The only way for Ragnell to keep her home would be to produce a husband with a reputation no one could object to — like Gawain.
She had lost father, mother, brothers and beauty already, would not any other, woman or man, resort to blackmail in such a situation?
He realized with amazment that what he saw in her expression was enough for him, and he laid one hand over hers to draw it from his shoulder. "You know that my first loyalty will always be to Arthur? If he calls me to battle, I will go."
Her good eye widened and her face seemed to shimmer. She had obviously understood what his question meant — that he was considering her proposal.
She drew in a deep breath. "I understand."
"You're surprised."
She looked away. "I hardly dared think you would even consider my request seriously."
He took her chin in one hand and forced her to look at him again. "Then it was very brave of you. Even if it is not a matter of the heart, offering another person the rest of your life is still a risk."
She held his gaze. "And even more so if it is a matter of the heart. You want to make her regret her decision, do you not?"
Apparently, it was a day for brutal truths. It was Gawain's turn to look away. "Yes," he said viciously. "I do." He thought about Yseult, thought about how happy she'd looked during her wedding ceremony, with the king of the Durotriges at her side. When the one she should have been marrying was Gawain.
"And what will happen if she does? Would you still remain my husband, still rule by my side here in Caer Camulodon and continue to defend my hold?"
Yes, what would he do? Would it be possible to make Yseult jealous enough that she would come back to his bed? Ragnell had only spoken of fulfilling his duties as lord, nothing of sexual loyalty. The implication was that she would tolerate an affair as long as he did not repudiate the marriage.
He faced her again. "I have never been one to run away from my responsibilities, madam."
She smiled. "No, not to judge by your reputation."
"I do not want to be unfair to you."
"You would not be unfair to me. I know where I stand. Even if your heart is engaged elsewhere, you are a much better match than I could ever have hoped to make."
"I have no seat, only a modest villa near Caer Leon."
"I am heiress to a strategic seat, will be queen with you by my side, and a villa in the south would be a fine thing to escape the cold of Elmet on occasion."
"I have no prospects. What should have been my inheritance and that of my brothers went to a distant cousin of the Gododdin clan."
"You are descended from one of the most powerful families here in the north and you are nephew and intimate of Arthur, the Dux Bellorum, the most powerful man in Britain. Our children will be related to the greatest families of the north and will have the connections to make brilliant alliances."
Our children. To his knowledge, Gawain had three bastards already, but while he provided for them, they were not part of his life; they would not be any kind of legacy. He was nearing forty. He had thought to found a family with Yseult, assuming she could still carry a child to term at her age, but that was not to be.
Ragnell was still young, perhaps in her mid-twenties, although her disfigured face made it hard to be sure. But her skin was firm, her muscles strong, and her hips wide. Perhaps he truly could still have a family.
He had confessed every disadvantage he could think of for a marriage to him, and she had swept aside every one. It was up to him now.
He raised her smooth-skinned hand to his lips, turned it over, and kissed the palm. She let out a quiet, long drawn-out moan, and the sound decided him somehow — a perfect sound to make the blood collect at his crotch, a sound any man would want to hear in his bed at night, over and over again.
"Agreed," he said. "If you are so intent on having me, who am I to say you nay? Let us marry and banish the threat of Bertilak together."
Her head shot up and she stared at him. "Do you mean it?"
She was so obviously surprised, despite all the pressure she had put on him, he had to laugh, but she drew away as if he had slapped her.
He took her shoulders in both broad hands and pulled her close again. "Of course I mean it, Ragnell. I would not tease you like that, I swear." He leaned down and kissed her undamaged lips. With another moan, she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back passionately, if with little finesse. He found himself smiling behind the kisses.
The surprises the north held.
5
"Garamercy, Lady," then sayd Gawen;
"With you I hold me fulle welle content
And that I trust to fynde."
He sayd, "My love shalle she have.
Therafter nede she nevere more crave,
For she hathe bene to me so kynde."
"The Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnelle" (Anonymous)
Gawain barely understood the Latin words of the mass Pabius spoke to bless their marriage. He had a smattering of Latin, as did nearly everyone in Britain, but he had not paid much attention during lessons as a child, and what he had retained or learned in the meantime had more to do with getting a good bargain from a foreign trader at market or learning what experience a foreign mercenary had in battle.
Of course, he had heard the mass at other wedding ceremonies before, but then they had interested him just as much as his Latin lessons as a child. This one was his own. The incomprehensible words Pabius spoke were directed at Gawain — words that had never been spoken to him before, despite the many women he had known and the children he had sired.
Normally, the ceremony would have taken place before the church door, but they did not want to attract the attention that might bring, not yet, despite the fact that this marriage was meant to be a deliberate provocation. But the trap had not yet been laid.
It was not the time of year for flowers, so someone from the village had hurriedly decorated the small stone church with holly and ribbons. The altar was draped in bright red, probably a swathe of wool intended for a new cloak, while candles and torches helped banish the grayness of the short winter day.
The farmers, carpenters and blacksmiths Gawain had been trying to teach only that morning were arrayed behind them, along with his brothers Gaheris and Gareth and the rest of the men who had accompanied them from the monastery. Without looking, Gawain knew that Gareth would be grinning broadly and Gaheris frowning. But when it came down to it, the only thing Gaheris could object to was that Ragnell had no beauty, or at least no beauty on one half of her face. The match itself was quite good; Ragnell's father had been a minor king of Elmet. Gawain would now be related to most of the kings in northern Britain, could probably take the title of king himself if he so chose. Which he did not. It would feel odd to take the title of king when Arthur never had.
So now Gawain would be married to a queen — just not the queen he had once intended to marry.
No, this was his wedding; he should not start thinking about Yseult. But of course as soon as he commanded himself not to think of her, that was all he could do: her betrayal, her rejection of him. In his rational moments, he knew it was no betrayal. She had never pretended to love him, had wanted to keep their relationship at no more than the occasional night together. It was not as if she had fallen in love with Cador either; the marriage had been Arthur's idea.
He recalled a conversation with Arthur after Yseult had told him she intended to marry another — and why.
"You knew of our affair," Gawain had stormed. "Why could you not have suggested she marry me?"
Arthur had smiled at that — smiled! "Forgive me, nephew, but I have never had the impression before that an affair on your part was an indication that you wished to marry the woman in question."
Gawain was too upset to admit the humor of the situation. "Well, this time I did."
"I'm sorry, Gawain," Arthur said, the smile vanishing. "I truly did not know. But my goal was a political alliance that would st
rengthen Dumnonia. How could a marriage between you and Yseult have achieved such an aim?"
He knew well enough — it couldn't. He had no political clout in the south other than the ear of the Dux Bellorum, and no property other than his small villa. Strangely enough, here in the north, a place he had rarely been in the last decade and more, he had more status. Yes, he and his brothers had been passed by for the kingship, but they were still part of the kinship group from which future kings would be chosen. With this marriage, Gawain had made it possible for his descendants to become king where he had not — not only here in Elmet, but in Rheged and among the Gododdin as well.
Ragnell squeezed his elbow, bringing him back to the present. Pabius spoke a final blessing, followed by "Amen," which the smattering of guests echoed. Then Pabius switched to the British tongue. "Gawain and Ragnell, you exchanged vows in writing this afternoon in the marriage contract you drew up together and signed. You now have the formal blessing of the church as well. Would you care to repeat your vows in front of those gathered here today?"
Ragnell nodded and threw back her veil defiantly. Gawain smiled at the stubborn tilt of her chin as she faced him and took his hands; if she only knew how little the scars covering the left half of her face bothered him now, how used to them he had become in the few weeks he had known her.
"I, Ragnell, take you, Gawain, as my spouse, to share hold and house, bed and board, and face the future together from this day forward."
He liked her simple words; he would take the same as his own. "I, Gawain, take you, Ragnell, as my spouse, to share hold and house, bed and board, and face the future together from this day forward."
Finally she smiled, and in his mind's eye her beauty glowed once again across her whole face. He enfolded her delicate neck in his warrior's paws and leaned over to kiss her.
He was married. How very strange.
The wedding guests came forward to congratulate them, shaking their hands and kissing their cheeks and thumping Gawain on the back.
"Congratulations, brother!" Gareth said, his grin wide and his happiness obviously sincere. "And Ragnell! Welcome to the family." He gave her the kiss of peace on both cheeks, apparently not the least bit disturbed by the eroded landscape of one half of her face. "I know many would not agree with me, but I'm sure Gawain will be a good husband to you."
"Gareth!" Gawain protested.
But Ragnell laughed merrily at Gareth's teasing, and Gawain could not long be offended at the ribbing.
Then Gaheris gripped his hand. "Congratulations, Gawain."
"Thank you."
His other brother turned to Gawain's bride, taking her hand and placing a formal kiss just below the wrist. "Congratulations, Ragnell. I wish you and my brother joy of each other."
Gawain stared after Gaheris as they all filed out of the church to the nearby inn for a modest wedding "feast" — consisting of what the villagers could throw together from their meager stores. That was an odd well-wishing, even from Gaheris.
"He is bitter," Ragnell murmured, as if she had read his thoughts. Which she probably had.
"Yes," Gawain agreed. "He was married once, for little more than a handful of years, but he repudiated his wife when he found her in bed with another man."
She squeezed his hand. "I'm sorry."
"It is hardly your fault."
"I'm sorry for him. I am sorry that he is not brave enough to find happiness."
Gawain blinked; Gaheris was not a man many people felt sorry for, with his brash confidence and his obvious qualities as a leader. Gareth was the one usually pitied, the one regarded as weak. But seeing his brothers through Ragnell's eyes, he realized that was not the case. Gaheris's strength often amounted to denial of pain, while Gareth's "weakness" demonstrated a resilience and emotional strength Gawain knew he himself did not possess. He and Gaheris had both despaired for Gareth's marriage when they first heard his intended's sharp tongue.
Now Gareth, wed when he was barely twenty, had been married for a dozen years. As far as Gawain could judge, his youngest brother appeared to be one of the happiest men in Britain, with a slew of children who left him no time to brood like their middle brother was wont to do. Marrying so young, he never had the chance to sample the wares the length and breadth of Britain as Gawain had — since it was quite clear to anyone who knew Lyonors that she would never put up with infidelity, not even an innocent incident with a whore or a camp follower. "What does a man have a hand for?" Lyonors would say. But Gareth had never given the impression that he missed not having acquired more experience, strangely happy with his sharp-tongued wife. And Gawain had to admit, the charms of camp followers and whores left something to be desired, while Lyonors was as beautiful as they came.
Gawain squeezed Ragnell's hand. "Thank you for showing me that about my brothers."
Rather than denying it, she just smiled.
They walked from the church to the nearby inn without incident. It appeared she was right that Bertilak would not miss her until evening. Would he come searching for her at night or wait until day?
"Fear not, Gawain," Ragnell murmured next to him. His wife. "I think I can keep him and his men in the hill-fort from searching for me until we are ready."
The fare spread out on the largest table of the inn was modest, consisting mostly of pies of winter vegetables, onions, and chicken, but Gawain was impressed nonetheless: these people had little, but for Ragnell's wedding feast, they had been generous with what they had.
The meal went by in a blur, a dream of strangeness, unfamiliar but friendly faces speaking in the accents of his childhood, pressing his hand, gratitude and even joy in their expressions. Although he was just a warrior with no power of knowing, it was obvious that they loved their lady, and they were glad she had found such a one as Gawain, one of Arthur's champions, for her husband. These people at least did not seem to care that he had no lands of his own.
Just as dusk was falling — late afternoon in these parts, this time of year — the wedding party walked Gawain and Ragnell to the old Roman fortress, where they would spend their wedding night, such as it was. Their modest band of warriors, trained and untrained, would camp at the entrances to the garrison and outside the headquarters building.
It was almost dark when they reached what was left of the Roman fort — where Gawain had first entered Arthur's service as standard-bearer and warrior-in-training at the age of twelve. Cambodunum had been abandoned at least a decade before, when Ragnell's father had become king in these parts and chosen the hill-fort over the garrison.
The former Roman fortress was crumbling — and the authority of Britain with it. It occurred to Gawain that they were all seeking legitimization these days.
He wandered the perimeter, inspecting the defenses. In places, the walls were almost completely dismantled, the villagers using the deserted garrison as a convenient quarry for raw materials when building a new house or adding to an old. But even such sacking had not made the garrison useless; the outer ditches and turf rampart were still intact. Within what was left of the walls, at least half the buildings still had roofs, including the former military headquarters, where Arthur had once lived with Gwenhwyfar and their young son Llacheu. So long ago now, back in the days when Gawain had come as an untried warrior into Arthur's service, years before Ambrosius had named Arthur Dux Bellorum.
Shaking off the old memories, Gawain made his way to the headquarters of the fort, situated in the middle of the garrison. Ragnell waited for him on the steps leading up to the entrance. As he climbed the stairs, she rose, and together they entered the stone building.
Gawain held the torch high and looked around the crumbling former glory of what was to be their lodgings. "I would fain have offered you something better for your wedding night."
Ragnell untied the bedroll and shook it out. "What, better than one of the greatest champions of Arthur, the Pendragon of Britain?"
He laughed and stuck the torch in a sconce in the wall. T
urning, he strode back to her and took her up in his arms. "Ragnell, thank you. You are wonderful."
She placed her right hand against his left cheek, shaking her head, and he could swear he saw tears shimmering in her eyes. "No, Gawain, it is you who are wonderful. Look at me."
He smiled. "Yes?"
"Do you not see how ugly I am?"
"Ugly? No." He kissed her perfect lips. "What I see is remnants of great beauty, and a spirit even greater."
She looked away. "Your last lover is reputed to be one of the most beautiful women in Britain, and still you say that?"
He wondered at her daring to mention Yseult, on their wedding night of all times. "Yes. What does her appearance have to do with yours?"
She looked back at him again, her smile one-sided, much like her beauty. "Tell me, do you always have the right answer?"
"I sincerely doubt it. I would be as happy as Gareth else."
She slung her arms around his neck. "I swear on what is left to me that I hold dear, I will do my best to make you so."
He took her face in both hands. "Thank you."
Hunger flared between them, and within moments they were both naked. Soon he was forgetting everything — or if not everything, at least some things, for a while.
6
But now the spelle is broken throughe,
And wronge is turnde to righte;
Henceforth I shall bee a faire ladyè,
And hee be a gentle knighte.
Bishop Thomas Percy, "The Marriage of Sir Gawaine"
The day came slowly, the sun barely fighting its way through clouds and fog and dark skies pregnant with cold winter rain. Shadows were odd, non-existent and omnipresent, shifting and disappearing and taking over. Despite the first hint of daylight, the moon flitted above in the dark dawn sky. Gawain and his men, with the volunteers from the village as reinforcements, had taken up strategic positions scattered throughout the ruins, on the lookout for an enemy they were not even sure would come in search for them. But Ragnell had assured him the green warrior would follow her call.