“Nay, my dear one, I meant not to drive you away—I must indeed talk with my captain of horse, but there is room for you here, too.” He beckoned to one of the servers. “Bring another plate of meat for my lady. Lancelet and I have made a wreck of this dish—there is fresh-baked bread too, somewhere, if any of it is left, though with Cai not here the kitchens are in chaos.”
“I think I have eaten enough,” Gwenhwyfar said, leaning a little against his shoulder, and he patted her absently. She could feel Lancelet, warm and solid, on the other side, and she felt secure and safe between them. Arthur leaned forward, one hand still stroking her hair, the other holding the dagger where he was sketching.
“Look, can we bring the horses up this way? We can travel fast, and leave the wagons with provisions and baggage to come around on the flat country, but men with horses can cut across country and march light and fast—Cai has had men baking hard journey-bread for the armies and stockpiling it these three years since Celidon Wood. It is likely they will land here—” He pointed to a spot on the rough map he had made. “Leodegranz, Uriens, come here and look at this—”
Her father came, and with him another man, slight and dark and dapper, though his hair was greying and his face lined.
“King Uriens,” Arthur said, “I greet you as my father’s friend and mine. Have you met my lady Gwenhwyfar?”
Uriens bowed. His voice was pleasant and melodious. “My pleasure to speak with you, madam. When the country is more settled, I will bring my wife, if I may, to present to you at Camelot.”
“I shall be pleased,” Gwenhwyfar said, feeling that her voice was insincere—never had she learned how to speak these polite platitudes so that they carried any conviction.
“It will not be this summer, we have other work to do,” said Uriens. He bent over Arthur’s rough map. “In Ambrosius’ time we led an army up country this way—we had not so many horses, save with the baggage wagons, but one could bring them up and cut across ground here. You must keep out of swamps as you go to the south of the Summer Country—”
“I had hoped not to climb the fells,” said Lancelet.
Uriens shook his head. “With that great body of horse, it is better.”
“On those hills, horses slip on stone and break their legs,” Lancelet argued.
“Better even that, sir Lancelet, than have men and horses and wagons all bemired—better fells than swamps,” said Uriens. “Look, here lies the old Roman wall . . .”
“I cannot see where so many have scribbled,” said Lancelet impatiently. He went to the fireplace and plucked out a long stick, shook out the fire on the end, and began drawing on the floor with the charcoaled stick. “Look, here lies the Summer Country and here the Lakes and the Roman wall. . . . We have, say, three hundred horse, and here two hundred—”
“So many indeed?” Uriens demanded incredulously. “The legions of Caesar had no more!”
“Seven years we have been training them, and training mounted soldiers in their use,” said Lancelet.
“Thanks to you, dear cousin,” Arthur said.
Lancelet turned and smiled. “Thanks to you, my king, who had vision to see what we could do with them.”
“Some soldiers still know not how to fight on horseback,” said Uriens. “As for me, I fought well enough leading men on foot—”
“And that is as well,” said Arthur good-naturedly, “for we have not horses for every man who wishes to fight mounted, nor saddles and stirrups and harness for all, though I have had every harnessmaker in my kingdom working as fast as he might, and hard enough work I’ve had to levy enough money to pay for all this, and men thinking me a greedy tyrant.” He chuckled, patting Gwenhwyfar on the back and saying, “All this time I have had hardly enough gold of my own to buy my queen silks for her embroidery! It has all gone to horseflesh and smiths and saddlers!” Suddenly the gaiety was gone and he was serious, almost frowning. “And now is the great test of all that we have done and all that we can do—the Saxons this time are a flood, my friends. If we cannot stop them, with less than half their numbers, there will be none fed in this country but ravens and wolves!”
“That is the advantage of horse troops,” said Lancelet gravely. “Armed and mounted men can fight five, ten—it may be twenty times their number. We shall see, and if we have guessed right, we shall stop the Saxons once and for all time. If we have not—well, we shall die defending our own homes and the lands we love, and our women and little children.”
“Aye,” said Arthur softly, “that we would. For what else have we worked since we were tall enough to hold a sword, Galahad?”
He smiled, his rare, sweet smile, and Gwenhwyfar thought, with a stab of pain, Never does he smile at me like that. Yet, when he hears what news I bear him, why then . . .
For a moment Lancelet answered the smile, then he sighed. “I had a dispatch from my half-brother Lionel—Ban’s eldest son. He said he would set sail in three days—no"—he stopped, counting on his fingers—"he is already at sea—the messenger was delayed. He has forty ships and he hopes to drive the Saxon ships, or as many as he may, onto the rocks, or south to the Cornish coast, where they cannot land their troops aright. Then when he lands he will march his men to where we are gathering. I should send a messenger with a place for rendezvous.” He pointed to the improvised map on the stones.
Then there was a little stirring of voices at the door of the room, and a tall, thin, greying man strode in through the scattered benches and trestle tables. Gwenhwyfar had not seen Lot of Lothian since before the battle of Celidon Wood.
“Why, I see Arthur’s hall as I never thought to see it, bare without his Round Table—what, Arthur, cousin, playing at knucklebones on the floor with all your schoolfellows?”
“The Round Table is already gone to Camelot, kinsman,” said Arthur, rising, “with all my other furniture and women’s gear—you see here an armed camp, waiting only for daybreak to send the last of the women to Camelot. Most of the women and all of the children are already gone.”
Lot bowed to Gwenhwyfar and said, in his smooth voice, “Why, then, Arthur’s hall will be barren indeed. But is it safe for women and children to travel with the land rising for war?”
“The Saxons have not yet come so far inland,” said Arthur, “and there is no danger if they go at once. I must tell fifty of my men—and a thankless job it is—to stay out of the field, and guard Camelot. Queen Morgause is well where she is, in Lothian—I am glad my sister is with her!”
“Morgaine?” Lot shook his head. “She has not been in Lothian these many years! Well, well, well. I wonder where she may have gone? And with whom? I thought always there was more to that young woman than I ever could see! But why to Camelot, my lord Arthur?”
“It is easily defended,” said Arthur. “Fifty men can hold it till Christ should come again. If I left the women at Caerleon here, I would need to hold back two hundred men or more from the battle. I know not why my father made Caerleon his stronghold—I had hoped before the Saxons came again we would be gone with all our court to Camelot, and then they would have to march across Britain’s width to come at us, and we could give them battle on a field of our own choosing. If we led them into the swamps and lakes of the Summer Country, where the land is never the same two years in a row, why then mud and swamps could do some of the work of bow and arrow and axe for us, and the little folk of Avalon finish them off with their elf-arrows.”
“They will come to do that anyway,” said Lancelet, rising on his knees from studying the map on the stones. “Avalon has already sent three hundred, and more will come, they say. And the Merlin said when last I spoke with him that they had sent riders into your country too, my lord Uriens, so that all the Old People who dwell in your hills may come to fight at our side. So we have the legion, horse soldiers fighting on the flat ground, every horseman armored and armed with spears, good for a dozen or more Saxons. Then we have multitudes of foot soldiers, bowmen and swordsmen, who can fight in the hi
lls and valleys. And then we have many of the men of the Tribes, with pikes and axes, and the Old People, who can fight from ambush and drop men with their elf-arrows unseen. I think we could thus meet every Saxon from all of Gaul and the shores of the continent!”
“And we will have to do just that,” said Lot. “I have fought the Saxons since the days of Ambrosius—so has Uriens here—and never have we had to face anything like the army coming against us now.”
“Since I was crowned, I have known this day was coming—the Lady of the Lake told me this when she gave me Excalibur. And now she is sending for all the folk of Avalon to rally beneath the banner of the Pendragon.”
“We will all be there,” said Lot, but Gwenhwyfar shuddered, and Arthur said solicitously, “My dear one, you have been riding all the day, and the day before, and you must set forth again at daybreak. May I call your women to take you away to bed?”
She shook her head, twisting her hands together in her lap. “No, I am not weary, no—Arthur, it seems no proper thing for the pagans of Avalon, ruled by sorcery, to fight on the side of a Christian king! And when you rally them under that pagan banner—”
Lancelet asked gently, “My queen, would you have the folk of Avalon sit and watch their homes fall into the hands of the Saxon? Britain is their land too—they will fight even as we do, to hold our land against the barbarians. And the Pendragon is their sworn king.”
“It is that I do not like,” said Gwenhwyfar, trying to make her voice steady so that she did not sound like a little girl raising her voice in the men’s council. After all, she told herself, Morgause is accepted as one of Lot’s councillors, and Viviane never stinted to speak of matters of state! “I like it not that we and the folk of Avalon should fight on the same side. This battle shall be the stand of civilized men, followers of Christ, descendants of Rome, against those who know not our God. The Old People are of the enemy, as much as the Saxons, and this will not be a proper Christian land until all those folk are dead or fled into their hills, and their demon gods with them! And I like it not, Arthur, that you should raise a pagan banner for your standard. You should fight, like Uriens, under the cross of Christ so that we may tell friend from foe!”
Lancelet looked shocked. “Am I also your enemy, Gwenhwyfar?”
She shook her head. “You are a Christian, Lancelet.”
“My mother is that same wicked Lady of the Lake you condemn for her witchcraft,” he said, “and I myself was fostered in Avalon, and the Old People are my own people. My own father, who is a Christian king, made also the Great Marriage with the Goddess for his land!” He looked hard and angry.
Arthur laid his hand on the hilt of Excalibur, in its scabbard of crimson velvet and gold. The sight of his hand laid on the magical symbols of that scabbard, and the serpents twined round his wrist, made Gwenhwyfar turn her eyes away. She said, “How will God give us the victory, if we will not put away from us all the symbols of sorcery and fight beneath his cross?”
“Why, there’s something to what the Queen says,” Uriens said, conciliating, “but I bear my eagles in the name of my fathers and of Rome.”
Leodegranz said, “I offer to you the banner of the cross, my lord Arthur, if you will. You bear it rightly for your queen’s sake.”
Arthur shook his head. Only the high flush in his cheekbones told Gwenhwyfar that he was angry. “I swore to fight beneath the royal banner of the Pendragon, and so shall I do or die. I am no tyrant. Whoever wishes to do so may bear the cross of Christ on his shield, but the Pendragon banner stands in token that all the folk of Britain—Christian, Druid, Old People too—shall fight together. Even as the dragon is over all the beasts, so the Pendragon is over all the people! All, I say!”
“And the eagles of Uriens and the Great Raven of Lothian shall fight beside the dragon,” said Lot, rising. “Is Gawaine not here, Arthur? I would have a word with my son, and I thought he was ever at your side!”
“I miss him as much as you, Uncle,” said Arthur. “I know not where to turn without Gawaine at my back, but I had to send him on a message to Tintagel, for none can ride so swiftly.”
“Oh, you have plenty to guard you,” said Lot sourly. “I see Lancelet never more than a step or three from your side, ready to fill the empty place.”
Lancelet flushed, but he said smoothly, “It is always so, kinsman, all of Arthur’s Companions strive with one another for the honor of being the closest to the King, and when Gawaine is here, even Cai who is Arthur’s foster-brother and I who am Queen’s champion must take a place further off.”
Arthur turned back to Gwenhwyfar and said, “Now indeed, my queen, you must go to rest. This council may go on far into the night, and you must be ready to ride at daybreak.”
Gwenhwyfar clenched her hands. This one time, this one time let me have courage to speak. . . . She said clearly, “No. No, my lord, I do not ride at daybreak, not to Camelot or to anywhere else on the face of this earth.”
Arthur’s cheeks flushed again with that high color which told her he was angry. “Why, how’s this, madam? You cannot delay when there is war in the land. I would willingly give you a day or two of rest before you ride, but we must make haste to get you all to safety before the Saxons come. I tell you, Gwenhwyfar, when the morning comes, your horse and gear will be ready. If you cannot ride you may travel in a litter or be carried in a chair, but ride you shall.”
“I shall not!” she said fiercely. “And you cannot force me, not unless you set me on my horse and tie me there!”
“God forbid I should have to do so,” Arthur said. “But what is this, lady?” He was troubled, yet trying to keep his voice light and humorous. “Why, all those legions of men out there obey my word, am I to have mutiny at my own hearth fire and from my own wife?”
“Your men may all obey your word,” she said desperately. “They have not my reason for staying here! I will stay with no more than one waiting-woman and a midwife, my lord, but I will ride nowhere—not so far as to the banks of the river—before our son is born!”
There, I have said it . . . here before all these men. . . .
And Arthur, hearing, understood, and instead of looking overjoyed, seemed only dismayed. He shook his head, then said, “Gwenhwyfar—” and stopped.
Lot chuckled and said, “Are you breeding, madam? Why, congratulations! But that need not stop you from travelling. Morgause was every day in the saddle, till she was too big for her horse to carry her, while no one would know as yet that you were with child. Our midwives say that fresh air and exercise are healthy for a breeding woman, and when my own favorite mare is in foal, I ride her till six weeks before she drops the foal!”
“I am not a mare,” said Gwenhwyfar coldly, “and twice I have miscarried. Would you expose me again to that, Arthur?”
“Yet you cannot stay here. This place cannot be properly defended,” said Arthur distractedly, “and we may march out with the army at any time! Nor is it fair to ask your women to stay with you and risk being caught by the Saxons. I am certain it will not harm you, dear wife, there were pregnant women with those who left for Camelot last week—and you cannot stay here with all your women gone, it will be an armed soldier’s camp, no more, my Gwen!”
Gwenhwyfar looked at her ladies. “Will not one of you stay with her queen?”
“I will stay with you, cousin, if Arthur permits,” said Elaine. And Meleas said, “I will stay, if my lord does not mind, though our son is already at Camelot—”
“No, Meleas, you must go to your child,” Elaine said. “I am her kinswoman and I can endure anything Gwenhwyfar can endure, even to live in an armed camp with the men.” She came and stood beside Gwenhwyfar, holding her hand. “But could you not travel in a litter? Camelot is so much safer.”
Lancelet got up and came to Gwenhwyfar. He bent over her hand and said in a low voice, “My lady, I beg you to go with the other women. This countryside may all be in ruin within a matter of days, when the Saxons come. In Camelot you are near
to your father’s country. My own mother dwells in Avalon, within a day’s journey—she is a notable healer woman and midwife, and I am sure she would come to you and care for you, or even stay to be with you when the babe is born. If I send to my mother with a message to come to you, will you go?”
Gwenhwyfar bent her head, fighting not to cry. Once again I must do as I am bid, like any woman, no matter what I want! Now even Lancelet had joined in to get her to do what she was told. She remembered the journey here from the Summer Country—even with Igraine at hand she had been terrified, and all this day she had ridden across the dreadful moors from Tintagel—now she was safe within walls and it seemed to her that she would never again be willing to leave their shelter.
Perhaps, when she was stronger, when her son was safe in her arms . . . then, perhaps she could dare that journey, but not now . . . and Lancelet could offer her as a gift the company of that evil sorceress his mother! How could he think she would let such a sorceress near her son? Arthur might contaminate himself with vows and links to Avalon, but her son should never be touched by that pagan evil.