Guinevere (33 page)

“You already did. Please explain what is going on.”

“Don’t you see? Your nuptials are far more important and welcome than mine. Mother and Father and all those people will stop tormenting us and concentrate on their plans for you. Poor Alswytha has been worn out by all this nonsense, especially about her being baptized and our living back at the villa and all that. She never wanted it and neither do I.”

“Mark! Do you mean you would marry her without her becoming a Christian? That’s dreadful!”

“Oh it is? Being a Christian wouldn’t make her one iota different than she is now. It wouldn’t make her kinder or more gentle or more loving. Why should I care which god she believes in?”

“But what about eternity?”

“We have already lived through eternity. Alswytha and I have each done our time in hell. I have no fears about that.”

“I don’t understand all you are saying, but perhaps you are right. But if you don’t plan to marry and live with Father and Mother, what will you do?”

Mark took her face between his hands. “If everyone in the world were like you, my precious, I might stay here and live contentedly. But since that is not the case, I am taking Alswytha away, to the most remote haven I can find. Somewhere quiet and peaceful and empty where I need never see another weapon or hear another scream of pain.”

Guinevere pulled from his grasp. He had unconsciously tightened his hands on her jaw and pressed until he hurt her. He dropped his arms with a guilty start. “There. I could even hurt you. That is yet another reason why I must remove myself from this place. There is still so much anger and hatred within me. I could not stay, as Arthur does, and deal with fools. He is a good man, Guinevere. He would never hurt you as I just did.”

“Of course not!” Guinevere was shocked at the thought.

“That is why he is the one to continue this governance. He has the patience to rebuild, brick upon brick, until he achieves his purpose. I do not. If I stay here another day, I may just go mad.”

His voice was so quiet that she almost missed the last word, but the ferocity was obvious. She had thought that she might find her brother again, but now she knew that if he still existed it would take years to find him beneath the layers of bitterness and pain.

“But how will you live, Mark? You know nothing of planting or building. You can’t just wander away to some cave to live. Even the hermits and saints keep bees or gather whelks or something to survive.”

“I know that. But I will learn. I know an excellent teacher. It just amazes me that I didn’t think of it sooner. We could have been away days ago.”

“All right,” Guinevere gave in. “If you must go, then do. But couldn’t you and Alswytha wait until after I am married. I want you to be there. Please!”

He chewed the corner of his lip, considering. “I heard someone say that it wouldn’t be until winter.”

She nodded. “The calends of January, Mother thinks. There is so much to be done first. People to contact, provisions to order, the ceremony to arrange. It’s really very exciting.”

He shuddered. “I can’t stay here until then. Wait! This is what we will do. We can go find the teacher I told you of and stay there until the time comes. Guinevere, I want to leave as soon as possible, without questions or explanations. Will you help? Can you tell Alswytha to make a bundle of her things and then tomorrow morning lower them down to us? We will be in the courtyard, below your window.”

“Yes, if you wish. But won’t you tell me where you are going?”

“Don’t worry. I promise we will be back to see you wed. If you must contact me, ask Geraldus to send a message. He will know how.”

So, early the next morning, a bleary-eyed Guinevere let down a small bundle of clothes and combs, mostly her own, for Alswytha. Below, in the courtyard, the couple waited. Mark carefully untied the bundle, hitched Alswytha on his horse, and prepared to go.

“Tell Father I will leave the horse at the farm of Risa’s family. I want nothing that is not my own,” Mark hissed up at her. “Thank you, my dearest sister. We promise to return. Don’t worry.”

They both waved up at her with such radiant smiles that she felt certain that they were doing the right thing. She absently wondered where they were going that they wouldn’t need a horse, but she was really too sleepy to care. She stumbled back to her own warm bed and burrowed down into the covers.

She was not so sure about what she had done later that morning when Geraldus told her that her parents wanted to see them both immediately.

“Guinevere, how could you let them go like this?” Guenlian protested. “And you, Geraldus. You tell us that you knew about Mark’s plans. What were you thinking of not to tell us, then? Are we monsters that we would try to keep our son prisoner?”

She wept angrily as she tried to chastise them.

Leodegrance intervened. “Never mind, my dear. We just want to know why they felt they needed to sneak away from us. We thought we had done everything possible to make Mark happy. We accepted the girl, difficult though it was. We asked nothing of him.”

“We were going to give them such lovely things at their wedding.” Guenlian sniffed. She was still fighting tears. She felt such a fool.

Geraldus didn’t know how to begin. He loved Leodegrance and Guenlian almost as if he were one of their own. He understood how they felt. But he understood even more how Mark felt. It was peculiar how the most astute people could be so blind regarding their own children. He remembered his own parents. They still didn’t understand why he roamed about the country instead of settling in with some pleasant religious community.

“Mark is not the same man he was even a few years ago,” he began gently. “He can’t forget any of his scars. Every time he blinks his eyes, every time he moves his mouth, he feels the pulling of the twisted skin. Each time it reminds him of the deeper wounds, which will not heal. Even before he was captured, Mark was near to breaking. And then, it was all too much for him. You are lucky that he found Alswytha. She is all that is keeping him from madness.”

“We know that,” Leodegrance said. “That is why we tried to be so careful with him, to agree with his wishes, even to take his Saxon bride into our home. No matter what it cost us.”

Guinevere put her arms around her mother. “But he didn’t want that. He told me. He only wanted peace and solitude and no memories. Alswytha wanted that, also, not just for him, but for herself, I think,” she added, with one of her rare perceptions. “I think she is as beaten as he. Mother, they did promise to come back to see me wed.”

Guenlian twisted her hands uncontrollably. “I don’t understand. I was so close to him. I love him so. How could he have changed like this?”

There was no answer to give her, but Guinevere tried to be reassuring. “He still loves us, Mother. Please don’t cry. Perhaps when he returns, things will be better.”

Guinevere fought a kind of panic, much as she had felt on that horrible night when she had known that her brothers were dead. Her mother was her source of strength, a firm, cool, calm center in spite of all chaos whirling about them. Guinevere could not bear to see her trembling so, fighting tears and anger. When Guenlian spoke again, there was a bitterness in her voice that no one had ever heard before.

“Never mind, Guinevere. We will continue with our plans for your wedding, if you do not object. You might care to remember, in your extreme sympathy, Geraldus, that Mark is not the only person who has had much to withstand. I will talk of this no more.”

She stalked away from them. Leodegrance watched her go and then, with a strangled cry, buried his face in his hands.

Guinevere gently patted his shoulder, but he pushed her away. “Not now, daughter. Leave me alone!”

She turned to Geraldus, for some clue as to what to do next, but he only raised his hands in defeat. Finally, as Leodegrance did not lift his head or give any indication that he knew they were there, Geraldus gently led Guinevere away.

Out in the courtyard, they came upon Gawain, practicing his standing spear thrusts. He was tearing a pile of leather and pillows to ribbons. He stopped when he saw them and hurried over.

“Is it true that you are to marry Arthur?” he panted.

“Everyone tells me so,” she assented.

“Then you must speak to him about my joining him. He said something before, but I think he has forgotten. Then I could see you all the time. We could still play chess and sing and . . . go riding together. Tell me you will speak with him, please?”

“If you want me to, Gawain, but why can’t you do it yourself? You’re the one who knows all the reasons why you are so wonderful. I can never remember the technical terms for all that swordplay and your other maneuvers.”

“Guinevere, I can’t just go up to him and say, ‘Here I am, the greatest fighter in the world.’”

“Why not? You say it to everyone else.” Guinevere asked this in honest surprise, but Gawain thought it a very funny riposte. So did Geraldus. Guinevere tried to divert Geraldus to another topic.

“Have you heard that Arthur has finally learned of his parentage? Merlin has told him that he is the son of Uther Pendragon and Igraine, his wife. Isn’t that strange? Everyone thought they had no children.”

Gawain was certainly diverted. He grabbed her arm roughly. “Are you sure about that?” he demanded.

“Of course, let me go! Arthur told me himself. He wanted me to know, for some reason, that his ancestry was as good as mine.”

“But Guinevere, don’t you remember? Igraine was my grandmother! If Arthur is her son, then we are relations. Let me see. Good Lord! He would be my uncle. Guinevere, you are going to be my aunt!”

“That’s not funny, Gawain. It’s ridiculous. You are a year older than I am. How could I be your aunt?”

“You don’t know my family. Arthur is only eight or nine years older than I am. So what?” Gawain chortled. “Now he must let me join him. I have bloodright.”

He pranced around in delight, waving his spear at a dangerous angle.

“This can’t be true!” Guinevere insisted to Geraldus.

“It seems logical to me,” Geraldus replied. “Igraine’s daughters from her first marriage were almost grown when she married Uther.”

“Gawain, stop that! You nearly hit my ear. All right. I believe you and I will speak to Arthur. But if you ever call me ‘Auntie Guin,’ I will personally expel you from the court. Do you understand?”

Gawain dropped the weapon and swung Guinevere around a few times instead.

“I promise, oh, aunt-to-be. But you must see Arthur at once, today, now. I will not wait any longer.”

Guinevere sighed. “Yes, if it will appease you. I think he is in a conference with Merlin and Cador now, but as soon as I see him, I will tell him all about you.”

Gawain gave her a loud kiss on the cheek and, retrieving his spear, danced off again to further damage his practice target.

Guinevere found Arthur a little later. He greeted her with shy friendliness, as if he were still not sure that she would like him. She told him first of what Mark had done and was relieved that he agreed with her that it was right to let them go.

“Old Aelle must have been demented to send someone like Alswytha as hostage. I knew from the moment I took charge of her that she was too delicate to be treated so. They may never be able to live with other people again. I’m sorry, though; I needed him.”

This reminded Guinevere of Gawain’s request, and she explained it to Arthur along with the relationship, which she thought would amuse him. She was startled, though, when Arthur rudely interrupted her.

“What is Gawain’s mother’s name?”

“Morgan, wife of King Lot. She is the daughter of your mother from her first marriage. Isn’t that correct? She would be your half-sister and Gawain your nephew. Arthur, what is the matter? Where are you going?”

“Merlin!” he called over his shoulder. “I must find Merlin!”

Guinevere sat for a time, trying to understand what had just happened. But she could find no answer. She hoped he didn’t do this often. It could be very disconcerting in a husband.

Arthur found Merlin easily. He was relaxing by the hearth and chatting with Sidra and Cador. He had a cup of wine and was beginning to think that things might, after all, turn out nearly as he had planned when Arthur descended upon him and dragged him away without even greeting Cador. Merlin was about to scold, but Arthur gave him no chance.

“Why didn’t you tell me Morgan Le Fay was my sister?” he whispered fiercely.

“Morgan. Yes she is. What of it? You need not have anything to do with her, although I suppose we must invite her to this wedding of yours. I will put her on the list.”

“What of it? I don’t want to have anything more to do with her. Why did you have to keep me so ignorant? Do you remember the year we wintered in Cornwall and you left me with those hermits?”

“Yes, of course. You were about sixteen then.”

“Morgan fancied herself as patroness of the group. She often visited us in the afternoon when most of the holy men were at prayers or meditation.”

“Oh, my God!” Merlin seemed to shrink inside his robes. “Don’t tell me any more. I’ve known her far too long. No, don’t make excuses. Everyone knows Morgan. If anyone is to blame, I am, for not taking her into consideration. That woman! She was almost twice your age then. She is disgusting. No sense of propriety!”

“But Merlin, it was incest!”

“Yes, I know. An old Roman custom also, but not one likely to be revived today. Have you seen her since then?”

Arthur shook his head emphatically.

“Then try to forget it. You acted in ignorance and certainly no one who has ever dealt with Morgan would censure you. She may have forgotten the incident, herself. You were nothing to her then. It may have been a dull winter. Now calm yourself and return to your betrothed. You seem to have left her rather abruptly.”

Arthur was somewhat reassured and hurried back to excuse himself to Guinevere, but Merlin’s peace of mind was shattered. He knew Morgan Le Fay too well to think she would fail to remember Arthur. He also knew the twisted bitterness she felt against Uther and himself. This wasn’t the end of the matter, he was sure. He returned to the fire and automatically poured some more wine.