The Chessboard Queen (7 page)

• • •

Winter was a time of lazy pleasure for almost everyone at Caerleon except the kitchen servants and Arthur. While the cooks and scullery workers slaved to feed and clean up after the increased population, Arthur sweated over plans, reports, strategy, and the settlement of the constant petty feuds which the leaders of the old British tribes still engaged in. The Romans had given them a thin veneer of culture and a semblance of unity, but whenever the fighting against the invaders slowed, they remembered ancient wrongs and set out to avenge them. Only their loyalty to Arthur kept them from open warfare against each other.

“Look at this, Merlin!” Arthur fumed. “Craddoc has sent word that Meleagant has annexed a village that is Craddoc’s by tradition. He wants me to give him the extra men so that he can battle to regain it. A village! Two fields, three cows, and fifteen people. By the time they finish fighting for it, the cows will have been eaten, the fields trampled, and the people either starved or forced into slavery.”

“You should watch Meleagant, nevertheless. His power is growing and he doesn’t like to have his ‘private’ affairs controlled.”

Arthur waved Meleagant aside. “Not now, Merlin. The Round Table will see to him. Here is another. Maelgwn has let it be known that he has no intention of maintaining watchtowers against the Irish unless he is paid in horses and wine. He also mentions that he will accept daughters of a family of good breeding for fostering, if they are no older than fifteen and no younger than twelve. Wonderful. He has three sons that no woman is safe near and his own wife died last fall. The citizens of Chichester inform me that they have not seen any Saxons in the last seven years and therefore don’t feel the need to pay taxes to me to protect them any longer. Yesterday a trader from York came to complain that his local priest had raped his wife during confession and it was my duty to see that the church paid for the support of the child. Merlin, will you please tell me again? Why have I spent the last fifteen years fighting?”

Merlin smiled indulgently. Arthur was like this every winter. When spring came and he could travel, seeing what he had done and what was needed, he would regain his spirits. It was having to deal long distance with the whines and protestations of supplicants that discouraged him.

“You should be pleased that they come to you, Arthur. It means that your plans are working. You wanted to reestablish central government and you have. Now before they bash each other’s brains out, they appeal to you for a judgment. What we need now is to create an extension of your power. If these children can be taught to look upon a court or an administrator as an arm of your rule, then they will bother you only with a final appeal.”

Arthur leafed through the mass of papers and vellum. He shook his head.

“It won’t work, at least not yet. The people who do the fighting are the ones who will want control of their jurisdiction. It’s all the fault of Macson Wledig. Before he went sailing off to make himself emperor, he handed the cities back to the provincial leaders. They simply realigned themselves back into their old tribes and clans, and we have to deal with that. I need outside people who have no affiliations except to me. They must be able to pass a wise and fair judgment and back it up with strength. They must be respected and maybe a little feared. A long while ago, I considered letting the church handle the matter, but that won’t work, either. The bishops and priests are either too wrapped up in God or too venal. All of them are attached to the local kings through birth or friendship. Anyway, they are the seat of as many complaints as the laity. That’s why my Round Table is so important. I must have men who are willing to answer to no one but myself. The honor must be so great that they can’t be tempted by bribes.”

“If you intend them to be administrators, then why bother with military ability?”

“You taught me it yourself, Merlin. Because that is what these kings understand. If I sent them weak-limbed clerks, they’d spit in their faces and laugh. But strong men, armed and mounted and bringing justice instead of tyranny—can’t you see them? Men of ability, wisdom, and honor and selected for those qualities alone. It will work.”

“I believe you, Arthur.” Merlin had been growing in the feeling that Arthur was confident enough to act without him and lately he had felt sure of it. If only his Queen did not try to assert herself and insist that he give up Camelot and the Table! So far she had bowed to his wishes, but . . . it bothered him. From her infancy, he had not been able to think of her without a gnawing dread. If only he knew why.

“I am getting old,” he thought. “I shall be fifty soon. Too many years have been spent in following unclear prophecies and signs. Sometimes I forget why I began on this road. Soon, soon there must come a time for me to rest. I would like to be able to rest.”

“Merlin?” Arthur brought him back. “Constantine brings word from Cador that several boats crossed to the Saxon Shore before winter set in. Cador thinks that Aelle might be planning to increase his holdings next spring. Apart from a few raiding parties, he hasn’t done anything since I made such a fool of him when I rescued Guinevere. I think we should set a more careful watch on him. Whom can we send?”

They spent the rest of the afternoon on matters of state. Arthur pushed the Round Table to the back of his mind. It must wait until spring. He was relieved when Risa came to tell them that the others were waiting to begin dinner.

He stretched his arms and flexed his shoulder muscles.

“Have we finished most of this? God, how I hate the pettiness of it all. There are times, Merlin, when I devoutly wish you had never taught me to read. Hardly anyone else we know is able to and they seem to get along fine.”

“Go fill your stomach, Arthur. You’ve worked hard. I’ll get someone to clear this up and take the messages as soon as there is a break in the weather.”

“Aren’t you coming to eat with us?”

“No, but I’ll be along later. Save me some ale.”

• • •

Guinevere was having a lovely time. She did not have to be careful of her attitude or speech in this company. They were her own sort and did not think it odd that she missed warm rooms or hearing Roman poets. Constantine and Lydia were family to her by that convoluted network of intermarriage that had gone on for the last two centuries. Constantine had been fostered with her family when she was a child and she remembered him as a noisy ten-year-old. He was eighteen now and showed the effects of his training. He lived up to his august name, and his classical profile would have graced a coin impressively. Lydia had spent most of her life in Armorica with still other relatives, and Guinevere had not met her before. She liked her a great deal and hoped they could convince her to live with them permanently.

In appearance, she might have been her mother, Sidra, twenty years younger and unscarred by disease: not beautiful, but appealing, with a promise of comfort in her eyes. She was watching Geraldus tapping time for his choir. He was also trying to listen to an argument among Arthur, Cei, and Constantine about the need for a further military buildup along the shoreline. The scene reminded Guinevere of those of childhood, with her father and brothers wrangling over an idea. She gave a sigh of contentment and leaned against Arthur’s shoulder. For a second his body stiffened in surprise and then he shyly put his arm around her. She felt a touch of guilt that he should be so pleased and unused to her touch.

Lydia looked as if she would like to speak to Geraldus, but did not have the courage. Guinevere smiled.

“Have you been introduced to Geraldus, Lydia? You mustn’t mind the nonsense people say about him. He is only a little peculiar.”

She meant this to be a statement of fact and was puzzled when Geraldus laughed.

“I am honored to meet you, Lydia,” he said and stood to bow to her. His arms flailed in the air as though he were shaking something off them.

Lydia gave him her hand. “I have heard about you, indeed. They say you are sung to by the angels.”

Her evident awe made Geraidus uncomfortable. He hastened to explain.

“I am accompanied by music of a sort as they say, but I am in no way worthy of notice by the angels. I think that if anyone were to deserve a celestial choir, it would be more likely to be one such as you.”

Lydia blushed and hurriedly asked if they thought there would be snow soon. Guinevere was surprised at Geraidus’ gallantry. He must have been around Gawain too long. Poor Gawain! The best part of the winter was the evening and he always missed it. It was a shame that no one could find a way to cure him. Oh, well. There was always spring. Everything nice happened in the spring.

Chapter Four

Adon lay asleep in the Lady’s arms. He murmured softly as she rolled him away from her onto his back, but did not wake. She patted him with fondness, but absently. She had too much to think of to bother with Adon now.

The time was nearing, she was certain. Lancelot was ready, both in skill and willingness, to be away. They had carefully let drop comments about Arthur and the new society he was creating in Britain. They fostered Lancelot’s ambitions by letting Meredydd continue her preaching to him, although it rankled. He was burning now to enter the world and save it from itself. She could feel the fire in him each time she touched his hand and it maddened her to have to wait until he returned to take him. Soon he would suggest that he be permitted to leave. She would have to appear somewhat reluctant, angry, but not too much. It was a nuisance having to go through all these little dramas. But beneath her annoyance, she was delighted to have something to do, to be released from boredom for another few years.

The silver curtains parted and Torres rushed in. He shoved Adon awake as he bounded onto the bed beside him.

“You have to do something about it!” he pleaded. "Lancelot has some crazy idea that he is going to go out there!” He gestured upward, “Not just by the Lake, but off to some place where humans live! He keeps telling me that this Arthur man is just what he’s been looking for. What is he talking about? What in blazes is a ‘knight’? You’ve got to stop him. He’s been down on the cobblestones praying for the last three hours. He says he needs divine guidance, but I would rather he got some from you. Get up, Adon! This is no time to snore. Put on your pants and come help me!”

The Lady laughed. “You heard him, Adon. See if you can get Lancelot out of the courtyard and I will meet you all in the salon with Nimuë.”

Adon grumbled and reached for his clothes. “Yes, my Lady. Do you think this is finally the time?”

“I do,” she soothed him. “And for your help you may have an extra night if you like.”

He paused to kiss her and caress her breast. “Oddly enough after all these thousands of years, I still do like.”

Lancelot had worked himself almost into a trance by the time they arrived and it was with difficulty that they coerced him to come with them. He kept muttering so about signs, portents, and omens that Torres was relieved to see that nothing fluttered after them as they half-dragged him to the salon.

When he saw the Lady, Lancelot threw himself at her feet. He kissed the garnet rings on her toes and begged her to forgive him and let him go. She lifted his face to hers.

“Lancelot, my dear son, why do you wish to leave us and why do you think we would not release you? Our only bonds on you are those of love. Our only desire is for your happiness and tranquillity. Tell me, my dearest, what is it you wish?”

Lancelot blinked slowly, trying to bring the room into focus. His eyes shifted from one to the other—Torres, Adon, Nimuë, the Lady—loving faces touched with concern. Meredydd must be wrong. How could he have let her convince him that they would bar him from his ambition, his destiny? He laid his head in the Lady’s lap and let her run her hand along his cheek. Did he imagine that her fingers trembled? His hands fumbled with the thin silk of her dress.

“I must go!” he gulped. “It has been laid on me that I must find Arthur and fight at his side, to help the poor lost humans of this island. He needs me. There are not enough who believe; Meredydd has told me so. You know it is true, don’t you? He needs me! Please, my Lady, don’t hate me. I must go! It is sinful to live here in luxury while those outside suffer. Please, oh dearest Lady! Let me go to him!”

His tears made the cloth stick to her legs and trickled most disturbingly between her thighs. She tried to ignore the sensation as she answered.

“Of course, you must go to him if that is what your heart commands. If you believe that this is what you must do, we cannot stop you. But let us equip you, prepare you. You have never been more than a few miles from the Lake. Do you know where Arthur is? What will you do when you find him?”

Lancelot tried to compose himself. “I . . . I had thought to take my sword and shield and walk until I found him and then offer them to him. That was all.”

“My poor darling! There is much more to it than that. Why, dozens of men come every month to do just that. He can’t take them all. You must have an introduction so that he knows who you are and then you still must prove yourself. We will all miss you terribly here, but if you must go, then let us give you the proper gear and instruct you in how to behave once you get there. There is so much you don’t know, Lancelot! There is so much you will need to protect yourself.”

She had said the wrong thing. Lancelot raised his head proudly and shook the tears from his cheeks.

“God will protect me,” he announced, “if it is His will.”

“Yes, yes,” Adon assured him. “But I’m sure He wouldn’t mind if you used the skills He gave you in the defense of others, don’t you think?”

Lancelot did not answer. He appeared to be considering the logic of this, but Adon gave him no time to find an argument.

“We will give you our finest sword and shield and have a spear made that cannot be broken. And Clole will insist you have new clothes, as fine as she can weave. You wouldn’t want to embarrass us by appearing in rags?”