When they got to the throne room, Gawen found that they were too late. The North Queen was already there, surrounded by her five ladies-in-waiting, still in their feathery cloaks. None of the waiting women looked particularly tired. Indeed their bland lovely faces were difficult to read. The dark queens face, though, seemed drawn and grey, and her icy eyes were red-rimmed as if she had been weeping or had spent a long time being buffeted by a cold wind.
“Merlinnus,” she said when she saw the mage, in a voice that held no warmth.
“Madam,” he answered, nodding. If anything, his voice was cooler.
Arthur rose from his throne slowly, as if he ached all over. “Merlinnus, see who has come for a visit,” he said in an overbright voice, like a child who has been up way too late. “I have sent for her boys.”
Turning back to Arthur, Morgause smiled frostily. “I am not here for my boys, my lord, for they have but recently left my side. I have come to see you, for it has been years since we have had converse.”
“Had converse”? Gawen thought. She talks as if the words were written on ancient parchment. As if speaking to real people is beyond her. Or beneath her.
Arthur laughed. “Converse away, then.”
She opened her mouth, then closed it again.
“Madam,” Merlinnus said quickly, “I doubt conversation alone brought you here.”
“Ah, you believe that the vaunted delights of Cadbury have pulled me from my northern rockeries,” she said.
Her women seemed to shake with silent laughter.
Gawen tried to parse her sentence and failed. Tried again. It did not sound as if she were making a compliment.
“‘Vaunted,’ madam?” Merlinnus said. “I thought that word meant ‘an ill-made boast.’ The High King does not boast of Cadbury, though others might.”
“My son Gawaine does the boasting, Magister. I travel to see if these are simple flatteries or gross exaggerations.”
Arthur held out a hand and drew her to the fire. “And what have you decided, my lady?”
“That my Gawaine is still a boy and prone to youthful exuberances.” She smiled up at him, but it was a cold smile.
“I... am... a boy... madam, and new come to Cadbury,” Gawen ventured a bit timidly at first, then with growing heat. “And there is much to boast of here. Though it is the people more than the stones that make this place what it is.”
Morgause turned and stared at Gawen. “Who is this little kettle making so much noise? Hot air creates steam, I suppose.”
“He is mine,” said Merlinnus, “and makes much sense. It is one of his finest virtues.”
“And he is mine as well,” Arthur said, moving over to Gawen and setting a hand on Gawen’s golden cap of hair. “An adviser of note.” He winked.
“Boys and old men for advisers.” Morgause laughed. “And I expect a May Queen or two for sport. My, my, this is a boy’s dream of paradise. No wonder Gawaine prefers it to ruling his cold kingdom.”
Just then Kay came in, shepherding Morgauses sons.
“Mother!” Gawaine said, his voice accusatory. “What are you doing here?”
“Perhaps I have come to take you home,” she said, tangling a hand in her black hair.
“No!”
“Or perhaps I have come to make this my home.”
Gawaine had no answer for this, but there was clear horror in his gaze.
The twins ran to her side to hug her, and she brushed them off as if they were overeager puppies with muddy paws. Gareth laughed and still grabbed for her fingers, but Gaheris stood to one side, looking a bit wounded.
She walked away from them, shaking out her skirts, then turned directly to Agravaine and held out her arms. “No kiss for Mother?”
He walked stiffly to her side and let himself be enfolded in her arms.
Speaking over his head, Morgause addressed Kay. “I wish to sleep now. I expect you have rooms that can be readied for my ladies and me. Do not disturb us till evening. Do not even think of disturbing us till evening.”
Kay bowed grandly, then led the women out of the hall.
THE MINUTE they were gone, Arthur said, “Who was that force of nature?” Then he laughed uncomfortably.
“Mother is a whirlwind that wrecks every spit of land she touches,” Gawaine said miserably.
“How can you say that?” Agravaine asked. “She is astonishing and beautiful and—”
“She has bewitched you again,” Gawaine said. “Can you not see it? Can you not feel it? One embrace, and you are hers.”
The twins had withdrawn to a corner of the room and were speaking together, clearly comforting each other, salving wounds only they could see.
“There will be no bewitching going on here,” Merlinnus said, striking his left palm with his right middle finger as if it were a lance striking a shield. “Not while I am mage. Now go, all of you.” He dismissed them with a wave of his hand. “Practice your swordsmanship. Or your bowmanship. Or something. Only go away.”
As the last of the boys disappeared out the door, he turned to the king. “This is a disaster.”
“This is a state visit,” Arthur said. “A queen coming to visit a king.”
Merlinnus shook his head.
Arthur tried again. “She is just a foolish woman hungering for a higher throne for her boys.” He adjusted the cushion on his chair and sat down heavily.
“You do not believe either of those things.” Merlinnus came up close. “You cannot believe them.”
Arthur looked up, his grey eyes somewhat cloudy, like the skies after spring rains. “I can hope, though.”
“We must think what to do.” The mage shook his head. “Coming here three days before the eve of the Solstice—do you suppose she knows?”
“Of course she knows. We were careful to tell everyone in the kingdom. She could have learned about it at a dozen stops along the way here.” Arthur twisted once more, as if the throne of the High King were suddenly the most uncomfortable seat in the world. “And she will want one of her boys to pull that sword.”
Merlin nodded.
Arthur leaned forward. “Can they?”
“I do not believe so.”
He grabbed Merlinnus by the sleeve and drew him close. “You do not believe so? Or you know so?”
Merlinnus patted Arthur’s hand. “We will see.”
Arthur let go of the mage’s sleeves and put his head in his hands. “You are right. This is a disaster.”
Merlinnus drew himself up so that he seemed to tower over the king, over the throne. “I will not let it be so,” he said sternly. “She is only a woman, a witch, not a mage. I promise you, Arthur, her magicks will not conquer mine.” Then, with his robes swirling about him—so that the runes seemed to be sending an unreadable message—the mage left the room.
Head in hands still, Arthur did not watch him go.
A WHILE LATER Kay returned to the throne room and Arthur was still there, head in hands.
“Arthur, is it my fault?” Kay said softly.
The king looked up, his face puzzled, muzzled, softened as if in pain. “Is what your fault?”
“I wrote to the queen and told her about Agravaine, when he tried to throttle Brother Josephus. When we had to put him in the dungeon.” Kays hands wrangled together. “It is my fault for telling her. She is here because—”
Arthur’s face creased with laughter. “Do not take this on your own shoulders, Kay. Your letter could not have gotten there in time. Think on it, man. When did you send it?”
“Soon after... after...” Kay counted the days.
“She could not have gotten your missive, much less packed up five women and traveled here so quickly.” Arthur put a hand out to his stepbrother. “She has had this trip planned all along.”
Relief camped on Kays brow, smoothing out the wrinkles. “Oh, Arthur, how I dreaded telling you...”
“Never fear me, Kay. You know all my secrets.”
“All?” Kay doubted that, but it
was comforting to hear it from Arthur’s lips anyway.
“All,” Arthur said, and smiled.
MERLINNUS WENT FIRST to the grove, crossing the heaved-up path with little care. Speed was of the essence, and what was a turned ankle to the calamity before them?
When he got to his oak, he was out of breath and so his greeting was a bit broken. “Salve, amice... frondifer.” The leaves were still.
“She is here, the North Witch, and with her comes a dark magic I cannot pierce. I see now she can change shape, or shape changes, more than I was aware. Have I grown too old? He held out his hands to the tree in supplication. There were liver-colored spots on the backs of his hands, more so than even the day before, and his nails were cracked and yellow. “Too old too soon?”
Now a wind puzzled through the oak leaves, and they shivered and shuddered.
“Yes, thank you, e glande nate, sprout of an acorn, I will go to the tower and see what I can do to soften this blow. To strengthen the stone. To put steel into Arthur’s purpose.”
The leaves seemed to laugh at him.
“Then will it be a woman who brings down Cadbury in its prime? A woman who wrecks the Round Table and scatters the Companions? Oh, amice frondifer, what weapons do I have against a woman’s wiles? Tell me it is not so.”
But now the leaves were still again.
Merlinnus wept hot and bitter tears as if he were a child. Then he snuffled and dried his eyes on the hem of his robe before going back to the castle.
IN THE TOWER ROOM Gawen waited for the old man to return.
If only I had some magic, Gawen thought, holding up small and slim-fingered hands. If only there were a miracle in these fingertips. Only magic—not honor, not honesty, not truth or glory, Gawen was certain—could defeat the queen.
Going to the four windows, Gawen looked out to the compass points. Away to the north there, if one could see far enough across the water, was the North Queens abode. She has a heart as cold as her land. And as bleak.
Turning from the north window to the south, as Merlinnus often did, Gawen saw that the corn already shone like gold in the fields. Here the turnips were just greening. Cows in their pastures moved like slow ships over a green sea. It was a pleasant land, a rich land, a land where no one would starve. Do not let this woman ruin our king, our land, Gawen prayed.
Going to the east window, Gawen checked on the river like a grey riband twisting past the walls of Cadbury. If only I could bind her with a riband of steel and throw her into the dungeon.
Gawen was about to go to the west window when the door opened and an exhausted-looking Merlinnus came in.
“Magister,” Gawen whispered. “You look—”
“Never mind how I look,” the mage said. “We have much work to do, and only while she sleeps may we do it.” He rolled up the sleeves of his white robe. “Let us begin.”
“Begin what, Magister?” Gawen asked.
“Begin work on a spell of protection,” Merlinnus said, his hand shaking visibly as he passed it through the candle smoke for purification.
“Against what?” Gawen asked.
“Against theft of soul, assassination, shape change. Against everything,” the old man said.
“Everything” is a very big order, Gawen thought. I wonder if even Merlinnus can do such a thing.
32
The Great Dinner
THAT EVENING WAS to have been a grand dinner as part of the last three days before Solstice Eve. The May Queen’s next-to-last official duty included reigning at the affair.
Kay had explained all this to the boys days earlier, as they were to help the kitchen staff both with the serving and with the clearing-away.
But now, with the Orkney queens arrival and five extra women, things had to change.
“One—the seating must be rearranged,” Kay said, counting on his fingers. “Two—the menu has to be expanded. Three—a larger tun of wine has to be breached.” He was about to go further, till he saw Arthur yawn.
“Just do it, Kay; do not bother me with the details.”
Kay was outraged and pleased at the same time. His reaction to change was always to make more changes. But he wanted some appreciation for his hard work.
“Arthur, you do not understand,” he said, moving on to the fourth finger. “We were originally to dine in the table room, though not, of course, on the table.”
“Of course not,” Arthur responded automatically.
“But that is too small now, so it will have to be the throne room. The vaulted ceiling should be impressive to the queen and—”
“She has seen the vaulted ceiling already.” It was clear Arthur was trying to keep the boredom out of his voice, but Kay ignored it.
“And an awed emissary is—”
Arthur sighed. “Already half won over. Yes, I remember the old man’s teachings, too, Kay. Now, I mean it—go!”
Kay went down to the kitchens, but if he was in a swivet, the kitchens were in an uproar. Cook was howling out orders, all the ovens were ablaze at once, whole pigs roasted merrily on spits in the giant hearths, and even the dog boy and the ostlers had been pressed into kitchen service.
“Cook!” Kay shouted above the hurly. “I need to tell you what has been changed. One—the seating must be...”
BY DINNER, the hurly had calmed and the throne room had been turned into a fine dining hall.
The Companions were shown to the long wooden tables in the center of the hall, where food was piled high. The ladies, dressed in white and green like the fey, were already seated, and the men jostled to sit by them, except for Lancelot and Gawaine, both of whom held back.
At a second and equally long table all of the outland contenders for the sword had been placed, for they had been arriving by the twos and threes all week long. Among them were seven Highlanders, each wrapped in a cloth that had dark stripes running both up-and-down and sideways. Then there were seven men who had sailed from Eire, wearing bonnets with feathers. Each of them stood taller than the tallest of the Companions, and they called themselves Fenians. A half-dozen old soldiers loyal to the Emperor Lucerius, and still in their Roman armor, were drunk already and asking for more wine. Several minor tribal kings, a half-dozen small dark Picts, and two barons who did not support Arthur had arrived only the day before. A contingent of rough-looking Saxon fighting men with their chieftain—they were known as federates—sat uneasily on one side of the table. And there were also an assortment of farm lads with bunched muscles and shocks of corn-colored hair, as well as one dark-eyed smith, with brows singed off from the smithy flames.
The pages and the knights’ retinues all sat well below the salt, at the far end of both of the tables, close to the door, where they could help serve when needed.
On a dais, at a separate table, sat Arthur, with Queen Morgause at his right and Merlinnus at his left. None of them looked particularly comfortable.
Morgause was all in black, except for a heavy gold torque at her neck, gold bobs in the shape of lionesses dangling from her ears, and a simple gold fillet at her brow. She also had thirteen gold bands around her bare arms, six on her left and seven on her right. She was radiant and still.
In contrast, the king seemed unable to sit quietly. He constantly turned his head toward Merlinnus, then Morgause, as if his head were on a string, nodding left, nodding right, nodding left again. He was not laughing.
Gawen thought that Merlinnus looked like he had been washed out in a cold stream. They had worked on the protection spell right up to the moment of the dinner. But even the old mage had not predicted success with his usual certainty. All he had said was, “God is on our side.” When Gawen had asked which God, Merlinnus had smiled wanly. “With luck—all of them.”
“May Queens,” muttered Geoffrey, speaking as though enchanted. “Do you not think so?”
“What?” Gawen had no idea what he was talking about.
“The queen’s women. Beautiful May Queens.”
“Are they intelli
gent? Do they have skills? Can they converse on matters other than embroidery?” Gawen asked in return.
“Does it matter?” Geoffrey obviously did not think so.
They hardly spoke, those soft-looking ladies, though every once in a while one would coo something to the Companions next to her. And the men sat transfixed, as if they had been bespelled.
The only woman who seemed left out of the gaiety was the actual May Queen, the pig farmers daughter, who was to rule till the Solstice morn. Next to the bright, polished beauty of the cooing women, she appeared ordinary, stunted, even uncouth. She was ignored in these final moments of her reign, and she did not giggle a bit. Indeed, she did not even smile. She lasted through the first three courses and then abruptly left, tears making dark runnels down her cheeks.
Gawen was disgusted and would have left then, too, but Morgause suddenly laughed out loud, her head thrown back and the dark curls tumbling onto her shoulders, spilling down her back, like an enormous wave. The sound of her laugh was like a bell signaling danger.
“What do you suppose she has to laugh at?” Gawen asked Ciril, who was sitting closer to the king’s table by a single chair.
Ciril turned his handsome face toward Gawen, and the wandering eye stared off into space. “Who do you mean? Dead Lot’s bitch?”
Someone’s hand came down hard on Ciril’s shoulder.
“Be careful what you say about my mother and father.” Agravaine shoved in between the two and, in a single practiced movement, took Gawen’s trencher and cup for his own. Then he turned and set his face close to Ciril’s, so close their noses were touching. “Or I will make your right eye go where the left eye has already flown.”
“I... I will,” Ciril began, though his eyes teared up and he looked down at his trencher.
Just then Arthur held up his hand and a hush descended on the hall. Standing, he raised his cup, a deeply engraved chalice.
“More of that awful Malmseyn, I bet,” muttered Agravaine, glaring into the cup that up to that moment had been Gawen’s. “My father would not have had such piss at the table. I spit on a king who has such bad taste.” He held the cup up but did not, in fact, spit.