THE next I heard about Nimuë, she had fled north to the Orcades. Morgaine gave her sanctuary. I did not know how much magic either could command without their demons. Nimuë had to be nearly crippled by the loss. She must have been dependent upon her Netherworld creature for a long time for it to have become so fully formed and for the weight of it to twist her spine.
No hint of rumor leaked out of the windswept islands about the child I knew Nimuë carried.
Before I left Camlann, I had to confront Guinevere. I didn’t want to, but for the sake of my children, I had to make sure she would never threaten them again
The queen had not accompanied Arthur on his journey to Campboglanna. She rarely left Camlann at all. I found her in the storeroom counting barrels of dried fruit — she nibbled at the expensive imported dates more than she counted. For once she wasn’t surrounded by a dozen ladies and servants.
I wondered what drove her to seek solitude in this dark undercroft. Normally she was a sun-loving creature who needed to be surrounded by people.
“What do you want?” she asked, annoyed at any interruption.
“We need to talk.”
“No, we don’t.”
“Two years ago, you tried to kidnap my children.”
“Bastards.” Her eyes lit with malice.
“My children.”
“They threaten my husband.” She turned back to her counting, using her fingers to tally the first five barrels.
“They are babies!”
“They will be the focus of rebellion against Arthur! Archbishop Dyfrig saw it in a vision.” The Ardh Brenhines whirled back to face me. I saw fear in her face and posture. “I can’t give Arthur children. He — he must have an heir, someone who can command the loyalty of all the kings.”
“Agreed. Only a very strong man can keep them together, keep them from fighting each other over nothing. The Saxons wait for any breach in Arthur’s defenses,” I added when her eyes began to wander back to the dates. I wondered again why she sought this solitude.
“If Arthur chooses one of his bastards to succeed him, there will be war. The boy will grab the crown before Arthur dies. Alliances will shatter. The Saxons will come again. Dyfrig saw it!” The fear turned to desperation.
She had grown in intelligence and attention span. But how much of Dyfrig’s vision did she understand and how much did she parrot?
“Dyfrig’s twin brother, my father, saw you betraying Arthur in a similar vision.”
“I would never...”
“None of the children in my care will betray their king. Remember that the next time you are tempted to work mischief among them.”
Dyfrig’s vision claimed one of Arthur’s bastards would attempt to seize the crown before Arthur’s death. Curyll had said that only one of the children in my care could possibly be his. Deirdre.
Arthur’s only other bastard was Mordred. Morgaine’s son, the child who had propped open the gateway to the demon’s Underworld.
I couldn’t tell Guinevere about that child. That information must come from Arthur himself.
“Why are you here?” I had to satisfy my curiosity.
“Dyfrig said I had to deny my faerylike longings. I have to learn to live with aloneness and darkness. But I don’t like it. I don’t like it at all. I want light and laughter and freedom to love where I choose. I don’t like the restrictions religions place on me.”
“Restrictions have a purpose. Light and laughter are not prohibited by any god I have ever heard of. But loving where you choose when you have already made binding promises to another could be disastrous. Remember that as you laugh and sit in the sunshine.”
I had to remember that myself every time Arthur and I came into the same room.
o0o
Berminia and Cai married at the Autumnal Equinox that same year. Bedewyr married his lady — not the one Berminia and I thought perfect for him — at the Solstice.
The marriages seemed to symbolize the settling down of the country and the populace. Arthur’s Companions could afford the time to create a home and family because the country found peace more fun than constant warfare. The warrior class dissipated into contented men who had families to provide for and years of life to look forward to. The Companions still rode out on quests to dispense the Ardh Rhi’s justice and settle violent disputes.
They also became diplomats, keeping the client kings separated over issues that shouldn’t flame into war, but easily could.
A few of the Companions departed on a quest for the Holy Grail, the wine vessel Jesu Christus used at his last supper. His godfather, Joseph of Arimathea, reputedly brought the cup to Britain after the crucifixion. Among the Grail’s magical powers were eternal life for those privileged to drink from it, and bringing the dead back to life.
The stories sounded very much like the Goddess’ gräal of life. But then the Christians held many beliefs in common with pagans, if only they would look before condemning the differences.
Those who sought the Grail endured many trials in their quest. They brought justice to those who had been wronged and they looked deep within themselves, acknowledging their weaknesses and using their strengths. They found inner peace and brought balance back to others. Whichever god controlled the Grail, or the gräal, should smile upon those men. I had been blessed with a vision of the gräal twice. I hoped they found their Grail.
Carradoc rode with the Companions less frequently and he never joined one of the Grail hunts. Pragmatic and unashamed of his sins, he would have little patience with the spiritual nature of the quests.
He was one of the oldest Companions. His many battle wounds pained him. Long days in the saddle followed by bashing a few heads didn’t suit him any longer.
My unwanted husband came home voluntarily for the first time in years.
We faced each other in the courtyard. A dozen people ceased their chores to watch us. I gestured them away. I wanted privacy for this confrontation. But I wouldn’t allow him into my bedchamber until we settled this. Maybe not even then.
“Bitter words passed between us the last time I saw you,” he said. No emotion crossed his face.
I nodded, seeking to understand his motives before I committed myself with words.
“You did not complete your threat of divorce.”
“You stayed away, I had no reason to finish it.” If ever I spoke the words twice more, our marriage would end.
“I would come home again.” He stood slightly off balance, favoring his left side.
What could I say? I didn’t want him here. But I had never denied sanctuary to any who needed the refuge of Caer Noddfa. He could claim Arthur’s justice and force me to admit him to the caer his family had called home for many generations. My family had never claimed a home. We had all of Britain in our care.
But now... ? My children needed a home, roots, a sense of continuity. I had had only Da and missed family more with each passing year.
“Will you strike me again when your temper gets the better of you?”
“Not unless you deserve it.”
“Who determines if I deserve it?”
He shrugged and looked at his boots.
“What about the children?”
“Children need a heavy hand to guide them.”
“Children need love and understanding. Punishment for infractions of the rules shouldn’t always be physical.”
“If they deserve...”
“You must renew your promise not to hurt me or my children. And seal the promise in a circle.”
“Promises are...”
“For cowards,” I finished for him. “So you have said. But promises are also for honor and balance. Will you tarnish your own honor by breaking a promise? Will you upset the balance established by the gods by breaking a promise?”
Grudgingly he drew a circle in the dirt with his boot “I promise.”
“You may stay, Carradoc.” I turned on my heel to retreat to the kitchen. “And I didn’t deserve your blows the last time. I keep my promises.”
“Then why did the Ardh Rhi rush to your rescue if he isn’t your lover?” He took two long strides to catch up with me — within easy striking distance. He had already scuffed his circle with his restless feet. I should have been warned by that ill omen.
“Arthur is my friend.” I turned back to face him. Carradoc respected courage. I’d not give him power over me by cringing away from him now. “Do you have any idea what true friendship means?”
A moment of silence stretched between us while he strove to understand the concept of such a deep and abiding bond between people.
“Where will I sleep, Wren?”
“In the barn,” I called, turning my back on him. I had work to do.
“Not with you, then.”
He had my answer. I continued toward the kitchen without looking back.
o0o
The children grew. I taught them to respect all of the gods, including the Christian one. Carradoc taught the boys how to wield sword, spear, and ax, mounted and afoot. Yvain, to the despair of his father, found my forays into the forests for healing herbs and roots more fascinating than weapons. He concentrated on my lessons better than his sister, Deirdre. She had the magic talent, he had the knowledge and patience. Together they would make one formidable Merlin. If there were any followers of the old faith left by the time they matured.
Cedar and the faeries came back to my spring in the Northern woods. But only occasionally. They complained of the cold in my world and the difficulty in getting through the portal. I saw them most often in the height of summer, when heat and humidity laid a haze across the horizon and distant objects shimmered as if not really in one world or the other. On those hot, lazy days when my hair sprang into wild curls that refused taming, I could sit on the rocks near the pool and watch my friends cavort through the ferns and brush around me. They always asked why I did not bring my lover back to the spring.
I didn’t know how to tell them that Arthur and I could never be lovers again.
When the boys under my care grew old enough and strong enough, they journeyed to court for final training before being admitted into the elite band of Arthur’s Companions.
The day came when Yvain must join his foster brothers at court.
“Now you remember to listen to Bedewyr. He knows as much about horses as any man alive,” I admonished my son as he carried his saddlebag to his waiting horse.
“Yes, Mother.” He smiled at me fondly and kissed my cheek. Grown as tall as his father, he had to bend a long way down to reach me. “Even though I can speak to horses and know what they need, I’ll listen to Uncle Ceffyl.”
“Do you have your winter cloak?” I looked at the slimness of his pack. He couldn’t possibly have enough supplies in there.
“It’s high summer, Mother. I won’t need a cloak until the snows come.”
I glared at him, a word of warning about tricky weather at Campboglanna stalled in my throat.
“Besides, I put the cloak on the pack pony.” My tall handsome son laughed lightly.
“Let him be, Mama,” Deirdre said, hands on hips, an air of effrontery heavy on her shoulders. “He’s fourteen and a man grown. He needs to go out into the world and prove himself, not be cosseted by a doting mother.” My daughter sighed heavily, certain she knew more about life than I ever could.
“You will always be my little baby boy, Yvain. I love you. Remember to write. And come home occasionally.” I followed him out to the courtyard and his waiting mounts.
Carradoc checked every bit of Yvain’s saddle and tack for signs of wear. “You’ll have to replace this strap by the time you reach Campboglanna,” he said curtly.
“Yes,” Yvain replied. He never addressed his father by name or an affectionate “Da.” They rarely spoke except brief comments during arms training. Carradoc still clung to the old style of threading his beard and hair with blue warrior beads. Arthur and most of his Companions had adopted the Roman style of short hair and clean-shaven faces. Yvain cropped his hair and meticulously shaved every day in direct defiance of his father.
Carradoc raised his fist as if to cuff the insolence out of Yvain’s posture. I caught his gaze, reminding him of his promise. Then he looked at his son, grown nearly as tall as his father, with the promise of strong shoulders and lithe legs. When he filled out, Yvain could retaliate for any hurts Carradoc dished out now.
My husband thought better of his actions. He retreated to the pack pony without further words. Bright red patches splotched his cheeks. Someone would hurt tonight after he expressed his rage.
“Take a long fast ride into the hills, Carradoc,” I whispered as I moved to inspect the food supplies on the pack pony. “Burn your anger some way other than hitting someone.”
He glared at me, continuing to clench and unclench his fist.
“Deirdre, run and fetch another loaf of journey bread from the kitchen," I instructed my daughter, turning my back on Carradoc.
Bedewyr, who had come to escort my son to Campboglanna, laughed out loud as I rearranged supplies to make room for another loaf. “We Companions have lived rough most of our lives, Wren. The boy will survive. I’ll teach him how.” He swung up onto his own stallion, eager to be off with his new trainee.
“You just wait until your own son leaves home, Ceffyl. You will fuss more than I.” I wanted to cry. My baby had grown up before I was ready.
Yvain mounted in an easy stride. He caressed the horse’s neck. Its skin twitched under his touch, and it tossed its head with light nickers and grunts. Yvain responded in kind. He and the horse made a remarkable pair. Even Ceffyl stared in wonder at the sight of them together.
“If my little Arthur is allowed to grow up, his mother and I will be glad to be rid of him,” Ceffyl said through gritted teeth. “How can one five-year-old devise more mischief than all five of us at Ector’s could?” He shook his head in dismay.
“Like father, like son.” At last, a little lightness entered my heart. Continuity. Patterns. Our children continued the weaving of our lives.
“Come, Mama.” Deirdre tucked the extra loaf into the pack. She tugged at my hand, drawing me away from the horses. “You promised to show me how to make that poultice to ease winter cough.”
“Yes, but...”
“Good-bye, Mother.” Yvain saluted me with his hand and kneed his horse into a trot.
“Say your farewells to your father, too.” I reminded my son.
He nodded curtly in the vague direction of where Carradoc stood. “If he ever hurts you, you send for me,” Yvain ordered quietly through clenched teeth. “I’ll make sure he never hurts anyone else again.”
With a jaunty salute to his sister, Yvain communicated with his horse in some mysterious manner and trotted out the gate. Bedewyr followed.
Carradoc retreated to the training ground, lashing the ground with a short whip. I didn’t like the sharp crack the leather made each time he flicked his wrist.
“At last, maybe we can have some peace,” Deirdre muttered. “You’ve been fussing over Yvain for weeks. Now can we get back to normal?”
“What is normal?” I asked around the tears that washed my cheeks. “My little boy is gone.”
“Not for good. He’s just riding out to meet the next challenge. You always said that we have to meet change head on and mold it rather than let it catch us unawares and create chaos.”
I looked at my daughter. “Only thirteen and already wise.” Blonde like her father, she had my Da’s deep blue eyes and my untamable curls. She stood nose to nose with me now. A few days from now she’d be taller, more elegant, and much more beautiful.
“What were you doing when you were thirteen?” she asked, hands on hips, tossing her braids back over her shoulders. Half of one plait had worked loose into springy coils.
“I spent my thirteenth summer wandering Britain at my father’s side.” My mind fled back to that long ago time, the last time I had been close to my father. The last time we had shared the wonders of Britain as well as the tribulations of war with the Saxons.
Deirdre looked after the man she called father. Disgust crossed her face. Obviously she couldn’t imagine the closeness Da and I had shared.
“And the following spring you married Papa and began reordering life here at Caer Noddfa. I’ve heard the stories, Mama. I’ve learned all the songs. It’s time to let us grow up and go our own way.”
“I know.” I swallowed the lump in my throat. “But I’d like to think of you and your brother as the babies I bore. He was so tiny and helpless. But you were big and demanding and stubborn from the moment you were conceived.” I ruffled her hair, further disturbing her attempts at restraining her blonde mane. “Don’t leave me for a while yet, Deirdre.”
“I’m still big — bigger than you anyway — and stubborn and demanding. I’m not likely to leave for a while. Gyron won’t be made a Companion for at least another year — more likely two. We’ll marry then. And I’ll probably stay here since he won’t have a permanent home while riding Arthur’s Justice Circuit.”
“You’re far too young to have your entire life organized so completely.” Now that I thought about it, she had always organized the children’s games. She had patience aplenty with them. But she easily lost interest in the lessons I had to teach her unless she needed one specific piece of information for an immediate purpose.
You live in the now, baby. The past means nothing to you.
“I’m the same age as you when Papa asked for your hand,” she retorted to my last statement.
Oh, Dana, was I ever as young as she?
“Gyron has already asked and I’ve accepted. You can’t break our betrothal,” she said haughtily.
“Gyron? That young pup! He is certainly not ready to marry yet.” I’d raised the boy since he was two and sent him away to learn to become one of Arthur’s Companions almost three years ago. I think I cried as much that day as I did today.
“We’ll discuss it while you show me the proper way to mix that poultice, Mama. We have to continue to care for the people here, no matter how much we long to ride with our boys.”
“Yes, Deirdre. I’m glad I still have you to take care of me.”
“It’s about time someone took care of you, Mama. You’ve taken care of all of Britain for too many years.”
Quietly she led me to the stillroom where I kept our stash of healing herbs and medical supplies.
o0o
Yvain wrote home often. His gossipy letters gave me more information about Arthur than I could pry out of a dozen couriers.
Arthur didn’t speak often or very much. But he spoke when necessary. Most of his words and ideas found their way into lengthy missives that traveled the country by courier. Yvain became the favorite and best known of these fast riders. He rode as if he and the horse were two halves of the same being. He continued as courier long after he was ready to be a Companion. He’d rather ride than bash heads.
Deirdre grew into a tall and graceful young woman. She married Gyron by the faery pool on her fifteenth Beltane in an ancient ceremony, both of them barefoot and crowned with flowers. Later that day they recited their vows again before Father Thomas in the village church.
Eventually age crept up on all of us. I became a grandmother one bright spring day the next year, just after my thirty-second birthday. With Deirdre’s permission I took her twins, a boy and a girl, to the sacred spring and introduced the newborns to the faeries. Cedar and his friends approved. Apparently the children had been conceived here in the forest just as their mother had been sixteen years before.
And through all these years of peace and growth, the cranky old raven continued to perch on the well and screech at me every time I passed. How long do ravens normally live? As this one continued into his tenth year, and then his fifteenth, I gave up wondering, accepting his presence as part of my home. Perhaps one raven flew off and died and another took its place without me knowing. I talked to it sometimes. It stared back at me with an intensity that reminded me of my father. Father Thomas and his brood crossed themselves and muttered prayers every time they encountered the bird. They tried chasing him away. He always returned, cackling in tones that sounded like my father, too.
Couriers and messengers continued to use Caer Noddfa as a resting place — off normal routes, but I made the stop worth their while with hot meals and clean beds and peace. Through them I learned everything that happened at court. I followed the politics of Britain closely. From time to time I passed along suggestions, I reminded people to respect the land — forest, field, moor, lake, and river — no matter which god they prayed to.
Then the day came that the twins celebrated their fourth birthday. And Arthur rode through the gates of Caer Noddfa with a young Companion at his side. Curyll at forty-five boasted a few more scars, and more wrinkles around his eyes. Maturity gave him dignity and poise. I found him more handsome than ever.
At forty I should have been beyond physical longing for any man. I wanted Curyll more now than the day we had lain together by the faery pool.
“Wren,” he called to me as he dismounted. “Come see who I have brought to meet you.” He delved into his deep saddlebags for gifts for his grandchildren, not that he’d ever be allowed to acknowledge them.
I hastened into the courtyard, scanning the face and figure of the tall man who grabbed Arthur’s discarded reins. His eyes were a deep, fathomless brown, almost black. In all else, from golden hair to broad shoulders and long legs, he could have been Curyll twenty years ago.
“Mordred, my son, has come to Campboglanna,” Arthur announced proudly. “He’s to become a Companion next week in a ceremony at Camlann. You will come, Wren. Please say you will.”