Legacy: Arthurian Saga (143 page)

"No doubt. Was she?"

"No. She never moved, just sat there,
with the green gown and jewels, and smiled. You would have thought
she was trying to make him angry."

"As she was," I said. "Go on, Lind,
quickly."

She had control of herself now. I
loosened her, and she stood, still trembling, but with her arms
crossed on her breast, the way women stand when grieving. "He tore
the hangings off the cradle. The baby started to cry. He said,
'Like me? The Pendragon brat is dark, and I am dark. No more than
that.' Then he turned on us -- the women -- and sent us away. We
ran. He looked like a mad wolf. The others ran away, but I hid
behind the curtains in the outer chamber. I thought -- I thought
--"

"You thought?"

She shook her head. Tears splashed,
glinting, in the firelight. "That was when he did it. The baby
stopped crying. There was a crash, as if the cradle fell over. The
queen said, as calm as milk: 'You should have believed me. It was
your own, by some slut you tumbled in the town. I told you there
was a likeness.' And she laughed. He didn't speak for a bit. I
could hear his breathing.

Then he said, "Dark hair, eyes turning
dark. The brat his slut threw would be the same. Where is he, then,
this bastard?" She said, 'He was a sickly child. He died.' The king
said, 'You're lying still.' Then she said, very slowly: 'Yes, I am
lying. I told the midwife to take him away, and find me a son I
dared to show you. Perhaps I did wrong. I did it to save my name,
and your honor. I hated the child. How could I want to bear any
man's child but yours? I had hoped it was your son, not his, but it
was his. It is true that he was sickly. Let us hope that he is
dead, too, by this.' The king said, 'Let us do more than that. Let
us make sure.'"

It was Ulfin this time who said
quickly: "Yes? Go on."

The girl drew a shuddering breath.
"She waited a moment, then she said -- in a light, slighting sort
of way, the way you dare a man to do something dangerous --'And how
could you do that, King of Lothian, except by killing every child
born in this town since May Day? I've told you I don't know where
they took him.' He didn't even stop to think. He was breathing
hard, like someone running. He said: 'Then that is just what I
shall do. Yes, boys and girls alike. How else shall I know the
truth of this accursed child-bed?'

I would have run then, but I could
not. The queen started to say something about the people, but he
put her aside and came to the door and shouted for his captains.
They came running. He shouted it at them, the same. Just those
orders, every young baby in the town...I don't remember what was
said. I thought I would faint, and fall, and they would see me. But
I did hear the queen call out something in a weeping voice,
something about orders from the High King, and how King Arthur
would not brook the talk there had been since Luguvallium. Then the
soldiers went. And the queen was not weeping at all, my lord, but
laughing again, and she had her arms around King Lot. From the way
she talked to him then, you would have thought he had done some
noble deed. He began to laugh, too. He said: 'Yes, let them say it
of Arthur, not of me. It will blacken his name more surely than
anything I could ever do.' They went into her bedchamber then, and
shut the door. I heard her call me, but I left her, and ran. She is
evil, evil! I always hated her, but she is a witch, and she put me
in fear."

"Nobody will hold you to blame for
what your mistress did," I told her. "And now you can redeem it.
Take me to where the High King's son is hidden."

She shrank and stared at that, with a
wild look over her shoulder, as if she would run again.

"Come, Lind. If you feared Morgause,
how much more should you fear me? You ran this way to protect him,
did you not? You cannot do so alone. You cannot even protect
yourself. But if you help me now, I shall protect you. You will
need it. Listen."

Above us, the main gates of the castle
opened with a crash. Through the thick boughs could be seen the
movement of torches, bobbing down toward the main bridge. With the
torches came the beat and clatter of hoofs and the shouting of
orders.

Ulfin said sharply: "They're out. It's
too late."

"No!" cried the girl. "Macha's cottage
is the other way. They will come there last! I will show you, lord.
This way."

Without another word she made for the
door, with myself and Ulfin hard behind her.

Up the way we had come, across an open
space, down another steep lane that twisted back toward the river,
then along a river path deep in nettles where nothing moved but the
rats a-scurry from the middens. It was very dark here, and we could
not hurry, though the night breathed horror on the nape like a
coursing hound. Behind us, away on the far side of the town, the
sounds began. The barking of dogs first, the shouting of soldiers,
the tramp of hoofs. Then doors slamming, women screaming, men
shouting; and now and again the sharp clash of weapons. I have been
in sacked cities, but this was different.

"Here!" gasped Lind, and turned into
another twisting lane that led away from the river. From beyond the
houses the dreadful sounds still made the night foul. We ran along
the slippery mud of the lane, then up a flight of broken steps and
out again into a narrow street. Here, all was quiet still, though I
saw the glimmer of a light where some scared householder had waked
to wonder at the sounds. We ran out from the end of the street into
the grass of a field where a donkey was tethered, past an orchard
of tended trees and the gaping door of a smithy, and reached a
decent cottage that stood away from the rest behind a quickthorn
hedge, with a strip of garden in front, and a dovecote, and a
kennel beside the door.

The cottage door was wide open and
swinging. The dog, at the end of his chain, raved and leaped like a
mad thing. The doves were out of the cote and winnowing the dim
air. There was no light in the cottage, no sound at all.

Lind ran through the garden and
stopped in the black doorway, peering in.

"Macha? Macha?"

A lantern stood on a ledge beside the
door. No time to search for flint and tinder. I put the girl gently
aside. "Take her outside," I said to Ulfin, and, as he obeyed me,
picked up the lantern and swung it high. The flame tore up hissing
from the wick, vivid and alive. I heard Lind gasp, then the sound
caught in her throat. The brilliant light showed every corner of
the cottage: the bed against the wall, the heavy table and bench;
the crocks for food and oil; the stool, with the distaff flung down
beside it and the wool unspinning; the clean hearth and the stone
door scrubbed white, except where the woman's body lay sprawled in
the blood that had poured from her slit throat. The cradle by the
bed was empty.

Lind and Ulfin waited at the edge of
the orchard. The girl was silent now, shocked even out of her
weeping; in the lantern's light her face showed blanched and sick.
Ulfin had an arm round her, supporting her. He was very pale. The
dog whined once, then sat back on his haunches and lifted his nose
in a long, keening howl. It was echoed from the clashing, screaming
darkness three streets away. And then again, nearer.

I shut the cottage door behind me.
"I'm sorry, Lind. There's nothing to be done here. We should go.
You know the tavern at the south gate? Will you lead us there?
Avoid the middle of the town where the noise is. Try not to be
afraid; I said I would protect you, and I will. For the time being
you had better stay with us. Come now."

She did not move. "They've taken him!
The baby, they got the baby. And they killed Macha!" She turned
blind-eyed to me. "Why did they kill Macha? The king would never
have ordered that. She was his leman!"

I looked at her thoughtfully. "Why,
indeed?" Then, briskly, taking her by the shoulder and giving her a
gentle shake: "Come now, child, we must not stay here. The men
won't come this way again, but while you are in the streets you
could be in danger. Take us to the south gate."

"She must have told them the way!"
cried Lind. I might not even have spoken. "They came here first! I
was too late! If you hadn't stopped me at the bridge --"

"Then you would be dead, too," said
Ulfin crisply. He sounded quite normal, as if the night's horrors
touched him not at all. "What could you have done, you and Macha?
They'd have found you, and cut you down before you'd run to the end
of the orchard yonder. Now, you'd best do as my lord says. That is,
unless you want to go back to the queen and tell her what's
happened here? You can depend on it, she's guessed where you went.
They'll be looking for you soon."

It was brutal, but it worked. At the
mention of Morgause she came to herself. She threw a last look of
horror at the cottage, then pulled her hood about her face, and
started back through the orchard trees.

I paused by the grieving dog and
stooped to lay a hand on him. The dreadful howling stopped. He sat
shivering. I drew my dagger and cut through the rope collar that
bound him. He did not move, and I left him there.

Some score of children were taken that
night. Someone -- wise-woman or midwife -- must have told the
troopers where to look. By the time we got back to the tavern, by a
roundabout route through the deserted outskirts of the town, the
horror was over, the troopers gone. No one accosted us, or even
seemed to notice us. The streets were full and clamorous. People
ran aimlessly about, or peered in terror from dark doorways. Crowds
gathered here and there, centered on some wailing woman, and
stunned or angry man. These were poor folk, with no way of
withstanding their king's will. His royal anger had swept through
the town, and left them nothing to do but grieve.

And curse. I heard Lot's name: they
had after all been his troopers. But with Lot's name came Arthur's.
The lie was already at work, and with time, one could guess, would
supersede the truth. Arthur was High King, and the mainspring of
good and evil.

One thing they had been spared: there
had been no holocaust of blood. Macha's was the only death. The
soldiers had lifted the babies from their beds, and ridden off with
them into the darkness. Except for a broken head or two, where a
father had resisted them, they had done no violence.

So Beltane told me, gasping it out. He
met us in the tavern doorway, fully clothed, and trembling with
agitation. He seemed not even to notice Lind's presence. He seized
me by the arm and poured out his story of the night's happenings.
The clearest thing to emerge from it was that the troopers had not
long ridden by with the infants.

"Alive still, and crying -- you may
imagine, Master Emrys!" He wrung his hands, lamenting. "Terrible,
terrible, these are savage times indeed. All the talk of Arthur's
orders, who is to believe such a tale? But hush, say nothing! The
sooner we are on the road, the better. This is no place for honest
traders. I would have gone before this, Master Emrys, but I stayed
for you. I thought you might have been called on to help, some of
the men were hurt, they say.

They will drown the children, did you
know? Dear gods, and to think that only today...Ah, Casso, good
lad! I took the liberty of saddling your beasts, Master Emrys. I
made sure you would agree with me. We should go now. I have paid
the landlord, all's done, you may settle with me on the road...And
you'll see I bought mules for ourselves. I have meant to for so
long, and today with the good fortune at the castle...What a mercy,
what a mercy! But the pretty lady, who could have thought -- but no
more of that here! Walls have ears, and these are dreadful times.
Who is this?" He was peering short-sightedly at Lind, who clung to
Ulfin's arm, half fainting. "Why, surely -- is it not the young
damsel --?"

"Later," I said quickly. "No questions
now. She is coming with us. Meantime, Master Beltane, thank you.
You are a good friend. Yes, we should go without delay. Casso,
shift the baggage, will you, please? The girl will ride on the
pack-mule. Ulfin, you say you have a friend in the guardhouse. Ride
ahead, and talk us through. Find which way the troopers went. Bribe
the guards if you have to."

As it happened, there was no need. The
gates were just being closed when we got there, but the guards made
no difficulty about letting us through. Indeed, from the muttered
talk that could be overheard, they were as shocked as the
townspeople at what had happened, and found it quite understandable
that peaceful traders should pack up hurriedly and leave the town
in the middle of the night.

A short way down the road, out of
earshot of the guardhouse, I drew rein.

"Master Beltane, I have business to
see to. No, not back in the town, so have no fear for me. I'll join
you later. Do you ride on to the tavern we stayed at on our way
north, the one with the bush of broom outside. Remember? Wait for
us there. Lind, you will be safe with these men. Don't be afraid,
but you will do well to keep silent till I return. Do you
understand?" She nodded dumbly. "At The Bush of Broom, then, Master
Beltane?"

"Of course, of course. I cannot say I
understand, but perhaps in the morning --"

"In the morning, I hope, all will be
made clear. For now, good night."