The Road to Avalon (21 page)

Arthur was looking at his cup of Samian ware as if he had never seen it before. “Does she still run an infirmary for wounded animals?” he asked, his voice sounding a little muffled. He very rarely permitted himself to talk about Morgan.

“Oh, yes,” came Cai’s easy reply. “The dog she has now makes Horatius look like a purebred.”

At that Arthur looked up, his gray eyes unusually bright. “Do you want to come with me tomorrow?”

Cai shook his head. “I said my good-byes to Merlin. And I am needed here, I hope.”

“You are needed.” Arthur put down his wine cup and came to place a hand on Cai’s broad shoulder. “I missed you,” he said. “It’s good to have you back.”

Arthur left Venta early the following morning, and he rode alone. Bedwyr had protested that decision, had pressed Arthur to take an armed escort. Arthur had refused.

“It is insane for the High King of Britain to be riding along open roads with no protection,” Bedwyr raged to Cai the night before Arthur’s departure. “Suppose he is attacked by a band of thieves? We can’t afford to have him killed or injured because of a foolish whim.”

“I pity the poor band of thieves that attacks Arthur,” Cai replied humorously. “He may not be as flamboyant as you, Bedwyr the Lion, but he is fully as dangerous. You know that.” Then, when Bedwyr merely grunted and continued to look worried: “There are times, Bedwyr, when we must give him room to breathe.” The humorous note had disappeared from Cai’s voice. “He needs to be alone. Don’t harass him.”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Bedwyr retorted. “He got that very still look on his face while I was talking to him and I had sense enough to make a hasty retreat before I had my head taken off. But I still don’t like it, Cai.” He frowned. “Do you think we could send a small escort to follow him at a discreet distance?”

“Are you serious?” Cai asked incredulously. “Against his direct orders?”

“No, I suppose we can’t,” Bedwyr agreed with obvious regret. “If he ever found out . . . ”

“Exactly. Leave matters as they are, Bedwyr. Arthur is perfectly capable of getting himself to Avalon safely.” He sighed. “It’s what happens
after
he arrives that concerns me.”

“He has promised to marry Gwenhwyfar. My father and Archbishop Dubricius have gone to bring the good news to Gwynedd.”

“Good news,” repeated Cai. “Yes, I suppose it is good news. Come on,” he said then a little desperately, “let’s you and I go somewhere and get drunk.”

Arthur was not thinking of either of his commanders as he traveled the road to Avalon that morning. He was remembering the last time he had made this journey, when Dun had been merely a colt and they had cantered through the night as if their very lives had depended on reaching Avalon before dawn.

Ten years ago.

He was not the boy he had been the last time he had ridden to Avalon. Part of him would always belong to Morgan, but he had made his life without her. As she had made hers without him. Perhaps it was time for them to meet again, to meet as adults come into the fullness of their powers, no longer desperately unhappy children fearful of facing life alone.

The bare apple trees looked forlorn in the thin winter sunlight. For some strange reason, he had expected to find them in bloom. In his memories of Avalon, the apple trees were always in bloom. Which was ridiculous, of course. He set his mouth at his own sentimental stupidity and lifted Dun into a canter. He was suddenly eager to see the villa before darkness should begin to creep in.

They slowed pace as they came down the avenue and so walked sedately into the villa’s courtyard. Arthur looked around, at the stone so clearly etched against the pale sunlight, at the light reflecting off the glazed windows. He remembered with amazing vividness how the villa had looked to him the first time he had ridden into this courtyard behind Merlin.

The front door of the house opened and two people came out. The first he recognized immediately as Marcus. The second was Ector. The door closed and they started across the courtyard toward him. He closed his eyes briefly. Thank God he was not going to have to meet her again in the mercilessly public view of the courtyard.

“Arthur!” Ector was exclaiming with a delighted smile. Then, remembering: “My lord king.”

Arthur grinned, dismounted, and gave the old man a rare embrace. “It’s good to see you, Ector,” he said, and unthinkingly went on, “It’s good to be home.”

They took him immediately to see his grandfather.

“Arthur?” Merlin said from where he lay on the bed.

“How are you feeling, sir?” Arthur asked. He took the fragile old hand, so white and blue-veined, into his own strong grasp. He had not seen his grandfather since Merlin had suffered a seizure in Venta in the spring and Morgan had brought her father home to Avalon. Arthur was suddenly glad that his grandfather had got to see the apple trees in bloom.

“I’m feeling old,” said Merlin. One side of his face looked stiffer than the other and his speech was slightly slurred.

Arthur brought a chair close to the bed and sat down. He told his grandfather the one piece of news he thought would cheer him. “I am going to marry the princess Gwenhwyfar.”

Merlin’s blue eyes flickered with gladness. “A good choice,” he said after a minute. “Maelgwyn is a good man.”

“Yes,” agreed the king.

There was a pause as Merlin collected his thoughts. “I am leaving Avalon to Morgan, Arthur. She will never marry and she must have her own property. I look to you to safeguard it for her.”

“Of course,” Arthur answered steadily.

The pale, blue-veined fingers plucked at the red wool blanket. “I wish I had something to leave to you, my boy.”

Arthur’s reply was measured, but the feeling he was holding in check was still visible. “You leave me a kingdom,” he said, “and the skills with which to lead it. You leave me a dream. I only hope, Grandfather, that I can bring it to fruition for you.”

Merlin’s eyes searched the carefully disciplined face of his grandson. At last he said in his slow, slurred speech, “I never expected you to forgive me.”

Arthur bowed his head. “It was not your fault,” he answered with difficulty. Merlin said nothing, just looked at the top of that ink-black head. This was a subject that had not been raised between them for ten long years.

“All my life, for almost as long as I remember, you have been there behind me,” Arthur finally said in a muffled voice. He raised his head and the emotion he had been so carefully guarding was naked in his brilliant eyes. “What am I going to do without you?” he asked. And Merlin, holding out his arms to receive the slim, hard-muscled body of his grandson, was suddenly, fiercely, happy.

Morgan returned to the villa shortly after dark and was met by Ector with the news that Arthur had arrived

“He was with your father for almost an hour,” Ector told her. “Merlin looked . . . very peaceful after the king left.”

“Where is Arthur now?” she asked.

“In his room, changing for dinner.” Ector grinned. “The cook is turning out the kitchen for him.”

Morgan forced a smile, said, “Well, I’d better change too,” and began to walk slowly toward the bedroom wing of the villa.

It was hard to breathe and she unpinned the brooch that fastened her cloak as she approached her bedroom door. She had known, of course, that he would come. She had just not expected him quite so quickly. She might have known, she thought a little ruefully. He was famous for the speed with which he moved his army. It was one of the reasons for his success against the Saxons.

Morgan stopped in front of her door and looked down at her old tunic. She had been visiting several of the farmworkers’ children who were ill, and her clothing reflected the nature of her business. She should wait, change into her best clothes, brush her hair . . . She walked briskly to the next door on the corridor and knocked.

There was no noise from within, but suddenly the door opened and he was there.

“Ector told me you had come,” she said without preamble. “I thought it best to get our initial meeting over in private.”

“Come in,” was all he said. She walked to the middle of the room and heard him close the door behind her. She took a deep breath, and then turned.

He had not moved from the door. The lamps in his room had been filled and lit, and they cast a warm glow of light by which the two of them could take stock of each other.

He was different, Morgan thought immediately. The thick black hair was the same—it had even fallen across his forehead in the way she remembered. The eyes were the same light gray, the nose was as before, the bones of cheek and jaw had not altered, but he was different. Not just older either. Harder. More powerful. Infinitely more powerful. She felt it immediately.

He shook his hair back from his brow in an achingly familiar gesture and said, “You haven’t changed at all.”

She thought she smiled. Her hair was clinging to the wool of her tunic and she put up a small, capable hand to smooth it back behind her ears. “I know,” she said. “Untidy as ever.”

The gray eyes were searching her face. He ignored her attempt at humor and said in a totally different voice, “How axe you, Morgan?”

The hard knot that had been lodged in her stomach ever since Cai left for Venta dissolved. This time she knew she smiled. “I’m fine,” she said. “Most of the time.”

He did not return the smile. Instead he drew a short breath and said in an abrupt voice, “I have promised to marry the princess Gwenhwyfar.”

“Good,” she answered immediately. “I hope you told Father. He will be delighted.”

“Yes, I did.” Finally he left his post at the door and came toward her. “Almighty God,” he said. “Morgan. How I have missed you.”

“I know.” He was holding her so tightly that her ribs hurt. Her cheek pressed into the hollow of his shoulder. He was taller than he had been at sixteen.

“I couldn’t come here,” he was saying over her head. “I was afraid to come here.”

“I know,” she said again. “I always understood.”

“Of course you did.” His arms finally loosened and he looked down into her upturned face with hungry eyes. After a minute: “Thank you for Cai. I thought I was going to lose him.”

The large brown eyes looked back at him as only Morgan could look. “The leg was very bad. I think it was prayer more than art that saved it.”

“Or magic,” he added gravely.

The brown eyes brimmed with amusement. “Have you heard that rumor? I’m thinking of adopting some appropriate garb—a druid’s gown perhaps. What do you think?”

He grinned and suddenly looked sixteen again. “I’ll make you the official king’s magician.” They were both laughing when Justina knocked on the door to tell Morgan she was going to be late for dinner.

Dinner was just the two of them and Ector. At first the old steward was very careful to call the king “my lord.” Then Arthur said plaintively, “In this whole world I can number but five people who call me Arthur. Surely you are not going to reduce the count to four?”

Ector beamed. After a minute Morgan said sadly, “It is going to be reduced to four shortly enough, Arthur.”

An identical shadow marked all their faces. “I know,” Arthur answered. “I saw him this afternoon.”

“Eight months ago he was running things in Venta,” said Ector. “It happened so . . . quickly.” He stared broodingly at his own big hand before him on the table. “He is ten years older than I,” he added.

Morgan and Arthur exchanged a glance and said nothing.

Ector looked up. “I always thought he would go on forever.”

“I think we all thought that,” Arthur replied.

Silence fell. Morgan toyed with the oysters on her plate. They were one of Arthur’s favorite foods and had been served tonight in his honor. “Eat them,” Arthur said to her, “or your cook will be very insulted.”

She looked up and the shadow lifted from her eyes. Defty she transfered the oysters from her plate to his. “They were served for you,” she said. “You eat them.” She had always given him her oysters. They smiled at each other and Arthur began to eat.

During the main course, which consisted of roast boar, another of Arthur’s favorites, and venison with apple sauce made from the Avalon apples, and vegetables from the Avalon kitchen garden, the topic of conversation turned to Arthur’s war against the Saxons.

“We heard that you have driven Offa back to Kent and Cynewulf to Sussex,” Ector said. “Is it true? And will they be willing to keep to their own boundaries in the future, Arthur?”

“I think so,” Arthur replied. He was clearly enjoying his roast boar. “I hope so. But I am not about to dismiss my army just yet.”

“The Saxon bretwaldas have never joined forces, have they?” Morgan asked. “They have always fought separately.”

Arthur put down his knife and looked at her. “You have just exposed my worst nightmare. One of the reasons we have won is that we are united and they are divided. If they ever decide to forget their rivalries and join together, then there will be serious trouble.” He forced himself to look away from her small, serious face. After a minute he turned to Ector and said, “Cai has been one of the main reasons for our success these past years.”

Ector’s weather-beaten face lit with pride. “I am glad he has been useful to you,” he answered modestly.

“Useful!”
said Arthur, and Ector abandoned his attempt at modesty and glowed unrestrainedly. Arthur continued, “It is Cai who has done all the engineering work for the refortification of the old hill forts around the country. And that, let me tell you, has been a major reason for our success. If it were not for the key forts and for the iron forges we set up in them in order to produce the weapons we need, Offa and Cynewulf and Cerdic would not be penned on the Saxon shore today.”

“Half of all warfare is engineering,” Morgan said. She wrinkled her nose. “I think I remember someone saying that to me once. Or twice.”

His eyes glimmered with amusement. “What a boring conversationalist I must have been. If it was not engineering, it was cavalry.”

“You couldn’t help it,” Morgan said philosophically. “It was Father’s fault, really. All those experts he used to import for your instruction! My favorite was the one who absconded with the statue of Venus from the garden.”