Legacy: Arthurian Saga (200 page)

Gawain, flushed with excitement, was
disposed to argue. "But, Mother -- madam -- surely not? Whatever he
did in Dunpeldyr out of enmity to our father King Lot, you are his
sister, and we his close kin, all he has. Why should he want to
shame and dispossess us?" He added, ingenuously: "He would not do
it! Everyone I've talked to -- sailors and travelers and the
traders who come here from all over the world -- they all say that
Arthur is a great king, and deals only in justice. You will see,
madam Mother, that there's nothing to fear!"

"You talk like a green boy," said
Morgause sharply. "But this much is certain, there is nothing to be
done here, nothing to be gained by disobeying the King's summons.
All we can do is trust in the safe conduct he has sent, but once in
Arthur's presence we can take our voices to his council -- to the
Round Hall if we have to -- and see then if, in the face of me, his
sister, and you, his nephews, he can refuse us our rights in
Dunpeldyr."

Us? We? No one spoke the words, but
the thought went from boy to boy with the sourness of
disappointment. None of them had admitted to himself that this
longed-for enlargement of their world held also the promise of a
release from a capricious maternal rule. But each, now, felt a
cast-down sense of loss.

Morgause, mother and witch, read it
perfectly. Her lip curled. "Yes, I said 'we.' The orders are clear.
I am to present myself at the court of Camelot as soon as the High
King returns from Brittany. No reason is given. But I am to take
with me--" Her hand touched Arthur's letter again. She seemed to be
quoting. "--All five of the princes."

"He said 'all five'?" This time the
question burst from the twins, speaking as one. Gawain said
nothing, but turned to stare at Mordred.

Mordred himself could not have spoken.
A confused sense gripped him of elation, of disappointment, of
plans made and abandoned, of pride and the anticipation of
humiliation. And with these, fear. He was to go to Camelot, by
order of the High King himself. He, the bastard of that king's
erstwhile enemy. Could it be that all five of Lot's sons were
summoned to some doom only held from them till now by the old
enchanter's presence? He rejected that immediately. No, the
legitimate princes were also the sons of the High King's sister;
but what claim had he, Mordred, on any favor from Arthur? None: a
memory, only, of enmity, and a tale of a past attempt to murder him
by drowning. Perhaps Arthur's memory was as long as this, and now
he would finish the work botched in that midnight massacre of long
ago....

This was folly. With the hard control
that he had trained in himself, Mordred put speculation aside and
concentrated on what was certain. He was going; that at least. And
if the King had tried to murder him once, that had been when Merlin
was alive, so presumably with Merlin's advice. Now, with Merlin
dead, Mordred was at least as safe as his brothers. So he would
take what the world of the mainland offered; and at the very least,
once out of this island fastness, he could find out, by stealth if
need be, or by mere precedent from the King's own advisers, what
was due to the eldest born of a king, even when others were born
later to supersede him....

He dragged his attention back to what
the queen was saying. They would take their own ship, it seemed,
the Orc, which through Morgause's magical prevision was ready,
new-rigged and painted and furnished with the luxury she
craved...And the gifts that they would take with them were all but
ready...Clothes for the boys, robes and jewels for their mother...
Gabran to go with them, and men of the royal guard... A Council of
four to be left in charge of affairs under the High King's
ambassador... And since the High King himself would not be back in
Camelot before October's end, their journey could be leisurely, and
would give them time to visit Queen Morgan in Rheged....

"Mordred!"

He jumped. "Madam?"

"Stay. The others go.
Ailsa!"

The old woman appeared at the
bedchamber door.

"Attend the princes to their chamber,
and wait on them there. See that they do not linger to talk, but
get straight to their beds. Gabran, leave me! No, this way. Wait
for me."

Gabran turned on his heel and went
into the bedchamber. Gawain, scowling after him, met his mother's
eye, wiped the scowl from his face and led his brothers forward to
kiss her hand. Ailsa swept them out, beginning to fuss and cluck
before the door was well shut.

Mordred, alone with the queen, felt
his skin tighten as he braced himself to hear what was to
come.

6

As the door shut behind the other
boys, Morgause rose abruptly from her chair, and went to the
window.

The move took her out of the firelight
and into the waxing silver of the moon. The cold light, behind her
shoulder, threw her face and form into darkness, but lit the edges
of hair and robe so that she seemed a creature of shadow rimmed
with light, half visible and wholly unreal. Mordred felt again that
pricking of the skin, as a beast's flesh furs up at the approach of
danger. She was a witch, and like everyone else in those islands he
feared her powers, which to him were as real and as natural as the
dark that follows daylight.

He was too inexperienced, and too much
in awe of the queen, to realize that she was at a loss, and was
also, in spite of herself, deeply uneasy. The High King's envoy had
been cool and curt; the letter he bore had been no more than a
brief royal command, officially couched, demanding her presence and
that of the five boys; no reason given, no excuse allowed, and an
escort of soldiers on the ship to enforce it. Morgause's questions
had got nothing more from the ambassador, whose cold demeanor was
in itself a kind of threat.

It was not certain, but seemed
probable, from the terms of the order, that Arthur had discovered
where Mordred was; he obviously suspected, if he did not know, that
the fifth boy at the Orkney court was his son. How he knew, she
could not imagine. It had been common gossip all those years ago,
that she had lain with her half-brother Arthur just before her
marriage to Lot, and had been in due time brought to bed of a son,
but it was also generally believed that the son, among the other
babies of Dunpeldyr, had been murdered. She was sure that no one
here in Orkney knew or suspected who Mordred was; the whispers at
court were all of "Lot's bastard," the likely boy that the queen
favored. There were, of course, other, lewder whispers, but these
only amused the queen.

But somehow Arthur knew. And this
letter left no doubt. The soldiers would escort her to Camelot, and
all her sons with her.

Morgause, facing the son who was to be
her passport to Arthur's favor, to a renewal of power and position
in the center of affairs, was trying to decide whether to tell him
here and now whose son he was.

Through the years he had been in the
palace, living and being taught with his half-brothers, she had
never really considered telling him the truth. The time would come,
she had told herself, the chance to reveal him and then to use him;
either time, or her magic, would show her the moment.

The truth was that Morgause, like many
women who work chiefly through their influence on men, was subtle
rather than clever, and she was also by temperament lazy. So the
years had gone by, and Mordred remained in ignorance, his secret
known only to his mother and to Gabran.

But now, somehow, to Arthur, who, hard
on Merlin's death, was sending for his son. And though Morgause had
for years vilified Merlin through hatred and fear, she knew that it
was he who had originally protected both Mordred and herself from
Arthur's impetuous fury. So what did Arthur want now? To kill
Mordred? To make sure at last? She could not guess. What would
happen to Mordred did not concern her except as it would affect
herself, but for herself she was apprehensive. Since the night she
had lain with her half-brother to engender the boy, she had never
seen Arthur; the tales of the powerful and fiercely brilliant king
could not altogether be squared with her own memory of the eager
boy whom she had entrapped deliberately to her bed.

She stood with her back to the bright
moon. Her face was hidden from her son, and when she spoke, her
voice sounded coolly normal.

"Have you, like Gawain, been talking
to the sailors and the traders who come ashore here?"

"Why, yes, madam. We usually go down
to the wharf, along with the folk, to hear the news."

"Have any of them... I want you to
think back carefully... have any of them during the past weeks or
months singled you out to talk to, and have they questioned
you?"

"I don't think -- about what, please,
madam?"

"About yourself. Who you are, what you
are doing here with the princes in the palace." She made it sound
reasonable. "Most people here know by this time that you are a
bastard of King Lot's, who was farmed out to foster, and who came
here on your foster parents' death. What they do not know is that
you were saved from the Dunpeldyr massacre, and came here by sea.
Have you spoken of this to anyone?"

"No, madam. You told me not
to."

Searching that schooled face, those
dark eyes, she was convinced. She was used to the guileless stare
of the liar--the twins lied frequently for the sheer pleasure of
doing it -- and was sure this was the truth. Was sure, too, that
Mordred was still too much in awe of her to disobey.

She made certain. "That is as well for
you." She saw the flicker in the boy's eyes, and was satisfied.
"But has anyone questioned you? Anyone at all? Think carefully. Has
anyone seemed to know, or to guess about it?"

He shook his head. "I can't remember
anything like that. People do say things like "You're from the
palace, aren't you? Five sons, then, the queen has? A fortunate
lady!" And I tell them that I am the king's son, but not the
queen's. But usually," he added, "they ask someone else about me.
Not me."

The words were ingenuous, the tone was
not. It meant: "They would not dare question me, me, but they are
curious, so they ask. I am not interested in what is
said."

He caught, against the moonlight, the
shadow of a smile. Her eyes were blank and dark, gaps of
nothingness. Even her jewels were quenched. She seemed to grow
taller. Her shadow, thrown by the moon, grew monstrous, engulfing
him. The air felt cold. In spite of himself, he began to
shiver.

She watched him, still smiling, as she
put out the first dark feelers of her magic. She had made her
decision. She would tell him nothing; the long journey south should
not be clouded and made difficult by her own sons' reaction to the
news of Mordred's real status as son of the High King. Or by the
knowledge that must go with it, of their mother's incest with her
half-brother. It might be common talk on the mainland, but no one
in the islands would have dared repeat it. Her four sons had heard
nothing. Even to herself Morgause would not admit how the fact
might be received.

For all her powers she had no idea why
the King had sent for them. It was possible that he had sent for
Mordred only to kill him. In which case, thought Morgause, coolly
eyeing her eldest son, there would be no need for him to know
anything -- or her other sons either. If not, what was needed now
was to shackle this boy to her, to ensure his obedience, and for
this she had a well-tried pattern. Fear and then gratitude,
complicity and then devotion; with these she had proved and held
her lovers, and would now hold her son. She said: "You have been
loyal. I am glad. I knew it, but I wanted to hear it from you. I
need not have asked you, you realize that, don't you?"

"Yes, madam." He was puzzled by the
weight she seemed to be putting on the question, but he answered
simply. "Everyone knows that you know everything, because you
are--" he had been going to say "a witch" but swallowed the word
and said instead, "--you have powers of magic. That you can see
what is hidden from other men by distance and by time."

Now it was certain that she was
smiling. "A witch, Mordred. Indeed, yes, I am a witch. I have
powers. Go on, say it."

He repeated it obediently. "You are a
witch, madam, and you have powers."

She inclined her head, and her shadow
dipped and grew again. The cold air eddied past him. "And you do
well to be afraid of them. Remember them always. And when men come
to question you, as they will do, in Camelot, remember the duty you
owe to me, as my subject and my -- stepson."

"I will. But what will they -- why
should they--?" He stopped, confused.

"What is going to happen when we reach
Camelot? Is that it? Well, Mordred, I will be frank with you; I
have had visions, but all is not clear. Something clouds the
crystal. We can guess what will come to my sons, his nephews, but
to you? Are you wondering what will come to such as
you?"

He nodded merely, not trusting his
voice. It would have taken a stronger spirit than the island-bred
boy's to outface a witch by moonlight. She seemed to gather magic
round her, like the moonlight growing on the folds of velvet and in
the streaming silk of her hair.