Legacy: Arthurian Saga (35 page)

"Nobody mentioned treason. I'm just
doing my duty. The King wants to see him, and he's to come with
me." The old steward said, looking troubled now: "You can't harm
him. He's who he says he is, Niniane's son. You can ask her
yourself."

That brought Blackbeard round to face
him quickly. "She's still alive?"

"Oh, yes, she's that all right. She's
barely a stone's throw off, at the nunnery of St. Peter's, beyond
the old oak at the crossways."

"Leave her alone," I said, really
frightened now. I wondered what she might tell them. "Don't forget
who she is. Even Vortigern won't dare to touch her. Besides, you've
no authority. Either over me or her."

"You think not?"

"Well, what authority have
you?"

"This." The short sword flashed in his
hand. It was sharpened to a dazzle. I said: "Vortigern's law, is
it? Well, it's not a bad argument. I'll go with you, but it won't
do you much good with my mother. Leave her alone, I tell you. She
won't tell you any more than I."

"But at least we don't have to believe
her when she says she doesn't know."

"But it's true." It was the steward,
still chattering. "I tell you, I served in the palace all my life,
and I remember it all. It used to be said she'd borne a child to
the devil, to the prince of darkness." Hands fluttered as people
made the sign. The old man said, peering up at me: "Go with them,
son, they'll not hurt Niniane's child, or her either. There'll come
a time when the King will need the people of the West, as who
should know better than he?"

"It seems I'll have to go with them,
with the King's warrant so sharp at my throat," I said. "It's all
right, Dinias, it wasn't your fault. Tell my servant where I am.
Very well, you, take me to Vortigern, but keep your hands off me."
I went between them to the door, the drinkers making way for us. I
saw Dinias stumble to his feet and come after. As we reached the
street Blackbeard turned. "I was forgetting. Here, it's
yours."

The purse of money jingled as it hit
the ground at my cousin's feet. I didn't turn. But as I went I saw,
even without looking, the expression on my cousin's face as, with a
quick glance to right and left, he stooped for the purse and tucked
it into his waistband.

7

Vortigern had changed. My impression
that he had grown smaller, less impressive, was not only because I
myself, instead of being a child, was now a tall youth. He had
grown, as it were, into himself. It did not need the makeshift
hall, the court which was less a court than a gathering of fighting
chiefs and such women as they kept by them, to indicate that this
was a man on the run. Or rather, a man in a corner. But a cornered
wolf is more dangerous than a free one, and Vortigern was still a
wolf.

And he had certainly chosen his corner
well. King's Fort was as I remembered it, a crag commanding the
river valley, its crest only approachable along a narrow saddleback
like a bridge. This promontory jutted out from a circle of rocky
hills which provided in their shelter a natural corrie where horses
could graze and where beasts could be driven in and guarded. All
round the valley itself the mountains towered, grey with scree and
still not green with spring. All the April rain had done was to
bring a long cascade spilling a thousand feet from the summit to
the valley's foot. A wild, dark, impressive place. If once the wolf
dug himself in at the top of that crag, even Ambrosius would be
hard put to it to get him out.

The journey took six days. We started
at first light, by the road which leads due north out of Maridunum,
a worse road than the eastbound way but quicker, even slowed down
as we were by bad weather and the pace set by the women's litters.
The bridge was broken at Pennal and more or less washed away, and
nearly half a day was spent fording the Afon Dyfi, before the party
could struggle on to Tomen-y-mur, where the road was good. On the
afternoon of the sixth day we turned up the riverside track for
Dinas Brenin, where the King lay.

Blackbeard had had no difficulty at
all in persuading St. Peter's to let my mother go with him to the
King. If he had used the same tactics as with me, this was
understandable enough, but I had no opportunity to ask her, or even
to find out if she knew any more than I did why Vortigern wanted
us. A closed litter had been provided for her, and two women from
the religious house traveled with her. Since they were beside her
day and night it was impossible for me to approach her for private
speech, and in fact she showed no sign of wanting to see me alone.
Sometimes I caught her watching me with an anxious, even perhaps a
puzzled look, but when she spoke she was calm and withdrawn, with
never so much as a hint that she knew anything that Vortigern
himself might not overhear. Since I was not allowed to see her
alone, I had judged it better to tell her the same story I had told
Blackbeard; even the same (since for all I knew he had been
questioned) that I had told Dinias. She would have to think what
she could about it, and about my reasons for not getting in touch
with her sooner. It was, of course, impossible to mention Brittany,
or even friends from Brittany, without risking her guess about
Ambrosius, and this I dared not do.

I found her much changed. She was pale
and quiet, and had put on weight, and with it a kind of heaviness
of the spirit that she had not had before. It was only after a day
or two, jogging north with the escort through the hills, that it
suddenly came to me what this was; she had lost what she had had of
power. Whether time had taken this, or illness, or whether she had
abnegated it for the power of the Christian symbol that she wore on
her breast, I had no means of guessing. But it had gone.

On one score my mind was set at rest
straight away. My mother was treated with courtesy, even with
distinction as befitted a king's daughter. I received no such
distinction, but I was given a good horse, housed well at night,
and my escort were civil enough when I tried to talk to them.
Beyond that, they made very little effort with me; they would give
no answer to any of my questions, though it seemed to me they knew
perfectly well why the King wanted me. I caught curious and furtive
glances thrown at me, and once or twice a look of pity.

We were taken straight to the King. He
had set up his headquarters on the flat land between the crag and
the river, from where he had hoped to oversee the building of his
stronghold. It was a very different camp even from the makeshift
ones of Uther and Ambrosius. Most of the men were in tents and,
except for high earthworks and a palisade on the side towards the
road, they apparently trusted to the natural defenses of the place
-- the river and crag on one side, the rock of Dinas Brenin on the
other, and the impenetrable and empty mountains behind
them.

Vortigern himself was housed royally
enough. He received us in a hall whose wooden pillars were hung
with curtains of bright embroidery, and whose floor of the local
greenish slate was thickly strewn with fresh rushes. The high chair
on the dais was regally carved and gilded. Beside him, on a chair
equally ornate and only slightly smaller, sat Rowena, his Saxon
Queen. The place was crowded. A few men in courtiers' dress stood
near, but most of those present were armed. There was a fair
sprinkling of Saxons. Behind Vortigern's chair on the dais stood a
group of priests and holy men.

As we were brought in, a hush fell.
All eyes turned our way. Then the King rose and, stepping down from
the dais, came to meet my mother, smiling, and with both hands
outstretched.

"I bid you welcome, Princess," he
said, and turned to present her with ceremonial courtesy to the
Queen.

The hiss of whispers ran round the
hall, and glances were exchanged. The King had made it clear by his
greeting that he did not hold my mother accountable for Camlach's
part in the recent rebellion. He glanced at me, briefly but I
thought with keen interest, gave me a nod of greeting, then took my
mother's hand on his arm and led her up on to the dais. At a nod of
his head, someone hurried to set a chair for her on the step below
him. He bade her be seated, and he and the Queen took their places
once more. Walking forward with my guards at my back, I stood below
the dais in front of the King.

Vortigern spread his hands on the arms
of his chair and sat upright, smiling from my mother to me with an
air of welcome and even satisfaction. The buzz of whispers had died
down. There was a hush. People were staring, expectant.

But all the King said was, to my
mother: "I ask your pardon, Madam, for forcing this journey on you
at such a time of year. I trust you were made comfortable enough?"
He followed this up with smooth trivial courtesies while the people
stared and waited, and my mother bent her head and murmured her
polite replies, as upright and unconcerned as he. The two nuns who
had accompanied her stood behind her, like waiting-women. She held
one hand at her breast, fingering the little cross which she wore
there as a talisman; the other lay among the brown folds on her
lap. Even in her plain brown habit she looked royal.

Vortigern said, smiling: "And now will
you present your son?"

"My son's name is Merlin. He left
Maridunum five years ago after the death of my father, your
kinsman. Since then he has been in Cornwall, in a house of
religion. I commend him to you."

The King turned to me. "Five years?
You would be little more than a child then, Merlin. How old are you
now?"

"I am seventeen, sir." I met his gaze
squarely. "Why have you sent for my mother and myself? I had hardly
set foot in Maridunum again, when your men took me, by
force."

"For that I am sorry. You must forgive
their zeal. They only knew that the matter was urgent, and they
took the quickest means to do what I wished." He turned back to my
mother. "Do I have to assure you, Lady Niniane, that no harm will
come to you? I swear it. I know that you have been in the House of
St. Peter now for five years, and that your brother's alliance with
my sons was no concern of yours."

"Nor of my son's, my lord," she said
calmly. "Merlin left Maridunum on the night of my father's death,
and from that day until now I have heard nothing from him. But one
thing is certain, he had no part in the rebellion; why, he was only
a child when he left his home -- and indeed, now that I know he
fled south that night, to Cornwall, I can only assume he went from
very fear of my brother Camlach, who was no friend to him. I assure
you, my lord King, that whatever I myself may have guessed of my
brother's intentions towards you, my son knew nothing of them. I am
at a loss to know why you should want him here."

To my surprise Vortigern did not even
seem interested in my sojourn in Cornwall, nor did he look at me
again. He rested his chin on his fist and watched my mother from
under his brows. His voice and look were alike grave and courteous,
but there was something in the air that I did not like. Suddenly I
realized what it was. Even while my mother and the King talked,
watching one another, the priests behind the King's chair watched
me. And when I stole a glance out of the corners of my eyes at the
people in the hall I found that here, too, there were eyes on me.
There was a stillness in the room now, and I thought, suddenly: Now
he will come to it.

He said quietly, almost reflectively:
"You never married."

"No." Her lids drooped, and I knew she
had become suddenly wary. "Your son's father, then, died before you
could be wed? Killed in battle, perhaps?"

"No, my lord." Her voice was quiet,
but perfectly clear. I saw her hands move and tighten a
little.

"Then he still lives?"

She said nothing, but bowed her head,
so that her hood fell forward and hid her face from the other
people in the hall. But those on the dais could still see her. I
saw the Queen staring with curiosity and contempt. She had light
blue eyes, and big breasts which bulged milk-white above a tight
blue bodice. Her mouth was small. Her hands were as white as her
breasts, but the fingers thick and ugly, like a servant's. They
were covered with rings of gold and enamel and copper.

The King's brows drew together at my
mother's silence, but his voice was still pleasant. "Tell me one
thing, Lady Niniane. Did you ever tell your son the name of his
father?"

"No." The tone of her voice, full and
definite, contrasted oddly with the posture of bowed head and
veiled face. It was the pose of a woman who is ashamed, and I
wondered if she meant to look like this to excuse her silence. I
could not see her face myself, but I saw the hand that held the
fold of her long skirt. I was sharply reminded of the Niniane who
had defied her father and refused Gorlan, King of Lanascol. Across
that memory came another, the memory of my father's face, looking
at me across the table in the lamplight. I banished it. He was so
vividly in front of me that it seemed to me a wonder that the whole
hall full of men could not see him. Then it came to me, sharply and
with terror, that Vortigern had seen him. Vortigern knew. This was
why we were here. He had heard some rumor of my coming, and was
making sure. It remained to be seen whether I would be treated as a
spy, or as a hostage.