Legacy: Arthurian Saga (206 page)

King Melwas's own fortress lay just
below the Tor's summit. The approach to it was a winding road,
steeply cut from the gravel of the hill. In winter, men said, the
mud made it all but impossible to get to the top. But then in
winter there was no fighting. The king and his company stayed in
the comfort of the lakeside mansion, and their days were filled
with hunting, which was mostly, in that sodden Summer Country,
wild-fowling in the marshes. These stretched away to southward,
with their glinting waters only occasionally broken by the willow
islands and the alder-set reed-beds where the marsh-dwellers had
built their raised hovels.

King Melwas received the party kindly.
He was a big, brown-bearded man, with a high color and a red,
full-lipped mouth. His attitude to Morgause was one of open
admiration. He greeted her with the ceremonial kiss of welcome, and
if this was a shade too prolonged, Morgause made no objection. When
she presented her sons the king was warm in his welcome of them,
and rather warmer in his praise of the woman who had borne so
handsome a tribe. Mordred, as always, was presented last. If,
during the formal greetings, the king's look came back rather too
often to the tall boy standing behind the other princes, no one but
the boy himself seemed to notice. Then Melwas, with another
lingering look, turned back to Morgause, with the news that a
courier awaited her from the High King.

"A courier?" Morgause was sharp. "To
me, the King's sister? You must mean one of his knights? With an
escort for us?"

But no; it seemed that the go-between
was merely one of the royal couriers, who, waiting duly on
Morgause, gave Arthur's message briefly and with little ceremony.
Morgause and her party were to remain on Ynys Witrin until the
following day, when they were to ride, with an escort sent by
Arthur, to Camelot. There the King would receive them in the Round
Hall.

The younger boys, excited and barely
controllable, noticed nothing amiss, but Gawain and Mordred could
see how anger fought with growing apprehension in her, as she
questioned the man sharply.

"He said nothing more, madam,"
repeated the courier. "Only that he desired your presence tomorrow
in the Round Hall. Until then, you will stay here. The, Lady Nimue,
madam? No, she has not yet returned from the north. That is all I
know."

He bowed and went. Gawain, puzzled and
inclined to be angry, started to speak, but his mother waved him to
silence, and stood for a while biting her lip and thinking. Then
she turned quickly to Gabran.

"Have them call my women. They are to
unpack our clothes, and lay out the white robe for me, and the
scarlet cloak. Now, yes, now, man! Do you think I will stay here
tamely overnight, and go at his bidding to the Round Hall tomorrow?
Do you not know what that is? It's Arthur's council chamber, where
judgments are given. Oh, yes, I have heard of that hall, with its
'Perilous Chair' for the wrong-doers and those with grievances
against the High King!"

"But what peril can there be for you?
You have done him no wrong," said Gabran quickly.

"Of course not!" snapped Morgause.
"Which is why I will not go like a suppliant or a wrong-doer, to be
received in front of the Council by my own brother! I will go now,
tonight, while he is in hall at supper with the Queen and all the
court. Let us see then if he intends to deny her state to the
mother of--" She stopped, and apparently changed what she had been
going to say. "--To his sister and his sister's sons."

"Madam, will they let you
go?"

"I am not a prisoner. How can they
stop me, without letting people see that I am ill-used? Besides,
the King's troop has gone back to Camelot, has it not?"

"Yes, madam, but King
Melwas--"

"After I am dressed, you may ask King
Melwas to come and see me."

Gabran turned rather reluctantly to
go.

"Gabran." He stopped and turned. "Take
the boys with you. Tell the women to get them ready. Their court
clothes. I will see to it that Melwas gives us horses and an
escort." Her lips thinned. "As long as we are guarded, Arthur
cannot hold him accountable. In any case, that is Melwas's danger,
not ours. Now go. You will not ride with us. You will follow with
the rest tomorrow."

Gabran hesitated, then, catching her
eye, bowed his head and went from the room.

It was not hard to guess what sort of
persuasion she used with Melwas. In the event, she got her way. By
the brief autumnal sunset the little party was riding across the
causeway that led eastwards across the Lake. Morgause rode a pretty
grey mare, richly harnessed with green and scarlet, and chiming
with bells. Mordred, to his great surprise, was given a handsome
black horse, well matched with the one Gawain rode. The armed
escort sent by Melwas clattered along, strung out alongside them on
the narrow causeway. At their backs the sun set in a furnace of
molten brass that died slowly to burnt green and purple. There was
a chill to the air, a touch of frost coming with the blue shadows
of twilight.

The horses' hoofs scrunched up to a
ridge of gravel, and then the road lay ahead, a pale strip leading
through the watery wilderness of reeds and alders. Duck and wading
birds fled upwards with a clatter, the water rippling back from
their wakes like melted metal. Mordred's horse shook its head and
the bridle rang with silver. In spite of himself he felt his heart
lift suddenly with excitement. Then all at once someone exclaimed
and pointed.

Ahead, at the summit of a thickly
rising forest, their bannered pinnacles catching the last of the
sunset and flaming up into the evening sky like torches, rose the
towers of Camelot.

It was a city set on a hill. Caer
Camel was flat-topped and very wide, but it stood up as
conspicuously as the Tor in the midst of that level or low-rolling
countryside. Its steep sides were ridged, horizontally, as if a
gigantic plough had been driven round the hill. These ridges were
revetments and ditches, designed to hinder attackers. At the crest
of the ringed hillside the fortress walls circled the summit like
the crown on a king's head. At two points, north-east and
south-west, the massive defense works were pierced by
gates.

Morgause's party approached from the
south-west, towards the entrance called the King's Gate. They
crossed a small winding river, then followed the road as it curved
steeply upwards through thick trees. At the top, set in the corner
of Camelot's outer walls, stood the massive double gate, open still
but guarded. They halted while the escort's captain rode forward to
exchange words with the officer of the watch.

Presently both men came back together
to where Morgause waited.

"Madam." The officer made her a
courteous inclination. "You were not looked for until tomorrow. I
have no orders concerning your party. If you will wait here, I will
send a message up--"

"The King is in hall?"

"Madam, yes, he is at
supper."

"Then take me to him."

"Madam, I cannot. If you--"

"You know who I am?" The icy question
was meant to intimidate.

"Of course, madam--"

"I am the High King's sister, daughter
of Uther Pendragon. Am I to be kept here at the gate like a
suppliant or a courier?"

A faint film of sweat showed on the
man's forehead, but he was not noticeably discomposed. "Of course
not, madam, not here, outside the gates. Please ride within. The
men are coming now to close them. But I'm afraid you must wait here
while a message goes up to the hall. I have my orders."

"Very well. I won't make it hard for
you. My chamberlain will go to him." Morgause spoke firmly, flatly,
as if even now she had no doubt that her command would be obeyed.
She softened it with one of her prettiest smiles. Mordred saw that
she was nervous. Her mare, reading its rider's mood, fidgeted and
tossed its head till the golden tassels swung in a
tangle.

The officer, with apparent relief,
agreed to this, and after a word with his mistress the chamberlain
went off between two of the guards. Morgause's party rode up
through the deep, fortified archway of the King's Gate, and were
halted just inside it to wait.

Behind them the great gates swung
shut. The bars clanged down into place. Overhead, along the
battlemented walls, went the tramp and stamp of sentries.
Ironically enough these sounds, which should have reminded Mordred
forcibly that he was a prisoner, still constrained to meet an
unknown and doubtful fate, hardly got through to him. He was too
busy looking about him. This was Camelot.

Inside the gate a roadway led uphill
towards the walls of the palace. Poles were set at intervals along
this road, with torches hung in brackets to light the way. Midway
up a considerable slope the road forked, the left-hand way leading
to a gateway in the palace walls beyond which could be seen the
tops of trees, now bare. Another garden? Another prison made for a
queen's pleasure? The other branch of the road curled round under
the palace walls to another, bigger gate which must lead into the
township. Above the wall could be discerned the roofs and turrets
of houses, shops and workshops grouped around the market-place,
with, beyond these again to the north, the barracks and stables.
The town gates were shut, and no people were about except the
sentries.

"Mordred!"

Mordred, startled out of his thoughts,
looked up. Morgause was beckoning.

"Here, beside me."

He urged his horse forward to her
right. Gawain started to move to her other side, but him she waved
back. "Stay with the others."

Gawain, who, since the dog-fight in
the inn yard, had held aloof from Mordred, scowled as he reined
back, but he said nothing. None of the others spoke. Something of
Morgause's tension had communicated itself even to Gareth. She did
not speak again, but sat straight and still, staring at her horse's
ears. Her hood was back, her face expressionless and rather
pale.

Then it changed. Mordred, looking
where she looked, saw the chamberlain hurrying back with the two
guards, and, some way behind them, alone, a man coming down the
road towards them.

From the sharp reaction of the gate
guards he knew who this must be, and that his coming was totally
unexpected. Against all precedent, Arthur the High King had come
out alone, to receive them at the outer gate of his
fortress.

The King stopped a few paces away and
said shortly to the guards: "Let them come."

No ceremony of welcome. No offer of
the kiss and the handclasp and the smile. He stood by one of the
torchpoles, its light nickering on a face as cold and indifferent
as that of a judge.

The chamberlain hurried to Morgause's
side, but she waved him back. "Mordred. Your hand,
please."

No more time for surprise. No more
time for anything except the one, overmastering apprehension. He
slid from his horse, threw the rein to a servant and helped the
queen dismount. She held his arm for a moment, tightly, looking up
at him as if she would have said something, then she let him go,
but kept him close beside her. Gawain, still scowling, pushed
forward uninvited, and this time was ignored. The other boys fell
in behind, nervously. Servants led the horses back. Arthur had
still made no move. Morgause, with a boy to either side of her, and
the three younger ones behind, went forward to meet the
King.

Mordred could never afterwards say
what made the first sight of the High King so impressive. No
ceremony, no attendants, none of the trappings of majesty and
power; the man was not even armed. He stood alone, cold, silent and
formidable. The boy stared. Here was a solitary man, dressed in a
brown robe trimmed with marten, dwarfed by the range of lighted
buildings behind him, by the trees that lined the roadway, by the
spears of the armed guards. But in fact, in all that ringing,
frosty, dusk-lit space, none of the party had eyes for anything but
that one man.

Morgause went down on the frosty
ground in front of him, not in the deep reverence customary in the
presence of the High King, but kneeling. She lifted a hand, caught
Mordred by the arm, and pulled him down, too, to his knees. He felt
a slight tremor in her grip. Gawain, with the other boys, stayed
standing. Arthur had not even glanced at them. His attention was
all for the kneeling boy, the bastard, his son, brought to his feet
like a suppliant, and staying there, head up and eyes darting every
way, like a wild thing wondering which way to run.

Morgause was speaking: "My lord
Arthur, brother -- you may imagine what a joy it was to myself and
my family when word came, after all these years, that we might once
more have sight of you, and visit your court on the mainland. Who
has not heard of the splendors of Camelot, and marveled at the
tales of your victories, and of your greatness as king of these
lands? Greatness which, from that first great fight at Luguvallium,
I, and my lord King Lot, predicted for you..."

She stole a look up at Arthur's
unresponsive face. She had deliberately moved straight onto
dangerous ground. At Luguvallium, Lot had tried first to betray
Arthur, and then to overthrow him, but it was then that he had lain
with Morgause to beget Mordred. Mordred, eyes cast down now and
studying the frost patterns on the ground in front of him, caught
the moment of uncertainty before she drew a quick breath and spoke
again.