It was nearing midwinter, but the day was full of that soft sunshine that sometimes warms the marrow of an aged year. The dogs ranged through the woods beside the trail and Featherfoot seemed as glad of a chance to go adventuring as I was—it put me in mind of the years in Rheged.
Once past the stream by the mill Griflet looked around nervously. “Do you think the Wizard will be home, M’lady?” The Kennel Master’s brow was furrowed with apprehension, and he crossed himself quickly when a doe bounded unexpectedly across our path. “They say Merlin’s cave is made of crystal that leaps with color in the flicker of a torch, and strange music drifts up from its depths—that’s where he sees things not meant for human sight. Do you think, M’lady, that he’ll expect us to enter it?”
I grinned at Ulfin’s son and suggested that he should stay outside with the horses. In truth I had no desire to go into the Sorcerer’s world either, for Merlin and I had never been friends, but I was very fond of Nimue and wanted to determine that they really were back before telling Arthur about the rumor.
It was the dogs who found the turnoff from the path, rounding a hawthorn hedge and leading us to the edge of a meadow. A single pony watched from the lean-to built into the lee of the hill and nickered as we approached. I called the dogs to heel lest they frighten the animal while Griflet took a long look around.
Bounded on all sides by the forest, the broad breast of the hill was open to both sky and wind. A ledge of gray rock protruded from beneath the long, low opening of the cave’s entrance and the green of ferns indicated a spring close by. The rockwork was free of debris and a pilgrim’s cup rested in the niche above the pooled water.
Something shadowy moved within the cave and Griflet watched it intently as I dismounted and bent to fill the cup. I made a show of pouring out an oblation for the Gods so that whoever guarded the cave could see we came in peace.
“Gwenhwyvaer…”
The sound was clear and unmistakable, and the hair on my arms began to lift. Twice before I had heard the Goddess speak, and now She was calling me specifically by my ancient name.
“White Shadow of the North, well come to Merlin’s home.”
I turned slowly, staring up at the figure that moved into the light of day. She had the form of Nimue, albeit now dressed in the breeches and tunic of a page rather than the white robe of a priestess, but her eyes were huge and black with the presence of the Goddess.
Griflet dismounted and we sank to our knees as the Mother of us all came forward. Earth and sky trembled at Her approach, and I closed my eyes tightly before She laid Her hands on our heads in blessing.
“Why are you crying, child?” The voice was deep and vibrant, echoing with the Otherworld.
“Barren…” I whispered. “I…I can’t have children.”
“Of course you can—and will—in the fullness of time.”
It must have seemed a small thing to the Goddess, for She spoke lightly, as though reassuring a child. The dread that had crept into my thoughts in recent months tattered and dissolved under the spell of Her assurance. Waves of relief flooded through me, and I lifted my face toward Her, still careful to keep my eyes shut. One does not stare into the naked visage of any deity.
Slowly Her hands moved from my temples, across my eyelids, and down my cheeks. When She withdrew Her touch and I finally opened my eyes, it was Nimue who looked down at me. She was every bit as young and beautiful as I remembered, and I was delighted she had returned.
“It is good to see you in such fine health, M’lady,” the priestess said, her voice shrinking back to its normal size.
Griflet rose to his feet and busied himself with the dogs and horses. I noticed that in spite of the fact that he was Christian, he had accepted her blessing without a fuss and smiled shyly at Nimue when she greeted him.
The priestess was silent as we made our way across the meadow, but when we reached the ledge of the cave she gestured to a stump that had been placed among the boulders. “No need to go in. The sun has warmed the rocks and the view is lovely today.”
She seated herself tailor-fashion on the ledge while I perched on the wooden seat, silently relieved that any encounters with Merlin would take place in the open.
“When did you two get back? And why haven’t you come to Court? We heard you went to see Clovis—are the Franks really as barbaric as they say?”
My questions tumbled out in a flood, but the priestess stared out over the vale for a long time before she answered.
“Merlin’s not with me, Gwen. I’ve come back alone…to get things ready…so he can join me later.” Her voice was uncertain until she suddenly turned to me with a smile. “All of Europe talks about the warriors of Arthur’s Round Table. Every Champion wants to join the Fellowship and follow the owner of Excalibur into great battles. Is it true he’s routed every enemy he’s gone against?”
“That’s just rumor; mostly he’s been able to make truces,” I countered, remembering that long ago the Wizard had promised Arthur’s fame as King and peacemaker would outlive his reputation as a warrior. “Whatever has kept Merlin in Brittany?”
Nimue’s face stiffened and she turned away, her voice sinking to a whisper.
“I have given my oath not to speak of that.”
I looked at my friend more closely, searching the face of the girl who had dared to love the timeless Magician. When she first came to Court she’d been a doire, the holy keeper of a sacred well. And though I later learned she had studied with Morgan—who had grown uneasy with her powers and driven her away—there had always been an innocence about her that I trusted.
Now she was changed. Although she spoke with the same gentleness as before, there was something brittle and unyielding in her manner, like the shell of a crab, and it hid, or protected, the innocence I remembered. Even her voice was different—cold and constrained—and I had no choice but to honor her promise not to discuss Merlin’s absence.
So we talked of other things—of Igraine’s death, and King Mark’s marriage, Morgan’s effort to blame me for the young man’s murder and Lance’s saving my life in the Trial by Combat. The priestess listened gravely to that story and asked if I’d spoken with Morgan since. When I told her no, she nodded thoughtfully to herself but made no comment.
For her part, Nimue told me of the places she and the Enchanter had visited together, of the university at Bordeaux where Merlin was much in demand as a teacher of natural science, and of Marseilles where traders from all over the world tie up at the docks and goods from China are bartered for Baltic amber or Spanish oranges.
Her voice warmed as we talked, and by the time I rose to leave she had promised to send word as soon as the Enchanter arrived, in return for my swearing not to reveal her presence in Britain to anyone, even Arthur.
“The people would begin to hound me with entreaties for themselves or questions about the Magician, and I’m not ready for that yet,” she said softly.
So I gave her my word, still wondering what had changed her so.
We walked down to where Griflet waited with the horses, and I gave her a farewell hug. The doire trembled as though on the verge of tears but abruptly began to perform the Blessing for the Road.
“Remember to have patience,” she admonished as I mounted Featherfoot. “This is the springtime of your reign, and you and Arthur have splendid work to do in the kingdom yet. There’ll be time for raising children later.”
I smiled at that, touched and reassured. Merlin, the Great Mage of Britain, had respected her gifts enough to make her the Goddess of his old age, so if Nimue said we would have children, I was content.
When Griflet and I reached the screen of hawthorns I looked back to wave a farewell. The doire stood on her cave ledge, alone and proud, like the first woman of all time. But instead of watching us she was looking up at the sky, searching for something beyond human ken.
***
It was only later, when winter was waning, that the threads of our encounters began to weave into the moira of the future.
Arthur and Lance and I were strolling along the beach at Newport while the dogs snuffled through the seaweed and the gulls wheeled overhead.
“The people and the warriors will follow any suggestion I make,” Arthur mused. “If I tell them we need a code of law, they’ll accept it. It’s the leaders I can’t convince. There’s got to be an answer—Merlin would have one, I’m sure, if I could only ask him.”
My husband paused to pick up a shell, hefted it for a moment in his hand, then let it drop. I wanted to tell him that Merlin was on his way, that the doire had come back and was preparing the cave, but a promise to Nimue was a promise to the Goddess, and I dared not break it. Instead, I turned Arthur’s own thought into a question.
“If you could talk to Merlin, what would he suggest?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Probably something similar to the Round Table…membership as an honor reserved for only a few…those who agreed to follow a certain code…”
He stopped, suddenly engrossed in thought, and Lancelot voiced the idea that had come to all our minds at once.
“Why can’t the political leaders be included at the Round Table?”
The question hung in the air, bright as a thrush’s song, and Arthur turned to us, an exuberant grin spreading across his face.
“Of course! We’ll
use
the Round Table, just as Illtud suggested. Merlin promised the warriors glory when they were starved for it; we’ll do the same for the nobles, but instead of fame in battle, we’ll offer them glory in their Courts. By giving them membership in the Round Table, we’ll extend the mantle of our fame over them—provide them a special aura of excellence…and a code of law, as well.”
He turned to me, full of questions. “Can we do it? Can we make the High Court so admirable, so exciting, so colorful, that every other chieftain will want to be part of it?”
“I don’t see why not.” I laughed, swept up by his vision. “With you and the Cause to build on, Cei’s talent for pomp and Lance’s cavalry tournaments for the warriors, the Pendragon’s Court could become the envy of the whole world.”
I was half jesting, but my husband was absolutely serious, so I hastily amended, “Or at least from here to Constantinople.”
Arthur’s doubts vanished. “We’ll begin this summer. I’ll convene a meeting of all the leaders of the realm and fairly dazzle them with magnificence—give them a chance to see what the Round Table could be, and whet their appetite to join.”
He threw back his head in a wonderful laugh while Lance and I joined in, and all three of us went spinning and gamboling along the edge of the surf like puppies chasing their own tails.
So word was sent from the summer Isles of Scilly to the windswept heights of Pictland that the leaders were invited to attend a Round Table Council in London. There would be feasting and tournaments, games and dancing, and all manner of festivities—all to be presented with as much elegance and panache as we could muster.
“Nothing mandatory, you understand,” Arthur declared, pressing the Dragon Seal on the bottom of the proclamation. “We’ll make them
want
to be part of the splendor—as Merlin used to say, first you catch your horse, then you break it.”
Vinnie was delighted, as it meant further use for the fancy wardrobe she’d created, and Cei set about making his plans and organizing the feasts. As for the guests, whether they knew it or not, Arthur was going to draw them back from the edge of anarchy and make Britain the last western outpost of civilization.
In the midst of our preparations Brigit asked permission to go to her convent. It was now well into spring, and there was no baby to wait for, so I had no reason to keep her with me. By now I was more used to the idea of her leaving and was able to send her off with my best wishes—and a silent request to the Old Gods to keep an eye on her, just in case the Christian God forgot.
It was well she chose to go when she did, for I was too busy to mourn her departure. Everyone was full of plans and excitement, and I had never seen Arthur so happy; he was convinced the change in the Round Table was the most important decision of his career.
***
In that he was right, for our lives would never be the same again.
London
We left Caerleon on a warm spring day with townspeople and farmers all coming to see us off, bringing food and good wishes for the Road as though we were part of their family rather than royal rulers. Everywhere one heard the bright banter of parting friends mixed with the whispered farewells of lovers, for it had been a good winter for the heart as well as the mind.
The pub-master’s daughter presented Gawain with a drinking horn she had carved and rimmed with silver. He was clearly pleased by the gift and drank a toast to her, but later I saw her crying and hoped that the Orkney Prince had not been encouraging dreams he couldn’t fulfill. He might be an easy man to love, but an unwise one to plan on, and I wasn’t sure she was old enough to recognize the difference.
A clutch of girls had pooled their talents to make Lamorak a purse to hang from his belt and teased him about finding a fortune to fill it with; the dyer’s children tied garlands of flowers around the wolfhounds’ necks and gave Dagonet a nosegay as well; even Cei was wearing a bright new ring upon the little finger of his left hand. But when I asked him about it, the Seneschal scowled fiercely and turned away. I was sorry, for I had hoped it betokened a romance of some kind; Arthur’s tax collector was a man too often full of gloomy moods and a bright, sunny love would do him no end of good.