The Lady of the Sea (5 page)

And this he knew to be true.

For Dominian had once again seen the face of God.

chapter 5

S
o the King’s loyal barons had asked Mark to name his heir? And they’d made their choice, Tristan was their man?

Trembling, Sir Andred hurried through the court. They had turned against him, then, and rejected him as the next in line? Well, they would pay the price. Of course, when he had them writhing at the end of his sword, they’d all protest that they only wanted the best for the country, the people, what you will. But he’d hang the whole pack of them when he was king.

All except Nabon. Andred paused to relish the prospect. That old fox he’d take care of himself. How would it be? Would he slowly slit Nabon’s windpipe or sink a sword and twist it in his guts? As long as he could enjoy the terror in the old man’s bursting eyes and catch the last rattle of breath in his dying throat, he did not care. Then he’d hang Nabon’s head on the highest battlement, as a warning to others that he would not be defied.

Yes, he would have his revenge. But it would not wipe out this insult to his pride. That ever the barons would choose Tristan over him . . . A murderous rage swept through Andred’s soul. He bunched his fists. What in the world should he do?

He dragged an angry breath into his lungs, oblivious to the gentle, rain-laden spring air. Darkness and devils, if only Elva were here! Andred’s mind turned hungrily toward his longtime love, the tall, vibrant woman who years ago had thrown her lot in with him. He’d been so sure of her love then that he’d persuaded her to make advances to the King. If Elva could capture the heart of the love-starved Mark, he had urged her, then between them they’d have the whole country in their power.

Well, the Gods loved to jest. Who would have dreamed that Elva would come to love the shallow, selfish Mark, a cowardly wretch whom all the world despised? Nothing had prepared Andred for that peculiar pain and all that had followed, the years of sharing his love with another man. But now Elva’s hold over Mark was waning, and she did not know why. It had all been in vain.

A new anguish gripped Andred, and his desperation increased. Yet I can still be king and make Elva my queen. Let me get to Mark and find out . . . plan . . . decide . . .

Slowly his thoughts took shape. First he should find Elva and get her advice. Her counsel was always worth having in difficult times. Then it might be a good idea to take her with him to the King. Who knows, perhaps she could catch Mark’s fancy again today, and then . . . and then . . .

His mind aflame, Andred increased his pace through the main courtyard toward the King’s House on the castle mound. Ahead of him he caught sight of two knights lingering casually in the shadow of an arch. So Fer de Gambon and Taboral were lying in wait for him?

News traveled fast at court. Andred gave a mirthless grin. It would be no secret to these two royal hangers-on that Tristan was the barons’ favorite to succeed. Had they come to gloat over him?

He eyed them in an evil frame of mind. A head taller than his friend, Sir Taboral cut an impressive figure in the tiltyard, where the short, bandy-legged de Gambon could never shine. But Sir Fer de Gambon regained his dignity on the ground, and his keen eye betrayed a sharp intelligence that Taboral lacked.

Why were they waiting for him, Andred wondered cynically, when surely they should be turning to Tristan to greet the rising sun? Ah, that was it. They must have realized that as soon as Tristan became king, there’d be no place for them left at court. Tristan was too honorable to entertain disreputable knights. The unscrupulous Fer de Gambon, with his ferret eyes, and the brutish Taboral would be swiftly swept away.

Still, Andred calculated, between them they had brains and brawn. And who knows how soon I shall need them? ran through his mind. They’d been useful to him before, and they could be again. But neither of them should know that till the moment came.

“Well?” he said coldly, without breaking his stride.

“There’s a messenger at the gatehouse, sir,” Fer de Gambon offered as he hastened alongside, jiggling his short legs to fall into step. “From the Queen.”

A shock of surprise ran through Andred’s frame. Isolde was due back today at Castle Dore. If she’d sent a message, she must have changed her mind. She was going somewhere else. With Tristan? And in clear defiance of her duty to Mark?

Yesssssss!

An upsurge of hope flashed through Andred’s soul. Now how could he build on this to get his revenge on Mark . . . to move against Tristan . . . to secure the throne . . . ?

Andred closed his eyes. An age-old, warming rage ran through his veins. Gods and Great Ones, how long had he hoped to destroy Tristan and Isolde, too? And Mark himself, now that he knew for sure that the King would not stand up to the barons to defend his right?

Well, he’d stand up for himself. From this moment on. That was the only way he would make himself king. He turned back to Fer de Gambon and Taboral with rage in his heart.

“So, sirs,” he began carelessly. “This messenger from the Queen . . . ?”

“W
HAAT?
”

Slowly, Mark surfaced from the depths of sleep. The warm, friendly stink of horse slobber, sweat, and wine told him he was in his chamber sprawled out in his favorite chair, after a day at the hunt and a night’s drinking with his men. Later he’d have to clean himself up for the court and put on the finery and semblance of a king. But here in his Privy Chamber, he could please himself. Slack-mouthed, he settled back to sleep.

But there it was again. “Good morning, sire.”

Groaning, Mark recognized the harsh burr that had disturbed more mornings than he could bear to think. “Father Dominian?” he mouthed, struggling to command his thick tongue. “What is it now?”

“Your future, sire. Your fate.”

Blearily, Mark scanned the priest’s burning eyes and stony face. He heaved a resentful groan. “What about it?”

“Your Queen insults you, sire,” the priest began in a low, intense voice. “Moreover, she defies the law of God. It is written that a wife be subject to a husband’s will. Further, that the purpose of marriage is procreation, and that is woman’s task.”

God Almighty, before breakfast? Before the first, much-needed drink of the day? Mark closed his eyes and prayed for the priest to die. Or to disappear without a trace, whichever would be easier for God.

But God was not listening, it seemed. In a whiff of sanctimony and incense, Dominian pressed on.

“Your barons desire that you will name one of your nephews as your chosen heir. But neither Sir Andred nor Sir Tristan is a man of faith. A Christian child of your loins is what God desires.”

Mark struggled to sit up. “But you know God has not yet granted a child to my wife and me—”

“Oh, sir—” The little priest firmly brushed his protests aside. “This is your task, not God’s. Every man must master his wife in marriage or cast her aside. And He ordained motherhood to tame their sex, which otherwise is rampant and sinful and born to seek command.”

“Well, that’s true enough of Isolde.” Mark gave a furious laugh. “But God knows she’s too much for me. What can I do?”

Dominian’s eyes flared. “God has given to you, sire, and to every man the instrument that tames every woman, even a queen.”

What on earth did he mean? Struggling, Mark closed his eyes and tried to think.

“One of His higher designs,” pursued the priest. “An object of nature that fulfills the divine will. The mark of manhood, to show men they were born to rule. The weapon they may use without mercy if they choose.”

Mark goggled at Dominian. His manhood? His weapon? God’s instrument? Slowly, understanding dawned. God in Heaven, is that what the priest meant? But how was he to do it? Isolde followed the Mother, and believed that a woman had the right to choose who she lay down with, and also to refuse. Would she ever accept that he had a right to possess her against her will? And to force her to submit if she did not agree?

A new voice joined the jangling chorus in his head. “Good day to you, sire!”

“Jesu have mercy, not another one?” Mark shook his befuddled head. Angrily, he focused on the approaching figure, smiling as ever and spruce in black and gray, but with a distinctly meaningful glint in his eye. What was Andred doing here at this time of day? And wasn’t that the Lady Elva behind?

“My lord!” A tall, lithe woman in flowing green silks greeted him with the deepest of curtsies and a flashing smile.

Mark looked at her with dislike. How long had he cared for this woman? Had she really been his mistress for all these years? He stared with a sickly fascination at the shiny green gown clinging to her long, hard, snake-like body and outlining her sharp breasts. He once thought it was wonderful and striking that she dressed herself always in green, every shade of it from lime-yellow to greeny-black. Now her scaly silks bored him, like everything else. Ignoring her completely, he turned away.

Now Andred was busy paying his respects to the priest. Time to show who was King. Mark eyed them spitefully as he heaved himself to his feet, pulling down his slubbered jerkin and straightening his hair. Why was Andred looking so pleased with himself? By the grin on his face, he was ripe for taking down.

“Andred, you know all of Arthur’s knights are going on the Quest,” he announced, “and Cornwall must follow suit. I’ve decided to send the finest knights we have, and of course that means you.” He paused to enjoy the flash of panic in Andred’s eye. “Unless you want to play the coward and stay at home?”

“Oh, Uncle . . .”

Andred was far too familiar with Mark’s malice to rise to the bait. He put his hand on his heart and fixed Mark with a loyal stare.

“Every knight must do what he knows in his heart is right,” he said soulfully. “And I have found my quest here in Castle Dore.”

Mark stared at him. “Where?”

“In serving you, sire. In fulfilling your will. That is my holy grail.”

“Is it indeed?” Mark grunted with hidden satisfaction. “Well, I can’t argue with that.”

“But the Grail, sire—”

Dominian’s interest quickened. It was written that God winnowed the knights on the Quest in the winds of his wrath, and if He did, then the vainglorious, sinful Andred could hardly be spared, and Tristan, too. How wonderful if both these unsatisfactory heirs were destroyed, leaving the way clear for the rightful Christian child.

“Indeed you must send Cornwall’s best knights on the Quest, sire,” he said flatteringly. “And who better than the nephews of the King?”

Andred smiled to himself. “But that leaves the King unprotected,” he said silkily. “Which no loyal subject would want him to be.”

Dominian looked at him with eyes of burning coal. “Do you question my loyalty, sir?”

“Only your foresight,” Andred returned with an easy smile. “If Tristan and I were lost, what would Cornwall do then?”

God Almighty, not the succession again? New waves of distrust awoke in Mark’s fevered brain. What was Andred up to? Dominian, too? Mark gasped. He did not know. But he had to save himself from both of them.

A wondrous plan began to blossom in his mind. “Hear me!” he cried. “It’s true I have only nephews to my name. But if God gave me a son . . . ?” He rolled his eyes up to the vaulted roof. “Alas, neither Our Lord Jesus Christ nor my wife’s Goddess has seen fit to bless our marriage with a child. But the Queen is still within her childbearing years. With God’s help and blessing, there is hope for us. You may look for a child of her body within the year.”

Within the year!

There, he’d said it, Mark crowed, and now he only had to make it come true. God Almighty, but it was good to see the stunned faces around him and hear them gasp. I’ve fixed you now, Tristan, Andred, Nabon, and the whole pack of you.

“Ah, dear Isolde,” he sighed. “How I look forward to making her mine again. And it’s the right time of the year.” He puffed out his chest with a wink. “The old wives say that a field well plowed in spring will yield a full harvest before the year is out.”

Afloat on his visions of revenge, Mark did not pause to think how he would persuade Isolde to be his wife. He only knew that as soon as she returned from Arthur’s court, he would confront her with the demand for a full married life. And this time, he would not be refused.