Part 20 (1/2)
”He's right, you know,” said one Melion, who was Cian's brother. ”It is only talk, the sort that always happens when a lady is as lovely as the Queen, and her man's away from her bed as often and for as long as the King has to be.”
”It's bedroom door gossip,” Cian put in. ”Do you ask us to kneel down in the dirt and peer through chamber keyholes?”
Since this was in fact exactly what Agravain had been doing, he denied it with great indignation. He was not too drunk to ignore the hardening of the meeting against any idea of harming the Queen. He said virtuously: ”You've got me wrong, gentlemen. Nothing would persuade me to injure that lovely lady. But if we could contrive a way to bring Bedwyr down without hurt to her-”
”You mean swear that he forced his way in? Raped her?”
”Why not? It might be possible. My wench would say anything we paid her for, and-”
”What about Gareth's?” asked someone. It was known that Gareth was courting Linet, one of the Queen's ladies, a gentle girl and as incorruptible as Gareth himself.
”All right, all right!” Agravain, a dark flush in his face, swung round to Mordred. ”There's plenty to be thought about, but by the dark G.o.ddess herself, we've made a start, and we know who's with us and who isn't! Mordred, what about it? If we can think of some way that doesn't implicate the Queen, then you're with us? You, of all men, can hardly stand Bedwyr's friend.”
”I?” Mordred gave that cool little smile that was all that remained in him of Morgause. ”Friend to Bedwyr, chief marshal, best of the knights, the King's right hand in battle and the council chamber?
Regent in Arthur's absence, with all Arthur's power?” He paused. ”Bring Bedwyr down? What should I say, gentlemen? That I reject the notion utterly?” There was laughter and the drumming of cups on the table, and shouts of ”Mordred for regent!” ”Well, why not? Who else?” ”Valerius? No, too old.” ”Well, Drustan then? Or Gawain?” And then in a kind of ragged unanimity: ”Mordred for regent! Who else?
One of us! Mordred!”
Then the woman came in, and the shouting died, and the talk veered away to the harmless subject of tomorrow's hunt.
When they had gone, and the girl was clearing away the debris of scattered food and spilled wine, Mordred went out into the air.
In spite of himself, the talk and the final accolade had shaken him. Bedwyr gone? Himself the undisputed right hand of the King, and, in the King's absence, unquestioned regent? Once he were there, and once proved as fighter and administrator, what was more likely than that Arthur would also make him his heir?
He was still not that: The King's heir was still Constantine of Cornwall, son of that Duke Cador whom Arthur, in default of a legitimate prince, had declared heir to the kingdoms. But that was before he knew that a son of his body would be-was already-begotten. Legitimate? What did that matter, when Arthur himself had been begotten in adultery?
Behind him the girl called him softly. He looked round. She was leaning from the bedchamber window, the warm lamplight falling on the long golden hair and on one bared shoulder and breast. He smiled and said, ”Presently,” but he hardly saw her. In his mind's eye, against the darkness, he saw only the Queen.
Guinevere. The lady of the golden hair, still lovely, of the great grey-blue eyes, of the pretty voice and the ready smile, and with it all the gentle wit and gaiety that lighted her presence-chamber with pleasure.
Guinevere, who so patently loved her lord, but who understood fear and loneliness and who, out of that knowledge, had befriended an insecure and lonely boy, had helped to lift him out of the murk of his childhood memories, and shown him how to love with a light heart. Whose hands, touching his in friends.h.i.+p, had blown to blaze a flame that Morgause's corrupt mouth could not even kindle.
He loved her. Not in the same way, in the same breath even, as he had loved other women. There had been many in his life, from the girl in the islands whom at fourteen he had bedded in a hollow of the heather, to the woman who waited for him now. But his thoughts of Guinevere were not even in this context. He only knew that he loved her, and if the tale were true, then by Hecate, he would like to see Bedwyr brought down! The King would not harm her, he was sure of that, but he might, he just might, for his honour's sake, put her aside....
He went no further. It is doubtful if he even knew he had gone as far. Oddly for Mordred, the cool thinker, the thoughts were hardly formulated. He was conscious only of anger at the vile whispers, the stain on the Queen's name, and of his own renewed distrust of the twins and their irresponsible friends.
He recognized, with misgiving, where his duty lay as King's watcher (king's spy, he told himself sourly) among the Young Celts. He would have to warn Arthur of the danger to Bedwyr and the Queen. The King would soon get to the truth of the matter, and if action had to be taken, he was the one who must take it. Duty lay that way, and the King's trust.
And Bedwyr, if it were proved that he had forfeited that trust?
Mordred thrust the thought aside, and on an impulse that, even if he recognized it, he would not admit, he went back into the house and took his pleasure with a violence that was as foreign to him as his mental turmoil had been, and that was to cost him a gold necklace in appeas.e.m.e.nt next day.
11.
LATER THAT NIGHT, WHENtown and palace were quiet, he went to see the King.
Arthur, as was his wont these days, was working late in his business room. His white hound Cabal lay at his feet. It was the same puppy that he had chosen on the day Mordred was first brought to him. It was old now, and scarred with the mementoes of some memorable hunts. It lifted its head as Mordred was shown in, and its tail beat the floor.
The servant withdrew, and the King nodded his secretary out of the room.
”How is it with you, Mordred? I am glad you came. I was planning to send for you in the morning, but tonight is even better. You know I have to go to Brittany soon?”
”It has been rumoured. So it's true?”
”Yes. It's time I had a meeting with my cousin King Hoel. I'd also like to see for myself how things are shaping over there.”
”When do you leave, sir?”
”In a week's time. The weather should be fair then.”
Mordred glanced at the window curtains, where a fitful wind plucked at them. ”Your prophets tell you so?”
The King laughed. ”I; go to surer sources than the altars, or even Nimue at Applegarth. I ask the shepherds on the high downs. They are never wrong. But I forgot, my fisher-boy. Perhaps I should have asked you, too?”
Mordred shook his head, smiling. ”I might have ventured a prophecy in the islands, though even the old men there were often out of reckoning; but here, no. It's a different world. A different sky.”
”You don't hanker for the other now?”
”No. I have all I want.” He added: ”I would like to see Brittany.”
”Then I am sorry. What I wanted to tell you is that I plan to leave you here in Camelot.”
In spite of himself his heart gave a jump. He waited, not looking at Arthur in case the latter read his thought.
As if he had - which, with Arthur, was even possible - the King went on: ”Bedwyr will be here, of course. But this time I want you to do more than observe how things go; you will be Bedwyr's deputy, as he mine.”
There was a pause. Arthur saw with interest, but without understanding, that Mordred, who had lost colour, was hesitating, as if not knowing what to say. At length Mordred asked: ”And my - the other Orkney princes? Do they go with you, or stay here?”
Arthur, misunderstanding him, was surprised. He had not thought that Mordred was jealous of his half-brothers. If his mission had been a military one, he might have taken Agravain and Gaheris with him, and so drawn off some of their energy and discontent, but as it was he said, quickly and definitely: ”No.
Gawain is in Wales, as you know, and likely to be there for some time. Gareth would not thank me for abstracting him from Camelot, with his wedding so near. The other two can hardly expect favour of me.
They stay here.”
Mordred was silent. The King began to talk about his forthcoming journey and the discussions he would hold with King Hoel, then about the role Mordred would a.s.sume at home as deputy to the regent. The hound woke once, and scratched for fleas. The fire dwindled, and Mordred, obedient to a nod from his father, fed it with a log from the basket. At length the King had done. He looked at the younger man.
”You are very silent. Come, Mordred, there will be another time. Or even a time when Bedwyr will be the one to go with me, and you the one to remain as temporary king. Does the prospect dismay you so much?”
”No. No. It is - I am honoured.”
”Then what is it?”
”If I ask that Bedwyr should go with you this time and leave me here, you will think that I outrun even the ambition of a prince. But I do ask it, my lord King.”
Arthur stared at him. ”What is this?”