Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy) Page 2

Now the morning had come, and with it the mists that covered the lake so that even the stone jetty was hidden and the mountains seemed to float between earth and sunrise, their feet lost in the pale, shimmering fog. I searched back through the bits of last night’s dreams, looking for a sign from the deity. But like the veiled lake, whatever wisdom Epona could give me was hidden from view. The only picture that lingered was that of Mama, who seemed to be watching me carefully, with a worried smile.

  That was no help at all, for Mama had been a regular part of my dreams ever since her death five years ago. Last night she had not said or done anything notable, and no other image rose to offer me guidance.

  Pages began to appear in the courtyard, dashing about with bundles which the High King’s men sorted into different piles. I turned away and headed for the washstand. Clearly any effort to avert the fate which stamped and pawed at the gates of my life would have to come from me.

  Dressing hastily, I hurried down the stairs, all too aware of how little time was left. Unless I found some chink in my father’s armor, we’d be on the Road before the fish had finished feeding.

  In her first-floor room, my chaperone Lavinia was fretting over hampers and baskets, and I tiptoed past her door as quietly as possible; this was no time for one of Vinnie’s flurries. I ran across the courtyard and darted into the Main Hall with a sigh of relief.

  Our guests milled around a trestle table, picking up bannocks and cups of hot cider while the servants scurried back and forth. Gladys was crossing to the kitchen when she caught sight of me and steered her way through the crowd.

  “I’ve taken your breakfast to the King’s chambers,” she said, picking up an empty pitcher from the end of the table. “I assume you wanted to eat together in private?”

  I nodded gratefully, thinking how lucky we were to have a household that recognized royalty’s need to get away from the eager eyes of the court.

  The King’s chamber was the one quiet place in the fort this morning, and my father was already eating as I came in.

  “Well, Gwen, all packed and ready to leave, I expect.”

  The comment was a statement rather than a question, and without waiting for an answer he gestured to me to be seated in Mama’s chair. It had been pulled up near the window across from his, and Gladys had set a tray of food on the folding table between them.

  I perched on the edge of the seat and reached for a bannock. The window was unglazed, and though the day’s first sun splashed through the open shutters and played along the carvings of the furniture, there was little warmth in it. In April the snows still linger on the peaks of the fells, and the clean cold nip of winter is often present in the northern spring. I was not surprised to see a thick plaid robe tucked over my father’s knees.

  “I had a long talk with Arthur’s man Bedivere last night,” he commented. “Seems to be a fine fellow; has his wits about him. He should be able to get you safely to Arthur in no time, provided there’re no late storms.”

  My parent went on with a discourse on this year’s weather, its effect on the crops, and the apparent late blooming of the apples. I ate my breakfast in silence, watching him with a mixture of fondness and admiration while I waited for a chance to speak.

  Never what you would call a robust man, Rheged’s King had grown lean and gnarled with age. His beard was more gray than brown now, and the angular face that used to break so readily into laughter had long ago been plowed with furrows of sorrow and pain. But dressed in his best tunic and carrying the dignity of his years as a monarch, he was a presence to be reckoned with in spite of his infirmities.

  “You know what they say,” he continued. “If the apple tree blooms in May, you’ll eat apple dumplings every day! With the buds still not open yet, we’ll be seeing a full harvest this autumn.”

  My father went rattling on about all manner of other mundane things, never once coming back to the subject of my departure. I noted how tired he looked, and wondered if he too had spent the night searching through dreams.

  Finally, when I had finished a second bannock, he leaned forward and spoke slowly. “Are you terribly disappointed, child?”

  “Disappointed? No…” I said carefully, licking the butter off my fingers. Here was my chance, and I wanted to lead into it tactfully. “I would prefer to stay here, however, and find a partner who will come to my lands and share my kingdom.” I glanced hopefully at my sire, praying he would understand what I was about to say.

  “Ah, if only that were possible,” he interrupted, brushing a crumb off the lap robe. The patch of sunlight had been creeping farther into the room and seemed to spring into his lap like a cat.

  He shifted uneasily in his chair and hurried into the list of reasons for my marrying the new High King.

  We had been over the subject so many times before, I listened now with only half an ear and stared at the rich colors of the robe glowing in the pool of sunlight. My father’s knobby fingers lay stiff on the soft wool, and I wondered if the warmth helped ease the pain in his joints.

  At last he paused, rubbing the knuckles of one hand with the other and staring at them in order to avoid looking directly at me. “You know I would never insist you marry someone you didn’t like, and I worry that you’re not happy with this choice. I suppose it’s the dream of every young girl to marry a man she loves…”

  His voice trailed off uncertainly, for though we had discussed many subjects together over the years, things of the heart had never been among them. His fingers laced and unlaced themselves nervously, making the jewelry he wore shine and glint in the sunlight.

  “Love is something that grows with time, child. With respect, with commitment to build something together. Your mother and I had more than a fine romance…”

  He stopped then and stared down at the small enameled band Mama had given him long ago. Compared with the official Ring of State it was light and frivolous, but I suspected he would gladly have relinquished the power of the one to have the donor of the other back with him.

  It was the moment I had been looking for, and the words came tumbling to mind like bubbles in a spring surging to the surface. Love and hope and respect and caring: to have what he and Mama had shared; to stay here among my own people, and marry a man of my own choosing. Any scullery girl or dairymaid had that right; was it too much to ask, when I must be queen as well as wife?

  They were all there, the words by which to regain control of my life, and they lodged in my gullet like a fishbone, refusing to move either up or down. I tried to clear my throat, and strained to make my voice heard in the silence, but all that came to me was Mama’s whisper on the morning of her death…“Once you know what you have to do, you just do it…”

  My father looked up, the depth of his concern and worry over my future showing naked in his face. “If there were any better solution…” he said helplessly.

  With a gulp I reached over and put my hand on my parent’s arm, stricken by the realization that this was as difficult for him as it was for me.

  “I understand, Father, really I do,” I reassured him. “The High King seems to be a fine man, an honorable leader and worthy of much respect, and I am not unhappy to be given this honor. Whatever sadness I feel is from leaving you and Rheged, not from the prospect of marrying Arthur.”

  My father nodded, relieved to have gotten through so awkward a moment. “And he’s right well lucky to have you, too,” he averred. “It’s no easy business, being queen of any country, and I should imagine a High Queen has more demands made upon her than most. I know you’ll handle them well, girl…and be a good mate besides.” For a moment he covered my hand with his own. “You’re too much like your mother not to.”

  It was not like him to mention Mama at all, much less twice in the same conversation, and his voiced cracked slightly. He was twisting the enameled ring about on his little finger, and now deliberately tugged it over the stiff knuckle and handed it to me.

  “I think,” he said huskily, “that she wou
ld want you to have this to take south with you.”

  I looked at him in astonishment, a wave of love and gratitude welling up inside, but he glanced away hastily and held up his hand as though I posed a physical threat.

  “There are a few last things we should discuss, Gwen.”

  His voice returned to normal, and I listened quietly as he went over the list of people who might be named regent should something happen to him while I was away with Arthur in the south. This too had been discussed many times of late, and it bothered me to be going over it again when there were so many other things I would rather be sharing with him; things we had never told each other before and, in light of his ill health, might never have a chance to say again. But he overrode me when I tried to break in.

  “These are matters of State, my dear, and must be considered no matter how painful. The needs of the people come first, always…surely you know that by now?”

  He was right, of course, so I bit my lip and remained silent. The sun had slid off his lap, and the noise in the courtyard was increasing as the horses were brought up.

  “The best thing you can do,” he finally concluded, “is give Arthur such an excess of sons that I shall live to see one of them be chosen king of these good people.”

  I smiled at that, since of all the things expected of a queen, childbearing is the most natural and easiest to fulfill.

  There was a brisk knock at the door and Nidan stuck his head around the curtain, signaling it was time to leave. I slipped off my chair and knelt quickly in front of my sire before he could rise, determined to express at least a portion of my feelings.

  “You’ve given me a fine beginning, Father, and for that I will thank and bless you, always.”

  “Well,” he said, shifting awkwardly in his chair, “it may have been a bit rugged, growing up here in the north, but I hope the things you’ve learned will stand you in good stead. You’ve become a strong, beautiful young woman, and I’m proud to have such a daughter.”

  A lump rose to my throat in the presence of such unexpected praise. He put his hands on my head in benediction and when he lifted them, gave me a brusque pat as though I were one of the dogs. “I suppose it’s time to be off…mustn’t keep the people waiting, you know.”

  The courtyard was full of household members and villagers, as well as Arthur’s men. I hung well back in the shadow of the archway, momentarily unable to move toward my new life. In front of me both past and present seemed to interweave, as though I were being sent on my way by all the people I had ever known. Mama’s spirit smiled encouragingly, and I prayed quickly that she would stay with me wherever I might have to go.

  Even Nonny’s ghost was there, seated in a warm corner out of the wind. Wet nurse to my mother’s mother and governess to Mama, Nonny used to say she’d raised three generations of queens and wasn’t about to see me disgrace the line with messy clothes and hair like a hayrick! I wondered what she would have thought about this change of fortune; most likely she would not approve, for she had decided opinions on anything Roman. ‘The Cumbri owe nothing to the Empire,” she’d told me often enough, “and should walk prouder because of it!” I could see her shaking her head sadly as the last of her fledglings prepared to go marry that Romanized king in the south.

  There was a tug at my sleeve and I glanced down to find Kaethi peering up at me, her wrinkled face askew as she squinted against the sunlight.

  “What I wouldn’t give to go off on this adventure with you, Missy!” she exclaimed softly, the old mischief crinkling her eyes. “But this time you’ll have to do the traveling for both of us, I’m afraid. Just remember, life’s a wonderful panorama wherever one lives, and only a fool laments what cannot be changed.”

  I stared at Kaethi intently, wondering if she knew how close I had come to running away. Seer of the future and guide of my childhood, perhaps she could make a spell to set me free. But even as the thought came to mind, I knew she would refuse. It was she who had taught me that the moira of one’s life spins out in its own way, and the best one can do is work within its pattern.

  Kaethi reached into her apron and brought forth a small pouch which dangled on a leather thong.

  “Since I can’t come, I thought you might take this along,” she said cheerfully. I caught a glimpse of a strange embroidered symbol, faded and mysterious, and recognized the talisman she usually wore around her own neck.

  “It’s kept me safe for well over threescore years, so I washed and patched it yesterday, and put a piece of mistletoe in it for you, to ward off barrenness.”

  I stood there in silence, unable to match the banter of her tone for the tears that were threatening to start again.

  “It’s time you were off, my girl,” she added firmly, reaching up to tuck the amulet into the neck of my tunic. “Rhufon won’t hold your mare all day, you know.”

  Bending down, I gave her a quick hug. Then, holding myself as tall as possible, I walked through my people to where the Master of the Horse stood waiting. He greeted me with a crooked smile.

  Rhufon, rough as coarse wool, who had let me tag after him for as long as I could remember. It was his sturdy arms that had swung me up onto the back of a dray horse for my first riding lessons when I was barely old enough to walk. I could still smell the scent of freshly cut hay and the tang of sweat as we came solemnly in from the fields. Or recall the richness of the leather shop where he made and repaired the tack. Or feel the bits of tallow disappear into a harness strap under my fierce rubbing when he taught me to dress the gear. “No place for idle hands around horses,” he would say, setting me to sort out scraps of leather or polish the bronze bosses on a bridle.

  He was bending over now, this man who embodied the very sight and sound of childhood, offering his knee and hand to help me mount my mare.

  “No need to look so woebegone, Missy,” he growled. “It’s a fine day for riding.”

  His manner was so courtly and grave, you would think this moment was the triumphant result of many years’ work and he was lifting me into a future long hoped for instead of grimly accepted. When I was settled in the saddle, I smiled down at him while he held my mount steady until my father rode into the yard.

  Astride his warhorse and garbed in the royal cape, Rheged’s King didn’t look as frail as he had at breakfast. There was a flurry of movement as the people pulled back to make room for him, and he nodded solemnly and began the ritual of presenting the bride to the men who would escort her to her new home.

  I barely heard the words, clinging instead to the encouragement he had given me over the crumbs of a cold bannock. At last the King gestured to Rhufon, who carefully led my mare forward and handed the reins to Arthur’s lieutenant.

  “King Arthur would have you know,” Bedivere announced, “that the Princess Guinevere will be much cherished and well cared for.” He went on, assuring the people that Arthur would be mindful of the needs of Rheged in the future. I paid scant attention, for somewhere in the back of my mind the notion of rescue was beginning to take shape. Perhaps, with a little luck, the Gods would intervene on this journey, as they had on my mother’s.

  With a start I realized the people were cheering, and we began making our way slowly through the gates of the fort. My father was in the van, with his warriors ranged behind. Arthur’s men surrounded me and my women, and the baggage train brought up the rear.

  It is a proud moment when a king leads his daughter from her home to begin her wedding journey, and the villagers came scrambling down the steep paths to the lakeside with joyful excitement. Dogs and children and geese tumbled out of thatched house and farmyard, barking or shouting or hissing according to their natures.

  The ragged goat girl was rounding up the village animals to take them to the meadow, and she paused now to stare at us and wave a wild farewell. Her charges jumped and leapt away, startled by her motion or simply pleased to have an excuse to bound off up the high mountainside, and she went scrambling after them with a grimace. I smiled
at the sight in spite of my sorrow, caught by the bright edge of life’s caprice.

  On the far side of the village, where the path takes up beyond the sweet splashing stream, my father moved to one side and sat proudly saluting us as we filed past. By then the little crowd was waving and cheering uproariously, tears and good wishes all mingled together. I followed my escort through them, nodding and waving to all that had come to see me off.

  It wasn’t until I came abreast of my father that I saw, for a moment, the glimmer of a rare smile.

  Talons clamped hold of my throat, and I fought to stifle the sob that pushed against my teeth.

  Smiling gravely in return, I waved farewell and hoped the tears upon my face might be taken for those of joy.

  Chapter II

  The Messenger

  The path out of Ambleside follows the eastern shore of the lake, curving and dipping with the land. The sun had not yet topped the peaks, so there were cool dark shadows where the woods came down to the water’s edge. Dew hung heavy on the grass where the dark woods began to open into meadows, and it scattered in a silver shower when a young hare streaked for cover. A morning mist lay on the lake and trailed from the trees crowning the islands. It blended the seen and unseen worlds seamlessly, and a family of swans disappeared into it without a sound as we approached.

  Gradually the beauty of the day overcame the anguish in my heart, and I turned to survey the procession. We rode two by two, spread out in a long bright ribbon of color like gentry going to a fair. Arthur’s men ranged before and behind us, chatting comfortably among themselves. Bedivere moved up and down the line, sometimes heading our procession, sometimes dropping back to check on the wagons and pack animals.

  Ahead of us, Merlin plodded along on the aged gray gelding he had ridden up from the south. My father had offered him the gift of a younger, more noble horse, at which the Magician had snorted and allowed it would be a terrible waste of a good steed. Now he seemed to have sunk into a kind of trance that shut out everything around him; if it was true that as a shape-changer he was used to flying in bird form from place to place, I could see how he might not enjoy plodding along with a train of pack animals.