Legacy: Arthurian Saga (211 page)

Mordred noticed the change, recognized
and understood its motives, and accepted the other boy's overtures
without surprise. What did surprise him, though, was the change in
the attitude of the twins. They knew nothing of Mordred's
parentage, believing only that Arthur had accepted him as King
Lot's bastard, and, so to speak, an outrider of the Orkney family.
But the killing of Gabran had impressed them both. Agravain because
a killing -- any killing -- was to his mind proof of what he called
"manhood." Gaheris because for him it was that, and more; it was a
fully justified act that avenged all of them. Though outwardly as
indifferent as his twin to his mother's rare moments of fondness,
Gaheris had nursed through his childhood a sore and jealous heart.
Now Mordred had killed his mother's lover, and for that he was
prepared to accord him homage as well as admiration. As for Gareth,
the act of violence had impressed even him with respect. During the
last months in Orkney Gabran had grown too self-assured, and with
it arrogant, so that even the gentle youngest son had bitterly
resented him. Mordred, in avenging the woman he had called mother,
had in a way acted for them all. So all five of the Orkney boys
settled down to work together, and in the comradeship of the
training fields and the knights' hall, some kind of seedling
loyalty to the High King began to grow.

News got through from Camelot with the
February thaw. The boys were given tidings of their mother, who was
still in Amesbury. She was to be sent north to the convent at Caer
Eidyn soon after the court moved to Camelot, and her sons would be
allowed to see her before she went. They accepted this almost with
indifference. Perhaps Gaheris, ironically, was the only one of them
who still missed his mother; Gaheris, the one she had ignored. He
dreamed about her still, fantasies of rescue and return to Orkney's
throne, with her grateful, and himself triumphant. But with
daylight the dreams faded; even for her, he would not have
abandoned the new, exciting life of the High King's court, or the
hopes of preferment eventually into the ranks of the favored
Companions.

At the end of April, when the court
had settled itself again for the summer in Camelot, the King sent
the boys to make their farewells to their mother. This, it was
rumored, against the advice of Nimue, who rode over from her home
in Applegarth to greet the King. Merlin was no longer with the
court: since his last illness he had lived in seclusion, and when
the King removed from Caerleon the old enchanter retired to his
hilltop home in Wales, leaving Nimue to take his place as Arthur's
adviser. But this time her advice was overruled, and the boys were
duly sent up to Amesbury, with a sufficient escort led by Cei
himself, with Lamorak, one of the knights.

They lodged on the way at Sarum, where
the headman gave them shelter, making much of the High King's
nephews, and rode next morning for Amesbury, which lies at the edge
of the Great Plain.

It was a bright morning, and Lot's
sons were in high spirits. They had good horses, were royally
equipped, and looked forward almost without reservation to seeing
Morgause again and showing off their new-found splendor before her.
Any fears they might have had for her had long since been laid to
rest. They had Arthur's word for it that she was not to be put to
death, and though she was a prisoner, the kind of confinement that
a convent would offer was not (so thought her sons in their
youthful ignorance) so very different from the life she had led at
home, where she had lived secluded for the most part among the
women of her own household. Great ladies, indeed, they assured each
other, often sought the life freely for themselves; it allowed no
power of decision or rule, of course, but to the eager arrogance of
youth this seemed hardly to be the woman's part. Morgause had acted
as queen for her dead husband and her young son and heir, but such
power could have been temporary only, and now (Gawain said it
openly) was no longer necessary. There could be no more lovers,
either; and this, to Gawain and Gaheris, the only ones who had
really noticed or cared, was much to the good. Long might the
convent keep her mewed up; in comfort, naturally, but prevented
from interfering in their new lives, or bringing shame on them
through lovers little older than themselves.

So they rode gaily. Gawain was already
years away from her in spirit, and Gareth was concerned only with
the adventure of the moment. Agravain thought about little but the
horse he was riding, and the new tunic and weapons he sported
("really fit for a prince, at last!") and about all he would have
to tell Morgause of his prowess at arms. Gaheris looked forward
with a kind of guilty pleasure to the meeting; this time, surely,
after so long an absence, she must show her delight in her sons,
must give and receive caresses and loving words; and she would be
alone, with no wary lover beside her chair, watching them,
whispering against them.

Mordred alone rode in silence, once
again apart, outside the pack. He noticed, with a stir of
satisfaction, the attention, which was almost deference, paid him
by Lamorak, and the careful eye that Cei kept on him. Rumor had run
ahead of truth at court, and neither King nor Queen had made any
attempt to scotch it. It was allowed to be seen that, of the five,
Mordred was the one who mattered most. He was also the only one of
the boys who felt some sort of dread of the coming interview. He
did not know how much Morgause had been told, but surely she must
know about her lover's death. And that death was on his
hands.

So they came towards Amesbury on a
fine sunny morning, with the dew splashing in glittering showers
from their horses' hoofs, and met Morgause and her escort out
riding in the woods.

It was a ride for exercise, not for
pleasure. This much was immediately apparent. Though the queen was
richly dressed, in her favorite amber cloth with a short furred
mantle against the cool spring breezes, her mount was an
indifferent-seeming mare, and to either side of her rode men in the
uniform of Arthur's troops. From the hand of the man on her right a
leading rein ran looping to the ring of the mare's bridle. A woman,
plainly cloaked and hooded, rode a few paces in the rear, flanked
in her turn by another pair of troopers.

It was Gareth who first recognized his
mother in the little group of distant riders. He called out,
stretching high in the saddle and waving. Then Gaheris spurred past
him at a gallop, and the others, like a charge of cavalry, went
racing across the space of wooded ground, with laughter and hunting
calls and a clamor of welcome. Morgause received the rush of young
horsemen with smiling pleasure. To Gaheris, who pressed first to
the mare's side, she gave a hand, and leaned a cheek to his eager
kiss. Her other hand she reached towards Cei, who dutifully raised
it to his lips, then, relinquishing it to Gawain, reined back to
let the boys crowd in.

Morgause leaned forward, both arms
reaching for her sons, her face glowing.

"See, they lead my horse, so I may
ride without hands! I was told I might hope to see you soon, but we
did not look for you yet! You must have longed for me, as I for
you...Gawain, Agravain, Gareth, my darling, come, kiss your mother,
who has hungered all these long winter months for a sight of
you...There, there, now, that's enough...Let me go, Gaheris, let me
look at you all. Oh, my darling boys, it has been so long, so
long...."

The turn towards pathos went
unnoticed. Still too excited, too full of their new importance, the
young horsemen caracoled around her. The scene took on the
liveliness of a pleasure party.

"See, Mother, this is a stallion from
the High King's own stable!"

"Look, lady, at this sword! And I've
used it, too! The master-at-arms says that I promise as well as any
man of my age."

"You are well, lady queen? They treat
you well?" This was Gaheris.

"I am to be one of the Companions,"
Gawain put in, gruffly proud, "and if there is fighting in the
coming summer, he has promised I shall be there."

"Will you be in Camelot for
Pentecost?" asked Gareth.

Mordred had not spurred forward with
the rest. She did not seem to notice. She had not even glanced his
way, where he rode between Cei and Lamorak as the party turned back
towards Amesbury. She laughed with her sons, and talked gaily, and
let them shout and boast, and asked questions about Camelot and
Caerleon, listening to their eager praises with flattering
attention. From time to time she threw a gentle look, or a charming
word, to Lamorak, the knight riding nearest, or even to the men of
the escort. She was concerned, one might have guessed, with the
report that would eventually go back to Arthur. Her looks were mild
and sweet, her words innocent of anything but a mother's interest
in her sons' progress, and a mother's gratitude for what the High
King and his deputies were doing for them. When she spoke of Arthur
-- this was to Cei, across the heads of Gareth and Gaheris -- it
was with praise of his generosity towards her children ("my
orphaned boys, who would otherwise be robbed of all protection")
and for the King's grace, as she called it, towards herself. It was
to be noticed that in a while she assumed a further, and complete,
act of grace. She turned her lovely eyes full on Cei and asked,
with sweet humility: "And did the King my brother send you to take
me back to court?"

When Cei, flushing and looking away,
told her no, she said nothing, but bowed her head and let a hand
steal to her eyes. Mordred, who rode to that side of her and a
little in the rear, saw that she was tearless, but Gaheris pushed
forward to her other side and laid a hand on her arm.

"Soon, though, lady! It will surely be
soon! As soon as we get back we will petition him! By Pentecost,
surely!"

She made no reply. She gave a little
shiver, pulled her cloak closer, and glanced up at the sky, then,
with an effort that was patent, straightened her shoulders. "Look,
the day is clouding over. Let us not loiter here. Let us get back."
Her smile was bright with bravery. "Today, at least, Amesbury will
cease to seem a prison."

By the time the party neared the
village of Amesbury, Cei, at her left hand, was visibly unbending,
Lamorak stared with open admiration, and Lot's sons had forgotten
that they had ever wanted to be free of her. The spell was woven
again. Nimue had been right. The links so recently forged in
Caerleon were wearing thin already. The Orkney brothers would take
a less than perfect loyalty back to their uncle the High
King.

The convent gate was open, and the
porter watching for them. He stared in surprise at the sight of the
Camelot party, and shouted to a sack-clad youth -- a novice -- who
was grubbing among lettuces in a weedy bed beside a wall. The
novice went running, and by the time the party rode into the yard
the abbot himself, slightly out of breath but with unimpaired
dignity, appeared at the doorway of his house and stood waiting at
the head of the steps to receive them.

Even here, under the abbot's eye,
Morgause's spell held good. Cei, moving with stolid courtesy to
help her dismount, was beaten to it by Lamorak, with Gawain and
Gaheris close behind. Morgause, with a smile at her sons, slid
gracefully into Lamorak's arms, and then held to him a moment,
letting it be seen that the ride, and the excitement of the
meeting, had taxed her frail strength. She thanked the knight
prettily, then turned to the boys again. She would rest awhile in
her own rooms, she told them, while Abbot Luke made them welcome,
then later, when they were fed and changed and rested, she would
receive them.

So, to the abbot's barely concealed
irritation, Morgause, having turned her status as prisoner into
that of a queen granting audience, moved off towards the women's
side of the convent, supported on the arm of her waiting-woman, and
followed, as if by a royal escort, by her four guards.

In the years since Arthur's crowning,
and more especially since Morgause had come as his prisoner, the
High King had sent gifts and money to the foundation at Amesbury,
so the place was larger and better kept than when the young King
had first ridden south to see his father buried in the Giants'
Dance.

Where there had been fields behind the
chapel, there was now a walled garden, with its orchard and
fishpond, and beyond this a second courtyard had been built, so
that the quarters of men and women could be separate. The abbot's
house had been enlarged, and there was no longer any need for him
to vacate his quarters for royal guests; a well-built wing of guest
rooms faced south onto the garden. To this the travelers were
escorted by the two young novices appointed to see to their
comfort. The boys were shown into the guests' dorter, a long, sunny
room with half-a-dozen beds, and with no convent-like austerity
about it. The beds were new and good, with painted headboards, the
floor was of stone, scrubbed white and covered with brightly woven
rugs, and wax candles stood ready in silver sconces. Mordred,
glancing around him, and out of the broad windows where the sun
shone warmly on lawn and fishpond and blossoming apple trees,
reflected dryly that no doubt Morgause could take all the
privileges she wanted, and welcome: She must be, in a quite literal
sense, the most paying of guests.

The meal was good, too. The boys were
served in the small refectory attached to the guest house, and
afterwards made free of the convent grounds and the town -- it was
little more than a village -- outside the walls. Their mother, they
were told, would receive them after evening chapel. Cei did not
appear; he was closeted with Abbot Luke; but Lamorak stayed with
the boys, and in response to their pleading took them riding out on
the Great Plain, where, two miles or so from Amesbury, stood the
great circle of stones called the Giants' Dance.