Guinevere (8 page)

“Of course, I knew they had seen it. But they are the only ones, and they will be the stewards of it after I am gone. I allow no one else in the cave and the entrance is well secured.”

“You don’t know that they have told others of this thing? To them it’s just a family oddity and of no importance, but others have heard. What better way to acquire such a treasure than to form an alliance with your house?”

He had made his point. To Leodegrance, his daughter was the most precious treasure in his keeping, and the table was a sacred trust. He was not prepared to relinquish either.

“You say that you wish to prevent such an occurrence, at least forestall it. What do you want us to do?” Leodegrance’s voice was hard in his effort to keep it steady. He disliked Merlin intensely at that moment.

“There are two alternatives. First, you could wrap Guinevere in long robes with her head covered like a Roman matron whenever she is out, and try to keep her inside and away from the guests whenever possible.”

“Ridiculous!” Guenlian shouted. “She would never understand such a thing and couldn’t be made to remember.”

“I agree,” Merlin nodded. “It would be illogical and entirely ineffectual. Her wrapping would only make her more provocative. The other choice is to send her away for the duration of the visit.”

“That would be no better! Guinevere has not spent a night away from us in her life. What would she think if we banished her from the house, especially with important guests expected?”

“Tell her whatever you think best. Let her know you don’t think the company appropriate companions for her, if you like. Assure her that it will be only for a few weeks. Anything. She needn’t go far. You could send her to Timon and Gaia. Tell her it’s for the good of her soul.” Merlin was reaching the end of his patience. “Make it a religious experience!”

They considered this suggestion as best they could. It was hard to decide so suddenly, when ten minutes before they had had no thought of ever letting their child out of their sight. It was clear that Merlin was right. She had to go before Arthur and his soldiers arrived.

It might be possible. Timon and Gaia were brother and sister who, twenty years before, had vowed poverty, chastity, and unity with all God’s creatures. They had removed themselves far into the forest and now lived alone, in a remarkably beautiful house that they had constructed themselves, with no knowledge of how to plan or build one. Through some lucky chance or divine intervention, the house resembled the woods around it. A stream tumbled by the door. They kept bees and chickens, collected the fruits and nuts of the forest, and occasionally bartered honey for flour. In short, they lived peacefully, as if the golden age of the world had never faded. Guinevere had never met them, but Leodegrance and Guenlian knew them well. Guenlian had once found refuge there at a time when no other hiding place was safe. They were sure they could trust their daughter to this pious pair without fear. Yes, Merlin was right. Guinevere would be sent on a retreat.

The room was still. Merlin knew they had decided. The only sound was Geraldus, impatiently trying to keep the chorus in time.

“One, two, three, FOUR!” he mumbled. “One, two, three, FOUR!! It’s not right yet. Try again, from the beginning.”

“How are they, tonight?” Merlin asked. He was another who accepted the singers without interpretation.

“I have a whole new batch of tenors. I have no idea where they came from,” Geraldus answered distractedly. “They don’t even know how to keep together. Then the basses and the altos want to start on polyphony. We’ve hardly gotten beyond a simple round and they want to harmonize!”

His voice trailed off into annoyed muttering as the music apparently started again.

“Geraldus!” Guenlian raised her voice to attract his attention, feeling slightly silly in the quiet room.

“Geraldus, dear. We would like to ask a favor of you.”

The saint pulled his attention back to them. “What? Certainly. Anything you like. Only please don’t ask me to preach. I never know what to say and all this racket makes it hard to keep from repeating myself.”

“Nothing of the kind,” Leodegrance assured him. “We would like you to undertake a commission for us. We want you to deliver something very precious to Gaia and Timon at their retreat.”

Geraldus relaxed. He hated preaching, but traveling was fine. Just the right time of year for it, too, and Gaia and Timon always had a warm greeting and the most wonderful bread and honey.

“Fine. I can go whenever you like. What is it you want me to take to them?”

There was a pause.

“We want you carefully to convey the Lady Guinevere to them for a visit.” Merlin spoke for all three of them.

“What? Does she know about this? I had thought she wanted . . .” he stopped. “Of course. Not my business. But I thought that she was expecting to stay here and see Arthur.”

This produced a sensation among the others that even Geraldus didn’t miss.

“Everyone knows he’s coming. It’s been in the wind for days. Haven’t you noticed the excessive amount of chattering among the women; not to mention the excitement among your foster sons? They’ve been beating each other’s brains out on the practice field all week to be in shape in case Arthur should want them to go with him. All the cacaphony around here is almost as bad as my singers.”

“Ouch!!” He slapped his arm. He had felt something very much like a pinch.

Merlin glanced woefully at Guenlian.

“So everyone knows that Arthur is coming. All the more reason for her to go. If I can’t keep a piece of news secret, it would be impossible for me to try to hide an entire girl. We can spend a week or two preparing her to travel. But please don’t wait longer! I would feel even more at ease if she were sent across the Channel. Don’t alarm yourselves. I know that can’t be. We will have to hope that a mountain hermitage is remote enough to prevent any encounters. Geraldus, will you accompany the Lady Guinevere to the home of Timon and Gaia in two weeks’ time?”

“Of course. I will be happy to oblige you. Now I must excuse myself.”

Geraldus left with a troubled face. Merlin wasn’t sure if it was because of Guinevere or if the singers had started up again.

He sighed. “The next thing will be to explain to Guinevere, herself. If she has set her heart on seeing Arthur, it will be more difficult. To the best of my memory, Guinevere has never, in her entire thirteen years, been denied anything she has really wanted. This is not the best time to start, but deny her you must.”

“You have frightened us quite sufficiently,” Leodegrance assured him with anger. “Guinevere will go, whether she wants to or not. We do not need any more of your advice or doom-saying.”

Abruptly, he too left the table.

Guenlian and Merlin gazed at each other in the candlelight. He held out a hand to her.

“Forgive me, Cousin. I seem to sow dissension wherever I go.” He stared moodily into the flickering flame.

Guenlian thought, “How old he is getting! He can’t be much past forty, but his face already has deep lines. And all his life he has lived like this, running another man’s errands. He seems to have no refuge of his own. I don’t believe his father was a demon, as they say. But there are times when he does seem to be carrying some dreadful curse.”

She took his outstretched hand. They sat together in silence, watching the candle die.

Chapter Four

Guinevere! Guinevere! Unbar the door, darling. Let me come in.” Guenlian’s voice was low and pleading.

“No! You don’t love me! None of you loves me. You just want to be rid of me!”

That’s what Guinevere answered, but, between the tears and the blanket over her head, her mother could only guess at the words. Guenlian sighed and decided to wait awhile. She went back to her own room, from which she was trying to direct ten different projects, each to be finished before Arthur and his men arrived.

Guinevere burrowed farther into her covers. Despite the heat, she felt the need of thick wool around her. As Merlin had predicted, she was not submissively accepting the command to leave her home just when so many exciting visitors were coming. She couldn’t believe that anyone would want her away from them. She felt confused, frightened, and betrayed. If she had known how the hurt in her eyes stabbed at her parent’s hearts, she might have been comforted. But they had stood firm, and she never guessed the fears that preyed upon them. They were all against her! Flora, her brothers, even Geraldus. Her best friend! He had only patted her shoulder and said, “Why would you want to meet all those barbarian soldiers when you could be on the road with me? They probably care nothing for music. And in this heat, having to entertain! You will be so much happier in the cool forest with Timon and Gaia. Then, in a month or so, when the weather is better, I’ll return for you.”

“A month or so!” This to a child who had not spent even a night away from her parents in her life? Guinevere kicked wildly upon her bed, beating with clenched fists at the injustice of it all.

But nothing availed; not tears nor temper nor pitiable sorrow. Everyone was kind, loving, sympathetic. All the same, two weeks later a stony-faced Guinevere sat on her horse next to old Plotinus and waited for Geraldus to finish loading her things on the pack horse. Everyone in the household was there to see her off, but she kept her face veiled and refused even to say goodbye.

She scarcely bent when Guenlian reached up to hold her for one last moment.

“Please, my darling,” she whispered. “Believe that this is for the best. We only want to keep you safe.”

“Where could I be safer than here?” Guinevere sobbed from behind her veil. But she didn’t return Guenlian’s kiss.

Geraldus was finally ready. Gingerly he mounted his ancient horse and they set off.

Soon they were out of sight of the compound and into the forest. The air was still but cooler. Soft swishes and crackles filtered from the trees and bushes by the path. The birds had already hidden from the sun and only an occasional chitter was heard above. The hard-baked trail was broad and well traveled. The marks of a thousand horses had worn it smooth and free of obstacles, which was well, for Guinevere still sat tautly upon her horse, holding the reins slack, seeing nothing about her. Geraldus was humming with a dreamy expression. Occasionally he would slip into a tune, although he mainly seemed to be singing counterpoint. Finally Guinevere glanced at him and saw the woman with the black hair and laughing face seated daintily behind him, sideways, not even holding on. She noticed Guinevere and made a wry face. Then she started tickling Geraldus’ ear with the fringe of her belt.

Guinevere refused to be tricked into undignified laughter. She stared coolly at the woman and then turned her head away. Her heart still raged at the unfairness of her life.

“What am I?” she fumed to herself. “A slave to be ordered about? A doll to be cast aside? I am almost a woman and they treat me as if I were a baby. I will never let anyone else do this to me again. I will control where I go and what I do!”

Her mind wandered to grand visions of herself as mistress of her own house, ordering her servants about. But the home was strangely like her own and the people the ones who had always cared for her. It made her uneasy to think about it existing without her parents and she tried to think of something else.

The air was pungent with late summer flowers and dry pine needles. The sun warmed her and Geraldus’ humming belonged to the day, soft and peaceful. Her hands began to gather up the reins and, after a moment’s thought, she hitched up her robe and threw her leg over the horse. Riding astride might not be dignified, but it was much more comfortable. Her long, brown legs dangled contentedly against the horse’s flank.

Geraldus turned around and smiled. “I’m glad to have you with me,” he said. “It’s lonely sometimes traveling, even with my voices.”

The last knot in Guinevere’s stomach relaxed and she smiled back. “With the crowd you bring with you, I feel that we’re traveling in a caravan. I don’t see how you can be lonely with all this company.”

She indicated them with her arm, especially the woman riding with Geraldus.

He flashed her a puzzled grin. “Can you hear them, too?” he asked in amazement.

Guinevere laughed. “How could I? I’m not a saint. But I can see them all around you sometimes. They fade in and out. The clearest one is the woman behind you.”

Geraldus’ jaw dropped to his chest. Then an eager light came into his eyes. He groped at the air behind him, but the dark-haired woman slid off before he could reach her.

“Do you mean to say that you can see them?” he gasped.

“Do you mean to say that you can’t?” Guinevere was just as puzzled. “You always seem to know where they are. I just assumed.”

“How could I not know where they were, with all that caterwauling! They have always been just sound to me. But that woman. Is she still here? I can’t hear her. Is she near me?”

“Yes, over there by that willow. She’s laughing. She’s always laughing.”

“What . . . what does she look like?” Geraldus’ voice trembled.

Guinevere squinted. “She’s hard to see all the time, she moves so. But she has raven black hair fastened only by two jeweled pins at the sides. It falls to her knees and keeps swirling around her. Her face is pretty, but she doesn’t look the way I thought an angel would.”

“Forget that, child,” Geraldus pleaded. “Tell me about her face.”

“A straight nose, large eyes, rather pointed chin.” The woman impishly covered her face with her hands. “And beautiful long fingers,” Guinevere concluded enviously. She had always been rather embarrassed by her short, unaristocratic fingers.

“She has a green sort of gauzy gown on. I can’t quite see how it’s put together. There seem to be a lot of loose pieces sewn to the waist so that her legs can move freely. There’s not very much of it on top.” The woman laughed. Guinevere frowned. “I don’t think Mother would approve.”

“Never mind your mother.” Geraldus spoke sharply. His eyes were straining to see into the shadowy limbs of the tree, but he saw no one there . . . His fingernails dug into his palms and his thoughts were astonishingly secular.