Guinevere Evermore (11 page)

“This is insane.” Guinevere spoke softly but her words pierced the air. “It will not be allowed.”

“What other boys?” Risa asked sharply. The women waited.

“Almost all of us. Everyone wants to go. But I’m the only one who chose Percival. They all think that since he failed once, he won’t find anything. I wanted to go with my father first, of course, but he wouldn’t let me. He and Gareth are going alone.”

Guinevere thanked Lancelot in her heart. He knew what it would cost her to give them both up. He would see that their Galahad stayed where he belonged.

The women’s section of the hall was empty that night. Anger and bitterness are poor sauces. The men pretended they did not notice and were all the louder and more boisterous. But more than one of them excused himself early and the lamps of Camelot burnt late. When they went out that night, not every woman cried herself to sleep. Tertia held her spent husband gently and smiled. For all her wanton behavior, Risa had given good advice. Men, she had explained, cannot be reasoned with. They don’t have the minds for it. But even a fool will think twice before he gives up a treasure in his own house to seek one far away. One simply needs to remind him of the value of the treasure at hand.

Still, of the knights of the Round Table, nearly half remained determined to seek the Grail. With them were forty or so of the men-at-arms and older boys. When it was certain that nothing could dissuade them, Arthur declared a day of fasting and prayer, followed by a solemn .“neeting of the Table, since no one knew when they would all meet again.

Arthur’s eyes dimmed as he regarded the men about him that last night. Some had been with him almost from the beginning: Bedivere, Gawain (asleep now, but leaving at dawn with the others), Agravaine, Cei, Lancelot. Only Cei and Agravaine were not going. Of the others, Sagremore, Percival, Morvid, Perredur Map Eridur, Kinlith, Meleagant’s son Dyfnwal, Gerontius of Dumnonia, Cunorix and Ebicatos, who had come to him from Ireland, and Palomides, who had come from the other end of the world, were now leaving. Arthur couldn’t help but feel that they were abandoning him, even though he knew the conflict in their hearts. But he would not send them away with harsh rebukes.

He gave them all his blessing for the venture and assured them of their right to welcome whenever they chose to return. He asked only that they remember their honor as knights as well as the splendor of their quest and conduct themselves accordingly.

“And now, we will break with tradition and drink one cup of mead here, to those who are leaving and those who remain, that neither may forget the other or fail to help them in need.”

They raised their cups in solemn stillness. Galahad, who, for Guinevere’s sake, had been firmly forbidden to join the quest, watched from behind his father. But he could not see well and surreptitiously inched around until he came to an opening. Oh, how he longed to go with them! He tried not to be jealous of those who had been permitted to accompany their cousins or friends. If what he felt were true, then it shouldn’t matter at all where he were. If he made himself worthy, the Grail would come to him. But what could he do around Camelot to make himself worthy of anything? Galahad was growing light-headed. He had spent the night before in the chapel, praying for guidance, and had not eaten all that day. Perhaps he could just sit down a moment. It was weakness. The desert saints would not have succumbed to a mere one day without food. A true knight wouldn’t either. But he felt so dizzy! There was a stool nearby, he could pull it over for just a minute and sit down, just till his head stopped spinning. There. He sat.

“Good God! Stop him!!” Lancelot knocked over three men in an effort to reach the boy. Someone else cried out, and all steeled themselves for the worst.

Frightened by this reaction, Galahad jumped up again too quickly. Lamplight on the armour and cups glittered and blurred as he slumped in a faint onto the Table. He did not feel the carven words under his cheek,
Siege Perillous
.

Hands shaking with grief, Lancelot lifted up his son and leaned the body against his shoulder. Galahad stirred and blinked.

“He’s alive!” Cei breathed the obvious. "How can that be? Since Mallton, five men have died for sitting at that place.”

“He had no evil intention,” Father Antonius said cautiously. “Perhaps that makes the difference.”

Someone gasped and stood away from the Table. Lancelot looked down and slowly lowered his son to the floor. Galahad swayed a little and steadied himself on the edge of the Table. Then he saw it, too. He tried to swallow but could only choke. There must be something the matter with his eyes, the moonlight was suddenly so bright . . . and warm. He felt wrapped in love and security. Without realizing it, he smiled.

Even in his fury, Modred was not untouched by the radiance in the boy’s face. More than one man knelt before it.

The light grew less intense. Galahad turned to Lancelot for direction and was horrified to see tears pouring down his face.

“Father?”

“I cannot guide you in this, my son. I am not worthy.”

“King Arthur?”

“If you still wish to seek the Grail, Galahad, no one here will stop you.”

They all stared at the Table. There, still glowing like flame, were the words. Modred refused to believe them. It was another trick. But he saw no doubt in the faces about him. Lancelot got a proper chair and sat Galahad down again before the words:

SIR GALAHAD

WHOSE COMING I HAVE AWAITED SINCE I WAS MADE

Guinevere had heard the stillness and then the commotion. She hoped that Lancelot would be able to slip away for a few minutes before it was over. She had said good-bye to him many times before, but that made it no less hard and she preferred saying it to him alone, instead of politely, before an audience. Risa sat on the balcony, thinking and watching.

“There was a strange light over the hall again, Guinevere,” she called. “What could it be for?”

Guinevere shrugged and didn’t answer. She went on with her bead work.

“It must be over. They’re coming out now. No, only Galahad, I guess. Maybe they sent him away since he’s not going. I know how you feel about it,” she added, coming inside. “But I don’t know how you could have held out against them. I couldn’t. Domin is going with Bedivere.”

“But you have other children.”

“Do you think that would make the loss of one any easier?” Risa had anguished over letting the boy go; he was only twelve. But she thought Bedivere was probably his father and, in any case, would care for him. “Children are not like coins. One can’t replace another.”

“Galahad is all I have, Risa. All I’ll ever have. Would you risk that?”

Risa was prevented from answering by a timid knock on the door. She rose, gratefully, and answered it.

“Why, Galahad, I thought you had gone to bed!”

Galahad was very pale. “I need to speak alone with my mother. Would you mind, Risa?”

“Of course not, dear. I was just going, anyway. Good night, my Lady.”

Risa wondered about it all the way down to her room. “Mother,” he called her, not “Foster Mother.” Something’s happened. Somehow, the boy has convinced them to let him go and the cowards sent him to tell her himself.

Guinevere never told anyone what Galahad said to her that night. Arthur came up to their room cautiously, expecting to be greeted with either tears or crockery. But he found only his wife, sound asleep, and, if she had cried, there Were no traces left on her face.

In the morning all the court, all the landsmen, all the visitors, and all the dogs and cats were at the lower gate to send the knights off on their grand quest. No one knew exactly what they were after, but rumors and dreaming had made it something marvelous, which would change all their lives when it was found.

Lancelot was surprised to feel a twinge of jealousy as he realized that Guinevere was more concerned with Galahad’s departure than his own. She gripped his hands tightly, though, when he made his farewells, so that her own came away red. He wished he knew what she was feeling, if it were anger or sorrow or merely resignation. Galahad clung to Guinevere as if he regretted his decision, but, when all were ready, he did not hesitate. He kissed her once more, mounted his horse, and left, just as men had done for all time.

Arthur put his arm around her.

“He will be all right,” he said. “They’ll all be back by winter; you’ll see.”

Guinevere smiled. “He made me a promise. I know he will keep it. But I think the days will be very empty here.”

As he watched the others ride away, leaving him behind, Arthur totally agreed.

Chapter Nine

“So, Arthur’s little knights have all gone off Grail-hunting!” Morgause smiled. “Why didn’t I think of something like that?”

“You mean, you didn’t?” Modred was astonished. “Who else is there left in Britain who can do that sort of magic?”

“Don’t say ‘left’ as if I were some sort of relic.” Morgause ran her hands through her fiery hair. “And don’t believe that Christian claptrap about all the ‘demons’ having been driven from the land. There’s magic everywhere. It can’t be killed, only stilled for a time. But I never heard of a Grail in our lore. It sounds more Irish to me. They like to blend mysticism with a good, hot meal. We were more ascetic in our day.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Modred answered. “It’s left the way open for me. I’m fast becoming Arthur’s right-hand man. Cei is busy with the army and household, and Constantine can’t think of anything but that granddaughter of Leodegrance’s. So Arthur trusts me with all sorts of jobs. He even lets me take his precious wife on trips to the countryside. If it goes on like this, I may even get him to retire in my favor, without ever striking a blow.”

“You’re not starting to like him, are you?”

“Of course not! But why start my rule with blood?”

“The best sacrifices are blood. And the most powerful sorcery is rooted in it.”

Modred shrank back a little from his aunt. He always felt uncomfortable when she talked that way. It wasn’t . . . decent.

“Well, if I can do without it, I will. And, while all the favorites are out beating the bushes for this Grail thing, I am weaving myself through the heart of Britain. Meleagant has never forgiven Arthur for the death of Mallton, and he’s just as angry at him for taking Dyfnwal’s affection, although I can’t see that there was much to take. Meleagant was never too thoughtful with any of his children, even the legitimate ones. But he doesn’t want to leave his lands to the most likely bastard. His wife’s family is too powerful. He’ll support me to get his son back.

“I went to the coast just before I came to see you. Cerdic is another one we can have. He has more Saxon men than British in his control and has no faith in this return to Roman ways.”

“And Maelgwn?” Morgause studied her left eye in her hand mirror. Perhaps a bit more kohl around the lashes.

“Maelgwn I may leave to you, my love. He won’t fight Arthur, although he won’t help him more than necessary. He prefers to wait in the mountains until it’s all over. Then he’ll favor the winner, or, if the winner has been made weak enough, devour him. But you may be able to offer him something he will snap at. He has, I have heard, most unusual cravings.”

“From what
I
have heard, nothing terribly uncommon, only more elaborate than most.” She stretched.

Even though it was still late summer, fog lay on Tintagel and oozed in at the cracks. Modred shivered in his furs.

“I have to be getting back soon, before Agravaine comes home. Arthur has decided, for some bizarre reason, to winter in London this year. The whole place is in an uproar since all the winter supplies are at Caerleon. He has asked me to find a suitable place for the people he is bringing with him. There is a wonderful chance to bring about resentment. 'The High King demands your house, my Lord. You may have it back when he is finished.’ Of course, London is all merchants and bishops; split down the middle already. I wish those ‘men of God’ were half as powerful as they think they are. They forget how few Christians dwell outside the towns. And I don’t know what I can promise the merchants that Arthur hasn’t given them already.”

“Never mind. Something will come to you.”

She crossed the room and put her arms around him. As his fingers slipped through her hair, he found himself wondering if Guinevere’s were as soft and if it were really as warm as it looked in the summer sunlight. He thought he could hear her laughing again, as she urged her horse past him and ahead. He came to himself with a start.

“Cold, Precious?” Morgause slid onto his chair and pressed her body closer.

“In this place? Of course.” He must be insane! Whatever made him think of that . . .? He knew better than to succumb to her the way everyone else around Arthur did. It was an obstacle that drove him mad; even though everyone knew she and Lancelot were lovers, no one said a word about it. It was as if she had bewitched them. Yes, that was it exactly. Meleagant had muttered something about witchcraft in his ramblings against her. But it was preposterous. She wouldn’t have the brains. Unless her innocence was all a pose.

“Morgause, when did you last see the Queen? Stop that a minute and answer me.”

“You know very well, when I brought Galahad and Elaine to court, when he was a baby.”

“How old was she then?”

“I don’t know, about twenty to twenty-five, I suppose, nearer the latter. Why?”

“That was fourteen years ago. You look as you did then, I imagine.”

“No, I’ve added a few touches. I changed my eye color and . . .”

“Yes, but you haven’t aged, have you?”

“Of course not! What an awful thing to say! What is the matter with you?”

“Well, neither has Guinevere.”

“That’s impossible. You’re exaggerating. She probably has some good creams and hair dye and covers up a little more in the sun, that sort of thing.”

“Not according to her maid. And I’ve seen her standing in bright sunlight with her head and arms bare. She doesn’t look more than eighteen.”