The Road to Avalon (12 page)

As Arthur was speaking, Merlin looked around the room. Every man’s eyes were on Arthur, none on Lot. Cador of Dumnonia was nodding as if in agreement.

“We all want peace!” Lot was shouting now as he felt the momentum slipping away from him, as he felt the attention of the room centering on the boy who was facing him down. “But the only way to peace is to beat the Saxons,” he said to the men who had gathered here today to decide the future of the high kingship. “And the only way to beat the Saxons is to elect a proven war leader, not an untried boy who has yet to grow a beard.”

“To beat the Saxons, we must be united,” repeated Arthur, “and for that you need me.” There was a sharp line between his black brows, and he did not look young at all. “You need me because I am Uther’s son and Constantine’s grandson; because I have no ties to the north or to the south or to Wales, but only to Britain. In choosing me to be high king, you are not choosing Lothian, or Dumnonia, or Dyfed. You are choosing a Comes Britanniarum. And I promise you, my lords, that I shall lead you to victory.”

They believed him. Merlin could sense it as he looked around the room for what seemed the hundredth time that afternoon. It was a quality in Arthur he was to see over and over again, yet always it amazed him, that ability to move and inspire men. He did not do it by his words; other men could speak the same words and have no effect at all. It was something in him, some quality in his very existence, intangible yet absolutely commanding. Constantine had had it to some degree; in Arthur it was paramount.

Cador of Dumnonia was getting to his feet. He was a short, heavyset man with a powerful neck and deep-set dark eyes. “My lords,” he said in his deep, rumbling voice, “I propose that we accept the high king’s nomination of Prince Arthur as his heir.”

When the vote was over, Lot went back to his camp and began to gather his men. He sent word to the praetorium that Morgause was to make ready to depart.

This message was brought to Uther as he was consulting with his wife and his father-in-law in the reception room of his private chambers. Uther told the man to wait outside for a reply, and the three of them looked at each other as the messenger left the room.

“He is angry,” Merlin said to Uther and Igraine as soon as the door had closed. “Angry enough to storm Avalon and demand the return of his wife and his sons.”

“I don’t think so,” Uther replied. “I sent a whole cohort under Claudius with orders to surround Avalon. He won’t risk Morgause or the boys getting hurt.”

Merlin still looked worried. “I wouldn’t put too much faith in Lot’s tender heart.”

“Nor would I.” Igraine’s voice was dry. “But Morgause is his tie to the high kingship. And his sons. Without them he has no more claim than any other of the Celtic kings.”

“Igraine is right,” said Uther. “I will send a reply to him that Morgause is at Avalon and does not wish to return to Lothian just yet. He won’t tarry for her.”

“True.” Merlin’s face had relaxed. “Things have not fallen out as he had expected.”

“They did not fall out as I expected, either,” Uther said frankly. “I never expected Lot’s to be the sole dissenting vote.”

The king was looking exhausted and Igraine said to Merlin, “Where is Arthur? It was his idea to send Morgause to Avalon. Let him deal with Lot.”

“The last I saw of Arthur,” Merlin replied dryly, “he was flanked by Cai and a blond-haired giant from Wales and was listening with admirable patience to contradictory advice from five different kings and princes.”

Uther’s thin, sallow face broke into a smile. “I wish you could have been at the council, Igraine,” he said to his wife. “The boy was magnificent.”

“I’m glad.” She gave her father a hard, meaningful look before she continued, “I’m glad you have such a competent son, my love. I am quite sure that between Arthur and Father they can deal with matters here while you take a little rest. You look tired.”

Merlin stood up. “Igraine is right, Uther. You must save your strength. I’ll have the message sent to Lot.”

“All right.” The king’s skin looked gray and his breathing was audible. His half-closed eyes turned to Merlin. “Tomorrow,” he said, “I will present Arthur to the army.”

Merlin nodded. “I’ll speak to him. Get some rest now, Uther.” As he turned to leave the king’s chamber, he saw Igraine bend over her husband. She said something to him, and her voice was heartbreakingly tender. Merlin’s mouth set hard; then he went out into the hall to speak to Lot’s courier.

When Lot learned of the disposition of his wife and his sons, he ranted and stormed and threatened, and in the end turned his men north and went back to Lothian. As Merlin had remarked, things had not fallen out as he expected, and he was anxious to reevaluate his plans.

The mood in Venta was triumphant. The question of the succession had hung like a cloud of doom over the country for the last few years and the introduction of a young prince gave heart to everyone. Arthur’s formal presentation to the army the following day was an occasion for unabashed celebration.

Uther had arranged a parade down the main street of Venta, to be led by himself and Arthur. The army regulars and low-ranking officers lined the street on either side to catch a glimpse of the new prince; the kings and princes of Britain, along with Uther’s chief captains, rode in procession behind them.

Merlin was not in the parade but had been delegated to welcome the high king and his son on the portico of the praetorium. He stood there now, looking past the courtyard to the street up which the parade would come. Not that he needed to see Arthur to know what he looked like today. He personally had helped the boy to dress early this morning, putting a new leather tunic over his white one, and a new coat of mail over all. The mail coat was circled at the waist by a leather belt that had been specially made at Avalon to hold his sword. Merlin himself had placed the sword with Hadrian’s ruby into its holder, and had handed Arthur his oval shield on which was emblazoned the red dragon Uther had chosen long ago for his emblem. Arthur today was dressed like the soldier-king he had sworn he would be.

The cheering was moving up through the town along with the procession, and Merlin heard it long before the parade came into his sight. At first it was just a roaring noise, like a roll of thunder coming down a river valley. Then it was Arthur’s name he could hear being shouted, over and over again.

The noise was coming closer and at last Merlin could make out the figure of his boy, riding in the lead beside Uther. The sun reflected off the shining ebony of Arthur’s unhelmeted head and off the metal of his mail coat as well. He was riding a magnificent black horse which had been presented to him yesterday by Bedwyr, the big blond son of King Ban of Dyfed. The horse was sweating with excitement but the boy controlled him without visible effort. Behind the two leaders rode the kings of Gwynedd, Powys, Dyfed, Elmet, Rheged, and Dumnonia, and behind them an assortment of minor princes and chiefs. Edun of Manau Guotodin, Merlin saw immediately, was not present.

The horses finally reached the courtyard of the praetorium and Merlin went down the steps formally to welcome them. Arthur’s face was studiously grave as he replied to his grandfather, but his eyes were brilliant.

Wine was being served in the audience chamber of the praetorium, and as servants took their horses, the various participants in the procession made their way into the house. It was not long before every square foot of mosaic floor was occupied by a king, a prince, a chief, or an army officer. And they all wanted to talk to Arthur.

Merlin stood a little to one side and watched the scene before him. Uther was sitting in his chair on the marble dais at the far end of the room, yet it was not the high king who was the center of interest today. People spoke to Uther, to Merlin, to each other, but all the time they were listening for the voice of the slender black-haired boy who moved among them with such quiet confidence.

“The boy is doing splendidly” It was Ector who had come up beside him, and Merlin turned with a smile.

“That he
is.”
He looked back toward Arthur again. “And it seems as if Cai and the Prince of Dyfed have constituted themselves his personal bodyguard”

It was something Merlin had noticed almost immediately; wherever Arthur was, the tall, broad-shouldered bulks of Cai and Bedwyr were right behind. Both boys watched the crowd constantly. “They have not overstepped themselves, though. It would be all too easy for someone to use his dagger on Arthur in a crush like this”

“I know,” said Ector. “That’s why I told Cai to keep close to him”

Merlin put a hand on his steward’s arm. “Good man.” His face suddenly looked older. “I’ve aimed him for this moment for the last seven years, Ector. Why do I suddenly wish he was a boy again, and safe at Avalon?”

“I know,” Ector replied. “I remember so well the first day I took them out on the practice field and showed them how to hold a sword.”

They looked at each other with rueful humor. “We’re growing old, my friend,” Merlin said, and Ector sighed.

“My lord Merlin,” said a voice behind them, and both men turned with relief to the King of Elmet, who had come to speak to them.

Chapter 11

A
RTHUR
had been given his own room in the praetorium, with a soldier to guard his door. Merlin thought the boy had gone to bed and was himself preparing to retire when there came a knock at his door, and Arthur’s voice requesting to speak to him. Merlin dismissed his servant and bade the boy come in.

The hanging lamp swung a little as the door opened and closed; then Arthur was inside, dressed in the same white tunic he had worn all day, an air of coiled tension about him. Merlin frowned in concern. “It’s late. You should be in your bed. What is so important that it cannot wait until tomorrow?”

“There is something I must speak to you about, sir,” Arthur answered tensely. “As it has become a trifle difficult to see you alone, I came tonight.”

“I see.” Merlin pulled his cloak about him more closely and sat on a straight-backed wooden chair. He gestured Arthur to the other chair, but the boy shook his head.

The air of tension was becoming more pronounced, but when Arthur spoke at last his voice was steady. “I want to speak to you about Morgan.”

A shiver of apprehension ran along Merlin’s spine. “What about Morgan?” he asked.

“We want to marry,” said Arthur, and Merlin knew that the sword that had been hanging over him for weeks had finally fallen.

“Arthur,” he said heavily. He closed his eyes, then forced them open. He looked at his grandson. “You cannot marry Morgan. Surely you must see that for yourself.”

All the blood seemed to leave Arthur’s face. “No,” he replied quickly, breathlessly. “I don’t see it. Why not? If you are concerned about our relationship, we are no closer in blood than if we had been cousins.”

“Your mother is Morgan’s sister.”

“Her half-sister!”

Merlin rubbed his temple as if it were throbbing. The boy had thought it all out. “It is not as simple as that, Arthur,” he said after a minute. “Half-sister or full sister, it would still be seen as incest. You cannot marry your mother’s sister. The church would not permit it.”

“The church has allowed such things before. You know that, sir.” Arthur’s eyes were glittering in his white face.

“You don’t understand, boy. Think. You have just been proclaimed Uther’s heir, but your title is not secure. There are men other than Lot who would be glad to see the end of you, no matter what they may say in public. You cannot give them a lever to use against you! And that is exactly what such a marriage would be, Arthur.”

The boy was breathing as if he had been running. “I don’t care.”

“You don’t have just yourself to consider in this matter. There is Britain. You said yourself yesterday that Britain needs you. Don’t fail us before you have even set your hand to the wheel.”

“You
don’t understand,” Arthur replied. His face was stark. “Without Morgan . . . I cannot live without Morgan.”

Merlin looked away. Never had he thought he would wish to see Arthur’s still, shuttered look; but anything was better than this.

“Arthur . . .” He spoke to the lamp hanging beside him. “Do you remember what once I told you, that a leader is a public thing, that he cannot ever consider his affairs as private, because they are not. Believe me, boy”—he forced his eyes back to his grandson—“I would do anything to spare you this sorrow. I know how close you are to Morgan. I wish to God I had known which way things were tending between you two, but I thought . . .” His voice ran out. The flesh on Arthur’s face seemed to be pressing back against the bones of his skull. “Arthur!” he said desperately. “Boy, don’t look like that.”

Arthur’s eyes were wild and glittering. “I will go to the king.”

“Uther will tell you the same thing I just did. You cannot risk the whisper of incest. It is impossible for you and Morgan to marry.”

Arthur’s hands opened and closed at his sides. Then he turned, pushed open the door of Merlin’s room, and without a backward look went out into the corridor. Merlin watched the door close behind him and lowered his face into his hands.