Legacy: Arthurian Saga (87 page)

A courtier knows when a subject has
been turned, and Lucan asked no more questions, but began to talk
of more general news. He told me in more detail what I had already
learned from Ector's letters; Ector had certainly not exaggerated
the situation. I took care not to ask too many questions about the
possible danger in the north, but Lucan spoke of it himself, of the
manning of strongpoints north of Rheged along the old line of
Hadrian's Wall, and then of Lot's contribution to the defense of
the north-east. "He's making hard going of it. Not because the
raids are bad -- the place has been quiet lately -- but perhaps
because of that very fact. The small kings don't trust Lot; they
say he's a hard man and niggardly with spoils, and cares little for
any interests except his own. When they see there's no fighting to
be done yet, and nothing to win, they desert him wholesale and take
their men home to till the fields." He made a sound of contempt, as
near to a snort as a courtier ever gets. "Fools, not to see that
whether they like their commander or not, they'll have no fields to
till, nor families to till them for, unless they fight."

"But Lot's whole interest lies in his
alliances, especially to the southward. I suppose that that with
Rheged is safe enough? Why do his allies distrust him? Do they
suspect him of lining his own nest at their expense? Or perhaps of
something worse?"

"That I can't tell you." His voice was
wooden.

"Is there no one else Uther can
appoint as commander in the north?"

"Not unless he goes himself. He can't
demote Lot. His daughter is promised to him."

I said, startled: "His daughter? Do
you mean that Lot accepted Morgause after all?"

"Not Morgause, no," said Lucan. "I
doubt that marriage wasn't tempting enough for Lothian, for all the
girl's turned out such a beauty. Lot's an ambitious man, he'd not
dangle after a bastard when there was a trueborn princess to be
had. I meant the Queen's daughter; Morgian."

"Morgian? But she can hardly be five
years old!"

"Nevertheless, she's promised, and you
know that's binding between kings."

"If I don't, who should?" I said
dryly, and Lucan knew what I was thinking of: my own mother who had
borne me to Ambrosius with no bond but a promise made in secret;
and my father who had let the promise bind him as securely as a
ceremonial oath.

We came in sight of London Wall then,
and the traffic of the morning market thronged about us. Lucan had
given me plenty to think about, and I was glad when the escort
closed up, and he was silent, and left me to my
thoughts.

I had expected to find Uther attended,
and about some at least of his affairs, but he was still keeping
his own chamber, and alone.

As I was led through the antechambers
towards his room I saw nobles, officers and servants all waiting,
and there was an apprehensive quiet about the crowded rooms which
told its own tale. Men conferred in small groups, low-voiced and
worried, the servants looked nervous and edgy, and in the outer
corridors, where merchants and petitioners waited, there was the
patient despondency of men who have already passed the point of
hope.

Heads turned as I went through, and I
heard the whisper run ahead of me like wind through a waste land,
and a Christian bishop, forgetting himself, said audibly: "God be
praised! Now we'll see the spell lifted." One or two men whom I
knew started forward with warm greetings, and a spate of questions
ready, but I smiled and shook my head and went through with no more
than a quick word. And since with kings one can never quite rule
out the thought of malice or murder, I checked the faces that I
knew: somewhere in this crowd of armed and jeweled lords there
might be one who would not welcome my return to the King's side;
someone who watched for Uther to fail before his son was grown;
someone who was Arthur's enemy, and therefore mine.

Some of them I knew well, but even
these, as I greeted them, I studied. The leaders from Wales, Ynyr
of Guent, Mador and Gwilim from my own country of Dyfed. Not
Maelgon himself from Gwynedd, but one of his sons, Cunedda. Beside
them, with a handful of their countrymen, Brychan and Cynfelin from
Dyfnaint, and Nentres of Garlot, whom I had watched ride out with
Uther from Tintagel. Then the men from the north; Ban of Benoic, a
big, handsome man so dark that he might have been, like Ambrosius
and myself, a descendant of the Spaniard Maximus. Beside Ban stood
his cousin from Brittany, whose name I could not recall. Then Cadwy
and Bors, two of the petty kings from Rheged, neighbors of Ector's;
and another neighbor, Arrak, one of the numerous sons of Caw of
Strathclyde. These I marked carefully, recalling what I knew of
them. Nothing of importance yet, but I would remember, and watch.
Rheged himself I did not see, nor Lot; it was to be assumed that
their affairs in the north were more pressing even than the King's
illness. But Urien, Lot's brother-in-law, was here, a thin,
red-haired man with the light-blue eyes and high color of temper;
and Tudwal of Dinpelydr, who ran with him; and his blood-brother
Aguisel, of whose private doings in his cold fortress near
Bremenium I had heard strange tales. There were others I did not
know, and these I scanned briefly as I passed them. I could find
out later who they were, from Lucan, or from Caius Valerius, who
stood over near the King's door. Beside Valerius was a young man I
thought I should recognize; a strongly built, sunburned man of
twenty or so, with a face that I found faintly familiar. I could
not place him. He watched me from his stance near Uther's doorway,
but he neither spoke nor made any sign of greeting. I said under my
breath to Lucan: "The man near the door, by Valerius. Who is
he?"

"Cador of Cornwall."

I knew it now, the face I had last
seen watching by Gorlois' body in the midnight hall of Dimilioc.
And with the same look; the chill blue eyes, the frowning bar of
brows, the warrior's face grown with the years more than ever like
his father's and every whit as formidable. Perhaps I need look no
further. Of all those present he had most reason to hate me. And he
was here, though Lucan had told me he was commander of the Irish
Shore. In Rheged's absence, and Lot's, I supposed that he was the
nearest there to Uther, except only myself.

I had to pass within a yard of him to
get to the door of the King's room. I held his eyes deliberately,
and he returned my look, but neither saluted nor bent his head. The
blue eyes were cold and impassive. Well, I thought, as I greeted
Valerius beside him, we should see. No doubt I could find out from
Uther why he was here. And how much, if the King failed to recover,
the young Duke stood to gain.

Lucan had gone in to tell the King of
my arrival. Now he came out again and beckoned me forward. On his
heels came Gandar. I would have paused to speak with him, but he
shook his head quickly.

"No. He wants you to go straight in.
By the Snake, Merlin, I'm glad to see you! But have a care...There,
he's calling. A word with you later?"

"Of course. I'll be
grateful."

There was another, peremptory call
from inside the room. Gandar's eyes, heavy with worry, met mine
again briefly as he stood aside to let me pass. The servant shut
the door behind us and left me with the King.

4

He was up, and dressed in a house robe
open at the front, with beneath it a tunic girded by a jeweled belt
with a long dagger thrust through. His sword, the King's sword
Falar, lay across its hangers below the gilded dragon that climbed
the wall behind the bed. Though it was still summer there had been
through the night a chill breeze from the north, and I was glad --
my blood thin, I suppose, from my travels -- to see a brazier
glowing red on the empty hearth, with chairs set near.

He came quickly across the room to
greet me, and I saw that he limped. As I answered his greeting I
studied his face for signs of the sickness or distraction that I
had been led to expect. He was thinner than before, with new lines
to his face which made him look nearer fifty than forty (which was
his age), and I saw that drawn look under the eyes which is one of
the signs of long-gnawing pain or sleeplessness. But apart from the
slight limp he moved easily enough, and with all the restless
energy I remembered. And his voice was the same as ever, strong and
quick with arrogant decision.

"There's wine there. We will serve
ourselves. I want to talk to you alone. Sit down."

I obeyed him, pouring the wine and
handing him a goblet. He took it, but set it down without drinking,
and seated himself across from me, pulling the robe about his knees
with an abrupt, almost angry gesture. I noticed that he did not
look at me, but at the brazier, at the floor, at the goblet,
anywhere not to meet my eyes. He spoke with the same abruptness,
wasting no time on civilities about my journey. "They will have
told you that I have been ill."

"I understood you still were," I said.
"I'm glad to see you on your feet and so active. Lucan told me
about the skirmish at Vagniacae; I understand it's about two months
now since you were wounded?"

"Yes. It was nothing much, a spear
glancing, not deep. But it festered, and took a long time to
heal."

"It's healed now?"

"Yes."

"Does it still pain you?"

"No."

He almost snapped the word, pushing
himself suddenly back in his chair to sit upright with his hands
clenched on the arms, and his eyes on mine at last. It was the hard
blue gaze I remembered, showing nothing but anger and dislike. But
now I recognized both look and manner for what they were, those of
a man driven against his will to ask help where he had sworn never
again to ask it. I waited.

"How is the boy?"

If the sudden question surprised me, I
concealed it. Though I had told Hoel and Ector that the King need
only be told of the child's whereabouts if he demanded to know, it
had seemed wise to send reports from time to time -- couched in
phrases that no one but the King would understand -- of the boy's
health and progress. Since Arthur had been at Galava the reports
had gone to Hoel, and thence to Uther; nothing was to pass directly
between Galava and the King. Hoel had written to me that, in all
the years, Uther had made no direct enquiry about the boy. It was
to be inferred that now he had no idea of his son's
whereabouts.

I said: "You should have had a report
since the last one I saw. Has it not come?"

"Not yet. I wrote myself a month ago
to ask Hoel where the boy was. He has not replied."

"Perhaps his answer went to Tintagel,
or to Winchester."

"Perhaps. Or perhaps he is not
prepared to answer my question?"

I raised my brows. "Why not? It was
always understood, surely, that the secrecy should not extend to
you. Has he refused to answer you before?"

He said coldly, disconcerted and
covering it: "I did not ask. There has been no need
before."

This told me something beyond what I
already knew. The King had only felt the need to locate Arthur
since the Queen's last miscarriage. I had been right in thinking
that, if she had given him other sons, he would have preferred to
forget the "bastard" in Brittany. It also told me something I did
not like: if he felt a need for Arthur now, this summons might be
to tell me that my guardianship was ended before it had really
begun. To give myself time, I ignored what he had just said. "Then
depend upon it, Hoel's answer is on its way. In any case it doesn't
matter, since I am here to answer you instead."

His look was still stony, allowing no
guesses. "They tell me you have been abroad all these years. Did
you take him with you?"

"No. I thought it better to keep away
from him till the time came when I could be of use to him. I made
sure of his safety, then after I had left Brittany I kept close
touch." I smiled slightly. "Oh, nothing that your spies could have
seen...or any other man's. You know I have ways of my own. I took
no risks. If you yourself have no inkling now of his whereabouts,
you may be sure that no one else has."

I saw from the brief flicker in his
eyes before the lids veiled them that I had guessed rightly:
messages and constant reports of my movements had been sent back to
him. No doubt, wherever he could, he had had me watched. It was no
more than I expected. Kings live by information, Uther's enemies
had probably watched me, too, and perhaps the King's own informants
might have picked up some kind of lead to them. But when I asked
him about this, he shook his head. He was silent for a while,
following some private track of his own. He had not looked at me
again. He reached for the goblet at his elbow, but not to drink; he
fidgeted with it, turning it round and round where it stood. "He'll
be seven years old now."

"Eight this coming Christmas, and
strong for his age and well doing. You need have no fears for him,
Uther."

"You think not?" Another flash, of
bitterness stronger than any anger. In spite of my outward calmness
I felt a violent moment of apprehension: if, contrary to
appearances, the King's sickness was in fact mortal, what chance
would the boy have at the head of this kingdom now, with half the
petty kings (I saw Cador's face again) at his throat? And how was
even I to know, through the light and the smoke, what the god's
smile portended?