Gwenhwyfar (17 page)

The Merlin cleared his throat. “I have some interest in your youngest,” he said, with great care. “I would like to speak with her at some length over the next day or two.”

“Little Gwen?” The King’s voice betrayed a touch of confusion. “Why Little Gwen? The conversation of such a child is not like to be entertaining.”

“I believe I may have detected another sort of Blessing on her than the one the Ladies look for,” the Merlin replied. “Such a thing is elusive, as difficult to follow as a minnow among the reeds, but it is the sort of thing that is useful to the Druids. It may be that as the Ladies have called your Cataruna, the Druids, although we do not usually call females, might be able to train your youngest. We have on occasion great need for maidens. Pure maidens, with special kinds of power to them . . .”

“Aha!” Comprehension dawned on the king. “Virgin foot-holders, as the good Goddess Arianrhod was to Math ap Mathonwy, Lleu’s liege lord. Has our High King the need of such, think you?”

“He might. Or I might. If the magic calls for it. There are other Druidic callings for pure maidens, though these rites be more secret than those of the Ladies.” The Merlin smiled. “I can assure you that if she is indeed endowed with such a Blessing, she and you will be greatly honored for it, protected and guarded—rather better than Arianrhod was. And if she is not, well no harm will come of a little talk with an old man. Hmm? Besides, your trusted Gwenhwyfar will be there.” He chuckled deeply. “I assure you, my lord King, I am not such that finds great interest in little girls except as they may grow to power or further the needs of the High King.”

“Oh, I had no suspicion of that.” The king’s ears had turned a little red. “And who am I to deny the Druids what they may need, especially as it may be in the interest of the High King? I shall tell the nursemaid that you are to have custody of the little wench for as long as you require. Or—” he amended with a chuckle “—for as long as you can stand her prattle.”

When the manservant again took Gwen’s place and she picked her way through the snoring bodies bedded down among the rushes in the Great Hall to the bedchamber, she discovered that once again Little Gwen was wide awake.

She heard the child sit straight up in bed as she lifted the door-curtain. As warm as it was, the bed curtains had been taken down altogether and put away until winter. “Gynath is asleep and said she would beat me with a slipper if I woke her,” Little Gwen hissed urgently. “What did they say around the fire? What did the Merlin say? Did he talk about magic?”

“Actually, he talked about you.” Gwen figured
that
would shut the little nuisance up, and it did. “He wants to talk to you. He thinks you might have some kind of magic that the Druids can use, and if they can, when you’re old enough, they’ll want you to come to them like Cataruna went to the Ladies.”

“I
knew
it!” Little Gwen squeaked with excitement and gloating.

Gynath rolled over and swatted at her, then rolled back without saying a word. Little Gwen squeaked again, this time with indignation.

“Well, magic or no magic, you had better be on your best behavior, because I am to be there too,” Gwen whispered crossly, “You may be sure that Father will ask me about this, and if you act badly, I will tell him.”

“I won’t—!” Little Gwen began indignantly. Gwen cut her off.

“And if you act like a pigkeeper’s brat, or try to lord it over me, the Merlin will take it ill. He holds good manners high, does the Merlin. He treats me like a full warrior, so you had best do the same.” Gwen pulled off her sandals and tunic and crawled into the bed. “And you had better let me get some sleep, too, or I’ll let the Merlin know that
you
are the reason his squire is clumsy in the morning.”

That threat was enough to still the questions—and the gloating—in the child’s throat. She laid herself back down, and Gwen curled herself into a ball.

Could
Little Gwen have a magic that would be useful to someone besides herself? That glamorie, for instance? Well it might be useful enough if she tamed it and used it wisely. She could lead other children around easily enough; the High King might find it useful if a maid in his court could do the same with adult men.

If the little ferret could be tamed . . .

Thinking that, Gwen fell asleep.

She was up before dawn again and was attending to the Merlin’s wants before the old man was even awake. Now well acquainted with his habits, she brought fruit and bread and clear spring water instead of the small beer and meat that the king’s other guests would expect. She didn’t actually expect Little Gwen to turn up until the sun was high, but to her shock, as soon as the Merlin had broken his fast, she and Bronwyn turned up to wait on the Merlin’s pleasure. Gwen’s eyes nearly jumped out of her head with shock. Little Gwen had never been up this early on her own, ever!

After Bronwyn had been dismissed, the Merlin also sent away his manservant and sat Little Gwen down on a stool at his feet. Then he looked at Gwen.

And once again, she found herself held prisoner by his eyes. It happened even faster this time, and when the Merlin told her that she would hear and see
nothing
that went on, she nodded vaguely, though her mind battered itself against the fetters he placed around it like a wild thing in a trap.

Then he turned to Little Gwen. And try as she might, Gwen could only make out scraps of what passed between them.

Some things did manage to penetrate the fog that the Merlin had put around Gwen’s thoughts. The Merlin asked about the coming heir, and Little Gwen replied with such venom, such hatred, that even Gwen was a bit shocked. And then—

Then the Merlin turned back to her and looked deeply into her eyes. “You fight me, girl,” he said with a little admiration and some regret. “But this is not for the honest ears of one such as you. Sleep. And remember nothing.”

And that was all she knew—

She came to herself with a start.
I must have been more tired than I thought!
With a touch of alarm, she looked covertly about the tent, but the Merlin did not seem to have noticed her lapse. He was giving Little Gwen a small carved box and smiling with satisfaction. “So, use that as I told you, and your future will be clear,” he said.

“But the Druids will call for me?” Little Gwen pleaded, with something like urgency in her tone.

“I pledge you that
someone
will. You have Power, you will have more, and teachers seek such students out.” He passed a hand over his eyes, as if he were suddenly weary, then looked up at Gwen. “Escort your sister back to her nurse, then tell your father that this child is indeed Blessed with Power but that the time is not right for her to leave her family.”

“Aye, my lord,” Gwen replied, feeling disappointed that Little Gwen was not going to be taken off far, far away—at least not for some time. Little Gwen looked even more disappointed, but she allowed herself to be led off, clutching her little box.

“What is that?” Gwen asked, as soon as they had left the tent.

“Something secret,” her sister said, a sly look coming over her.

“I’m not to tell.”

Gwen shrugged. “Then I won’t ask any more.” Her sister looked disappointed at that response; half of the value she placed in a secret was that she could torment her older siblings with it.

But she didn’t have any time to come up with a new tactic, for Bronwyn was waiting for them at the edge of the encampment and looked with curiosity at the box.

“Tis a secret thing between her and the Merlin,” Gwen said shortly. “So let her do what he wishes her to do with it.”

Bronwyn nodded and took Little Gwen in charge, while Gwen went off to find her father and fulfill the second half of her duty.

Her father seemed a little disappointed as well but said only, “At least we know she
has
a Blessing. But it must not be something the High King needs. Ah, well.” He waved Gwen off. “We’ll let her age, like mead. Mayhap she’ll turn out as sweet with the help of whatever it is the Merlin gave her.”

Privately Gwen rather doubted any such miracle could occur, but this was a case when the squire served best by keeping her lips sealed. “Aye, my lord King,” she said carefully, bowed, and went back to her duty.

The guests
were all gone, the Merlin with them, without his making a display of any kind of magic—much to the bitter disappointment of most of the young squires. This time Gwen had not had the slightest wish to spy on the Midsummer Rites. She spent that evening as usual in attendance on the Merlin, and when he retired to join the Rites, she sat quietly with the other squires, on her best behavior. They were all rewarded by a share of mead each, which warmed her belly and made her sleepy. When the Merlin and the women returned, she was surprised, for she had not thought that much time had passed. She was glad when he dismissed her, and she was happy enough to go to bed, even while the young women and men were still leaping the fire, dancing, or making sheep’s eyes at each other. Of course, not all of them were confining themselves to that, for it was Midsummer after all, but they were out in the hayfields or the meadows or little bowers under the bushes, and not tumbling and panting in the Great Hall, so she didn’t even think of them, but of the soft mattress and how good it would be to get there.

The truth of the matter was, that between serving the Merlin and seeing that her horses were tended perfectly, her gear in good order, and the gear of the older warriors attended to, she fell into the bed and slept like a stone every night, and she simply didn’t have the will to sneak out for a clandestine look. Besides, her curiosity the last time had resulted in a vision that, while exciting, was also somewhat frightening. She’d spied upon the gods that night, and she rather hoped that she was below their attention. At least, until she was old enough to start earning some glory in battle.

Little Gwen had finally found something to occupy her besides tormenting her sisters, and for that, Gwen was so profoundly grateful to the Merlin that she would have run twice the number of errands he asked of her. Whatever it was that he had told the child, and given her, kept her captive and quiet in her own thoughts. And meanwhile, now that he was sure of her, the Merlin sent his assigned squire out into the fields and woods to acquire any number of herbs and bits. Mushrooms both poisonous and tasty, baskets of bark, roots, leaves, owl pellets, bones and teeth . . . there seemed no end to the odd things he wanted her to find. It wasn’t capricious either; part of the reason he was sending her for these things was that he was graciously sharing his lore of curative things and homely spells with the queen and her women, showing them how he compounded remedies for all manner of injuries, curses, and diseases. The women loved him for this, but of course, this was not the conjuring of dragons or the summoning of demons that the squires hoped to see, so it was all terribly boring to them. In this, Gwen didn’t agree; some of the things that the Merlin could cure were downright miraculous.

But at last, everyone was gone, and Gwen was back to duties that seemed light in comparison with the double burden she had carried while the guests were about. Now she knew why the squires had always looked so harried and haggard during festivals and had never had time for games or gamboling. In a time of feasting and leisure, they got none of the latter and only the leftover ends of the former.

It was about a week after the last guest had left that a traveling bard arrived, having spent Midsummer at the festival King Lot of Orkney held. Like all bards, he was as full of news as he was of music, and the women swarmed him to hear his largest burden, that Anna Morgause had been brought to bed of yet another son, her fifth. Four more she had, two older than Arthur—Gwalchmai, Gwalchafed, Gwynfor, and Agrwn. Gwalchmai and Gwalchafed were said to be as alike as she and Little Gwen, and the younger served the elder as a squire. She only hoped Gwalchmai’s younger brother had a better temper than her younger sister.

“Thin, small, and sickly looking this one is,” the bard said, with a little smirk that made Gwen frown. This man was angling for rewards from Queen Eleri, she thought. But she kept her head down over her task and held her peace. She was not allowed to completely escape the training of a maiden amid all the work of a squire; she still had to mend, if not make, her own clothing.

The king counted on his fingers, and chuckled. “So old Lot made sure of his wife by quickening her
before
he took her to Arthur’s wedding. Very wise of him.”

“Well, if a man knows he’s like to wear the horns,” said one of the men with a leer, “That’s the best way of knowing he won’t be raising another man’s brat.”

Ribald laughter spread around the benches. Anna Morgause had a reputation that was none too savory. It was said she had even bedded a Northman once, and it was whispered that she did not confine her couplings to humans. And here, far from the reach of her magic, it was safe enough to gossip about it.