Chapter Four

Summer 497

Combrogi—that’s what he called them. It was an ancient word meaning “fellow countrymen,” but to Arthur, it meant much more. Those men were his most trusted advisors, his brothers. They were also the strongest warriors in the land. Led by twelve prime members, each represented his own tribe and took Arthur’s decrees back to their lords. It was a relationship based in mutual trust. He hid nothing from them and listened to their thoughts, in return expecting them to respect his decisions and be open with their opinions. If that bond were broken, so too would be the tenuous peace that united us as one land.

They were more than a war council and something other than a team of advisors. Together the decisions the Combrogi made had to take into account the temperament of their lords, the needs of the peasants, threats from within and outside our borders, and still reconcile conflicts between generals in such a way they would supply Arthur’s needs for men, horses, and supplies.

As queen, I was now one of them, attending my first of their quarterly meetings held on each of the solar festivals. The Combrogi gathered in Arthur’s circular meeting hall, the area I had mistaken for a shrine on my first day at Camelot. Arthur and I sat in thrones raised slightly above the other seats. All others were equal in their places. A few chairs stood empty, waiting for the return of men who were out on assignments for the king.

Today my father occupied one of the open spaces. He was not technically a member of the Combrogi, but since he was visiting, he had insisted on sitting in. Arthur wasn’t pleased by this, but because Northgallis’s support would be crucial in the upcoming war, he’d acquiesced. He had, however, drawn the line at allowing Father Marius to accompany my father. Arthur had explained that not even Merlin attended these meetings and if Leodgrance felt the need for spiritual direction, he could obtain it in private, just as Arthur did.

As Gawain began his report on how the adoption of the stirrups and chainmail was progressing, I caught sight of a shadow drifting from left to right, right to left beneath the chamber doors. If I listened closely, I could hear the almost imperceptible sweep of fabric across the stones followed at even intervals by the whisper of Latin.

Marius. I smiled. It must have been killing him to wait outside, two armed guards barring his entrance. At least this was the last time he’d darken our doors for a while. He was leaving for Rome in the morning, called there by the leader of his religion to report on the spread of Christianity in our fair isle. With any luck, they would keep him there.

“The men are adapting to the new armor much better than the horses are to the new saddle and stirrup, my lord,” Gawain was saying when my attention returned to the room. “We are having some difficultly training them to it.”

“Perhaps if you didn’t beat them into submission, they would respect you rather than fear you,” I answered, temper rising quickly.

Horses were sacred to my family as a symbol of the Goddess. Call her Epona, Rhiannon, or any other name, horses were her animals, and I could not bear to see them harmed. I had never seen them mistreated until I came here. In Gwynedd, we loved our horses, letting them warm to us, and earned their trust over time. What resulted was a lifelong bond that was broken only by death. During one of the Irish attacks, I had even seen a horse turn on an enemy soldier when his rider was threatened.

In contrast, these northern men knew no way to get an animal to do their bidding other than to break its spirit. Horses, oxen, dogs—it didn’t matter; they wanted to dominate them all with whips and brands. I suspected they used the same tactics on their women.

I had hoped my position would help end their barbaric practices, but I could do little to make Arthur see reason. I had even demonstrated to the Combrogi how I’d learned to train my own horse and showed them how he could be taught to tolerate the modified saddle. But my advice had fallen on deaf ears, and the reason was always the same—“It takes too much time. Time we do not have.”

Arthur shot me a reproachful look. “Guinevere, we have discussed this. If anyone can show me an effective way to tame the stallions that does not take months of work, I will gladly employ his methods, but until then, we must continue with what we know. It is imperative that both horse and rider learn to accommodate our new offenses as quickly as possible.”

Gawain wisely moved on to another subject before I could respond. But he wasn’t talking for long before the chamber doors burst open and my heart stopped. Sweeping through the door with great agitation was my former fiancé, followed by a man whose angelic gaze took my breath away.

Aggrivane bowed before Arthur, ignoring me completely. “Your Majesty, my lords, I apologize for the interruption. But word reached me you were looking for this man.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder at Lancelot. “I have found him, and I now happily deliver him to you.”

Something in Aggrivane’s voice told me he was still smarting from Lancelot’s victory at the tournament in Dyfed two summers before. The pair had obviously not bonded on their journey here.

Lancelot bowed, first to me then to Arthur. “I am pleased to be of service to you, High King. Please tell me how I may help.” His accent made every word sound as though it tumbled on a light breeze.

Arthur gestured for the two men to sit. The only empty chairs left were on either side of Tristan, directly opposite me, so I had no choice but to look at the two of them. Lancelot smiled warmly at me, but Aggrivane still refused to acknowledge my presence.

Arthur addressed Aggrivane. “I thank you for doing what no other of my subjects seem capable of—” He nodded at Lancelot. “Harnessing the wind. As a gesture of my thanks, Aggrivane, you may take a place among my Combrogi, if you wish.”

I stopped breathing. No, no, no, no, no. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening. Arthur knew our history. He couldn’t be so thick as to name Aggrivane one of his most trusted men, could he?

But then I remembered Arthur’s deal with Lot, who had led an unsuccessful rebellion shortly after Arthur came to power. As punishment, Lot’s sons were forever under Arthur’s control, and Arthur preferred to keep them as close as possible. I let out a silent sigh, sagging in my chair. It looked as though I would have to get used to having my former lover around, something I was not comfortable with. As much as I had learned to be happy with Arthur, part of my heart still belonged to Aggrivane.

Aggrivane looked at Arthur with great surprise. Apparently he hadn’t expected so kind a reception either. “My Lord, I am honored to accept.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes to steely darts directed at Aggrivane. “My offer is, of course, based on the provision that you have kept your word to me.”

I looked from the man I’d thought would be my husband to the one who was. As far as I knew, they hadn’t seen one another since the night Arthur proposed to me and sent my life crashing down around me. I had no idea what promise Arthur could have extracted from Aggrivane.

Arthur’s features relaxed as Aggrivane nodded slowly. “Good. I look forward to seeing proof of your fidelity.” He turned his attention to Lancelot. “I assume my lord Lothian has told you I have taken your advice on how to improve our forces? You are well-known for your skill with horses, are you not?”

“Oui,” Lancelot answered, somewhat perplexed.

“Then you will join us in the stable yard at noon. We are all eager to see what you can do.” Arthur banged his fist on the table three times, and the meeting was adjourned.

“What did he mean, ‘proof of your fidelity?’” I demanded as the door boomed shut behind me.

Aggrivane didn’t look up from where he sat, drinking deeply from a cup of what smelled like strong red wine. The shutters were shut, blocking out the daylight, so the only illumination came from the fire pit. But in that subtle glow, I saw him wince.

“Why do you not ask him yourself? He is your husband.” The words were forced through gritted teeth.

“Aggrivane, do not do this. Do not behave like this,” I begged.

“How am I behaving? Like a jilted lover? No, I have no right to that title.”

His sarcasm stung. I crossed my arms defensively, as if to ward off his anger.

“Tell me, how long after I left that night did it take you to fall into his arms? Or his bed?”

I ignored his question. “Need I remind you that you left me? You left me to face my unwanted fate all alone. The least you could have done was stand by my side and fight for me.”

He wrenched the cork from a bottle and poured himself another glass of wine without looking up. “What good would that have done? He is High King. I am nothing in comparison. From what I hear, your fate was sealed long before that night. You were never intended to be with me.”

“Arthur was not aware of our relationship. Did you know that?”

Aggrivane met my gaze then, apparently speechless.

“If you had stayed, if we had faced him together, none of this would have happened. We might be together now.”

Aggrivane swallowed hard, the shadow of what could have been darkening his eyes. “Might is the operative word. He could just as easily have dismissed me and taken you to wife anyway. He bears no love for my family, remember? Even now he uses my father’s attempted rebellion to hold me to foolish promises.”

I bent in front of him to grasp the arms of his chair. “Exactly what proof does he expect to see?”

“You do not want me to answer that, my queen.” His face was only inches from mine, but he kept his eyes trained on the crimson bottom of his cup.

“Aggrivane, please stop with the formality. It is only the two of us here. Remember us?” My mind flashed back to the night we were reunited at Corbenic and our frantic lovemaking. My cheeks flushed, but I doubted he saw it. “Answer the question.”

“Fine.” He let the silence stretch out before meeting my gaze with cold, emotionless eyes. “Arthur wishes to meet my wife.”

I recoiled as though he had punched me in the gut. “You are married?”

The words hung in the air like a bird gliding on the wind.

Then he shot them down with the only arrow that would find the mark. “And you are pregnant.”

My hands automatically went to my belly. It wasn’t yet obvious through my clothing, so someone must have told him. “Yes, I am.”

I moved away and opened the shutters.

He squinted at me through the bright light. “Well, we make quite the pair, do we not? Both married to people we do not love and you with a child on the way.”

“I never said I do not love Arthur,” I said automatically, then the full meaning of his words hit me and my stomach clenched. “Wait—you are not in love with your wife?” I sat across from him, unconsciously leaning toward him.

“Do you really think I could fall in love with someone in such a short time?” He sounded hurt. “I do love Camille but not the way I loved you.”

I cringed. Camille? What sort of name was that? It sounded fitting for a cat or maybe a prize dairy cow.

“When my father sent me away, it was back to the Saxon border where he knew my mind would be preoccupied with other things, like staying alive. Sometime later, I heard of your wedding. That was a grim time for me, and I will not insult your intelligence by saying I spent that night alone. It was easy to find comfort in the arms of a stranger.”

Hurt bubbled up inside me. Telling me he had been with a whore or his wife was a whore, whichever the case may be, was not helping.

“A short time later, a messenger from the king arrived, instructing me not to return to court for at least six months, and even then I could not return without a wife.” He cocked his head at me. “It seems your husband wanted to neutralize any threat I may be to his new marriage.”

I glowered at him, silently willing him to get to the point.

“Once the snows cleared, I’d had enough of battle and decided to visit the court of my uncle Uriens. Aunt Morgan says hello, by the way.” He raised his glass to me mockingly.

I gave him a derisive smile. He was clearly enjoying himself.

“I walked into a hornet’s nest there, but it all turned out well.” He swung his feet up onto a footstool, set his glass down, and laced his hands together on his abdomen, waiting.

He clearly wanted me to ask him to continue, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Moments passed as we stared at one another, neither willing to budge. I considered the appropriateness of labeling anywhere Morgan was a hornet’s nest. She would have been their queen bee.

Finally, I gave in with a heavy sigh. “And what was so interesting in Rheged?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Aggrivane smiled. “My wife.”

I thought I was going to vomit, and it had nothing to do with my pregnancy.

“I will wager you did not know Uriens had a daughter, did you? Well, she is adopted. Her parents died in a fire when she was a child. She still has scars on her hands. She spent some time in a convent, but with no family to provide for her expenses, they could not let her stay. So Uriens took her in. It is a shame the nuns could not keep her; she would have made a great nun, wanted nothing more in the world.

“Anyway, she was caretaker to Accolon’s sons and Morgan’s new baby when I arrived. She was content too, but Uriens insisted she marry. He said without a husband, she was a drain on the family’s resources.”

“So she married you,” I concluded, happy to have his drawn-out tale finished.

Aggrivane wagged a finger at me. “Eventually yes, but not yet. Let me finish the story.”

“I wish you would.”

“You see, Camille is a Christian.” He waited for me to blanch, but I carefully kept my face neutral. “She believed she belonged to Christ just as much as if she had taken vows in the convent. She refused to marry and, in an act of rebellion, cut off all her hair.”

My mouth dropped open. “But the only women who wear their hair shorn are slaves. It is sign of bondage.”

“Yes, it is. For Camille, it was a sign of bondage to Christ. She was his slave, so she made certain no man would want to marry her.”

“But you did.”

Aggrivane dropped his eyes to his cup again. “When I arrived, Uriens was threatening to sell her into a brothel or let her starve on the streets. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Don’t act as if this was all charity on your part. I almost said it, but something in his expression stopped me.

“But you also saw a solution to Arthur’s provision,” I reminded him.

“Yes, it worked out well for us both.”

My browed furrowed. “How did you convince someone so bonded to Christ to give up her virginity to you? That is still a condition of marriage in her faith, isn’t it?”

A small rumble echoed in Aggrivane’s throat. “Religion be damned. The marriage was not consummated, so it is not valid in that way, but it is still legally binding. However, if you tell anyone what I have shared with you, Camille and I are ruined.”

I briefly considered shouting it from the rooftops. Slowly, I understood that his risky admission was Aggrivane’s way of apologizing. If I wanted to ruin him and have him removed from court—and Arthur’s good graces—I could. He’d willingly given me the key.

Aggrivane rose and slowly advanced on me. “I allow Camille to live as a spouse of Christ, and she enables me to be here. Once Arthur has met her, she will return to Rheged and help raise Uriens’ children and grandchildren. Do you understand? We live a lie because it suits us. She is there, and I am here. I am here because I—”

He was interrupted by a light rapping on the door.

“Enter,” I said, thinking it was one of the guards calling me to the stables.

The door swung open, and a young woman with dark hair and eyes entered. Her face lit up at the sight of Aggrivane, but she immediately dropped into a curtsy when she noticed me. Her short, uneven hair prevented her veil from lying flat on her head, and she wore thin gloves. This was obviously Camille.

“Your Grace, they told me I might find my husband here. I am—”

Her voice was as placid as her eyes, but in spite of Aggrivane’s confession, I couldn’t stop jealousy from surging through me. I cut her off. “I know who you are. Your husband was just telling me all about you.”

The threat was meant for Aggrivane, but Camille’s frightened expression said she’d perceived its meaning as well.

They both bowed as I swept from the room.

The sun was shining merrily, birds were chirping, and people were joyfully calling to one another as they readied for the midsummer festivities beginning at sundown. After my encounter with Aggrivane, I was in a foul temper, and the last thing I wanted to do was stand around with the Combrogi and watch some boy charm horses, no matter how attractive he was.

As Arthur approached the stables with Lancelot, his arm slung around the Breton in friendship and their heads close together in conference, I reconsidered my assumptions. Maybe it wasn’t fair to call Lancelot a boy. He had to be near my age, perhaps a few years younger, but he had a face so open, an expression so innocent, I doubted even the most evil spirit would dare assault his virtue. Not that I was under any illusion he was as unsullied as he appeared; enough wandering warriors has passed through Northgallis and Corbenic for me to know better. In his years on the road, chances were good Lancelot had warmed the fur-lined beds of queens and lain down in flea-ridden brothels—and chances were equally good he was at home in either place.

The Combrogi, a few of their wives, and a smattering of servants, stable hands, grooms, blacksmiths, and the like were gathered round as Kay led one of the more troublesome young horses out into the courtyard beyond the stalls.

“Ho there, handsome. Let us see you work your magic,” a woman called to Lancelot from deep within the crowd.

Lancelot did not respond, only smiled self-consciously.

Arthur bid him to begin. “Her name is Danu,” Arthur told him of the horse.

Lancelot stood still for a long moment, watching the animal, noting her every move from the flick of her ears and the twitch of her tail to the way she pawed the ground and how her muscles rippled as she took in his scent. It reminded me of the way he had sized up his opponents in the tournament.

Slowly, Lancelot raised one arm, holding his hand out to the horse as though asking her to dance. The filly snorted and pawed the dirt again, but Lancelot moved forward, never taking his eyes from the animal’s. He approached at an angle so as not to frighten the beast, pausing if the horse backed away, and when he was nearly in front of her, Lancelot crooned to the animal in his native tongue.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? He’s whispering sweet nothings in her ear.” Malegant laughed derisively while someone else made kissing noises.

Arthur shushed Malegant and his friends with a warning glare, but Lancelot didn’t notice. He was stroking the mane and muzzle of the filly. Several men muttered amongst themselves in disbelief at how quickly the two were taking to each other.

“The only misunderstanding that ever comes between horse and rider is born from spoken language,” Lancelot spoke to us. “Believe me, they understand your intention, know your every move before you do. Nothing is lost on them, but we fail to have a way to clearly communicate our desire through words.

“Your king tells me many of you resort to violence to make your wishes known.” He shook his head reprovingly. “How many of you would beat your wives if they did not understand you?”

A ripple passed through the crowd.

“Ah, perhaps that is the wrong question to ask here. Let me put it to you another way. How many of you would harm a child who was only learning to speak?”

The crowd was silent. Lancelot had their attention now.

“Horses are much like children,” he explained, not bothering to look at us as he stroked the horse. “Though I have known several who surpass men in their intellectual capacity”—he glanced at the pair who had made fun of him and fixed them with an unfriendly stare—“we must approach them as we would a child. Because as with our young, we cannot simply tell horses what we wish them to do. We must show them, earn their trust, and they will learn from us.”

Lancelot motioned for Kay to hand him the saddle. Lancelot opened his palm to the horse, who greedily snuffled something out of it, and I swore she looked at Lancelot with appreciation. “You are all experienced riders. Certainly you know a treat will put your horse at ease just as a sweet pacifies an ill-tempered child.”

Lancelot held up the saddle in front of the horse, showing it to her and motioning his intention to heave the burden onto her back. The horse snorted and her nostrils flared, but she only stamped in place. Lancelot whispered to her again, and the animal steadied. Slowly, with all the care of a mother dressing her child, Lancelot secured the saddle on the filly’s back, giving her another handful of oats to reward her good behavior.

Lancelot stepped back. “It is not the stirrup they fear but you. A saddle is a saddle, but because of the way you introduced it, they associate it—and you—with pain and humiliation. I tell you this—if you continue in this way, your horses will rebel and you will lose your cavalry completely.”

“Arrogant arse. Thinks we do not know our own horses,” Malegant muttered.

“I think he makes some good points,” Gawain replied.

I rolled my eyes. I had told them the exact same things only weeks before. But would they listen to a mere woman? No. But a foreigner whom they barely know? Of course. He had proved himself worthy of attention by besting them all at the tournament. Plus, it was clear he had Arthur’s backing, something I could not manage.

After another few words of encouragement, Lancelot slipped his boot into the stirrup, mounted the horse, and led her in a tight circle.

“Bollocks!” Malegant cried, still firmly on the side of flogging.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at him. “Indeed? You have not seen enough? Would you like to try, or shall I show you again?”

Malegant only crossed his arms and grimaced.

The horse shied and bucked slightly when Lancelot urged her forward, and Lancelot was smart enough to know when it was time to give the animal a break.

“I will see to her myself,” he said to the grooms. “Continuing the flattery into routine grooming is very important. It lets her know you are there for her in all things, both unusual and mundane.” He smiled. “Somewhat like a romance.”

Several of the women giggled, and a blush warmed my own face. Try as I may to dismiss his charms, I was smitten. Lancelot began to lead the horse inside, ignoring the tittering onlookers.

Arthur called after him. “Lancelot, wait. A moment of your time, please.”

“Wait for me inside,” Lancelot instructed the grooms who led the horse away.

Arthur clapped Lancelot on the shoulder. “What you have done here today is nothing short of miraculous. You have accomplished more in mere moments than we have in months, all with no harm to anyone. Will you do me the great service of staying on at Camelot as my master of the horse? My men will learn much from you.”

Behind Arthur, I made a face. If he had listened to me, we’d have had no need for this new prodigy and would be well on our way to having the horses trained by now.

“Ah, oui,” Lancelot answered with a humble smile. “Yes, gladly.”

“Excellent. Tonight at the festival, you will swear allegiance to me and my queen and take your place as a member of the Combrogi.”

Malegant scowled. He had been jockeying for that position since Arthur was crowned. He huffed away through the crowd, a bitter grudge taking shape with each step. Lancelot was proving quicker to make enemies than friends.

Lancelot stared after him. “Perhaps we did not get off to the best start,” he said as I neared.

I watched Malegant’s receding figure stalk back toward the castle.

“I think not.” I placed a reassuring hand on Lancelot’s arm and took a deep breath, trying to decide the most delicate way of saying what was on my mind. “Malegant is a proud man. He does not take kindly to correction, so you will need to be diplomatic in your dealings with him. You should be gentle in your interactions with all of the Combrogi. Brothers in arms though they may be, they eye one another suspiciously even on the best of days, so think how much less trust they have for a foreigner, especially one who begins by telling them they are wrong.”

“She is right, you know,” Arthur put in.

Lancelot nodded, apparently seeing my line of reasoning. “I fear I have painted myself a fool.”

We advanced slowly toward the great stables so Lancelot could finish his work.

“I would not say that, but it would be wise for you to try a different tack, something less chastising and more encouraging,” Arthur said.

“As you noted, they are experienced soldiers and horsemen, not green squires who do not know their way around a saddle,” I said. “In your new role, they will be forced to look up to you, like it or not, so it is important you give them a reason to respect you.” I glanced at Arthur. “We will do everything we can to help persuade them toward you.”