The Road to Avalon (44 page)

Behind her she could hear Morgan saying something to Bedwyr. His deep voice replied, sounding so natural, so familiar, so sane. Bedwyr, she thought, and clung to the image of him as a person caught in a swamp would cling to the one piece of solid ground that remained under his sinking feet.

The following morning Cador and Ban requested an audience with Arthur. Gwenhwyfar saw her father in the little hall, saw the angry look on his face, and thought she knew what the meeting was likely to be about. They wanted Arthur to take another queen.

Gwenhwyfar left the hall and went down the long corridor that led to the kitchens at the back of the house. Then she walked around the outhouses: the bakehouse, the storehouses, the meat house. She was watching a wagonload of vegetables being delivered when she saw Cai approaching. He squinted a little in the sun, then put up his hand to shade his eyes. “Are you all right?” he asked. “You look pale.”

“I’m not suffering from morning sickness, if that is what you mean,” she replied.

There was a pause. “Come for a walk in the garden with me. It’s too dusty for you here.”

She fell into step beside him and they walked in silence until they had reached the cool green oasis of the garden. “What is it?” he asked then quietly. “Can I help?”

Gwenhwyfar looked at him in surprise. He had sounded genuinely concerned. She and Cai had always got along well enough, but she had never been able to get over the feeling that Arthur’s foster brother disapproved of her. Or disapproved of her and Bedwyr.

His hazel eyes looked very kind, however, and much to her own astonishment she said, “Cador and Ban are going to ask Arthur to take another wife.”

“Probably.” He sounded unconcerned. “It won’t be the first time. You must know that.”

She averted her face. “Yes, I know. But it is different now, Cai. Now that Arthur has Mordred. Now it is quite clear why Britain still has no heir from Arthur’s marriage.”

“It doesn’t matter.” He sounded genuinely puzzled. “That will make no difference to Arthur.”

“Won’t it?” Her voice was muffled. “He said to me once that our childlessness might be his fault, but now that he knows it isn’t . . .”

“Gwenhwyfar.” His voice was a curious mixture of impatience and compassion. “You are torturing yourself for no reason. Arthur will never put you aside. I am surprised I should have to tell you that.”

Her eyes went back to his face. “How can you be so certain?”

“Because I know Arthur. He would no more replace you as queen than he would replace Bedwyr as cavalry leader or me as his second-in-command. Arthur is always loyal to his friends.”

There was a long silence. A fish jumped in one of the decorative basins near them. “Sometimes, Cai,” Gwenhwyfar said at last, “I don’t know where loyalty lies.”

It was a remark that took them precariously close to things they both knew were too dangerous to discuss. Yet she was asking for his help; he knew that too.

“Think of him as a friend,” he said finally. “That is the feeling he has for you and for me and for Bedwyr. And one is not jealous of one’s friend; one rejoices to see him happy, as he rejoices for you. You will not find a better friend in the world than Arthur. He will stand by you till death. Never doubt that for a minute.”

The fish jumped again, making a little plopping sound as he reentered the water of the basin. “Where did you learn to be so wise?” Gwenhwyfar asked.

He smiled wryly. “In a hard school, believe me.”

“Why does life hurt so much, Cai?” she asked suddenly, despairingly.

“It always hurts for those who feel deeply,” he replied. “It is the price we must pay.”

“It would be nice sometimes not to care.”

“Easier, certainly. But would it really be worth it?”

She smiled at him, her beautiful face flawless in the morning light. “I suppose not. Come along. You and I have to get through yet another day of this festival!”

Cai grinned at her approvingly and they moved toward the palace together.

Chapter 36

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the months that followed the festival, a number of things vital to Britain occurred.

Cai left for Rome to meet with the new Emperor of the West, Anthemius. It was the first official British embassy to Rome since the days of Constantine. Cai was the obvious choice for ambassador. Thanks to Merlin, his Latin was educated, grammatical, entirely Roman. He was also shrewd, intelligent, and a good judge of men. Cai would make the proper impression at the court of the emperor.

Gawain decided he would rather remain in Camelot than return to the north, even as a king. Arthur insisted that he hand his rights over to Gaheris formally and, in order to legitimize the transfer of power, went himself to Lothian to see Gaheris installed as king.

Morgause went with Arthur and Gawain, and once back in Lothian, she had decided to remain. In the north she was still the undisputed queen, and would be until Gaheris married. In Camelot she was ecliped by the younger, more beautiful Gwenhwyfar. Both Gwenhwyfar and Arthur were privately delighted by her decision.

Arthur began to build ships, to repair the roads, and to mint coins. He also levied a tax on all the regional rulers. They protested bitterly, but in the end they paid. The projects the high king was undertaking were too valuable for the Celtic leaders to risk seeing them halted for lack of funds. For the first time in living memory, Britain began to export grain to Ireland and to Gaul.

Cador asked the king if he might send his son Constantine to Camelot to train with the cavalry. What Cador wanted for his son, Arthur realized, was an education in the art of leadership. It was what Arthur wanted for his son too, a school of the kind Merlin had arranged for him and for Cai. In talking it over with Bedwyr, they decided that Constantine would make a good companion for Mordred.

As soon as the other kings and princes realized what was happening, Arthur found himself besieged by a horde of other applicants.

“Send some of them to Valerius,” Bedwyr recommended as he and Arthur discussed the situation one autumn morning.

Arthur looked amused. “They don’t want to go to the foot, Bedwyr. The cavalry is the fashionable choice. After all, Valerius does not prance around on fire-breathing black stallions and thrill the populace.”

Bedwyr looked down his arrogant nose. “Very witty.”

Arthur’s amusement deepened. “You’re saddled with them, my friend. I cannot say yes to Cador and no to Edun.”

“What do you want me to do?” Bedwyr asked. “Make a special cavalry unit for them?”

“I think we had better give them their own quarters. They will need more than just the training we give to the ordinary cavalry officers. They are princes, after all, and will be the leaders of their tribes. You needn’t do it all yourself. We have experts enough in Camelot. But I would like you to be in charge of this project, Bedwyr. It will take a strong hand to guide it properly.”

“How many princes do you mean to take?”

“We had better set an age limit, let us say between the ages of fifteen and eighteen. That will give you a manageable group.”

“What it will give me is a group of restless young colts who will have to be kept busy morning to night if they’re to stay out of trouble. Unfortunately, there is no war to keep them occupied.”

Arthur crowed with delighted laughter. “You should understand the problem better than anyone else,” he retorted when he got back his breath.

Bedwyr had watched the king’s mirth with resigned good humor. “Oh, all right,” he said. “I’ll take on your princes for you. But make the age limit nineteen. Agravaine is too good to exclude.”

“Nineteen,” the king agreed, and by the beginning of spring a collection of twenty noble princes, including the king’s own son and cousin, were lodged in their own house in the cavalry enclave at Camelot.

Spring passed into summer. Cai returned from Rome with news of trouble in Gaul. Euric, King of the Visigoths, was seeking to throw off the empire and hold Gaul for himself. The Emperor Anthemius, hearing of Arthur’s great victories, was requesting an alliance with Britain.

“It is almost unbelievable,” Bedwyr said when he was told the outcome of Cai’s embassy. “Rome cast us off, told us to fend for ourselves. And now we are being courted by an emperor!”

“Flattering, certainly,” Arthur replied dryly. “I am not quite certain, however, that I want to be the last prop for Rome’s tottering empire. It will take a more direct threat to Britain than that posed by Euric to get me to send my army beyond the Narrow Sea.”

It did not seem possible, as Britons worked together in peace all during that golden summer and fall, that any outside threat could trouble them. The Saxons had signed a treaty and were subdued and docile within the borders of their shore kingdoms. The land was safe for those who worked it. Farms and villages and towns were beginning to flourish. Industry was beginning to revive. The king reigned in Camelot and all was well with the world.

Chapter 37

T
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princes of Britain sat around a large table in the dining room of their quarters in Camelot, eating, talking, trading jests and stories. They had practiced with lances all morning and now were having a midday meal before they went down to the riding ring. The center of the table’s interest was, as always, Agravaine. He had been the undisputed leader of the boys since the School for Princes had started.

Mordred sat next to his brother, for he could never think of Agravaine as anything else, and listened with amusement to the light, mocking voice recounting a story. They were all roaring with laughter when the door opened and Bedwyr came in.

Agravaine smiled. “Our prince and leader,” he said. His blue eyes were celestial. “Behold us, aching and callused, having heaved at least a hundred lances each this morning.”

Bedwyr gave Agravaine a sardonic look. “Did you break a sweat?”

Agravaine’s while teeth flashed. “It was very cool on the field.”

“Gods, but you’re a lazy lot.” Bedwyr’s eyes went around the table. “Come along. There are horses to be exercised.”

“My digestion,” Agravaine complained.

“Up,” said Bedwyr inexorably, and they got to their feet and obediently began to move in the direction of the riding ring. Agravaine, as always, fell in beside Bedwyr.

They were riding without reins this afternoon, practicing guiding their horses with their legs and seats only. If the reins should ever be cut in a battle, it was important that they not lose control of their mounts.

It was one of the exercises in which Mordred excelled. He was even better than Agravaine, and he and Cloud did patterns up and down the ring, the two of them absorbed in happy partnership.

Suddenly there was a horse in front of him. Cloud stopped abruptly and Mordred’s absorbed attention snapped as he looked up and into Agravaine’s face. His brother was blocking his way, sitting stock still in his saddle, arms folded across his chest. “Very pretty, little brother,” Agravaine said. His hair framed his face in a fall of bright yellow silk, and his eyes were a much darker blue than the cobalt sky.

Mordred looked at him warily. He knew, from many years’ experience, that Agravaine did not like to be bested. The only person Mordred had ever seen Agravaine defer to gracefully was Bedwyr. But then, none of them could expect to be better than Bedwyr the Lion. He was the undisputed best.

Except the king, of course, Mordred thought loyally. But Arthur left the day-to-day supervision of the princes to Bedwyr. It was Bedwyr they strove to emulate, Bedwyr they desired to impress. The king was a figure of awe, seen from a distance, admired, revered, but essentially unknown.

Mordred was the only one of the boys to spend any time with Arthur. He had dinner with the king and queen twice a week and spent at least one morning a week with Arthur in his office. This special treatment set him apart from the other boys, of course, but then, he was set apart anyway. They all knew that someday he would be their king.

“Cloud is a good horse,” Mordred said now to the faintly antagonistic face of his older brother. “Very sensitive.”

The other boys were riding around them, laughing and calling out as they narrowly avoided collisions. Then Constantine’s horse broke into a canter.

“Pick up your reins!” Bedwyr called, knowing that the rest of the horses would follow suit if they were not restrained. Mordred picked up the reins that were knotted on Cloud’s neck and watched as Constantine did the same and brought his mount back to a walk. Bedwyr summoned them and they all moved to stand in a semicircle around the prince and Sugyn.

“I think that’s enough of work without reins for the day. Next we will do some exercises in lateral movement. Now, watch. I am going to walk Sugyn down the center of the ring, then, using my leg and a little rein, ask him to move sideways while he is still going forward.”

Bedwyr demonstrated, then watched as each of the princes tried to emulate his example. Agravaine, as usual, got the most immediate results. He was a controlled and deliberate rider and he demanded, and usually got, obedience from his mount. Mordred and Cloud were not as successful. Cloud was not certain he wanted to do this, and Mordred, instead of forcing him, just kept on asking.