Part 18 (1/2)

QUEEN.

Chapter Nineteen.

It was just cool enough for a fire at the king's hearth, but the light it cast gave very little aid in reading facial features. Gwen could not believe what she had just heard, and stared at their visitor in total disbelief. ”If this is a jest, it is in very poor taste,” she finally managed. cool enough for a fire at the king's hearth, but the light it cast gave very little aid in reading facial features. Gwen could not believe what she had just heard, and stared at their visitor in total disbelief. ”If this is a jest, it is in very poor taste,” she finally managed.

But her father looked completely serious, as did the visitor, the Lady Aeronwen. ”Lady” in the sense of ”one of the Ladies.” The Lady looked outwardly no different from any other woman, and Gwen was not Gifted enough to sense the Power in her; her clothing was unusual only in that it was of plain, undyed white linen and wool, and her hair was unbound, signifying she was not a married woman. There was nothing whatsoever to mark her as a person of any importance at all, but she had been sent directly here from the great School, and Cataruna, who bowed to almost no one, practically groveled to her.

She did have the most piercing dark eyes that Gwen had ever seen; eyes that definitely looked far beneath the surface of everything around her. Her speech was clipped, her manners rather severe. That, of course, was probably very effective against the young women sent to the School, but it cowed Gwen not at all.

And her proposal was . . . well, on the surface of it, sheer insanity. Why in the name of every G.o.d and G.o.ddess should she she become the High King's third wife? She had never even laid eyes on him to her certain knowledge, and she doubted he had ever seen her. And she was twenty-seven. Even if she did look eighteen. Surely he would want a younger bride. become the High King's third wife? She had never even laid eyes on him to her certain knowledge, and she doubted he had ever seen her. And she was twenty-seven. Even if she did look eighteen. Surely he would want a younger bride.

If he does, he'll reject this whole scheme out of hand.

”The High King must must have a queen. He dallied not at all after the death of his first, and there is no reason to wait this time, either. He drew up a pathetically short list of names that he indicated would be acceptable to himself and one or another of his advisors. The only other candidate that we will accept is Morgana,” said Aeronwen flatly, her eyes hard. ”And leaving aside the little problem that she is also the High King's half-sister, she is completely out of the question, because she is completely uncontrollable.” have a queen. He dallied not at all after the death of his first, and there is no reason to wait this time, either. He drew up a pathetically short list of names that he indicated would be acceptable to himself and one or another of his advisors. The only other candidate that we will accept is Morgana,” said Aeronwen flatly, her eyes hard. ”And leaving aside the little problem that she is also the High King's half-sister, she is completely out of the question, because she is completely uncontrollable.”

”Oh. And you can control me,” Gwen replied dryly, raising one eyebrow. The tiny, dark woman flushed, disconcerted. Gwen sensed that she did not often find herself contradicted or her will thwarted.

”That is not what I mean, Gwenhwyfar.” The Lady's glare could have put ice on a pond in summer. ”I mean that you will work for the good of the land, for the good of the followers of the Old Ways, to protect the Folk of Annwn. You will think first of the good of others, not yourself. You have proven that, as a warrior. Morgana will work only on her own behalf, or Medraut's.”

”And leaving aside whether or not Arthur will be remotely interested in a bride who has followed the warrior's path, just how do you propose to get the High King to accept a third wife with the name 'Gwenhwyfar'?” she asked. ”I should think at this point he will regard that as very ill-omened.”

”Or he will hold by the common notion that the third time pays for all,” the Lady countered, and shrugged. ”I confess, I am not in his confidence. I do not know what he will think, I only know that, like you, he considers first the good of his people. He needs an heir, the land needs a queen, and all else is secondary. He is getting no younger. He has no time to waste. We who have counseled him have made very, very sure that he understands this.”

”There is another factor; the High King wants my horses,” her father rumbled, nodding. ”To get them, he will take you. It is a good bargain, as you know I do not part with them easily.”

Her cheeks flamed with suppressed anger. ”So that that is what this is about. I'm now the unwanted part of a horse trade!” is what this is about. I'm now the unwanted part of a horse trade!”

”Unwanted by the High King perhaps, but greatly desired by us!” the Lady snapped. ”The King's second wife did us great damage with her adherence to the Christ priests. The High King grows old; in the back of his mind, I suspect, is the fact that the Young Stag supplants the Old, and Lleu slays Goronwy. The land is not suffering-yet-but if it does, his age may be blamed, and the followers of the Old Ways may look for a Young Stag. The Christ priests do not demand that the High King sacrifice himself-ever. Except metaphorically, of course.”

”And do you?” she asked, pointedly.

The Lady shrugged. ”It has been our experience that the G.o.ds take that in hand before we need to. The Merlin is useless to us now, and the King has decided to forget that his old mentor was a Druid before he was the King's man. Even though you have not the Gifts, Gwenhwyfar, you can undo some of that. You are called 'cousin' by Gwyn ap Nudd, and you are accepted by Abbot Gildas. You can turn some of the rancor of the Christ priests away from us. You can bring Arthur back to us. And perhaps you can supply an heir to the throne.”

Gwen felt like a rabbit in a snare. All of this did make very good sense. She probably was was the best candidate to be the High King's new wife. And she the best candidate to be the High King's new wife. And she could could do much. Unlike many of the followers of the Old Ways-the Ladies being prime examples of that-now that she had actually met with some of them, she didn't think all that badly of the followers of the White Christ. do much. Unlike many of the followers of the Old Ways-the Ladies being prime examples of that-now that she had actually met with some of them, she didn't think all that badly of the followers of the White Christ.

But this was not what she wanted to do! This had nothing to do with her her dreams! dreams!

But I am a king's daughter. And kings' daughters know that duty comes before desire. Kings' daughters know that they will be called upon to sacrifice much. I have had my dream for years. Now . . .

Now it was time to pay for having had that dream in her hands. And it felt horrible. As if something she loved was dying before her eyes.

It's me that's dying. It's the Gwen that is the war chief, the only Gwen I've been for all of my life. And something I don't recognize is going to take her place.

And . . . it wasn't Arthur she wanted to wed . . .

”Am I really the only one?” she asked, in a small voice.

”Would I be here if you were not?” Aeronwen shrugged. ”At least the High King is not in love with you. He was in love with the last Gwenhwyfar, and that did not end well. His wedding to the first Gwenhwyfar was far more arranged than the tales would make it seem; he wanted her father as an ally in the days when he had far fewer. Trust me, he is no stranger to marrying for expedience. For his second wife, he pleased himself; deluded himself, perhaps, but he did not think first of his people, or the Land, and the result was almost a disaster.”

Gwen wanted to ask how the second queen had really died, but-no. It was probably better not to have an answer to that question. Whatever had happened was in the hands and judgment of the G.o.ds. Whichever G.o.ds those were.

It was ironic, when she thought back to her childhood and how when she had heard that the first queen had her name, she had wished she too could be a queen and have goose every day and gowns that were not made-over. Now all she could think was how it meant the end of her freedom, that not all the fine food and handsome gowns in the world would make up for that loss. She had not been willing to give that up for one she truly wished for-and now she was being asked to give it up and for what?

Duty.

Finally she hung her head in defeat. ”If I must . . .” she said reluctantly.

”The alternative is Medraut on the throne,” replied the Lady, her voice showing that she very clearly cared no more for Medraut than Gwen did. ”You know Medraut as well as any of us. You know your sister, who was trained by Anna Morgause, just as Morgana was. You know what will come of that.”

That was no alternative at all.

”Very well. I accept,” she sighed. And I will find some way to have at least a part of my dream, too. And I will find some way to have at least a part of my dream, too.

[image]

But first, as she had feared, she found that to be made into a queen, she must be unmade.

This was a strange world that she reentered. It was not that she had abandoned womanly things so much as that she had made a choice that left no room for them. But now, suddenly, there was a veritable flood of womanliness that had swept her up and was carrying her off, and she watched the banks of simple practicality rus.h.i.+ng past, out of reach, as Cataruna and Gynath and all the women of Lleudd's court descended on her, determined to ”make her over.”

She understood that this was needful. She could not turn up at the High King's stronghold in her armor and tunic and trews. And if she did not act act like a queen she would have ridicule for her portion. If she did not like a queen she would have ridicule for her portion. If she did not look look like one, well . . . not only ridicule, but perhaps even scorn. like one, well . . . not only ridicule, but perhaps even scorn.

She hated it. But she threw herself into it with a will. There was no turning back now, and hard as this was, it had been far more difficult to become a warrior. She had discipline, and she applied it as firmly as she had ever applied herself to learning a weapon, or to ride.

The women began with her hair, which seemed a logical way to start.

She had not chopped hers off short, as Braith had, because it tended to behave itself if properly braided, and what was as important, it made a good padding under a helm. But now it was unbraided and brushed until her head was sore, and washed first in lime-water to make it even paler than it had been, then in rainwater. Then she had to lie with it spread out while it dried. They did all this several times over the course of a week. She got very tired of it by the second round.

With all this came several sorts of baths. Now, as a whole, she enjoyed baths. But she did not really enjoy being being bathed, then oiled, then bathed again, then oiled again, then bathed for a third time and rubbed down with perfumes while there was a woman on each hand and each foot, tsking and fussing over the toes and fingers. bathed, then oiled, then bathed again, then oiled again, then bathed for a third time and rubbed down with perfumes while there was a woman on each hand and each foot, tsking and fussing over the toes and fingers.

When they were done with the bathing, and her hair was finally pale and silky enough to make them happy, it was time for the final step in the process. It was braided up, but no, not in her sensible single plait. Now it was braided in two, hanging down on either side of her face, braided with gold cord, which seemed a shocking waste of gold to her, then the bottom third of the braids were wrapped in a bit of fine cloth, and that, in turn, was held in place by a criss-cross of more gold cord. The braids hung heavily from her temples and made her head ache.

Why couldn't she just keep it loose, like every other maiden she'd seen?

Evidently because that wasn't what a king's daughter did.

She liked to keep her b.r.e.a.s.t.s bound-not flat, and not tight, but enough so that they didn't get in the way or move about and cause problems.

Well, that, it seemed, was completely out of the question. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were to be . . . prominent, and she found herself with braids and and b.r.e.a.s.t.s enc.u.mbering her and making it impossible to move quickly. b.r.e.a.s.t.s enc.u.mbering her and making it impossible to move quickly.

Then there was the new clothing to get used to.

Oh, she was not averse to wearing a gown now and again, provided it was one that was comfortable, easy to move in.

Well.

First, a whole new wardrobe had to be constructed. The women did this at breakneck speed, while her hair and body were being scrubbed like a fish being descaled. The new wardrobe began with the linen chemise, of which she had three. They were fine; they were quite comfortable and very soft and lovely on her almost-raw skin. She would have enjoyed them except that they gave no support to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s whatsoever. Then came the undergowns, with tight sleeves-so tight she could never have drawn a bow or swung a sword or an ax in the wretched things. That was not fine. It didn't at all matter that they were of a perfectly lovely linen and wool mixed, as soft as the chemise. It didn't matter that they had grand bands of embroidery of a sort she could never do herself. It didn't even matter that every woman who looked at them sighed with naked longing. Because they were an absolute horror to wear.