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.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 friendship, 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 appeasement next day.11LATER 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 Nimuë 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 assume 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?""I came tonight to report to you what is being said among the Young Celts.They met at my house this evening.Most of the talk tonight was of Bedwyr.He has enemies, bitter enemies, who will plot to bring him down." He hesitated.He had known this would be hard, but he had not known how hard."Sir, I beg you not to leave Bedwyr here while you go abroad.This is not because I myself covet the regency.It is because there is talk about him and—" He stopped.He licked his lips.He said lamely: "He has enemies [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]