Legacy: Arthurian Saga (224 page)

He loved her. Not in the same way, in
the same breath even, as he had loved other women. There had been
many in his life, from the girl in the islands whom at fourteen he
had bedded in a hollow of the heather, to the woman who waited for
him now. But his thoughts of Guinevere were not even in this
context. He only knew that he loved her, and if the tale were true,
then by Hecate, he would like to see Bedwyr brought down! The King
would not harm her, he was sure of that, but he might, he just
might, for his honor's sake, put her aside....

He went no further. It is doubtful if
he even knew he had gone as far. Oddly for Mordred, the cool
thinker, the thoughts were hardly formulated. He was conscious only
of anger at the vile whispers, the stain on the Queen's name, and
of his own renewed distrust of the twins and their irresponsible
friends. He recognized, with misgiving, where his duty lay as
King's watcher (king's spy, he told himself sourly) among the Young
Celts. He would have to warn Arthur of the danger to Bedwyr and the
Queen. The King would soon get to the truth of the matter, and if
action had to be taken, he was the one who must take it. Duty lay
that way, and the King's trust.

And Bedwyr, if it were proved that he
had forfeited that trust?

Mordred thrust the thought aside, and
on an impulse that, even if he recognized it, he would not admit,
he went back into the house and took his pleasure with a violence
that was as foreign to him as his mental turmoil had been, and that
was to cost him a gold necklace in appeasement next day.

4

Later that night, when town and palace
were quiet, he went to see the King.

Arthur, as was his wont these days,
was working late in his business room. His white hound Cabal lay at
his feet. It was the same puppy that he had chosen on the day
Mordred was first brought to him. It was old now, and scarred with
the mementoes of some memorable hunts. It lifted its head as
Mordred was shown in, and its tail beat the floor.

The servant withdrew, and the King
nodded his secretary out of the room.

"How is it with you, Mordred? I am
glad you came. I was planning to send for you in the morning, but
tonight is even better. You know I have to go to Brittany
soon?"

"It has been rumored. So it's
true?"

"Yes. It's time I had a meeting with
my cousin King Hoel. I'd also like to see for myself how things are
shaping over there."

"When do you leave, sir?"

"In a week's time. The weather should
be fair then."

Mordred glanced at the window
curtains, where a fitful wind plucked at them. "Your prophets tell
you so?"

The King laughed. "I; go to surer
sources than the altars, or even Nimue at Applegarth. I ask the
shepherds on the high downs. They are never wrong. But I forgot, my
fisher-boy. Perhaps I should have asked you, too?"

Mordred shook his head, smiling. "I
might have ventured a prophecy in the islands, though even the old
men there were often out of reckoning; but here, no. It's a
different world. A different sky."

"You don't hanker for the other
now?"

"No. I have all I want." He added: "I
would like to see Brittany."

"Then I am sorry. What I wanted to
tell you is that I plan to leave you here in Camelot."

In spite of himself his heart gave a
jump. He waited, not looking at Arthur in case the latter read his
thought.

As if he had -- which, with Arthur,
was even possible -- the King went on: "Bedwyr will be here, of
course. But this time I want you to do more than observe how things
go; you will be Bedwyr's deputy, as he mine."

There was a pause. Arthur saw with
interest, but without understanding, that Mordred, who had lost
color, was hesitating, as if not knowing what to say. At length
Mordred asked: "And my -- the other Orkney princes? Do they go with
you, or stay here?"

Arthur, misunderstanding him, was
surprised. He had not thought that Mordred was jealous of his
half-brothers. If his mission had been a military one, he might
have taken Agravain and Gaheris with him, and so drawn off some of
their energy and discontent, but as it was he said, quickly and
definitely: "No. Gawain is in Wales, as you know, and likely to be
there for some time. Gareth would not thank me for abstracting him
from Camelot, with his wedding so near. The other two can hardly
expect favor of me. They stay here."

Mordred was silent. The King began to
talk about his forthcoming journey and the discussions he would
hold with King Hoel, then about the role Mordred would assume at
home as deputy to the regent. The hound woke once, and scratched
for fleas. The fire dwindled, and Mordred, obedient to a nod from
his father, fed it with a log from the basket. At length the King
had done. He looked at the younger man.

"You are very silent. Come, Mordred,
there will be another time. Or even a time when Bedwyr will be the
one to go with me, and you the one to remain as temporary king.
Does the prospect dismay you so much?"

"No. No. It is -- I am
honored."

"Then what is it?"

"If I ask that Bedwyr should go with
you this time and leave me here, you will think that I outrun even
the ambition of a prince. But I do ask it, my lord
King."

Arthur stared at him. "What is
this?"

"I came tonight to report to you what
is being said among the Young Celts. They met at my house this
evening. Most of the talk tonight was of Bedwyr. He has enemies,
bitter enemies, who will plot to bring him down." He hesitated. He
had known this would be hard, but he had not known how hard. "Sir,
I beg you not to leave Bedwyr here while you go abroad. This is not
because I myself covet the regency. It is because there is talk
about him and--" He stopped. He licked his lips. He said lamely:
"He has enemies. There is talk."

Arthur's eyes were black ice. He
stood. Mordred got to his feet. To his fury he found that he was
trembling. He was not to know that every man who hitherto had met
that hard cold stare was dead.

The King said, in a flat voice that
seemed to come from a great distance: "There is always talk. There
are those who talk, and there are those who listen. Neither are men
of mine. No, Mordred, I understand you very well. I am not deaf;
and neither am I blind. There is nothing in this talk. There is
nothing to be said."

Mordred swallowed. "I said nothing, my
lord."

"And I heard nothing. Go
now."

He nodded a dismissal curter than the
one the servant had had. Mordred bowed and went.

He had a hand on the door when the
King's voice halted him.

"Mordred."

He turned. "My lord."

"This changes nothing. You remain with
the regent as his deputy."

"My lord."

The King said, in a different voice:
"I should have remembered that it was I who asked you to listen,
and that I have no right to blame you for doing so, or for
reporting to me. As for Bedwyr, he is aware of his enemies'
ambitions." He looked down, resting his finger-tips on the table in
front of him. There was a pause. Mordred waited. Without looking
up, the King added: "Mordred. There are some matters better not
spoken of; better not even known. Do you understand me?"

"I think so," said Mordred. And
indeed, misjudging Arthur as the King had misjudged him, he thought
so. It was apparent that Arthur knew what was being said about
Bedwyr and the Queen. He knew, and chose to ignore it. Which meant
simply one thing: Whether there was any truth in it or not, Arthur
wanted no action taken. He wanted to avoid the kind of upheaval
that must result from an open accusation leveled at the King's
deputy and the Queen. So far, Mordred was right. But not in his
final conclusion, which was that of a man and not of a prince: that
Arthur was indifferent to the matter, and chose to ignore it out of
pride as well as policy. "I think so, sir," he said
again.

Arthur looked up and smiled. The bleak
look was gone, but he looked very weary. "Then stay watchful for
me, my son, and serve the Queen. And know Bedwyr for your friend,
and my faithful servant. And now, good night."

Soon after this the King left Camelot.
Mordred found that his work as deputy regent meant a series of
day-long sessions in the Round Hall listening to petitions,
alternating with days watching troop exercises, and finishing each
evening after the public supper in hall (when further petitions
were often brought to the high table) with the stacked tablets and
papers in the King's business room.

In public Bedwyr, as before, took the
King's place beside the Queen, but as far as Mordred, casually
watchful, could ascertain, he made no opportunities for private
talk with her, and neither he nor Guinevere ever attempted to
dispense with Mordred's company. When the regent spoke with the
Queen, as he did each morning, Mordred was there beside him;
Mordred sat on her left at supper time; Mordred walked on her left
hand when she took the air in her garden with Bedwyr for company
and her ladies round her.

He found Bedwyr surprisingly easy to
work with. The older man went out of his way to allow his deputy
some scope. Soon he was passing almost three out of five judgments
across to Mordred, only stipulating that the verdicts might be
privately agreed before they were given. There was very little
disagreement, and as the days went by Mordred found that more and
more the decisions were his. It was also noticeable that as the day
of Arthur's return drew near, the work awaiting him was appreciably
less than it had been after previous absences.

It was also to be noticed that, in
spite of the lightened burden on him, Bedwyr grew quieter and more
nervy. There were lines in his face and his eyes were shadowed. At
supper, leaning to listen, a smile fixed on his lips, to the
Queen's soft voice beside him, he ate little, but drank deeply.
Afterwards in the business room he would sit silently for long
periods staring at the fire, until Mordred, or one of the
secretaries, would with some query bring him back to the matter in
hand.

All this Mordred noticed, watching.
For him, the nearness to Guinevere was at once a joy and a torment.
If there had been a look, a touch, a gesture of understanding
between her and Bedwyr, Mordred was sure he would have seen or even
sensed it. But there was none, only Bedwyr's silence and the sense
of strain that hung about him, and perhaps an extra gaiety in the
Queen's chatter and laughter when she and her ladies graced some
function of the court. In either case this could be attributed to
the cares of office, and the strain imposed by Arthur's absence. In
the end Mordred, mindful of the King's last interview with him, put
the recollection of the Young Celts' gossip out of his
mind.

Then one evening, long after supper,
when the King's seal was used for the last time and the secretary
returned it to its box, bade the two men good night, and took
himself away, there was a tap at the door and the servant came in
to announce a caller.

This was Bors, one of the older
knights, a Companion who had fought with Arthur and Bedwyr through
the great campaign, and had been with them at Badon Hill. He was a
simple man, devoted to the King, but was known to be fretting
almost as fiercely as the Young Celts for action. No courtier, he
was impatient of ceremony, and longed for the simplicities and
movement of the field.

He gave Bedwyr the salute of the camp,
and said with his usual abruptness: "You are to go to the Queen.
There's a letter she wants to show you."

There was a short, blank silence. Then
Bedwyr got to his feet. "It's very late. Surely she has retired? It
must be urgent."

"She said so. Or she'd not have sent
me."

Mordred had risen when Bedwyr did. "A
letter? It came with the courier?"

"I suppose so. Well, you know how late
he was. You got the rest yourself not long ago."

This was true. The man, who had been
due at sundown, had been delayed on the road by a flash flood, and
had ridden in not long before. Hence the late working-hours they
had been keeping.

"He mentioned no letter for the
Queen," said Mordred.

Bedwyr said sharply: "Why should he?
If it is the Queen's it is not our concern, except as she chooses
to talk about it with me. Very well, Bors. I'll go now."

"I'll tell her you will
come?"

"No need. I'll send Ulfin. You get to
bed, and Mordred, too. Good night."

As he spoke he began to buckle on the
belt he had cast aside when the men settled down to the evening's
work. The servant brought his cloak. From the side of his eye he
saw Mordred hesitating, and repeated, with some abruptness: "Good
night."

There was nothing for it. Mordred
followed Bors out of the room.

Bors went off down the corridor with
his long outdoor stride. Mordred, hurrying to catch him up, did not
hear Bedwyr's quick words to the servant: "Go and tell the Queen
I'll be with her shortly. Tell her... No doubt her ladies retired
when she did. You will see to it that she is attended when I come.
No matter if her waiting-women are asleep. Wake them. Do you
understand?"