I dressed in the new willow-green gown Hannah had made for the occasion of the Ardh Rhi’s wedding. I might not be able to weave and sew very well myself, but my steward’s wife delighted in creating fashions. The soft wool, spun very fine from the long-haired sheep of our Northern hills, swished about my ankles in graceful eddies of color. Elegant clothing had never enticed me before. Today I wanted to look and feel a part of this grand celebration — my armor against the raw emotions inside me.
I braided my hair in a dozen different sized plaits, looping them into an intricate style worthy of any Roman matron. Today I would not fade into the shadows, but take my place at the front of the crowd.
Da might absent himself, but I, as a priestess, could bless the union as well as The Merlin and the Christian archbishop who presided. I must. For all of Britain, I must make certain that Arthur was bound to the land. His strength would be our strength. His vision of peace, justice, and law would become our vision.
We gathered outside the western portal of the small church below the Great Hall of Camlann. I wondered that Arthur chose this small military outpost for the wedding. Dyfrig had crowned him in Caerduel, a large town on Hadrian’s Wall used by Romans and Britons for centuries. The stone church in Caerduel could hold hundreds of people within its walls. Only the bride and groom’s immediate party would fit in this tiny building. So Arthur guided his bride through the streets of Camlann toward the arched doorway with Archbishop Dyfrig standing just inside the building and the rest of us filling the streets and lanes of the hill fortress. Gray streaked the archbishop’s hair and beard making him look even more like The Merlin than ever.
And my father was not present to confirm or deny that he and the Christian prelate were one and the same man.
As the daughter of The Merlin and wife of a powerful lord, I pushed forward to the front rank of witnesses. Cai and Bedewyr made a path for me, grinning excitedly that their friend and foster brother had found love. They expected me to feel as they did about a beloved childhood friend and companion rather than a lover marrying another woman.
A bevy of young maidens trailed behind Guinevere in the procession. She wore white and gold again, shining in the afternoon sunshine like a visitor from Annwn, the Otherworld home of faeries. Beside her, Arthur’s war-hardened companions appeared dull and grim, firmly anchored in this world. Arthur also wore white and gold, with a band of purple on his toga denoting his status. But he didn’t glow like Guinevere or the magnificent sword he wore within a jeweled scabbard — Excalibur, the other kingly artifact he hadn’t worn that day by the faery pool. Both Guinevere and the sword showed evidence of Otherworldly origins. I wondered then if the new queen was indeed one of the faeries, or a half-caste able to move between the worlds freely, semi-mortal and able to tap strange magic. If I had mated with Cedar and survived, our child might look like this....
I jerked myself back to this reality. I had one mortal child and carried another. My mortal life suited me fine. I had no need to wish for a half-caste faery child.
Leodegran basked in Guinevere’s light. My old friends Lord Ector and Lady Glynnis preened with pride that their foster son had grown into his heritage. Cai and Bedewyr tried hard to look grim and forbidding with hands on their sword hilts. Their role as protectors of the Ardh Rhi was merely ceremonial today. No one wished Arthur or his bride ill. Beside Arthur strode Lancelot, his most trusted friend and companion, a brother in all but shared parents. Tall, and dark, Lancelot was one of the most beautiful men to walk the Earth. But my heart did not quicken at sight of any but Curyll.
At supper last night Lancelot had merely nodded a greeting and not spoken. He stood beside his king equally silent today. He looked into the distance rather than at the happy couple. Some great sadness haunted his perfectly proportioned features.
Then Guinevere’s gaze wandered from greeting the crowd to the face of her groom, not lingering anywhere long. Then she looked at Lancelot. Their eyes met for a brief moment. His features softened and saddened. Then he looked away sharply, new creases of grief showing at his mouth and eyes. A quick shadow of regret also crossed Guinevere’s face.
I froze in horror.
Da had seen, or foreseen, the deep love between these two. If they ever slipped and dishonored her marriage vows, there would be trouble. Arthur and Leodegran had enemies within and without the kingdom. Guinevere’s adultery could be interpreted as a loss of strength in Arthur and trigger civil war. Jealous client kings looked for excuses to depose any who held authority over them.
Arthur — my friend Curyll — needed my help, not my curses. Frantically, I sought for a way to protect him. Right now, I had to prevent any spell Da might send from reaching its target. Later Arthur and Guinevere needed time together to let their love grow. She cared for him. He was besotted with her. The marriage as well as the political alliance could work. Did I dare interfere with their lives?
I had to prevent a mess before Da created one.
Quickly I drew two sprigs of rowan from my ever present sach. I whispered a little spell into each, a spell that would block outside magic. Da couldn’t use a big flashy spell in this case. He needed to be subtle and quiet. The rowan should be enough.
As Arthur and Guinevere passed me in the procession, I slipped one of the sprigs into the flowers in her nosegay. The other went into Lancelot’s belt. I was back in place beside Cai and Bedewyr before they knew I’d been gone.
I thought furiously, seeking a solution. If I found a reason to draw Lancelot away from the royal household, the marriage had a chance.
I forced myself to pay attention to the simple wedding ceremony that bonded Arthur to Guinevere, an Ardh Rhi to his Queen. This union had to succeed, for my friend’s happiness and the well-being of Britain.
When it was over, and Arthur had gathered his wife into his arms for a passionate kiss, I eased back into the crowd. My husband remained close to the king’s companions, a happy grin on his face. Those most closely concerned with the wedding moved into the church for a nuptial mass. I would not partake of this ceremony though I approved of the form. Dyfrig had blessed the union in a way the Goddess would approve. The ritual mass followed many of my own invocations of divine power.
“I see you do not enter the church,” a man whispered behind me. His deep voice flowed in melodic patterns. A bard’s voice. A familiar voice as beautiful as the man’s face.
The child within my womb stirred uneasily. I turned to face him. “Lancelot.” I nodded a greeting but kept moving away from the church toward the hall. “You, too, shun the nuptial mass?”
He didn’t reply, merely moved beside me, taking my arm as if escorting me.
“Your grip is too firm, almost desperate. Do you need a healer?”
“No healer can cure me.”
“Perhaps I can offer refuge.” As I had offered refuge to many who had lost sight of the pattern of their lives. “The North Country is troubled with outlaws and wild tribes. We have need of extra warriors. Arthur might consider dispatching you to us.”
“The Ardh Rhi has need of my sword here, near the center of Britain.”
“My friend Curyll has need of swords and strong men to wield them all over Britain, not just here. Now that the Saxons are beaten back, there is no common cause to bind us together. We are a fractious lot, we Britons. There are also the men who have lost everything in the wars and do not hesitate to take from others in a blind attempt at vengeance. Warriors like you, who are as good with their swords, would ease many of the troubles in the North.”
He nodded curtly.
“You speak as if my father’s lessons in poetry and legend linger. Such a gift has many uses — especially in maintaining peace.”
“Possibly.”
“I will ask that you return with Carradoc and me.”
“I am grateful, Lady Wren. But your husband is a strong lord, a fierce warrior, and loyal to Arthur. You do not need me.”
“But you have need of us. Caer Noddfa has healed many wounded spirits as well as broken lives. I will remind Curyll that Carradoc is but recently recovered from serious wounds. He does not have the gift of words or a golden voice. I will do my best to bring you to Caer Noddfa.”
He nodded curtly again and moved off toward his own quarters.
The baby moved again, a fluttering shift in her position like a sigh of regret that Lancelot no longer stood nearby.
o0o
Da and Nimuë strolled into the Great Hall moments after I did. She clung to his arm possessively. He leaned his head close to hers, listening intently to her whispered comments. Both wore black, a matching pair.
If they were not lovers yet, they would be soon.
Other wedding guests mingled in the hall, waiting for the bride and groom and their party to return from the nuptial mass. Dyfrig was with Arthur and Guinevere in the church, Da was here in the Hall. Two men wore the same face, both closely tied to Arthur as advisers and spiritual leaders. Which of them held sway at the moment?
I had no reason to mistrust Dyfrig other than the absence of faeries in Camlann. They feared the priests of the Christian Church even though I had learned to work beside some of them.
Very soon the faeries might have to retreat to Annwn forever to make room for the followers of the White Christ and their saints. I would miss the joy and beauty they brought to this world. I would miss their friendship. But I saw no other course of action that would maintain a balance of peace between the old ways and the growing influence of the Christians.
Da patted Nimuë’s hand as if to reassure her. Then he removed her grip on his arm and moved to stand directly in front of me. I couldn’t politely ignore him or turn my back on him. If I left now, I’d have to leave the wedding feast entirely. Arthur needed me here to counter any further mischief my father and his lover planned.
“You did something to counter my work!” he said, eyes blazing.
I returned his stare with wide eyes that I hoped appeared innocent. “What do you mean?”
He fumed a moment, then swallowed his anger. “You look well, Wren, now that you are rested. Pregnancy agrees with you,” he said.
“Your granddaughter is mild-tempered, unlike your grandson who was restless and hungry from the moment he was conceived,” I replied. Too many people listened for me to say what was truly in my heart. Beware of Nimuë. She wishes only harm and mischief. Nor did I ask if she initiated a spell to disrupt the wedding.
Old hurts remained in my heart. Da and Nimuë made a likely pair.
A whiff of Nimuë’s heavy perfume invaded my senses. Cloying, with a hint of sulfur and old wood, it meant to imitate a woman’s musk but failed. I immediately jumped backward in my memory to the night I had surprised Morgaine in Ygraina’s bower. The princess had been working dark magic that night. Magic that summoned demons from another world to aid her quest for power.
She had worn the same perfume.
I fought the urge to make a horned fist, warding against Cernunnos.
“I should like to watch my grandchildren grow, Wren. May I visit you at Caer Tair Cigfran?” Da’s words jerked me back to the current reality.
“We are now Caer Noddfa, a refuge for all who ail in body and spirit. We are a haven in a troubled world, a balance of peace against chaos. Only one cranky old raven resides there now. I banished all of the others, no thanks to your lover.”
“Ravens? Did you supply that marvelous omen that sent the Saxons into a panic when it looked as if they would win the battle of Glein River? Except for those birds, we might all be Saxon slaves now.”
“I noticed that you took credit for the ‘miracle.’”
“I was given credit for it. The birds flocked to the field at the moment I rode to protect the dragon standard and to rally our retreating troops. I thank you, Wren, for your most timely interference.”
I nodded my acceptance of his gratitude. I hadn’t planned on interfering and manipulating. All I wanted was to rid my home of a plague and restore a balance.
“May I come visit my grandchildren, Wren? Nimuë would like to make the acquaintance of her half brother, too.”
“You may come when the Ardh Rhi gives you leave. I cannot deny my husband’s home to his eldest daughter or to the king’s adviser.”
“But you will not invite her or me.”
I didn’t answer. The uncomfortable silence stretched between us until he returned to stand beside Nimuë.
Off to one side, Morgaine stood by a portly man many years her senior, most likely her husband, King Lot of the Orcades. He looked bored. She took in every movement and word around her avidly, hungrily. She had left her black hair unbound, contrary to custom. It billowed about her face in a tangle of curls that defied gravity and a comb. A white streak began at her forehead and shot back through the length of her mane. She wore rich black-and-silver draperies that floated about her in wispy tendrils, the same as her hair. Her clothing hid her body effectively. No one could tell her figure or her age to look at her. I sensed she had put on weight since our last encounter. She could carry Lot’s child and no one would know.
How much of the cloud of black around her was hair and cloth and how much an aura filled with bitterness? She narrowed her eyes in speculation as she stared at my father and me. Then her eyes slid to Lancelot’s grim face. A knowing smile played across her mobile mouth. Mischief danced in her eyes.
Here stood a woman who could become a formidable enemy to any who crossed her. More patient and practiced than Nimuë. Where did her loyalty lie these days? Certainly not with the three adolescent boys who stood impatiently by her side. She ignored them totally, including the middle boy, Gwalchmai, her son by her first marriage.
Arthur and his bride returned to the Hall, without Dyfrig. The Ardh Rhi gazed at Guinevere with the total absorption of a man in love, oblivious to the hundreds of people gathering close to wish him well. Guinevere kept her eyes on her shoes. Lancelot stared at the ceiling.
I empathized with the Ardh Rhi’s Champion. I hurt deep inside knowing that the man I had loved since childhood had taken another woman as his bride. But I carried his child. I would cherish this baby. Lancelot didn’t have that kind of comfort.
Eventually we all settled down to enjoy the feast. Servants brought us the best of the harvest along with a variety of meats and fish. The bounty of the Goddess smiled upon this meal, a sure sign that with a nudge here and there the pattern of life in Britain could remain just as bountiful.
My small sanctuary in the North was just one piece of the pattern, interlocking with many others.
Jugglers, tumblers, and musicians took turns entertaining us. I picked at my food, watching them all warily, waiting for the disaster I knew must come. From my father and Nimuë, from Morgaine, or Lancelot?
Nimuë sat on Carradoc’s left. I on his right. There wasn’t room for her next to my father. Morgaine had usurped that place while her husband and their sons sat farther away, separated from the other client kings.
My husband and his daughter spoke frequently in animated whispers. They touched in fond caresses and loving glances. They barely noticed me, and I ignored them. My attention was on my father and the Ardh Rhi.
As the servants cleared the debris of the feast, petitioners came forward. By long tradition Arthur was obligated to show mercy and grant favors on such a great occasion.
A farmer requested help rebuilding the walls dividing his fields. Warriors had knocked them down to clear a battlefield. The farmer lost his two sons in the battle and had no one to help lift the heavy stones.
A minor lord requested a gift of land as dowry for his daughter. Floods had destroyed much of his land during the bad years of Uther’s reign.
A merchant wanted license to peddle his wares across the seas in Armorica, the continental peninsula we called Less Britain.
Another farmer demanded justice. His neighbor had seized land from him while he was away defending his lord’s caer. The lord had died while absent and no one had assumed his place to decide disputes.
Arthur weighed all of the requests and handed out just settlements. I approved of each decision.
Then a woman stepped forward holding the hand of a small boy. He couldn’t have been more than five and had nervously stuffed a fist into his mouth.
“Your Highness.” The woman dropped a deep curtsy to the Ardh Rhi. Her accent was shadowed with Roman intonations, as if British were not native to her tongue.
“Lady Claudia.” Arthur nodded his head and gestured for her to rise.
“Highness, I seek a boon for my son.”
The smoky air hung heavy within the huge building. The room grew silent, as if the many hundreds of people within sensed the import of what was about to happen.
Lady Claudia plunged ahead with her speech, as if she knew her courage would not last the length of it. “Do you remember, my lord Ardh Rhi, that summer eve five years ago when you carried a message to my lord husband from your father, Ardh Rhi Uther.”
“I was too late. Your husband had already left for the field of battle.” Arthur narrowed his eyes and clamped his mouth shut.
“You stayed the night. Accepting my hospitality.”
Arthur nodded. Guinevere clutched his arm, her knuckles whitening with the fierceness of her grip.
“When my husband returned to our villa, he accepted the child I carried as his own. But he died last summer in your service. Saxons overran our land. I have nothing left to support the child. I beg you, Your Highness, to acknowledge your son and pay for his upbringing.”
An excited babble broke out at this unprecedented request. Certainly men had sired bastards before, but requests for support and acknowledgment were conducted in private.
Another woman stepped forward with a toddler in her arms. The little girl was perhaps two. The mother’s gown was not so fine as Lady Claudia’s and her accent came from the hill country to the west of Camlann.
“l, too, Your Highness, need your help with the raising of your child. She has no dowry and no man has been willing to take me to wife since I bore a bastard child. Your child.”
Five more women stepped forward, all with children ranging from the age of eight down to one that looked to be born any moment. I doubted Curyll could have sired the eight-year-old. The Ardh Rhi had been only a child himself then. But any of the others...
Guinevere must have thought the same thing. Her white skin took on a ghostly pallor. The thin gold circlet she wore as a crown looked too heavy for her. She opened her mouth to speak, but Arthur touched her hand in mute comfort. She closed her mouth, gulped and blinked rapidly to suppress tears. She looked around as if seeking an avenue of flight.
Nimuë giggled lightly behind her hand. “I told The Merlin this would work. Better than a mere spell.”
Carradoc’s guffaw nearly drowned out her whisper. Others in the crowd released the tension with more laughter, none of it truly mirthful.
My father looked incredibly pleased with himself.
Lancelot stood, hand on sword, as if he could fight this threat to Arthur’s kingship with metal weapons. Cai and Bedewyr drew their weapons as well.
Curyll’s eyes met mine, challenging me to come forth as well.
I wanted to run from this hideous scene. I remained seated, my hands clasped tightly in my lap and my mouth firmly closed. If I could not confess our tryst to the father of my child, I certainly could not confess to all those assembled. Carradoc wouldn’t let me live long enough to leave the Hall.
“At least the kingdom knows how virile I truly am,” Curyll said. A half-smile tugged at the corner of his lips. The same half-smile I knew from long ago. As a boy that expression warned his foster brothers to duck or run. He had a plan.
My tension eased, but I didn’t relax, not yet. Not until I knew Arthur would not group me with these other women.
“I will not apologize for my bachelor behavior,” Curyll shrugged. “But I vow before God and all these witnesses, that I will be faithful to my new queen from this moment forward.” He bent and gently kissed Guinevere on the lips. She remained absolutely still, not returning the kiss.
“What of the children, Your Highness?” Merlin asked.
“We cannot put them on a rudderless boat and cast them out to sea. Nor can we push them out into the cold to fend for themselves. All of these women need help.”
“I will not have your bastards in my household,” Guinevere whispered, I doubt anyone heard her, but the movement of her lips said it all.
“Ladies, do I presume that all of you wish to remain at court, accepting my bounty in the names of your children?”
In union they nodded. Guinevere started to rise, ready to flee. Arthur’s heavy hand on her shoulder kept her in her chair.
“Very well, I will care for your children.” He paused and looked each woman in the eye. “They may even call themselves my children if they wish. But if you, the mothers, wish to remain at court, you must in turn give up your children. If you choose to keep your children by your side, you will leave my home and withdraw your claim.” Grimness touched his features.
Two of the women clutched their babies tightly. They searched the room for someone to give them easy answers. No one offered them.
Nimuë’s face turned redder than her hair in barely contained anger.
I hadn’t believed Curyll capable of such cruelty. But this wasn’t Curyll anymore. This was Arthur Pendragon, Ardh Rhi of Britain.
“I will not have your bastards in my household,” Guinevere repeated.
“I agree, beloved.” Curyll’s hand on her shoulder became a light caress. “I shall establish a royal nursery elsewhere. I can think of no better governess for these children than the respected daughter of my chief adviser and the wife of my loyal warrior, Carradoc. Lady Wren of Caer Noddfa, will you accept the charge of these children in your home along with a yearly income to help raise and educate them?”