Legacy: Arthurian Saga (161 page)

This was news to me, and, I could see,
to Bedwyr. It is a constant mystery how these remote dwellers in
the marshes get their news so quickly. Bedwyr looked at me. "There
was no beacon lighted on the Tor when news came about the Queen.
Did you see it, Merlin?"

"No. Nor any other. The sails can't
have been sighted yet. We should go now, Bedwyr. We'll ride for the
Tor."

"You mean to speak with Melwas, even
before we seek the Queen?"

"I think so. If you would give the
orders? And see these men recompensed for their help?" In the
bustle that followed, I touched Bedwyr's arm and took him aside. "I
can't talk now, Bedwyr. This is a high matter, and dangerous. You
and I must go alone to seek the Queen. Can you manage this without
being questioned?"

He frowned, searching my face, but
said immediately: "Of course. But Cei? Will he accept
that?"

"He's injured. Besides, if Arthur is
due, Cei should be back in Camelot."

"That's true. And the rest can ride
for the Island, to wait for the tide. It'll be dark enough soon for
us to slip away from them." The day's strain hacked abruptly
through his voice. "Are you going to tell me what this is all
about?"

"I'll explain as we ride. But I want
no one else to hear, not even Cei."

A few minutes later we were on our
way. I rode between Cei and Bedwyr, with the men clattering behind
us. They were talking lightheartedly among themselves, wholly
reassured, it seemed, by my word that all was well. I myself,
though still knowing only what the dream allowed me, felt curiously
light and easy, riding at the urgent pace Bedwyr set through the
treacherous ground, without thought or care, not even feeling
saddle or bridle-rein. It was not a new feeling, but it was many
years since it had come to me; the god's will streaming past, and
myself going with it, a spark blown between the lasting stars. I
did not know what lay ahead of us in that watery dusk, but only
that the Queen and her adventure were but a small part of the
night's destiny, shadows already blown aside by this great forward
surge of power.

My memory of that ride is all
confusion now. Cei's party left us, and shortly afterwards we found
boats, and Bedwyr embarked half the party by the short route across
the Lake. The rest he divided, some by the shore road, others by
the causeway that led directly to the wharf. The rain had stopped
now, and mist lay everywhere with the night coming; above it the
sky was filling with stars, as a net with flashing silver fish.
More torches were lit, and the flat ferries crammed with men and
horses were poled slowly through misty water that streamed with
reflected light like smoke. As the troops on shore broke and
reformed, their horses shoulder-deep in the rolling mist, we saw
the glimmer of a distant torch mounting the Tor. Arthur's sails had
been sighted.

It was easy then for Bedwyr and myself
to slip away. Our horses plunged down from the hard road, cantered
heavily through a league of wet meadow-land, and gained the fast
going of the road that led southwest.

Soon the lights and sounds of the
Island sank behind us and away. Mist curled from the water on
either hand. The stars showed the way, but faintly, like lamps
along a road for ghosts. Our horses settled into their stride, and
soon the way widened, and we could ride knee to knee.

"This lodge to the southwest." His
voice was breathless. "Is that where we go?"

"I hope so. Do you know
it?"

"I can find it. Is that why you needed
Melwas' help? Surely, when he knows of the Queen's accident, he'll
let our troops search his land from end to end. And if he's not at
the lodge now"

"Let us hope he is not."

"Is that a riddle?" For the first time
since I had known him, his voice was barely civil. "You said you'd
explain. You said you knew where she was, and now you're looking
for Melwas. Well, then --?"

"Bedwyr, haven't you understood? I
think Guinevere is at the lodge. Melwas took her."

The silence that followed was more
stormy than any oath. When he spoke I could hardly hear him. "I
don't have to ask you if you're sure. You always are. And if you
did have a vision, I can only accept it. But tell me how, and
why?"

"The why is obvious. The how I don't
yet know. I suspect he has been planning this for some time. Her
habits of riding out are known, and she often goes to the forest
that edges the marsh. If she encountered him there, when she was
riding ahead of her people, what more natural than that she should
stop her mare and speak to him? That might account for the silence,
while the troopers tried to find her at first."

"Yes...And if he gripped the rein and
tried to seize her, and she spurred her mare on...That would
account for the broken rein and the marks we found by the banks. By
all the gods, Merlin! It's rape you're talking about...! And you
said he must have been planning this for some time?"

"I can only guess at it," I said. "It
seems likely that he must have made a few false casts before the
chance came; the Queen unattended, and the boat ready
nearby."

I did not pursue my own thoughts
further. I was remembering that lamplit room, so carefully prepared
for her; the chess game; the Queen's demure composure, and her
smiling look. I was thinking, too, of the long hours of daylight
and dusk that had passed since she had vanished.

So, obviously, was Bedwyr. "He must be
mad! A petty king like Melwas to risk Arthur's anger? Is he out of
his mind?"

"You could say so," I said dryly. "It
has happened before, where women are concerned."

Another silence, broken at length by a
gesture, dimly seen, and a change in his horse's stride. "Slow
here. We leave the roadway soon."

I obeyed him. Our horses slowed to a
trot, a walk, as we peered around us in the mist. Then we saw it, a
track leading, apparently, straight off into the marsh.

"This is it?"

"Yes. It's a bad track. We may have to
swim the horses." I caught a glance back at me. "Will you be all
right?"

Memory plucked at me. Bedwyr and
Arthur, in the Wild Forest, riding, necks for sale, as boys will,
but always with a care for myself, the poor horseman plodding at
heel.

"I can manage."

"Then down here." His horse plunged
down the narrow twist of mud among the reeds, then took the water
like a boat launching; mine went after it, and we were forging, wet
to the thigh, through the smooth water. It was a strange sort of
progress, because the mist hid the water; hid even our horses'
heads. I wondered how Bedwyr could see the way, then glimpsed,
myself, far out across the gleam of water and banks of mist, and
the black shapes of trees and bushes, the tiny glimmer of light
that meant a dwelling. I watched it inching nearer, my mind racing
this way and that with the possibilities of what must be done.
Arthur, Bedwyr, Melwas, Guinevere...and all the time, like the deep
humming that a harp builds up below an intricate web of music, was
that other pressure of power which was driving me toward --
what?

The horses heaved out of the water and
stood, blowing and dripping, on a ridge of dry land. This stretched
for some fifty paces ahead of us, and beyond it, some twenty paces
farther, was the house, across another channel of water. There was
no bridge.

"And no boat either." I heard him
swear under his breath. "This is where we swim."

"Bedwyr, I'll have to let you do this
last bit alone. But you --"

"Yes, by God!" His sword whispered
loose in its scabbard.

I shot a hand out and gripped his
horse's bridle above the bit. "-- But you will do exactly as I tell
you."

A silence. Then his voice, gentle and
stubborn: "I shall kill him, of course."

"You will do no such thing. You will
save the High King's name and hers. This is Arthur's business, not
yours. Let him deal with it."

Another silence, a long one. "Very
well. I will be ruled by you."

"Good." I turned my horse quietly into
the cover of a clump of alder. His, perforce, followed, with me
still gripping the bit. "Now wait. Look yonder."

I pointed to the northeast, the way we
had come. Far away in the night across the flat marshlands a
cluster of lights showed, high up, like stars. Melwas' stronghold,
alight with welcome. Unless the king himself was there, home from
hunting, it could only mean one thing: Arthur had come
back.

Then, the sound so magnified by the
water that it made us start, came the click and creak of a door
opening nearby, and the soft ripple of a boat moving through the
water. The sounds came from behind the house, where something
invisible to us took to the water and moved away into the mist. A
man's voice spoke once, softly.

Bedwyr moved sharply, and his horse
flung up its head against my restraining hand. His voice was
strained. "Melwas. He's seen the lights. Damn it, Merlin, he's
taking her --"

"No. Wait. Listen."

Light still showed from the house. A
woman's voice called something. The cry had in it some kind of
entreaty, but whether of fear, or longing, or sorrow at being left
alone, it was impossible to tell. The boat's sound dwindled. The
house door shut.

I still held Bedwyr's bridle. "Now, go
across and bring the Queen, and we will take her home."

4

Almost before I had finished speaking
he was off his horse, had dropped his heavy cloak across the
saddle, and was in the water, swimming like an otter for the grassy
slope before the door. He reached it, and began to draw himself up
from the water. I saw him check, heard a grunt of pain, a stifled
gasp, an oath.

"What is it?"

He made no reply. He got a knee to the
bank, then pulled himself slowly, with the aid of a hanging willow,
to his feet. He paused only to shake the wet from his shoulders,
then trod up the slippery slope to the house door. He went slowly,
as if with difficulty. I thought he was limping. As he went, his
sword came rasping from the sheath.

He hammered on the door with the hilt.
The sound echoed, as if from an empty house. There was no movement;
no reply. (So much, I thought sourly, for the lady who waits for
rescue.)

Bedwyr hammered again. "Melwas! Open
to Bedwyr of Benoic! Open in the King's name!"

There was a long pause. It could be
felt that someone within the house was waiting withheld breath and
beating heart. Then the door opened.

It was opened, not with a slam of
defiance or bravery, but slowly, a crack only, which showed the
small light of a taper, and the shadow of someone peering out. A
slight figure, lissom and straight, with loose hair flowing, and a
long gown of fine stuff with a creamy sheen.

Bedwyr said, and it came strangled:
"Madam? Lady! Are you safe?"

"Prince Bedwyr." Her voice was
breathless, but low, and apparently composed. "I thank God for you.
When I heard you coming I was afraid...But then, when I knew it was
you...How did you come here? How did you find me?"

"Merlin guided me."

I heard the swift intake of her breath
clear from where I stood holding the horses. The taper lit the pale
shape of her face as she turned her head sharply, and saw me beyond
the water. "Merlin?" Then her voice was once more soft and steady.
"Then I thank God again for his art. I thought no one would ever
come this way."

That, I thought, I can well believe. I
said aloud: "Can you make ready, madam? We have come to take you
back to the King."

She did not answer me, but turned to
go in, then paused, and said something to Bedwyr, too low for me to
catch. He answered, and she pushed the door wide, and gestured him
in after her. He went, leaving the door standing open. Inside the
room I saw the pulsing ebb and flow of light that meant a fire. The
room was softly lit by a lamp, and I caught glimpses through
doorway and window of a room more richly furnished than any
long-neglected hunting lodge could have shown, with gilded stools
and scarlet cushions, and, through another half-open doorway, the
corner of a bed or couch, with a coverlet thrown across a tumble of
bed-linen. Melwas had prepared the nest well for her, then. My
vision of firelight and supper table and the friendly game of chess
had been accurate enough. The words that would tell Arthur moved
and raced and re-formed in my brain. The mist smoked up round the
house like white ghosts, white shadows...

Bedwyr emerged from the house. His
sword was back in its sheath, and in one hand he carried a lamp;
the other held a pole such as marsh-men use to push their
flat-bottomed craft through the reeds. He approached the water's
edge, moving cautiously. "Merlin?"

"Yes? Do you want me to swim the
horses over?"

"No!" sharply. "There are knives set
below the water. I had forgotten that old trick, and drove a knee
straight into them."

"I thought you were limping. Are you
badly hurt?"

"No. Flesh wounds only. My lady has
dressed them for me."