Legacy: Arthurian Saga (214 page)

Twice, during these years, Arthur
lodged nearby, the first time with the garrison, the second time in
Amesbury itself, at the house of the headman.

On the first occasion, despite
Morgause's efforts, he refused to see her, contenting himself with
sending to the abbess and asking formally after the prisoner's
health and wellbeing, and sending deputies -- Bedwyr and,
ironically, Lamorak -- to talk with the queen. The second time
occurred some two years later. He would have preferred to sleep
again at garrison head-quarters, but this might have seemed
slighting to the headman's hospitality, so he lodged in the town.
He gave orders that while he was in the township Morgause should
not be permitted outside the convent walls, and he was obeyed. But
one evening when he and half a dozen of his Companions sat at
supper with the abbot and the head citizens of the township, two of
Morgause's women came to the door with a tale of the captive
queen's sickness, and pathetic pleas for the King's presence at her
bedside. She longed only, they said, for the King's forgiveness
before she died. Or if he was still set against her, she begged --
and it could be seen, from the messengers' faces, with what pathos
-- that he should grant at least one dying wish. This was that she
should see her sons once more.

Lot's sons were not in Amesbury with
the King. Gaheris was with the garrison on the Plain; Gawain with
the other two brothers was still in Camelot. The only one of the
five in Amesbury was Mordred, who, as always now, was at his
father's side.

To him Arthur, waving the women back
out of earshot, said softly: "Dying? Do you suppose this is
true?"

"She was out riding three days
ago."

"Oh? Who says so?"

"The swineherd in the beech wood. I
stopped and spoke with him. She gave him a coin once, so he watches
for her. He calls her 'the pretty queen.' " Arthur frowned, tapping
the table. "There's been a cold wind all the week. I suppose she
could have taken a chill. Even so--" He paused. "Well, I'll send
someone tomorrow. Then, if this tale is true, I suppose I must go
myself."

"And by tomorrow everything will be
suitably arranged." The King looked at him sharply. "What do you
mean by that?" Mordred said dryly: "When she sent for me before,
she was alone in a cold room with no comforts. I saw them through
the door, hastily stacked in the next room." Arthur's frown
deepened. "So you suspect trickery here? Still? But how? What could
she do?" Mordred shifted his shoulders as if he felt cold. "Who
knows? As she reminded me, more than once, she is a witch. Keep
away from her, sir. Or -- let me go and see for myself if this tale
of mortal sickness is true."

"You are not afraid of her
witchcraft?"

"She has asked to see her sons," said
Mordred, "and I am the only one here in Amesbury." He did not add
that though his spirit, fed with fear by Morgause herself, shrank
from her, he knew himself to be safe. He was to be -- he could
still hear the angry spitting voice -- his father's bane. To that
end she would preserve him, as she had done through those early
years.

He said: "If you send now, sir, to say
you will see her in the morning, that is when --if this is indeed a
trick -- she will make her preparations. I myself will go now,
tonight." After a little more discussion the King agreed, and,
returning gratefully to his guests, sent one of his Companions to
inform Queen Morgause that he would see her on the
morrow.

As before, he sent Lamorak.

There was a horse tied up outside the
orchard wall. Here the coping was low, and a bough of an old apple
tree had forced the bricks outwards until they bulged, then broke
and fell, making a place that could, with agility and the help of a
horse's saddle, be climbed.

The night was moonless, but the sky
glistened with stars as thick and numerous as daisies on a lawn.
Mordred paused to look at the horse. Something about its white
blaze and the stocking on its near fore was familiar. He looked
closer, and saw on the breastband the silver boar of Orkney, and
recognized Gaheris's roan. He ran a hand over its shoulder. It was
damp and hot.

He stood for a moment, thinking. If
the news of Morgause's illness had sped, as such news will, on the
wings of gossip, to garrison headquarters, Gaheris must have ridden
out immediately to visit the queen. Or he might, having been
refused permission to accompany Arthur with Mordred to Amesbury,
have ridden out secretly, determined to see his mother. In either
case the visit was surreptitious, or he would have gone to the
gate.

Mordred thought, with a touch of
amusement, that in any case Morgause had not expected the visit, so
would probably not yet, on this chilly night, have stripped herself
of her comforts. Gaheris, whatever his loyalties, would have to
share witness to his mother's health and circumstances when Mordred
reported on them to Arthur.

He walked soft-footed round to the
convent gate, was inspected under the lamp by the guards, showed
the King's pass, and was admitted.

Within the convent walls no guards
were appointed, and all was silent and deserted. Morgause now had
one wing of the convent -- the buildings between the orchard and
the women's arcade -- to herself and her attendants. Mordred walked
quietly past the chapel and let himself into the arcade. Here a nun
nodded beside a brazier in a little lodge. Again he showed the
King's pass, was recognized and allowed through.

The arches of the arcade showed black
and empty. The grass in the center of the court was grey in the
starlight, its own starred daisies shut for the night, invisible.
An owl flew silently across the roof tops and into the orchard
boughs. The only light was the glow from the brazier in the
lodge.

Mordred paused, undecided. It was
late, but not yet midnight. Morgause, like most witches, was a
night-time creature; surely one of her windows should be showing a
light? And certainly, if the deathbed story were true, her women
would be wakeful, watching by her bedside. Perhaps a lover? He had
heard that she took her pleasures still. But if Gaheris was
here...Gaheris?

Mordred swore aloud, sickened at
himself for the thought, and then again for the knowledge that the
suspicion was justified.

He tried the door under the arcade,
found it unlocked, then let himself into the building and went
swiftly up the well-remembered corridor. Here was the door to the
queen's apartments. After a moment's hesitation, he pushed it open
and went in without knocking.

This room was not as he remembered it,
but as he would have seen it had Morgause not stripped it of its
furnishings. Starlight fell softly through the window to light the
hangings, the waxed surfaces of furniture, the gleam of gold and
silver vessels. Thick rugs muffled his tread. He crossed the room
to the inner door, which gave on the antechamber to the queen's
bedroom. Here he paused. Her women, or surely one of them, would be
awake? He bent his head and knocked softly on the panel.

There was a sound from inside the
room, a hurried movement, followed by stillness, as if his knock
had startled someone who did not want to be found there. Mordred
hesitated again, then set his mouth and reached for the latch, but
before he could lay hand on it the door was pulled open, and
Gaheris stood there, sword in hand.

The antechamber was lit by a single
candle. Even in its faint, diffused light it could be seen that
Gaheris was as white as a ghost. When he saw Mordred he went, if
possible, whiter still. His mouth slowly opened, and he said, on a
gasping breath: "You?"

"Whom did you expect?" Mordred spoke
very softly, his eye going beyond Gaheris to the door of the
queen's bedchamber. This was shut, and a heavy curtain was drawn
across it to keep out the chill draughts of night. Two women were
there, on couches to either side of the queen's door. One was
Morgause's own waiting-woman, the other a nun, presumably excused
the night offices, and set to share the watch on behalf of the
convent. Both slept soundly, the nun, indeed, snoring in a slumber
that seemed rather too heavy. On a table by the wall stood two
cups, and the room smelled of spiced wine.

Gaheris's sword moved, but
indecisively, then he saw that Mordred was not even looking at him,
and lowered it again. Mordred said, on a whisper that was the
merest thread of sound: "Put that up, you fool. I came on the
King's orders, why do you think?"

"At this time of night? To do
what?"

"Not to harm her, or would I have
knocked on her door, or come naked as I am?"

The word, between soldiers, meant
"unarmed," and to a knight was as good as a shield. He spread his
empty hands wide. Gaheris, slowly, began to slide his blade back
into its housing.

"Then what--" he was beginning, when
Mordred, with a swift gesture commanding silence, stepped past him
into the room, and, crossing to the table, picked up one of the
cups and sniffed at it. "And the woman in the lodge could hardly
keep awake long enough to see me through."

He met Gaheris's stare, and smiled,
setting the cup down again. "The King sent me because a message
came that she was ill, and failing. He would have come himself
tomorrow. But now I think he need not." He lifted a hand quickly.
"No, have no fear. It cannot be true. These women have been
drugged, and it is easy to guess--"

"Drugged?" Gaheris seemed to take it
in slowly, then his head moved, his eyes searching the dark corners
of the room like an animal scenting an enemy, and his hand flew
back to his hilt. He said, hoarsely: "Then it is
danger!"

"No. No." Mordred moved quickly, to
take his half-brother lightly by the arm, turning him away from the
queen's door. "The drug is one of the queen's potions. I know that
smell. So put your fears at rest, and come away. It's certain that
she is neither ill nor in any other kind of danger. The King need
not come in the morning, but no doubt you will be permitted to see
her then. He has sent for the others already, in case the story is
true."

"But how do you know--?"

"And keep your voice down. Come, we'll
go. I want to show you some beautiful tapestries in the outer
room." He smiled, shaking the other's unresponsive arm. "Oh, for
the gods' sake, man, can't you see? She's got a lover with her,
that's all! So neither you nor I can visit her tonight!"

Gaheris stood for a moment, rigid
against Mordred's hand, then with a wild gesture he shook himself
free and leaped for the bedchamber door. He ripped the curtain
aside and flung the door back with a crash against the
wall.

In the endless, stupefied moment
before anyone moved, they saw it all.

Lamorak naked, mounted, light slipping
over the sweating muscles of his back. Morgause beneath him, hidden
by shadows, except for the restless, eager hands, and the long hair
spread across the pillows. Her night robe lay in a huddle on the
floor, beside Lamorak's discarded clothing. His sword belt, with
sword and dagger sheathed, was carefully laid across a stool at the
other side of the room.

Gaheris made a sound hardly
recognizable as human, and jerked wildly at his sword.

Mordred, two paces behind him, shouted
a warning "Lamorak!" and grabbed again at his half-brother's
arm.

Morgause screamed. Lamorak gasped,
turned his head, saw, flung himself off the woman's body and ran
for his sword. The move left her exposed to the merciless
starlight: the sprawled flesh, the marks of love, the gaping mouth,
the hands still weaving in air over the space where her lover's
body had been.

The hands dropped. She recognized
Gaheris in the doorway, with Mordred struggling to hold him, and
the scream checked in a gasp as she hurriedly pushed herself up
from the pillows and grabbed for the tumbled coverlet.

Gaheris, cursing, jerked the dagger
from his belt and cut down at Mordred's restraining hand. The blade
bit, and Mordred's grip loosened. Gaheris wrenched himself
free.

Lamorak had reached the stool and
snatched up his sword belt. Clumsily, still perhaps numb with
shock, he wrenched at the hilt in the half-darkness, but the loose
belt wrapped itself round his arm, and the hilt jammed. Wrenching
at it, naked as he was, he turned to face the other
sword.

Mordred, blood dripping from his cut
hand, pushed past Gaheris, getting himself between the two men,
then thrust the flat of both hands hard against his half-brother's
chest.

"Gaheris! Wait! You can't kill an
unarmed man. And not this, not here. Wait, you fool! He's a
Companion; leave this to the King."

It is doubtful if Gaheris even heard
him, or felt his hands. He was crying, on hard, sobbing breaths,
and looked more than half mad. Nor did he make any attempt to push
past Mordred to attack Lamorak. He swung suddenly round, away from
both men, and raced for the queen's bed, his sword held
high.

Clutching the coverlet to her, blinded
by her hair, she tried to roll away and dodge him. She screamed
again. Before the other men had even realized his purpose Gaheris,
at the bedside, swung his sword up, and brought it down with all
his strength across his mother's neck. And again. And yet
again.