M. K. Hume [King Arthur Trilogy 04] The Last Dragon (14 page)

‘I’m sorry to wake you, Mother, and I’m sorry for everything I said this morning. Father and I had a long talk and he explained everything to me. I love you, Mother, more than anything. More than Arden, or my brothers and sister, or anything! I’m really sorry, and I’m ashamed that I made you cry.’

Elayne tried to struggle into an upright position on the pillows, but needed Arthur’s young strength to settle her weary, child-heavy body comfortably. She sighed with relief as her son tucked a blanket round her shoulders.

‘Sit on the bed next to me, sweetling,’ she murmured drowsily, still disoriented from a confusing, half-remembered dream of some appalling future.

‘My hands and feet are filthy, Mother. I’ll soil your bed,’ Arthur protested, and she could see that he wasn’t exaggerating.

‘Never mind my bed, darling. I want my sweet boy to sit beside me.’

Without any further protest, Arthur sat on the edge of the bed with his feet dangling awkwardly over the edge. He’s growing so big, Elayne thought with regret, and he’ll soon be a man. She looked up at her son and sighed wistfully. ‘I’ve been so worried, Arthur. I was afraid that you would think I was a whore for having carried Artor’s child, and you would cease to love me.’

‘I don’t know what a whore is, but I’m sure I wouldn’t think any such thing,’ Arthur insisted, affronted. He raised his head so he could stare into her smiling face.

‘Any woman who betrays herself and her kinfolk by lying with other men is called a whore,’ Elayne explained carefully, determined that no secrets be permitted to fester between them, even such a simple matter as the meaning of an insulting word.

‘Then you can’t be a whore, Mother, because you didn’t betray anybody. You told me you were half frozen, as was the High King, and you thought you were dying. I could never think of you as a whore, and I’ll kill anyone who says such a terrible thing in my hearing.’

His face was so serious and so adult that she would have laughed had she not also detected the determination and potential violence of a man who possessed the capacity for unthinking rage. With Lady Anna’s warning in mind, she was in no doubt that Arthur would indeed kill to protect the reputations of those he loved.

‘I was so very angry when you told me that Bedwyr wasn’t my sire that I wanted to kill something. There was a burning hot knot right here.’ Arthur pointed to the centre of his chest. ‘But now I feel very lucky. Now I have two fathers, don’t I? One sired me and the other cares for my needs.’

Elayne smiled and hugged him, but then her face contorted in sudden agony. She tightened every muscle involuntarily and Arthur sat up, his face vulnerable with concern.

‘What is it, Mother? What’s wrong? Should I fetch Father?’

‘Yes, sweetling,’ she hissed through clenched teeth as a violent contraction rippled through her body like a sudden unexpected wave. Her forehead beaded with sweat from the shock of the pain, she set the plans for her labour into action. ‘Fetch Bedwyr and Anna, my love. I think your brother comes early . . . and with considerable impatience.’

Frightened by the extreme pallor of her face, Arthur rose carefully from the bed so as not to disturb her further and then ran pell-mell through the wooden hall, bellowing for Bedwyr in a voice made higher than usual by his panic.

‘What’s amiss, lad?’ By a lucky chance, Gawayne had returned early from the ride, and now stopped Arthur with one age-spotted hand on the boy’s shoulder.

‘Mother is in pain. She told me to find Lady Anna and my father. I must go, my lord.’

With a general’s speedy assessment of an emergency, Gawayne swung into action. ‘Lady Anna is in the bower, so go to her now and tell her that your mother is having labour pains. I’ll find your father and fetch him to your mother’s room. Don’t fear, Arthur, for women are far braver than we men. If we had to bear the children, I fear that human beings would cease to inhabit the earth.’

Despite Gawayne’s jocular attempt at comfort, fear loaned wings to young Arthur’s heels, and his entry into the bower caused considerable concern because of his obvious urgency and his terrified eyes.

‘Please come, Lady Anna,’ he begged, gripping his sister’s hand and tugging her towards the doorway. ‘Mother says the baby is coming early, and she wants you there straight away. Lord Gawayne is searching for my father.’ Then, because he was really only a little boy frightened for his mother’s safety, Arthur’s face contorted. ‘It’s my fault. I upset her,’ he wailed.

Anna swung into action with the calm confidence of a woman who had brought many infants into the world. Leaving Arthur in Gwyllan’s care, she bustled out of the bower with several of Elayne’s women to collect bowls of hot water, swaddling cloth and all the other accoutrements of childbirth that Elayne had prepared in advance. Meanwhile, Gawayne had hunted out Bedwyr, who was scrubbing his dirty hands and face in a basin of cold water in the stables.

‘You’re about to become a father again, Bedwyr. My felicitations!’

‘But the babe isn’t due to be born for a month!’ Then Bedwyr was gone, his long legs propelling him swiftly across the forecourt and into the house, concern written so strongly on his usually impassive face that the servants scattered out of his path as he ran.

Elayne sat in their huge bed with pillows piled high behind her back in an attempt to alleviate the force of the powerful contractions that had struck so suddenly. As Bedwyr surged into the already crowded room, she wiped her pale white face with a cloth while attempting to maintain a bright, confident smile for her husband’s benefit.

‘The pains came quickly, Bedwyr, much faster than with the other babes. I’m afraid that I might have affected the child by becoming upset, and he is retaliating by coming early into the world.’

Bedwyr’s eyes flared with panic then, so she grinned to soften the alarming suddenness of her labour.

‘Don’t worry, husband. This is women’s work, and with four living children I’ve proved I have a talent for it. The child will be born, and by the strength of his demands I’d swear he’s a big strong boy.’

Then her grin changed into a grimace as another contraction gripped her. Anna and one of her ladies each held one of her hands and permitted Elayne to grip them so fiercely that her short nails left red crescents in their flesh.

‘This . . . is no place . . . for you, my . . . love,’ she panted, and Bedwyr felt as powerless as all men do in the wholly feminine world of pain, blood and childbearing.

‘You’ve done nothing to harm the babe, and Lady Anna won’t let anything happen to either of you,’ Bedwyr whispered in a voice that wasn’t quite steady.

‘You must leave now,’ Anna ordered crisply, releasing Elayne’s hand as the contraction weakened. Firmly and kindly, she propelled the Master of Arden out of his own room with surprisingly strong hands. ‘Young Arthur was already blaming himself for his mother’s premature labour when I left him, so by now he’ll be quite distraught! He’s with Gwyllan in the bower.’

‘Go to him then, beloved,’ Elayne begged, before another contraction made her bite down on her hand until Bedwyr was sure she would draw blood. ‘Make sure that the little ones are safe with their nurse. Kiss them for me.’ She was panting heavily between the birth pangs, and Bedwyr fled.

Anna was accurate in her assessment of Arthur’s feelings. The boy was pacing along the length of the bower and trying to hold back tears, while Gwyllan was attempting to calm him. Quelling his own doubts, Bedwyr grinned and briefly hugged his son.

‘You’re about to have a new brother or sister, so we must explain to the little ones that their mother will be too busy to put them to bed. Could you tell them stories, so that they aren’t afraid before they nod off to sleep? Although your mother is as brave as a lion, women often cry out during childbirth, so you’ll need to think of ways to explain any noises they hear that might frighten them. Can you do that? Good man! I knew I could depend on you.’

The tumultuous day came to an end, and just before the dawn Elayne was delivered of a sickly, mewling daughter who Anna feared was doomed to die.

‘Not she,’ Elayne whispered, for the birth had been accompanied by a great gush of blood that left her weak and deathly pale. ‘She’s strong and vigorous for all that the poor little thing was born so early.’

Anna’s face said otherwise, so Bedwyr steeled himself to view his new daughter. The tiny babe had no protective layers of fat under her wrinkled skin, which fell in folds over the bone as if she were preternaturally old. Her features resembled those of a wizened old crone, and her skin seemed to be so thin that it was being worn away by the touch of her nurse’s hands. A cap of thick dark hair was the only strong and vigorous part of the little creature’s whole body.

‘I’ll find a priest,’ Bedwyr said sadly. ‘Elayne will take comfort if the child is christened.’

‘The babe won’t die,’ Elayne insisted from her bed, while her women hastened to make her comfortable. She had heard his words with a mother’s sharp ears. ‘She survived the birth, so I swear she’ll live, Bedwyr. This girl is special, and she deserves a name that will match her potential.’

Bedwyr kissed his wife and patted her hand to humour her, sure such a sickly child would be lucky to survive the day. ‘I hope you’re right, beloved, but I’ll still send for a priest. Such a precaution can’t hurt, can it?’

When Elayne nodded absently, Bedwyr kissed her again. He recognised the signs of complete exhaustion, and he pressed Anna to make sure that his wife could sleep without being disturbed before he left the room.

Anna used wide bands of heavy linen to strap Elayne’s stomach, a remedy that Myrddion Merlinus had favoured to prevent dangerous haemorrhages. For a fleeting moment, she considered strapping Elayne’s breasts as well to halt the flow of milk, but Elayne stopped her with a single burning glance.

‘This child
will
live, Lady Anna, and Arthur
will
become a great asset to King Bran. When we are close to death, we sometimes see things more clearly than usual, and I have a powerful feeling concerning both my oldest and my youngest child. Unreasonable as it sounds, I know what I know – although you’ll call it wishful thinking.’

‘Not I,’ Anna replied seriously. ‘I’m old enough to have discovered that the more we learn and educate ourselves, the more we realise how little we really understand about the world. At any road, it’s bad luck to presume that the child will die, so let’s see if she’ll take to the breast. If she can suckle, she will have a chance of survival.’ She smiled down at Elayne before turning to the midwife. ‘Woman, bring the child to Lady Elayne.’

The midwife obeyed, and despite her bone-deep weariness Elayne exposed her breast and pushed the little mouth towards her nipple. The child protested and turned her head fretfully away from the close, suffocating pressure of Elayne’s flesh against hers.

‘Persist, Elayne. She must suckle to gain strength. Perhaps she’s too immature to be able to feed. Have you arranged a wet nurse?’

Elayne nodded tiredly. ‘But she needs my milk at the moment, I know. Come, little one, don’t resist your mother. I know what’s best for you.’

The small battle of wills continued for some time, but at last the little girl parted her lips and Elayne popped her nipple into the toothless, old-woman’s mouth. The child’s unfocused eyes closed for a moment but Elayne stroked the tiny throat encouragingly until, snuffling like a little puppy, the babe discovered she could breathe through her nose. And then a miracle happened in the quiet room. She suckled.

‘Ah, that’s it! You’re a good little girl,’ Anna murmured in mingled surprise and satisfaction. ‘She has a chance now,’ she whispered, smiling down at Elayne.

The babe fed for only a few minutes before she fell asleep on the breast. Elayne had already drifted into slumber, so mother and daughter lay together, resting in the arms of the Mother in perfect trust.

‘Stay with them,’ Anna whispered to the midwife, ‘and ensure that Elayne doesn’t smother the infant by mischance. I’ll send for the wet nurse.’ Then she straightened her aching back and left the room, stretching her kinked muscles as she mentally prepared to take over the reins of the household until Elayne was well enough to resume her duties.

‘What a night!’ she muttered to the empty hallway. ‘How strange fate is. In the space of a single day, my brother has discovered his true heritage and precipitated the birth of a new half-sister. I have seen many strange things in my life, but I’ve a feeling that this day past will be one to remember. I cannot tell whether good or ill is to be the outcome, but Taliesin would say that God moves all in inexplicable patterns.’

Anna found her way to Bedwyr’s hall, where the men would soon be breaking their fast amid much jesting and tedious male chatter of coming hunts. As she raised her hand to push open the heavy door with its simple, woven leather latch, one last thought disturbed her so much that her fingers trembled on the carved knob over which the leather cord was secured.

If the gods are taking such an interest in Arthur and his newly born sister, then the children must be important in the games of power. But are they destined for good or for ill? And how are we poor mortals to discover the answers? Perhaps we will know if the fates allow the infant to live through the months to come.

Anna flushed with shame then, because these thoughts were unworthy of the daughter of Artor, the last High King. Taking her courage in both hands, she entered the hall to put in train her small part in the child’s survival. A shaft of sunlight burst through the dull late-autumn dawning and lit the room through the opened entry at the far end, dancing down the flagstones to catch Arthur’s hair in a net of gold.

He’s wearing a crown, Anna thought, and shivered at the portent. Then Arthur grinned boyishly and the spell was broken.

A new day had begun.

CHAPTER V

A VERY STRANGE EDUCATION

teacher
1. A person, either male or female, who instils into the head of another person either voluntarily or for pay, the sum and substance of his or her ignorance. 2. One who makes two ideas grow where only one grew before.