THE CHESSBOARD QUEEN
The Guinevere Trilogy (Book 2)
Author: Sharan Newman
2014 Reissue Edition
5.5"x 8.5" Trade Paperback
Retail: $14.95US; 252pp
ISBN 978-1-62268-062-7 print
ISBN 978-1-62268-063-4 ebook
LCCN 2014935714

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THE CHESSBOARD QUEEN
The Guinevere Trilogy (Book 2)
Author: Sharan Newman

Chapter One

The misty, mysterious coast of Britain had been visible for hours, but to the man who peered at it through a blur of nausea, it did not appear to be getting any nearer. He stumbled back amidship, where his horses, even more ill than he, were hobbled and blindfolded so they could not tell what was happening to them. On his way, the man fell against one of the sailors and mumbled his worry that the island was receding constantly before them. The sailor pushed him away with a sneer.
    "Don't be an ass! We've been skirting the coastline to land in Cornwall. It may take us as much as another day with the winds running against us. We'll be tacking all the way there."
    "But why can't we land there?" the poor passenger moaned, pointing to the tantalizing shore.
    "Fine with me, if you want your throat cut by the Saxons. They control the whole southeastern part of Britain now and no ships but their own dare come near it. Now, why don't you stop lurching about in our way and take care of those animals you brought? Phew! What a stink! I'd like to know what you paid the captain to let you bring them aboard. Of all the fool ideas!"
    The passenger was small, a full foot shorter than the sailor, and had to listen to his harangue for several more minutes before he could get away. At last he escaped and made it to the small shelter on deck that had been set up for the horses. He entered it and immediately slumped against the flank of the nearest one. He breathed deeply of its familiar odor and felt better, strengthened by the musky scent.
    Caet Pretani had not been in Britain for almost six years, not since he had run away from Leodegrance, his master, and begged passage on a trading ship bound for Armorica. Then he had been a boy, frightened, lovesick, and driven by a need to become something great. Now he was a man. He had attached himself to one of the grand families there and worked his way into a position of trust and honor. He had proven himself a dozen times in battles against the Franks and other northmen and made many friends among the British exiles, even the lords, who admired his riding skill and knowledge of horses.
    His dark good looks and taciturn manner had also intrigued the women of the lord's house. The fact that he never made any advances to them was fascinating and his shy surprise at their interest very touching. Since he was never such a fool as to offend a lady with rejection, he had learned a great deal about life as well as love from the kind and often lonely women.
    Certainly his life had been as successful as his most ambitious dreams. So why was he returning to Britain, to a place that offered him nothing, where he had been born only one generation out of slavery? His friends had tried to keep him. His own lord had offered to make him master of the horse, but he had refused. He had never meant to stay away so long.
    "They won't know me, anyway," he reassured himself. "I've changed a lot, broadened in the shoulders if I'm no taller, and the beard should disguise me well enough. Who will remember me as I was then? They hardly looked at me. And I must go back. It is my land much more than theirs and I know things that Arthur doesn't. And she . . . she may need me."
    He clutched at the small leather bag around his neck. In it was an amulet, made and blessed for him by his greatgrandmother, Flora, and around the amulet were woven five long strands that shone pure gold when he allowed them to lie in the sun. But they were softer than metal and finer than any goldsmith could work. He would not admit that these were the real reason for his return. Whatever happened to him, even to Britain, he had to see her again. Someday there might come a time when she would. . . . He thrust the bag back under his robe. There was no point in thinking it. There were some things that Caet Pretani did not even dare to dream.
    At last the ship reached land, anchoring in the lee side of a cove on the Cornish coast. There was no town there, not even a villa, but the ship's master knew that there were traders waiting for him not far inland. The goods he had brought were lowered into boats and rowed ashore. One man stayed to guard them while the others returned for the difficult job of getting the horses back to land.
    Caet had assured the captain that this would pose no difficulty. "I've made them each a canvas sling with a hook on the top. They can simply be lowered over the side as you do the other cargo."
    With the animals standing placidly at the dock, it had seemed logical. As they were hoisted into the air on the long wooden crane, he wasn't so sure. The nostrils of the first one lowered were flared in terror. As it landed in the rowboat, it snorted and reared. The sailors, who were waiting to row them in, leaped overboard out of the way of the hooves, leaving Caet in the boat alone. He managed to quiet it and released the sling.
     The second horse was even more frightened than the first and it had to be carefully placed next to the other to keep the balance even. Caet heard the comments from the men hanging on the side. He tried to ignore them. These animals were precious to him and he was not about to take their suggestions seriously.
     When the second horse touched the rocking boat, both of them seemed to go mad. They stamped and plunged in terror and one of them leaped into the sea, kicking a large hole in the side of the boat as it did. Caet jumped in beside it as it floundered and removed the blindfold, allowing the animal to see and swim for the shore. Caet then shouted for someone to unseal the eyes of the remaining horse. One man managed to pull the cloth away as the second animal entered the water, capsizing the boat.
    The captain stood in the prow of the ship, shaking his fist in fury and telling Caet in no uncertain terms what his fate would be when he was caught. Caet could not make out the words above the wash of the waves, but he knew that it would be well if he and his mounts were far away by the time the sailors managed to land.
    They came ashore somewhat west of the place where the trading goods had been left and so avoided the guards. Caet hurried the horses away from the coast, up a narrow rocky trail. A few hundred yards away, the forest began. Even within its shelter, Caet feared discovery. He led the animals farther into the woods, avoiding the traveled paths for several hours, although he knew they were exhausted from the swim and dangerously cold and wet. Finally, he realized that they could go no farther. He had begun to search for some form of shelter when he smelled a campfire nearby. The thought of warmth drove him to risk investigating it.
    He saw only one man, sitting on a log near the fire. His dinner of freshly caught rabbit was sizzling on a spit made of his short sword. Caet peered around, looking for evidence of companions, but there seemed to be no one else. The aroma of the meat reminded him that he hadn't been able to eat anything in the whole three days of the channel crossing. He studied the man. He was big, well muscled, and held himself as if he were used to sudden action. But he was whistling merrily and that decided Caet. He stepped into the clearing, faced the man, and raised his hand in the old salute.
    "Hail, friend," he called and his voice sounded as waterlogged as his boots. "I am a fellow traveler, in need of company and a warm fire. Will you share yours?"
    The stranger looked up at him and smiled broadly. "Surely, friend, you appear to have waded a river up to your neck. Come and dry yourself. I've a spare cloak in my pack. Wrap yourself in that and lay your things by the fire. There is meat enough for two. I shall be glad of company, but I would be grateful if you would give me your word that you will not entertain me with song. I have journeyed for the last month with one who never stops singing and I am willing to do almost anything else to pass the time."
    Caet grinned and began settling his horses and himself. "You needn't fear. I have been told that my voice is preferable only to that of a toad; therefore, I take the hint and only play the part of audience to music."
    "An important part and highly underrated. We should get on well. Those are fine animals you have with you. Are you planning to sell them? I know where you could get a fair price."
    Caet was busily rubbing down the horses and covering them. Their harnesses and the packs he had tied to them had not been lost. The leather bags had protected the blankets and they were wet only in places. His careful attention displayed how much he loved them.
    "They are excellently bred. They will look even better when they are rested and combed. But, no, I had not thought to sell them to anyone. This one, Cheo, is mine. I helped him into the world, set him on his legs, trained him. I could not part with him. The other, Nera, I raised as carefully. She is intended for a lady to ride. I had thought to use them both, perhaps to catch the attention of Arthur the King. I would make Nera a gift to him if he would consider hiring me as part of his court."
    The man regarded him with interest. "So, are you one of those who hopes to join Arthur's mysterious Knights of the Round Table? He hasn't officially started it yet, you know, though hundreds of men have come to him in hopes of being selected. It is said that he is waiting until his new city of Camelot is built, at which time Master Merlin will somehow cause the table to appear from its hiding place and this society will commence. I don't know about that part, but I do know that most of those who come to Arthur are not kept on, but told to search for abandoned homes in towns and villas and rebuild them, to reclaim the lands that have been lost. Nera is beautiful, but I don't think she would be accepted as a bribe. Arthur does not even consider them."
    Caet finished covering the horses and stood between them, his arms resting upon their necks. He frowned.
    "'Bribe' is a cruel word, and untrue. I would not shame myself with such a deed. But every man needs something which will help him to stand apart from others and, when one is as small as I, it is not a bad idea to be seen astride a horse of great strength and beauty."
    The man shrugged. "Perhaps Arthur will agree with you. What name will you give him when you ride up?"
    Caet puzzled for a moment. The man seemed to be giving him a chance to hide his identity. Why? He studied his companion: dirty, with torn trews and scuffed boots. Probably a wanderer of no account. Still. . . .
    "My name is Briacu," Caet answered. "I am from Armorica."
    The other man held out his hand. "Gawain," he said, "of Cornwall."
    They shook hands solemnly. Then Gawain yawned.
    "This rabbit must be done by now. Would you care to share it with me? The sun is getting low and I am ready for my dinner."
    Caet, now Briacu, was more than ready for his and they spoke little as the small animal was split between them. Gawain leaned back on the log, picking his teeth with a bone splinter. He stared curiously at Caet.
    "You don't have the look of one from Armorica," he decided. "You seem more like the oldest ones, the Britains who were here before the Romans."
    Caet seemed surprised. "Do I?"
    Gawain yawned again. "Autumn is coming. Darkness falls earlier every day." He pulled out blankets from his pack and wrapped himself in them.
    "If you want to keep watch tonight, it's fine with me, although there isn't much around to bother us," he murmured tiredly. "We'll talk again in the morning. Good night!"
    "But the sun has barely set!" Caet exclaimed. "Do you not wish to share the fire and talk?"
    There was no answer from the blankets. Caet knelt by him and tried to shake Gawain into a response, but got nothing but a soft snore for his trouble. He moved to the other side of the fire. Whatever was being said about the old ones and their gods dying out, he was sure from the oddness of the man across from him that there were still many strange creatures left in Britain. He began to wonder if his decision to return had been wise, after all.
    Caet awoke early the next morning to find Gawain already about and loading his own horse for travel. He scrambled up, annoyed that this vagabond was going to leave him with no word. Gawain heard the movement and turned to him with a wide smile. The look on Caet's face betrayed his suspicions. Gawain laughed.
    "I have stolen nothing from you, friend Briacu. As a matter of fact, you seem to have nothing to steal. And, if you don't mind making a meal of cold meat and stale bread, you are more than welcome to share them and to accompany me to Caerleon."
    "Caerleon?" Caet echoed, still not fully awake. "What is there? Do you have business there?"
    Gawain laughed again. "I may be given some when I arrive. My aunt and uncle live there and I intend to visit them for a while. When the days grow short, I prefer to make my bed by a warm hearth, tended by friends. And if you still mean to submit yourself to Arthur, then that is your direction, too. He keeps winter court at Caerleon."
    Caet pulled himself up and realized that his horses had been loaded and were ready to leave. What an irritating fellow this Gawain was! Why should he assume that Caet would go with him? Still, Caet wasn't sure that he remembered the roads in this part of Britain and he had never been as far west as Caerleon. He could look on the man as simply a guide. He had a few coins sewn into the belt of his trews. When they reached Caerleon, he could pay the man off and that way end the relationship. If the man truly had family at Caerleon, he wouldn't need to presume upon the acquaintanceship. Oh, how Caet's body ached! Fortunately, the muscles used in riding were not the ones he had exercised aboard ship. But his legs were still weak and his insides raw from retching. He took the food Gawain held out and ate it quickly, then wrapped up his meager pack and climbed onto his horse. The familiarity of the mount beneath him eased his anxiety, but he longed to reach the court of Arthur, to place his gift before the Queen and, this time, to serve her with honor.

* * *

Guinevere loved Caerleon. It was old, Roman, and comfortable. It had been the permanent headquarters of the Second Augusta for two hundred years and the legion had wanted the best when it was home. But all the soldiers had been called away, almost a hundred years before, withdrawn by a terrified emperor to help support his crumbling throne. Or had they gone with one of the British generals who claimed the purple, like Macson Wledig? Guinevere could never remember. But they had gone and the fortress at Caerleon had lain empty, lonely, haunted, perhaps. Until Arthur had remembered it and set to work to restore it as his winter capital, it had been just another enigmatic relic of a greater age. Arthur had seen it with the same military viewpoint the first centurions must have had. The strategic reason for building it had not changed. It lay at the mouth of the Usk river, cloaked by hills and fog. The Usk valley drifted farther west to Brecon, should retreat become necessary. One of the finest of the Romans' roads stretched almost intact to the east and the heart of the Saxons' territory. Caerleon was easily defended and well built.
    The last was all that concerned Guinevere. It was a wonderful home. Everything was there: living quarters designed for various ranks, granaries, kitchens, workshops, and bathhouses, two of which were still in working order. The rooms were solid and warm. And in the valley below there was a town which had somehow managed to survive the abandonment of the legion. Guinevere leaned over the edge of the tower to admire it again. Just a few streets lay below, but it was neatly planned, with a forum in the center and a church at the far end of the main road. There were even shops there! Guinevere had never been to a town except for her marriage in London, and shops amazed and delighted her. People living down there made pots and pewterware and wove cloth and baked sweet cakes. She could wander through the shops and choose whatever she wanted. On her father's estate these things had been done to order, often by itinerant craftsmen.
    There had been little chance to select. Here whole families worked at their trades and grew in skill from childhood. It was wonderful to go down there and wander through the forum, hearing the sellers' cries, watching a juggler or tumbler. Since Arthur had brought business back again, the old roadhouse had been refurbished, with public baths behind. When emissaries began to come, they would know that they were not dealing with some upstart general, but a real king.
    Guinevere sighed. She pushed a lock of hair behind her ear. It was a perfect capital. Why then was Arthur still intent on building another city, where none had ever been before? This was so lovely and so suitable. Why was he obsessed by Camelot? He had tried to explain to her many times. "I must have a place that is mine, that no other lord has set his mark upon. I will not be lost among the hundreds of rulers, names on a list in a saga, nothing more than a row of candles in which, if one be blown out, the light would not diminish. There must be a sign for the ages to come that Arthur ruled here, that my dreams did not simply flow into thousands of others and drown. Camelot will be my city, the symbol of all that I am trying to accomplish in Britain. And it is there that I will set the Round Table."
    She could hear him now, even above the wind and the calls of the birds. She couldn't understand it. He was a great king, why should it matter where? Dimly she felt that his need for a visible manifestation of his reign was somehow tied to her and her failure. Five years they had been married and still they had no children. Guinevere did not wish to think of that. It embarrassed her that so many people had such a vital interest in the workings of her body. And it angered her that she had done nothing she knew of to deserve such divine punishment. She knew it was her duty to provide Arthur with children and, though she hadn't cared much for the process, she had obeyed as best she could. But nothing had happened. They had consulted doctors, witches, oracles, and priests, but no one could help them. Although Arthur swore that they were still young and he had not given up hope, he had become more and more determined to build his city as each month passed. He was at Camelot now, checking plans and inspecting the work with Merlin. They were both probably totally happy.
    Guinevere shivered and pulled her cloak more tightly about her. Then she threw it open and leaned dangerously over the edge of the tower. Had she seen it? Yes! She was sure. A blaze of yellow and an old checked cloak. Gawain was back! At last, someone to play with. She waved to him, but he was too far away to notice her. He and a companion were picking their way through the vendors, leading another horse behind theirs. Who was that with him? Not Geraldus. Guinevere knew his old nag from any distance and this man rode a horse as strong and elegant as any she had seen. Perhaps he was one of those come to try for a place in Arthur's special cadre. "The Knights of the Round Table" had sounded very silly when she had first heard Arthur explain it. What was a knight, anyway? But she had finally agreed that Arthur had been right. As soon as men heard that it was a select group of the best Britain could offer, they came from all over the island to attempt to gain admittance. Even the sons of some of the lesser kings, who refused to recognize Arthur as overlord, appeared at Caerleon, willing to relinquish their inheritances to become knights. There were even some who came, not from Britain, but from Armorica and even farther east. How they had heard of Arthur, she didn't know, but they swarmed to Caerleon and to London, begging for a chance to see him. Now Gawain was bringing another. Guinevere wondered idly where he had come from. Odd. There was something familiar about the way he sat on his horse. Could he have visited her family before she married? Oh, well. It didn't matter. Why was Gawain taking so long? He could have come up the side road, bypassed the town, and been there by now. The riders finally disappeared into the shadow of the fort. Finally he was coming to the gates. Guinevere picked up her skirts and ran down joyfully to meet him.

* * *

Caet was becoming annoyed. This man clearly intended to accompany him all the way to the presence of Arthur. He had been grateful for the company on the road, but had tried to let him know when they came in sight of the fortress that his services were no longer needed. He didn't want to be seen with some craftsman's son, not when he had spent so long in covering the stigma of his birth. Gawain continued to lead the way through the town. Caet kept hoping that he would stop at some shop or other to greet his relatives. But, no, he ambled through the streets, tossing greetings to the tradesmen and receiving enthusiastic welcomes from an amazing number of pretty women. It was increasingly embarrassing. Caet tried once more to rid himself of his guide. He eased his horse forward until they were nearly parallel.
    "I am grateful to you for taking me so far. Thank you. But there is no need for you to accompany me any longer. You must be eager to see your aunt and uncle."
    Gawain grinned wickedly. "I am. My dear old aunt especially simply dotes on me. You needn't worry. You aren't taking me out of my way at all."
    They were almost at the entrance to the fortress. Caet tried to pull back so that it would not appear that they were together.
    "Who's at the gate today?" Gawain peered up at the watchtower. "Joelin? Yes, it is. Halloo! Joelin! You should keep better watch than that. We haven't even been challenged!"
    They were at the gates. The guard beamed at Gawain and laughed. "If I had missed you, Lord Gawain, I'd be replaced by nightfall. I've been watching you since you started up the main road. Welcome back! The King is at Camelot with Master Merlin, but they are expected home soon. The Queen is somewhere about. I'll have her told you're here."
    Gawain laughed back and pointed behind the guard at a gold and blue figure streaking toward them. "No need, Joelin."
    Caet looked up sharply. He caught his breath with such suddenness that he nearly choked. Guinevere! She had not aged or changed at all, though her radiance was more intense. And she was running toward him! It was a wonder beyond his dreams. He dismounted and began to move toward her. Then, with an icy shock, he realized that she didn't even see him. It was Gawain she was running toward. He was stabbed by his bitterness, sharper than ever because he thought he had conquered it. Nothing had changed. There he was standing by the horses, invisible to everyone as she was swept into someone else's arms. Gawain was swinging her around as they both laughed and babbled like children. Caet felt as sick now as he had on the ship.
    "Gawain," Guinevere was gasping, "put me down now! Show me some respect!"
    "Very well." He set her on the ground, went back several paces, and approached again, bowing and fumbling in the manner of so many of the hopeful knights.
    She started laughing again. "Oh, Gawain, it is so good to have you back. Will you stay the winter? Will Geraldus be with us, too? When are your brothers coming? Where did you get those wonderful horses?"
    "Yes, yes, in the spring or summer and these horses are not mine. They belong to this man, Briacu. I met him on the road. He has come from Armorica to join Arthur, he says."
    Guinevere turned her gaze from the horses to the man. Caet was startled at suddenly being noticed and made his best bow to hide a moment before he showed his face. She smiled, but there was no recognition in her glance. He was not sure if he was relieved or sorry.
    "Briacu?" she asked. He nodded. "Those are magnificent animals. If they are an example of your skill at breeding and raising horses, I'm sure my husband will be delighted to welcome you to Caerleon and will certainly find a place for you here. Please join us. He will return in a few days' time. I'm sure we can find room for you among the soldiers until he decides your position."
    He mumbled something in reply and hoped it was correct. He stood awkwardly, one hand still holding the reins, not certain what to do next.
    "Auntie, would you like me to show Briacu where he can stable his excellent horses and leave his belongings?" Gawain asked.
    "Yes. I will expect you both at dinner. Oh, and Gawain, stop calling me 'Auntie'!"
    She turned her back on them and swept away with mock dignity.
    Amidst many confusing impressions, it slowly dawned on Caet that he had been made a fool of by his ragged traveling companion. Even worse, he realized that it was partially his own fault for making assumptions. This on top of everything else made him furious and he stomped after Gawain with a firm idea of rubbing his face in the dirt.
    "Why didn't you tell me you knew the Queen?" he whispered savagely.
    Gawain grinned and shrugged. "I don't like to flaunt my rich relations before my friends."
    Caet refused to be pacified. "Don't tell me she's your aunt. You are almost as old as she is."
    "She is my aunt, my irritated friend, because she married my uncle, who is somewhat younger than his sister, my mother. Is that clear enough or must I give you the whole family tree? Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to startle you like that. I apologize. All right? You may as well know that I have no intention of fighting you. It's too late in the day for me to win and in the morning I might kill you without meaning to. So why don't we just forget the whole thing and be friends?"
    He held out his hand. Grudgingly Caet extended his. He reminded himself that Gawain could not have known how deeply he had been hurt. After all Gawain was not the only one who had been secretive about his past.
    Guinevere did not take her dinner in the hall with the rest of the residents, but Gawain took Caet to her rooms. She greeted them eagerly.
    "I don't like to eat in the hall when Arthur isn't here," she explained. "It's noisy and rough there and I think that the soldiers and their ladies are uncomfortable with me watching them. It's really much nicer to eat in my room, but lonely."
    Gawain sat next to her and squeezed her hand.
    "Arthur will be back soon. He can't continue his building much longer unless Master Merlin has found a way to hold back the winter. Geraldus will be with us in a month or two. He had to go visit Mark and Alswytha first. There was a summons from Alswytha, not to Geraldus, he said, but to his 'green lady.' She wanted to borrow her for a while. Does that mean anything to you?"
    Guinevere laughed. "Yes, I know the green lady well. I hadn't thought of her as a midwife, but she is probably very comforting. So, Alswytha is having another baby."
    Gawain remembered too late that Guinevere would not care to hear about other people's babies. He hastily switched the conversation to stories of his recent travels. Guinevere seemed to enjoy them and asked questions which spun the tales even longer. Things seemed to happen to Gawain, especially when he became involved with women. No one ever seemed to take him seriously enough to get hurt, but his lifelong problem of falling sound asleep from sunset to dawn and then becoming progressively stronger until noon, when he began weakening again, tended to cause confusion among those who did not know him well. Usually stories about him furnished much of the amusement during winter tale-telling.
    It was nearly sunset when Gawain rose to leave. Caet had been silent most of the afternoon and thought Guinevere had not even noticed him. He got up to accompany Gawain. But Guinevere held out her hand to him and asked him to stay a minute.
    "I did not have a chance to ask you about your horses. Would you mind telling me something about them now?"
    Gawain was starting to nod.
    "You'll excuse me if I don't wait for you. I can almost hear my bed calling. I hope I have time to get there. If you should trip over me on your way out, Briacu, I would appreciate a pillow and a blanket."
    When he had gone, Caet became nervous again. Now that he had had time to study her, he realized that Guinevere had changed. Her body had finished maturing. She had reached her full height and was now taller than he, but she was more beautiful than ever and her eyes held the same innocent joy that had conquered him when they both had been children. She questioned him about the horses: where he had gotten them, how he had fed and trained them. He relaxed as he spoke with assurance on a topic he knew well. It wasn't until he was ready to leave that she shattered all his hard-earned composure.
    "Caet. Why did you run away?" she asked.
    He stumbled on a crack in the floor.
    "My lady, you have made a mistake."
    She ignored him. "Father and mother were very worried about you. Father couldn't trace you anywhere and you sent no word for so long."
    "I tell you, I don't know what you are saying. I do not know your family!"
    She drew a chain from inside her dress. "I still have the pearl you sent me, see? Didn't you get my answer? Arthur made me a chain for it. I am never without it."
    The sight of the lustrous pearl did make him pause. It had cost him dearly in pride and honor and, seeing it again, he felt a flush of shame rush through him. He wondered if she would treasure it if she knew what he had done to get it.
    "But she has worn it all this time," he thought. "It has lain on her skin, near her heart. She has cleansed and redeemed it. I can regret nothing."
    He said only, "It is lovely, my lady, but my name is not Caet and I know nothing of such a gift. May I go now?"
    She looked puzzled as she put the jewel back beneath the cloth. "I will call you Briacu if that is what you wish. But I do not understand. Yes. You may go."
    Caet walked back to the sleeping area, where he had left his possessions. Snores indicated that Gawain had managed to make his way to bed. It was early, but Caet had no wish to join those in the main hall who were drinking and talking. He unrolled his bedding and lay down. He was awake when the sound of the voices drifted from shouts and laughter to murmurs and then silence. Even when the night was still, he continued to gaze into the darkness, wide-eyed with worry. Guinevere hadn't believed him. What if she told Arthur? Would the king accept a runaway servant as a knight or even a horsemaster? Would he let him stay at all? He gave the bag of odd clothes he used as a pillow one last punch and settled down. He could only wait.

* * *

Arthur was not one for waiting. It was taking all of Merlin's persuasion to keep him from setting out for Caerleon that evening.
    "I want to see Guinevere!" Arthur complained. "If I start now, I can be there in two days."
    "Only if you kill your horse, Arthur."
    "I can change horses on the way, Merlin."
    Arthur controlled himself with an effort. After all, he was the king now. He could not indulge in anger. He must put duty before his feelings. But he had had enough.
    "Merlin, I have been frustrated at every turning all the time we have been here. 'I'm sorry, Your Majesty, the floors will not lay smoothly. We cannot build the fortifications; we always hit water. We cannot put baths on the top of the tor; the water is too far down.' No one remembers how to work a pump, how to lay tile, how to erect a building of more than two stories. We don't even know how to mix mortar! Merlin, how can we have forgotten how to stick stones together?"
    "Arthur. . . ."
    "And now you tell me to sit here another night and stare at what cannot be done when all I want to do is go home to my wife! I have been gone a month, Merlin."
    Merlin shrugged. "There are many women here, my King. Your father would have made do."
    Arthur slammed the plans he had been holding hard upon the ground. The roll tore across. He began fastening his breastplate and then his cloak, his fingers fumbling in his fury.
    "My father did not have a wife like mine, Merlin. No man ever has! You can pack our things and follow me in the morning. I'm leaving now!"
    "Arthur!" Merlin called. "You can't ride alone. You are the King!"
    But Arthur was already mounted.
    "Not tonight, Merlin. Tonight I am no man and I am going home. I will be King again at Caerleon! Good-bye, Merlin!"
    He was gone.
    Merlin pounded his fist into the nearest tree, then cursed himself; it hurt. Camelot would never be finished as long as
    Guinevere held Arthur's attention. He could put his mind to work only when she was within reach or when he knew she was safe and away from whatever fighting there might be. And what had he, Merlin, the great wizard, become since Arthur's marriage? A lackey, picking up the scattered belongings of his master. Savagely he stooped for the torn roll of plans. He had waited and worked too long to have it all ruined by one selfish woman. He was so tired. He would be glad when it was over for him and he could at least rest with a calm mind. He studied a bit of the ripped scroll. It would be built. It was going to be a magnificent fortress, a city in the clouds. Guinevere could not stop it for long.

* * *

It was an hour before dawn two days later. Guinevere slept soundly. Beside the bed a candle glowed. She always had light by her when she slept alone. In a dream she heard the sound of a horse galloping through the town below and racing to the gates. Then there was a rush of air as if the horse had taken wing and flown through her window. She opened her eyes.
    There stood Arthur, muddy, sweaty, too tired to unclasp his cloak. He stared at her as if she were the dream. Guinevere smiled and held out her arms.
    "Welcome home," she said. "Let me help you."

copyright ©2014 Sharan Newman

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