King of the Middle March (25 page)

H
AMADAT WAS RIGHT
!

It was easy to find a merchant ship in Genoa. We have been extremely fortunate. This boat's carrying a cargo of marble and wine all the way to Cardiff.

Cardiff! That's where King Arthur and Sir Gawain embarked on their way to Beaune. And from there, Rhys says, it's only four days' ride to the Middle March. We're running before the wind. We've already passed through the Pillars of Hercules!

Dear God! Let Lord Stephen see Holt again. Around us the ocean swirls, but I will bring him home. I will!

I have made this determined song:

You ghost-waves and furious crests,
Wail as you will, foam!

Blue eyelids and bloodred chest:
I mean to bring my dear lord home.

You opening graves and sweeping scythes,
You cannot drown this burden.

I love a girl so lithe and blithe,
Winnie de Verdon.

You dark-dream roamers, swirl, advance!
Wake all you will, and wring!

Where Wales and England twine and dance,
Soon it will be spring.

You wild wastes! Salt-wilderness!

A
TTENZIONE!”
YELLED ONE OF THE OARSMEN
.

I ducked behind the gunwale. Just in time! A huge wave smacked into our boat, and almost upended us, and water sluiced around the deck.

If I hadn't taken cover, the wave would have knocked me off my feet. As it was, I was completely soaked, and my seeing stone flashed and glittered like glass in sunlight.

I held it tight, and stared into it.

King Arthur is standing on the beach at Dover, under the white chalk cliffs. He's up to his knees in water, and around him pairs of men are locking, arrows are whirring, pikes are jabbing, swords are swinging, soldiers are lurching, landing skiffs are bobbing, blood is staining, words are cursing and praying, ordering, threatening, begging…

“Pursue Mordred!” Arthur-in-the-stone shouts. “Catch him! Take him alive!”

Now one of Sir Mordred's men runs straight at the king. The king stops his lance with his shield and drives the man backwards.

“Take him prisoner!” the king shouts.

“Arthur,” shouts Sir Kay, staggering through the water, “Sir Gawain is wounded. Come to him!”

At once the king hurries along the beach. He splashes through the shallows and places both hands on the stern of a skiff.

“Hold it firm!” he instructs the men standing around him, and he clambers into the skiff.

The king can see Sir Gawain is half-dead. He sits down on the stern bench and draws his nephew to him; he lays his head on his lap. Around them the wavelets suck.

“Gawain,” he says gently.

Slowly Sir Gawain opens his eyes.

“My sister's son,” the king says. “The man in this world I love most. I've placed more trust in you and Lancelot than any other knights, and you and Lancelot have given me the greatest pride, the greatest joy. Now I have lost you both.”

“Uncle,” says Sir Gawain, in a weak voice. “My head wound has opened again, the one Sir Lancelot gave me. In my blood and bone, I feel I will die today.”

Softly the boat sways. The little waves keep lifting it.

“If Sir Lancelot were with us and not against us,” Sir Gawain says, “this would never have happened.”

The king cradles Sir Gawain in his arms.

“But I would not make peace with him,” Sir Gawain says. “I have brought about the conflict.” Now he struggles to sit up.

“Uncle,” he says, “have parchment and pen and ink brought to me here. I will write to Sir Lancelot before I die.”

To Sir Lancelot, knight of knights

Greetings!

The wound you inflicted on me at Beaune has opened again. I know in my blood and bone I will soon die.

I want the whole world to know that I, Sir Gawain, King Arthur's sister's son, son of King Lot of Orkney, knight of the Round Table, have brought about my own death. Not you but I am the cause of it.

Lancelot, pray for my soul. Kneel at my tomb. Come back to this kingdom.

In the name of our old friendship, come at once! Sail with your knights over the sea and rescue King Arthur. He's in mortal danger. The traitor Sir Mordred has had himself crowned. He has tried to force Queen Guinevere to marry him, but she has taken refuge in the Tower of London.

Today King Arthur and I have fought Sir Mordred and his men at Dover. We've put them to flight. But my old head wound has opened again.

This sheet is speckled with my lifeblood

Now tears slip from Sir Gawain's eyes but he makes not a sound. He leans a little sideways against the king, and the king holds him.

Time drifts.

Gently the boat sways and swings.

L
ORD STEPHEN! DOZING AGAIN. HIS SHOULDER WOUND
is healing, but he gave his skull such a crack that he injured the inside of his head. He smiles; he's serene. But where are all his sharp questions and opinions and dry jokes? Will they ever come back?

“He will not fight no more. Maybe not stand up no more.” That's what Milon said. He said, “Maybe he die.”

Sir William has wrecked Lord Stephen's life.

His angry heart and drunken body ignored his head, and acted without the least regard for the consequences. The same as when he took advantage of my mother. And when he did away with her husband. When he threw my ring into the waves.

Yes, my father has wrecked Lord Stephen's life; he has wrecked our dream of journeying to Jerusalem.

But one thing he and Lord Stephen and Milon did agree was that the crusade is going badly. Sir William said it was launched under a dark star, and Lord Stephen thought the Doge has been using us for his own purposes, and Milon said the decision to go to Constantinople is a disaster.

In Zara, I scarcely had time to think, or maybe I just didn't dare think. I was so shocked and scared.

But now I can't stop myself thinking, and remembering.…

Sometimes I wake up sweating and trembling. I've seen things I wish I'd never seen.

In my stone, warfare is glorious. It is quick and clean, almost painless, not foul and excruciating. Right fights against wrong. But really it's nothing like as simple as that.

Even my father knew that. He admired Saladin.…And Sir John said Saladin was an honorable man, and he and Coeur-de-Lion were both fighting a holy war.

The Pope says by killing infidels I will win salvation. But how can that be true? How can Count Thibaud and the cardinal and the knight with the cross branded on his forehead and even Lord Stephen be right? Jesus redeemed us by laying down His own life, not by slaying others.

What the Holy Father says troubles my head. It troubles my heart.

So maybe it's best after all that I've had to leave our crusade. But it's still difficult and disappointing to have to turn back.

On deck, saltspray stings my eyes, and my sight blurs; the roaring wind deafens me and the ocean-reach chills me.

Please God, let me always keep asking questions. Let me say what I believe.

S
WELLING HILLS! HEAVEN-HILLS! THEIR CURVE AND RISE
and swoop.

As our boat plunged towards them through the heavy, flint-grey water, my heart felt as if it might burst. I was choked with longing.

Hiraeth!
That's what Rhys calls it, and I don't think there's any one English word that describes it—a longing for each thing: each smile and creaking stile, each green hidden place, each stone. Such tearing, fierce longing for home.

The Middle March: Its manors have one eye on heaven, one on the ground. As we plunged and climbed, I began to list all the dear places around Caldicot and Gortanore and Holt, and to recall their stories:

Clee and Neen Savage and Upper Millichop,
Greete and Hope Bagot, Hilluppencott,
Cleobury Mortimer and Middleton Scriven,
Quabbs and Glog Hill, Arscott, Duffryn,
Snitton, Aston Aer, Llanfair Waterdine,
And Catmole, Catmole
Where Wales and England twine…

At noon, we landed safely at Cardiff. God be praised!

Rhys soon found a Welsh farmer ready to loan us five horses, and he and his daughter will ride with us all the way to the Middle March so they can bring their horses back again.

Neither of them can speak one word of English, and I could see how happy Rhys was to have his mouth crammed with Welsh words again. His face was wreathed in smiles all afternoon.

Lord Stephen is alive and crowing, and we'll leave at dawn! Cardiff and Chepstow, then north through the Forest of Dean. Ross…Hereford…If it's God's will, we'll ride into Holt on the fourth afternoon.

The day after Jesus died for us; the day before He rose again.

W
E WERE STILL IN THE WOOD, BUT I KNEWWE WERE
almost there because I heard them screaming.

“My lord!” I cried. “Can you hear them?”

Lord Stephen looked up from his litter and smiled sweetly.

“Lady Judith's peacocks!” I exclaimed.

I thought of the turquoise peacocks spreading their feathers on the tent of the Saracen traders, and the mosaics in Saint Mark's, and Simona telling us they promise everlasting life.

Lord Stephen looked up at me. “A path of feathers…,” he said wonderingly.

“Sir?”

“Are you deaf?”

“Oh sir!” I gasped. “You're talking! A path of feathers, yes. With Lady Judith's peacocks, a path of feathers from earth to heaven.”

Lord Stephen smiled again, and closed his eyes.

He is going to get well. I know it! He is!

Then our horses picked their way out of the wood, and there it was! The seven-sided castle capping the small, steep hill. The curtain walls. The drawbridge. All yellow in the gentle, late afternoon sunlight.

Robert was the first to see us—he was working on his croft.
Then Agnes, the wisewoman, came limping down the track from the castle. The hounds started barking, and Sayer strode up from the kennels to see what was going on.

This was when Rhys saw his wife at the door of their cottage in East Yard.

“Bronwen!” he yelled. “Bronwen!” He dismounted and leaped towards her, crying
“Gogoniant! Gogoniant!”

Then, as I looked across the Yard towards the stables, I thought I saw Pip. His shape. His color. The way he pricks up his ears and holds his head slightly to one side. I wasn't quite sure.

He saw me. He gazed. He went completely still.

Then all at once he trumpeted and I shouted. I swung down out of my saddle. I raced across the Yard and reached up and threw my arms around his neck.

He shifted and stamped, he almost knocked me off my feet.

“Pip!” I cried. “Pip!”

By now Donnet and Piers and Abel had come up from Clunside and were standing quietly beside Lord Stephen's litter. I greeted them, and then I took my horse's bridle and led everyone up the track and across the drawbridge. As we entered the courtyard, Rowena and Izzie stepped out of the castle with two men I haven't seen before.

As soon as she realized it was me, silly Izzie screamed and threw herself at me, and I had to hold on to her to stop myself from falling backwards.

“Izzie!” I exclaimed. “You're as bad as Pip!”

The men were two of the soldiers from Wigmore hired to guard Holt. Izzie wants to marry one of them.

Then I saw Lady Judith standing in the doorway.

Everyone grew silent.

Lady Judith looked at me. She gazed at the litter slung between the two horses. She lowered her eyes.

I stepped towards her. My head felt as if it were ten feet up in the air.

I bowed. “My lady,” I said.

“Arthur! Greetings in God!” She looked over my shoulder. “Is he dead?”

“Oh no! Not dead! He'll get better. I know he will.”

Lady Judith and I crossed the courtyard. She bent over Lord Stephen. He was sleeping. She grasped the side of the litter and got down on her knees, and prayed.

Lord Stephen opened his eyes.

“My lord,” she said gently. “My husband.” She laid her right hand over his heart.

Lord Stephen smiled at her.

“He was wounded in the shoulder,” I said, “and he's hurt inside his head.”

Lady Judith got to her feet, and looked at the whole group of us.

“Turold! Welcome home!”

Turold took both her hands between his, and dumbly nodded.

“Rhys!” said Lady Judith. “Welcome to you!”

“My lady,” said Rhys, gently shaking his head. He too was almost dumb.

After this, Lady Judith greeted the Welsh farmer and his daughter and thanked them for their help, and Rhys translated what she said. Most people are quick to show their feelings, but not Lady
Judith. She always minds her manners, and you can't tell what she's thinking. I've never seen her weep; I could feel her anxiety, though.

“He can't walk?” Lady Judith asked.

“He hasn't,” I replied. “Not since…”

“No. Well, one step at a time.”

She asked Turold and Rhys to unhook the litter and carry Lord Stephen straight up to the solar, and told Agnes and Rowena and Izzie to go up with them. Then she turned to me again and walked me to the drawbridge.

“He was attacked,” I told her, “and he cracked the back of his head against a stone floor.”

Lady Judith took my arm.

“I wouldn't,” I said. “I'm dressed in mud.”

“So I can see.”

“And worse. I haven't washed for days.”

“You brought him all the way?”

“Yes.”

“From Venice?”

“From Zara, across the Adriatic Sea. Milon said I should. He said it was my duty to care for him and help him home.”

Lady Judith nodded and sighed.

“We did go to Venice, though,” I said.

“I know. That girl told me.”

“Tanwen, you mean?”

Lady Judith sniffed.

“She did get home, then! It's so far.”

“I'm sure it is…And you, on your own.”

“Not on my own! I couldn't possibly have done it without Turold and Rhys.”

Lady Judith turned to me. Her eyes were dark and shining. “You're dirty and you stink and you're exhausted,” she said. “Oh! Arthur.” Then she buried me in her arms, the same as she buried Winnie when her cloak got scorched. She smoothed my hair.

Tears welled up into my eyes. I couldn't help myself. I felt so happy and sad and relieved and tired.

“You've done your duty,” she said warmly. “More than your duty.”

“He's my father, really,” I said.

“Yes,” said Lady Judith, pushing me away, but still keeping her hands on my shoulders. “I want to hear more, much more, but first I must wash and dress Lord Stephen, and lay him in a clean bed. Rowena and Izzie can help me, and then I want Agnes to search his wounds. And you…”

I yawned!

“Exactly. You should wash and get Gubert to give you something to eat, and sleep.”

“Once,” I said, “when I was like this before, Lady Helen made me swim in the moat.”

“Quite right! Go down to the flat stone and swim in the river.”

“In the water's womb, whirligig!” I said, and I yawned again.

“I've no idea what you mean,” Lady Judith said sharply, “and I don't think I want to.”

I grinned. “It's where Rowena and Izzie used to sit and cast their spells,” I told her.

“Tomorrow's the feast of Easter,” Lady Judith continued, “and it's important to do what we always do. That's what Lord Stephen would say.”

“You mean…”

“I mean celebrate the Eucharist, and climb Swansback together, all of us here in the manor, and eat hare pie.”

“And search for the Easter Hare's nest.”

“The old ways,” Lady Judith said. “They're right, and comforting.”

“There's so much to tell you,” I said. “And ask you.”

“Lady Alice has promised to ride over,” Lady Judith said. “Arthur, what's wrong?”

“Nothing!”

Lady Judith fixed me with an eagle's eye.

“They haven't come back as well, have they?”

“Who?”

“Sir William. Serle.”

“Oh no!” I said. “No, they haven't.”

“Well then,” Lady Judith continued, “you can tell me and Lady Alice everything. And of course there are things you should know.”

I yawned once more.

“His shoulder, you said?”

“And his head,” I replied. “The back of his head. Inside his head.”

“Sometimes it takes a long, long time for a wound to heal,” Lady Judith said. “I've only to look at you, Arthur, to see what horrors you've faced.”