! Come. I will show you your room myself. I’ll send for hot water and towels, too. We have had to close the baths during the drought. We haven’t enough cold water to mix with the hot from the springs. However, we can give you a hip bath in your room. Not as pleasant, I know, but adequate for washing off the dust of your journey. When you are rested, come join us on the patio. We have a fine view of the sunset on the mountains, and Pincerna has been overseeing an exquisite dinner in your honor.”

They arrived at his room. It was well furnished and beautifully decorated. Merlin’s smile widened as he saw the well-stuffed mattress and soft pillows. He gave Guenlian a quick hug of delight.

“I may not make it to dinner,” he chuckled.

“See that you do, or Pincerna’s heart will break,” she answered and closed the door behind her.

They had parted happily, but once alone again, they each sighed. Guenlian shook herself and hurried to see about the water, and Merlin gratefully threw himself upon the bed.

 

• • •

 

Guinevere’s joy, however, was totally untempered. Her brothers were home! She had felt recently that being the only child at home gave her too much attention of the wrong sort. Now her strong, adult, laughing brothers were here at last. There would be hunting and riding and rowdy dinners that lasted far into the night. There would be singing and pranks again as it had been before they went away, all so young, to fight. And, she gloated, she could again be spoiled and petted and not treated as a young woman of rank who must mind her behavior.

Fairly bubbling over in her happiness as she pranced along after them to the stables, she didn’t notice the bitter, admiring look Caet gave them as they entered.

It was dark inside and almost cool. The smell of horses and hay struck them at once. All four breathed it in happily. The smell was uniquely that of their own stable, their own horses. They stopped a moment until their eyes grew to show them the shapes in the dark.

Guinevere was still jumping up and down.

“Have I grown?” she teased John. “You haven’t seen me since last fall. I’ve grown a lot, I know it. Soon I’ll be as tall as you.”

“Then you’ll have no more rides on my back!” he grinned. “You already weigh more than my saddle and armor combined. No use Guin, you’re a child no more.”

But he didn’t really believe it. He laughed as he hugged her tightly and lifted her as he had all her life.

Suddenly he stopped. His expression changed almost to one of alarm. Gently, he put her down in the doorway so that the sunlight struck her and shone through her summer-thin gown.

“Oh, Guinevere!” he sighed. “You have grown.”

She blushed. She was vaguely aware that her body was not as straight and flat as it had been even a few months before. But the change had been too gradual for any eye but Flora’s to see. Now she saw her brothers looking at her as if she were a stranger. She felt a chill run through her. Her eyes began to fill.

John saw this and smiled tenderly. “Dear one, I don’t love you less for turning almost into a woman when my back was turned. It only took me by surprise. I suppose I felt that you must be some sort of fairy child who would never change. Brothers! Mark, Matthew! Come! We must greet our sister again. The child we left last autumn has been transformed during our absence! May I present to you the Lady Guinevere!”

They stared at her a moment.

“God’s Blood, I never noticed!” Matthew exclaimed. “Do you want to make me feel old? I felt myself a man already when you were born. But in truth, you’ll soon be of an age for suitors. Well, you have three stout warriors to defend your honor. I place my sword at your command!”

With a flourish of mock pomposity, he drew his short battle sword and laid it at her feet. The others followed.

Guinevere refused to be intimidated. She adjusted an imaginary cloak and veil and extended her hand to them. They were teasing her again and this she could deal with as she had all her life. There was a challenge in their eyes even though they loved her so very much.

“I accept your valorous offer and give you my tokens to carry with you into battle in my name.” She looked about for something to give them. She was wearing very little on this hot day—as had just been made apparent—and no jewelry or scarves. Her hair had tumbled down again and she quickly tugged at it to get three strands.

“I have only these three golden threads to give, but they were gathered at great cost.” She rubbed the place on her scalp where she had pulled.

“I hope,” she added in a more normal voice, “that you appreciate this gift, remembering all the strands you had for nothing in the day when pulling my braids was one of your favorite sports.”

“We will cherish them to the death!” vowed Mark, with a melodramatic whap to his chest. “Oops! I’ve dropped mine in the straw. Well, give me another, sister dear, and I’ll cherish that one to the death.”

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