‘Just this, Lord,’ I said, and held up the expensive enamelled belt. For a moment he thought I was showing him a piece of plunder, then he recognized the sword belt which had been his own gift to Lancelot. For a heartbeat his face had the look it had borne for so many months before Mynydd Baddon: the closed, hard look of bitterness, and then he glanced up into my eyes. ‘Its owner?’
‘Dead, Lord. Hanged in shame.’
‘Good,’ he said quietly. ‘And that thing, Derfel, you can throw away.’ I threw the belt into the river. And thus Lancelot died, though the songs he had paid for lived on, and to this day he is celebrated as a hero equal to Arthur. Arthur is remembered as a ruler, but Lancelot is called the warrior. In truth he was the King without land, a coward, and the greatest traitor of Britain, and his soul wanders Lloegyr to this day, screaming for its shadowbody that can never exist because we cut his corpse into scraps and fed it to the river. If the Christians are right, and there is a hell, may he suffer there for ever. Galahad and I followed Arthur to the city, passing the balefire on which Cuneglas burned and threading the Roman graves amongst which so many of Aelle’s men had died. I had warned Arthur what waited for him, but he showed no dismay when he heard that Argante had come to the city. His arrival in Aquae Sulis prompted scores of anxious petitioners to clamour for his attention. The petitioners were men demanding recognition for acts of bravery in the battle, men demanding shares of slaves or gold, and men demanding justice in disputes that long preceded the Saxon invasion, and Arthur told them all to attend him in the temple, though once there he ignored the supplicants. Instead he summoned Galahad to an ante-chamber of the temple and, after a while, he sent for Sansum. The Bishop was jeered by the Dumnonian spearmen as he hurried across the compound. He spoke with Arthur a long time, and then Oengus mac Airem and Mordred were called to Arthur’s presence. The spearmen in the enclosure were making wagers on whether Arthur would go to Argante in the Bishop’s house or to Guinevere in the priests’ quarters.
Arthur had not wanted my counsel. Instead, when he summoned Oengus and Mordred, he asked me to tell Guinevere that he had returned and so I crossed the yard to the priests’ quarters where I discovered Guinevere in an upper room, attended by Taliesin. The bard, dressed in a clean white robe and with the silver fillet about his black hair, stood and bowed as I entered. He carried a small harp, but I sensed the two had been talking rather than making music. He smiled and backed from the room, letting the thick curtain fall across the doorway. ‘A most clever man,’ Guinevere said, standing to greet me. She was in a cream-coloured robe trimmed with blue ribboned hems, she wore the Saxon necklace I had given her on Mynydd Baddon, and had her red hair gathered at the crown of her head with a length of silver chain. She was not quite as elegant as the Guinevere I remembered from before the time of troubles, but she was a far cry from the armoured woman who had ridden so enthusiastically across the battlefield. She smiled as I drew near. ‘You’re clean, Derfel?’
‘I took a bath, Lady.’
‘And you live!’ She mocked me gently, then kissed my cheek, and once the kiss was given she held on to my shoulders for a moment. ‘I owe you a great deal,’ she said softly.
‘No, Lady, no,’ I said, reddening and pulling away.
She laughed at my embarrassment, then went to sit in the window that overlooked the compound. Rain puddled between the stones and dripped down the temple’s stained facade where Arthur’s horse was tied to a ring fixed to one of the pillars. She hardly needed me to tell her that Arthur had come back, for she must have seen his arrival herself. ‘Who’s with him?’ she asked me.
‘Galahad, Sansum, Mordred and Oengus.’
‘And you weren’t summoned to Arthur’s council?’ she asked with a touch of her old mockery.
‘No, Lady,’ I said, trying to hide my disappointment.
‘I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten you.’
‘I hope not, Lady,’ I said and then, much more hesitantly, I told her that Lancelot was dead. I did not tell her how, simply that he was dead.
‘Taliesin already told me,’ she said, staring down at her hands.
‘How did he know?’ I asked, for Lancelot’s death had only happened a brief while before and Taliesin had not been present.
‘He dreamed it last night,’ Guinevere said, and then she made an abrupt gesture as if ending that subject. ‘So what are they discussing over there?’ she asked, glancing at the temple. ‘The child-bride?’
‘I imagine so, Lady,’ I said, then I told her what Bishop Sansum had suggested to Oengus mac Airem: that Argante should marry Mordred. ‘I think it’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard,’ I protested indignantly.
‘You really think that?’
‘It’s an absurd notion,’ I said.
‘It wasn’t Sansum’s notion,’ Guinevere said with a smile, ‘it was mine.’
I stared at her, too surprised to speak for a moment. ‘Yours, Lady?’ I finally asked.
‘Don’t tell anyone it was my idea,’ she warned me. ‘Argante wouldn’t consider it for a moment if she thought the idea came from me. She’d marry a swineherd rather than someone I suggested. So I sent for little Sansum and begged him to tell me whether the rumour about Argante and Mordred was correct, and then I said how much I loathed the very thought of it and that, of course, made him all the more enthusiastic about it, though he pretended not to be. I even cried a little and begged him never to tell Argante how much I detested the very idea. By that point, Derfel, they were as good as married.’ She smiled triumphantly.
‘But why?’ I asked. ‘Mordred and Argante? They’ll make nothing but trouble!’
‘Whether they’re married or not, they’ll make trouble. And Mordred must marry, Derfel, if he’s to provide an heir, and that means he must marry royally.’ She paused, fingering the necklace. ‘I confess I would much rather he didn’t have an heir, for that would leave the throne free when he dies.’ She left that thought unfinished and I gave her a curious look, to which she responded with a mask of innocence. Was she thinking that Arthur might take the throne from a childless Mordred? But Arthur had never wanted to rule. Then I realized that if Mordred did die then Gwydre, Guinevere’s son, would have as good a claim as any man. That realization must have shown on my face for Guinevere smiled. ‘Not that we must speculate about the succession,’ she went on before I could say anything, ‘for Arthur insists Mordred must be allowed to marry if he wishes, and it seems the wretched boy is attracted to Argante. They might even suit each other quite well. Like two vipers in a filthy nest.’
‘And Arthur will have two enemies united in bitterness,’ I said.
‘No,’ Guinevere said, then she sighed and looked through the window. ‘Not if we give them what they want, and not if I give Arthur what he wants. And you do know what that is, don’t you?’
I thought for a heartbeat, then understood everything. I understood what she and Arthur must have talked about in the long night after battle. I understood, too, what Arthur was arranging now in the temple of Minerva. ‘No!’ I protested.