CHAPTER 3

Low on the horizon, the love-star bloomed in the evening sky. Guenevere moved to the window and carefully lit the tall candle standing there. She stood for a moment willing the tiny flame to speed its message through he night. From her tower chamber, the light would be een for miles. She raised her eyes to the full, smiling moon. Goddess, Mother, she prayed, shine on my love—

As the candle flamed, its honeyed scent of beeswax warmed the air. Behind her she heard the door opening, and the soft familiar footstep of her maid. “So, Ina,” she said tremulously, “what news?”

She heard the maid’s gown rustling as she curtsied to the floor. “King Arthur sends his compliments, my lady, and begs you to join him in the Audience Chamber. King Ursien of Gore has arrived.”

UNEASILY CONSCIOUS THAT he smelled of weeks on the road, King Ursien stood in the low paneled chamber and shifted from foot to foot. “Why does the Queen want to see us the minute we arrive?” he growled to his knight.

You know why, sire, the young man’s troubled glance replied.

Ursien waved him aside. “I’m too old for this!” he groaned. “The Gods know that I don’t need to be welcomed with feather beds and hot coddled wine. But I need my rest after a hard journey, and I can’t play games with the Queen.” Removing his helmet, he ran a hand through his iron-gray hair. “I can’t give her what she wants, Accolon!”

The young knight bit his lip and turned away. Gods above, Ursien cursed, what’s wrong with Accolon now? Mysterious moods, anger, and storms had dogged every step of their long journey south. What was it all about? In his day knights did not act like love-sick maids. But face it, Ursien, he instructed himself bleakly, any old soldier who survives the wars of his youth, not to mention the jousts and tournaments of his prime, is condemned to live on into lesser, weaker days.

But then again, any young knight would feel it if the Queen of Gore vanished into thin air, when he, Accolon, was the only knight on guard. Of course Accolon blamed himself, it was only natural. And not only Accolon, but all his knights had been shaken to the core. It could hardly have inspired them with confidence in their master too, that king or no, he could not hold on to his wife. Look to yourself, Ursien, he thought, before you start blaming other men.

Well, he had failed. Ursien braced his tired shoulders and took a breath. Failing a High King usually meant death. Praise the Gods that Arthur was too magnanimous for that. He of all men knew what the woman was like. But she had had to be disposed of, and Arthur had chosen Gore. And for Ursien, the honor of an alliance with the King’s sister was not to be refused.

The King’s sister.

Morgan Le Fay.

Gods above, what a woman she was! Ursien’s memory shrank to a hard kernel of desire, the lust that had been his undoing from the start. He had to admit that he had grown hot at the thought of bedding her when the time came. That thin body, chalk white face and black hair, those terrifying eyes and huge mouth—she was a woman to thrill the loins of any man. As a hard-bitten old soldier, Ursien had found a special relish in the idea of risking his manhood in a witch’s place of devils, in the most secret part of the she-devil herself.

Well, he had never had the pleasure, or enjoyed that grim sport. He who had so desired her had never possessed his wife.

And he’d thought, hadn’t he, that he was ahead of the game? He’d known there had to be a reason for Arthur’s desperate message summoning him south. Of course he’d heard the palace gossip as soon as he arrived. Arthur was the last man on earth he’d have suspected of any such thing. But when he’d seen the sister, half-sister, whatever she was, he’d understood at once.

Of course he’d suspected that there might be more to hide than a forbidden love, however shameful that was. And with sons of his own, Ursien had no desire to rear another man’s bastard, even a King’s. So when he married Morgan and brought her back to Gore, he had kept her closely confined, surrounded by her women night and day, in case she proved to be with Arthur’s child.

Before long the women had confirmed his suspicions, and the way ahead was clear. After Morgan had delivered Arthur’s child, he reasoned, there would be time enough for his long-awaited matrimonial rights.

Well, he was wrong. She had disappeared, and the boy she bore too, fled from the castle even though he had kept her under lock and key. He grinned mirthlessly. Now he was married and not married, a husband without a wife. He had no desire for whores, nor would he ever take a concubine. He wanted his wife, and his wife did not want him. What Morgan wanted was to play games with them all.

“Games,” he repeated, moving to the window restlessly. Across the courtyard, the low shape of the chapel loomed up through the violet dusk. At the rear of the building, black-gowned monks were passing to and fro, their hands in their sleeves, their bowed heads lost inside their capacious hoods. Snatches of plainsong floated through the air. Through the high window at the end, Ursien could see the altar light glowing red like a dragon’s eye. A leap of memory took him inside, and he let out another groan. “Ye Gods, isn’t there enough misery in the world?”

“Sire?” The young knight Accolon moved to his side, following his gaze.

Ursien pointed. “There.”

He could almost smell the reek of incense inside the chapel, the sweating flagstones, the mildew on the walls, all overlaid by the stink of suffering. “In my day, knights were made without this ordeal of pain. But since the Christians got their hands on the knight-making ritual, I’ve had to watch young men tortured in the name of faith. And I never saw that it made them better knights!”

He turned to Accolon with a gruff grin. “Not you, of course. You were Arthur’s knight before you came to me.”

Accolon bowed. “I was, sire.” A spasm of tension mottled his face and was gone. “If only I had stayed with the King—”

“Nonsense, Accolon!” Ursien briskly cut him off. “You had no choice, remember, the King sent you to Gore. He appointed you to guard Queen Morgan, and become her knight. He knows you never faltered in your trust. And none of what has happened is your fault, none at all.”

Accolon’s face had taken on a glassy sheen. He licked his lips. “Sire—”

“Enough of this! Don’t look so wretched, man. You aren’t the one who has to answer to the King and Queen.” Ursien turned back to the window with a harsh laugh. “And it could be worse. You could be on your knees down there, proving your loyalty.”

He peered out through the pitted, greenish glass. In front of the chapel, a huge knight in full armor stood leaning on his sword. With his back to the closed doors, he stared out over the courtyard, keeping guard.

“It’s Gawain!” Ursien said with interest, drawing up to the window and beckoning Accolon to share his view. “He must be keeping vigil for his three brothers inside. I knew they’d won their spurs at Le Val Sans Retour. I’d forgotten they would be made up this Pentecost.”

Accolon gave another sickly nod. “They should make good knights.”

Ursien tugged his fingers through his grizzled beard and gave the matter some thought. “The younger two, maybe,” he said at last. “But Agravain—”

“My lord!” Accolon cocked an ear. “It’s the Queen.”

There was a flurry outside, and the guard on the door sounded the royal fanfare. The heavy oak doors swung back, and both men fell to their knees. Ursien raised his eyes to see King Arthur handing Guenevere into the room.

She wore a long, full gown of cream-white silk, with sleeves of ermine falling to the floor. Her waist was encircled with a girdle of gold, and a golden cloak swung from her shoulders as she moved. Gold chains and bracelets flashed at her neck and wrists, and moonstones and crystals lit up her long pale hands. Around her head, containing its rainfall of bright hair, she bore the antique circle of the Queens of the Summer Country, with its large pendant moonstone between the brows.

Behind her came Arthur in a tunic of fine red wool, and a cloak of royal blue silk edged with gold. A sword of state swung from his heavy gold belt, and a silver dagger in the shape of two dragons locked in combat snarled at his waist. His thick fair hair was held back by a coronet of gold, and deep bracelets of gold banded both his wrists.

Ursien stared in unaccustomed reverence. All his life he had seen women come and go, queens and camp followers, young and old, fair and dark, fat and thin. But the Queen was different, and above them all. How old was she now, he wondered: thirty? thirty-five? Her tall shapely figure bore no trace of childbearing, let alone of grief. Yet the Gods alone knew what she had suffered in her life. Any other woman who had lost her only son like that would have run mad. Still, her sweet face and luminous smile were just as he remembered them from her wedding day.

Whereas Arthur—

How long was it, Ursien wondered, since Merlin had come to Gore and asked him to take in the unknown boy? The child who had later proved to be the only son of Uther Pendragon, the King of the Middle Kingdom and High King of all the Britons in his time.

Ursien groaned inwardly and felt his age. It must have been thirtyfive years and more since he had taken the child in and placed him with his trusted knight Sir Ector as his foster son. Thirty-five years! And he had to admit that Arthur was showing every one of them now. True, the thick head of dusty fair hair was only lightly sprinkled with gray. But the great bearlike frame was bowed with the weight of care, and deep lines marked Arthur’s face from nose to chin. Yes, Ursien mourned, he was suffering for Morgan still, no doubt about that. As he would for a long time to come.

“Sire—” he said hopelessly.

Guenevere hastened forward to take both of Ursien’s hands. “Welcome, my lord!” she said warmly, as she raised him to his feet. She looked at her husband with urgency. Arthur, Arthur, give a welcome to our old friend Ursien. After all that has happened, he needs our love too. And it was not his fault; he is not to blame.

Arthur’s face did not change. But his tone of voice as he said “Come, Guenevere!” told Ursien all there was to know.

Arthur took up a position in front of the empty hearth, and drew Guenevere to his side. She shivered. How cold he is, she thought, looking at her husband’s withdrawn face. The air in the chamber was chill, and a small wind rattled at the casement with a dismal whine. Guenevere drew her cloak around her arms. This room is cold; we should have had a fire.

Arthur waved Ursien and Accolon to draw near. “So, Ursien, what news?”

Ursien planted his feet like a soldier and fixed his eyes on the ceiling overhead. “None at all, sire.”

Arthur stiffened. “She can’t have disappeared!”

Guenevere clasped her hands, and forced herself to be calm. Arthur, you know she can.

Arthur’s color changed. “And the boy?”

Watching his face, Guenevere suppressed a groan. Arthur, why ask, why torment yourself? Wherever she is, he’s with her, we can be sure of that.

“We’ve scoured the country from our borders to the sea,” Ursien returned. “We searched into the Welshlands, and up as far as the shore looking over to the Druids’ Isle.” He gave a harsh laugh. “Without success. Anywhere in these islands could be home to Morgan Le Fay.”

Arthur flinched at the sound of the name. “Don’t remind me, Ursien! Do you think I’ll ever forget what she can do—what she’s already done to all of us?” He turned to Guenevere, his face working, and took her hand. “Oh, my love—”

He paused, struggling to master his welling grief. “I—I—” He shook his head. “Forgive me, Ursien.” Abruptly he left the chamber, covering his face.

“My lady!” Ursien was aghast. “Did I offend the King?”

Guenevere crossed to Ursien and took his hand. “Don’t reproach yourself,” she said sadly. “The King has never forgiven himself for drawing you into this.” She paused. “When he knew—when we all knew—what Morgan was like—”

Ursien nodded, recovering himself. “Comfort yourself, madam, I did too. I thought I had the measure of the witch.” He laughed savagely. “Never was I more wrong!”

Guenevere shook her head. “The King does not blame you. He knows you did your best to keep her decently.”

“But there’s no keeping a witch and a whore!” Ursien broke in violently. “A thing of evil, who sucks out men’s souls! The King must want to see her stripped and whipped in the marketplace, then broken on the wheel, joint by joint. Not only for all the men she has enslaved, but for Amir.”

A faint gasp escaped Guenevere unaware. She stood quite still.

Amir.

She hardly ever heard his name these days. The sound of it went rolling around in her mind. Then her sight faded, and he came to her as he always did, his arms outstretched, his fair hair glinting like Arthur’s in the sun, his face turning up to be kissed, his sturdy little body warm in her embrace.

Lost and gone, years ago now.

Guenevere gave a violent shudder and came to herself again.

“Never fear, King Ursien,” she said gently, laying her hand upon his arm. “My son is worlds beyond any such revenge. And do not fear that King Arthur would ever take the life of a woman, still less of the queen your wife. She is still his sister, and his own kin too. We are both hoping that she has finished with us now. The King prays every day that she has gone, never to return.” She paused, and nerved herself to say the name. “But if Morgan Le Fay is found, I swear to you that the King will be governed by reason, not by lust for blood.”

Could any woman be so generous to a rival who had seduced her husband, and plotted to take her place? King Ursien chewed at the mouth hairs of his beard. Yes, Guenevere could. Too many had died already against her will. From now on, she would end the march of death. He looked at Guenevere with new respect.

“. . . and till then,” she was saying, “let us make as merry as we can.” She tried bravely for a smile. “Tomorrow we celebrate ten years of our marriage, and ten years of our reign. You must raise a glass with us at the feast, my lord, and drink to the honor of our new-made knights.”

Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. Unexpectedly Ursien felt his old eyes moistening too. So beautiful, so sad, and all alone. What was it he had heard about Lancelot? Well, time enough for that.

With a sweep of her hand, Guenevere gestured toward the window and the world beyond. Outside a deep purple dusk had settled on the Summer Country’s rounded hills and green pastures, its rich forests and wide woodland ways. Above the horizon, Venus the love-star shed her blazing beams. Guenevere smiled.

“The night is clear, and tomorrow will be fine. My Druids tell me that the Old Ones plan to honor our celebrations with a run of perfect days.” She drew Accolon toward her and took King Ursien by the arm. “And when the feast is over and the other guests have gone, will you take the King out hunting in the forest, good sirs, somewhere sweet and wholesome, far away?”

Ursien nodded toward his knight. “Sir Accolon has already suggested as much.”

Guenevere pressed his arm. “Will you ride out with Arthur then, old friend, and help him drive this wretched grief away?”

Ursien’s sigh sounded like a groan. “If we can, my lady,” he said heavily. “If we can.”