Part 11 (1/2)
Gabran said, on another long, gasping breath: ”Yes.”
”Why?”
”In case the woman knew... guessed... something about you.”
”What about me?”
”I don't know.”
”You are dying, Gabran. What about me?”
Gabran, queen's minion, queen's dupe, told his last lie for the queen. ”I do not know. I... swear it.”
”Then die now,” said Mordred, and pulled the knife out.
They took him straight away to the High King.
15.
ARTHUR WAS DOING NOTHING MOREalarming than choose a hound puppy out of a litter of six.
A boy from the kennels had brought them in, with the b.i.t.c.h in anxious attendance, and the six pups, white and brindled, rolled yapping and wrestling with one another round the King's feet. The b.i.t.c.h, restless and uneasy, darted in repeatedly to pick up a pup and restore it to the basket, but before she had grabbed another, the first would clamber straight out and re-join the tumble on the floor.
The King was laughing, but when his guards brought Mordred in, the laughter went out of his face as if a light had been quenched. He looked startled, then recovered himself.
”What is this? Arrian?”
The man addressed said stolidly: ”Murder, sir. A stabbing. One of the Orkney men. This young man did it. I didn't get the rights of it, sir. There's others outside that saw it. Do you want them brought in as well, sir?”
”Later, perhaps. I'll talk to the boy first. I'll send when I want them. Let them go now.”
The man saluted and withdrew. The hound-boy began to gather up the pups. One of them, a white one, eluded him, and, squeaking like an angry mouse, charged back to the King's feet. It seized a dangling lace in its teeth and, growling, worried it furiously. Arthur glanced down as the hound-boy pulled the pup away. ”Yes. That's the one. To be named Cabal again. Thank you.” The boy scuttled out with the basket, the b.i.t.c.h at his heels.
Mordred stayed where the men had left him, just inside the door. He could hear the guard outside being mounted again. The King left his chair by the leaping fire, and crossed to where a big table stood, littered with papers and tablets. He seated himself behind this, and pointed to the floor across the table from him.
Mordred advanced and stood. He was shaking, and it took all his will-power to control this, the reaction from his first kill, from the hideous memory of the burned cottage and the feel of that weather-washed bone in his hand, and now the dreaded confrontation with the man he had been taught was a ferocious enemy. Gone, now, was the cool conviction that the High King would not trouble with such as he; Mordred had himself provided a just excuse. That he would be killed now, he had no doubt at all. He had brawled in a king's house, and, though the man he had killed was one of the Orkney household, and was justly punished for a foul murder, Mordred, even as a prince of Orkney, could hardly hope to escape punishment himself. And though Gawain had supported him, he would hardly go on doing so now that Gabran's confession had branded Morgause, too, with the murder.
None of this showed in the boy's face. He stood, pale-faced and still, with his hands gripped together behind his back where the King could not see their trembling. His eyes were lowered, his mouth compressed. His face looked sullen and obstinate, but Arthur knew men, and he saw the telltale quiver under the eyes, and the quick rise and fall of the boy's breathing.
The King's first words were hardly alarming.
”Supposing you tell me what happened.”
Mordred's eyes came up to find the King watching him steadily, but not with the look that had brought Morgause to her knees in the roadway at Camelot. He had, indeed, a fleeting but powerful impression that the King's main attention was on something quite other than Mordred's recent crime. This gave him courage, and soon he found himself talking, freely for him, without noticing how Arthur's apparently half-absent questioning led him through all the details, not just of the killing of Gabran, but of his own story from the beginning. Too highly wrought to wonder why the King should want to hear it, the boy told it all: the life with Brude and Sula, the meeting with Gawain, the queen's summons and subsequent kindness, the ride to Seals' Bay with Gabran, the final hideous discovery of the burned-out cottage. It was the first time since Sula's death, and the end of his own childhood, that he had found himself talking - confiding, even - in someone with whom communication was easy. Easy? With the High King?
Mordred did not even notice the absurdity. He went on. He was talking now about the killing of Gabran.
At some point in the tale he took a step forward to the table's edge, and laid the wooden charm in front of the King. Arthur picked it up and studied it, his face expressionless. On his hand a great carved ruby glimmered, making the pathetic thing the crude toy that it was. He laid it down again.
Mordred came to an end at last. In the silence that followed, the flames in the big fireplace flapped like flags in the wind.
Again the King's words were unexpected. He spoke as if the question came straight from some long-held thought, that seemed, to the matter in hand, quite irrelevant.
”Why did she call you Mordred?”
With all the familiar talk behind him, the boy hardly paused to think as he replied, with a directness that only an hour ago would have been unthinkable: ”It means the boy from the sea. That's where they got me from, after I was saved from the boat that you had the children put in to drown.”
”I?”.
”I heard since that it wasn't you, lord. I don't know the truth of it, but that is what I was told first.”
”Of course. That is what she would tell you.”
”She?”
”Your mother.”
”Oh, no!” said Mordred quickly. ”Sula never told me anything, not about the boat, or about the killings.
It was Queen Morgause who told me, much later. As for my name, half the boys in the islands are called Mordred, Medraut.... The sea is everywhere.”
”So I understand. Which is why it has taken so long for me to locate you, even knowing where your mother was. No, I am not talking about Sula. I mean your real mother, the woman who bore you.”
Mordred's voice came strangled. ”You know that? You were - you mean you were looking looking for me? for me?
You actually know who my mother is - who I really am?”
”I should.” The words came heavily, as if loaded with meaning, but Arthur seemed to change direction, and added merely: ”Your mother is my half-sister.”
”Queen Morgause?” The boy gaped, thunderstruck. The boy gaped, thunderstruck.
”Herself.”
Arthur left it there for the moment. One thing at a time. Mordred's eyes blinked rapidly, his brain taking in this astounding new fact, thinking back, thinking ahead. .,-. .
He looked up at last. Fear was forgotten now; the past, even the recent past, forgotten also. There was a blaze behind his eyes that told of an almost overmastering excitement.
”I see it now! She did tell me a little. Only hints - hints that I couldn't understand, because the truth never occurred to me. Her own son... Really her own son!” A deep breath. ”Then that that is why she sought me out! Gawain was only the excuse. I did think it strange that she should want to nurture one of her husband's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds by some girl from the town. And even to show me favour! When all the time I was her own, and only a b.a.s.t.a.r.d because I was born before time! Oh, yes, I know that now! They had been wed barely eight months when I was born. And then King Lot came back from Linnuis and-” is why she sought me out! Gawain was only the excuse. I did think it strange that she should want to nurture one of her husband's b.a.s.t.a.r.ds by some girl from the town. And even to show me favour! When all the time I was her own, and only a b.a.s.t.a.r.d because I was born before time! Oh, yes, I know that now! They had been wed barely eight months when I was born. And then King Lot came back from Linnuis and-”
A sudden complete stop. The excited comprehension vanished as if a shutter had dropped across his eyes.
More things were, coming together. He said, slowly: ”It was King Lot who ordered the ma.s.sacre of ”It was King Lot who ordered the ma.s.sacre of the babies? the babies? Because his eldest son had a doubtful birth? And my mother saved me, and sent me to Brude and Sula in the Orkneys?” Because his eldest son had a doubtful birth? And my mother saved me, and sent me to Brude and Sula in the Orkneys?”
”It was King Lot who ordered the ma.s.sacre. Yes.”
”To kill me?”