Mistress of Legend

Chapter 6-4

So he had allied with the Saxons and Picts. Mordred had previously admitted to learning from them, but he had given no sign how deep his diplomacy with them ran. Exactly what had he and Ida discussed in private when he was here? What negotiations had we not been privy to? Anything he would keep from the council had to be either illegal or unethical.

Bors must have been thinking along the same lines. “Tread carefully, my lord. Let us not forget what trusting the Saxons meant for the old tyrant Vortigern.” He made a slicing motion across his neck. “Besides, I’ll not fight alongside their filthy armies with their brutish women. Women are meant for the home, not the battlefield.” He threw a poignant look at Sobian.

“Is that so? Well then, the next time I have the opportunity to rescue you, I’ll pass you by. I’ve already saved you twice. That is enough,” Sobian spat. “But Bors is right. The Saxons have been our enemies for sixty years. There is no reason to believe that if we ally with them now, they won’t simply betray us like they did Vortigern.”

“Ah, but we do have a reason to trust them,” Mordred countered.

“And what is that?” I asked.

Mordred signaled to Accolon to open the doors. Elga stood on the threshold, her dark eyes shining with a powerful secret. A collective gasp went up from the crowd as warriors recognized their enemy from the battle of Mount Badon.

“What is she doing here?” Owain asked.

“She should have been killed on sight. An oversight that can be quickly remedied,” Aggrivane said. He hand went to his side where his sword usually hung, as though he had forgotten all weapons were surrendered before each council meeting.

Mordred placed himself between them, but it was Elga who spoke, slithering past Mordred’s shielding shoulder with a cruel grace Morgan would have envied. “You are still upset I evaded your pursuit after the war, I see. No matter. I would have killed you had we engaged, so it is better this way for us both.” Her accent was still thick, but her mastery of our tongue was much improved.

Mordred turned to me, continuing our interrupted conversation. “I suppose it is time all of you knew the extent of my plans. My accord with the Saxons goes deeper than mere words. You see, Elga is my wife. We were handfast according to the traditions of both our peoples. The gods willing, we will soon be bound by blood.” He patted her belly softly.

The silence that followed was so absolute that had it not been for the chanting of the protestors below, I would have thought myself back in that limbo between life and death. I stared at Elga, whose whole being radiated power. She was likely twice Mordred’s age, but for all those years, she was still beautiful and could reasonably produce a few more heirs before her breeding time ended.

Aggrivane was the first to find his voice. “Is she to be High Queen then? We have never had a foreigner hold that title. You must know how upsetting it will be to the people.”

“I am no foreigner,” Elga countered. “I may have Saxon blood, but I was born on British soil. I would see my people rise to power, yes, but alongside yours. Badon taught me much, as I am sure it did you. The biggest lesson was that my first husband was wrong to try to annihilate you. My people are not ever returning to our ancestral lands and I know the fierceness with which you defend your homes, so we are at an impasse. We must learn to live side by side if we are to survive.”

More pretty words. Elga couldn’t be trusted any more now than the day I met her, the day she took the life of her newborn nephew. “How can we be sure the words you speak are not just lies aimed at softening our underbellies?”

Elga regarded me appraisingly. “You are wise to ask this, Queen Guinevere. I call you by your title for you still hold it according to our old ways. I will not ask you to pass it to me until after we have ascended to power. Only by my actions will you know my words are true.”

Her actions? Which ones? Aiding in Mordred’s rebellion? Engaging Arthur in another battle? “You are saying that by killing the king, you will prove to me you are not a traitor to Britain?”

Elga looked down, unconsciously fingering the blades hanging at her waist. “I hope it does not come to that. I would much rather live in peace with my husband’s father.”

“He will never accept you,” Aggrivane sneered. “And neither do I.” He rose, confronting Mordred. “No matter Arthur’s trust in you, I cannot continue to serve a man who allies with Saxons. I will rejoin Arthur’s army when he returns.”

“Watch your back until then,” Bors warned Aggrivane. “For you have just declared yourself an enemy of Mordred’s crown.”

“Indeed I have. But if you wanted to kill me, you would have done so years ago. You’ve had ample opportunity.” He was in Bors’s face now, pointing a threatening finger at his former brother-in-arms. “But if you wish, I will face you in single combat. I do not brook cowards, so don’t even consider a sneak attack. We are all witnesses to your declaration, and I swear to you, if anything happens to me, there are men here who will hunt you down.”

As if in agreement, Gawain and two of his friends drew their eating daggers, making a show of cleaning them on their tunics.

Owain bolted to his feet. “Stand down, all of you! We have enough factions at war outside. We do not need to create dissension among our ranks as well. I am not happy about Mordred’s choice of wife, but I wish to hear him out. There is one question he has yet to answer. What about the Picts? How will you secure their loyalty?”

“Thank you, Owain. I have nothing so solid as a marriage to offer you with the Picts, only a traditional alliance. We have been discussing how the borders of the ancient imperial walls hold no value in a world without Rome. Our agreement is based on the mutual understanding that when I become king, all the people of this island—Britons, Picts, and the tribes in between—will be one. I seek to expand north what my father started.”

It was Sobian’s turn to stand. “But first there must be a mighty battle to determine who is indeed king.” She scoffed, disgust writ large in her features. “Neither you nor Arthur will have my sword. My girls and I will go seek our fortunes in Eire, where at least some bit of reason remains.”

She signaled to her women scattered about the room, who detached themselves from the rest of the crowd. Without a word, they all headed for the door.

Sobian paused before me. “You are welcome to join us, but I know your heart lies across another sea. Call if you ever need me and I will return.” She kissed my cheek and was gone.

My stomach lurched. As bleak as life in Camelot now was, if Mordred followed through on his plans, the future would be even darker. For all his playing at power, he was still relatively untested and idealistic, and so failed to grasp the repercussions of his bid for power.

“Mordred, have you fully considered the impact of your actions? Your intent is noble and it sounds reasonable in theory, but as soon as you let the Picts south of Antontine Wall, they will invade the Selgovae, Damnonii, and Votadini, who will then flee into Lothian, Bernicia, and on to Strathclyde. Do you really want them overrunning Camelot? Because it will happen. Look at the people who now call Camelot home after one night of insurrection. Can you imagine how much worse it will be when they are pursued by the Picts? Before you know it, you will be overrun with refugees and will have civil war on your hands, thanks to the prejudices against those living north of Hadrian’s Wall.”

Mordred sighed. “You are correct, but you are also thinking within old tribal rivalries. All of that will be gone under my reign.”

I shook my head. “You are young and naïve. Do you really believe people will drop tribal allegiances they’ve held for thousands of years simply because you tell them to? You are merely giving them an excuse to harass each other in ways they’ve only dreamed of until now. Please, at least consider my words. I was High Queen for twenty years. I understand how our people think.”

Mordred’s expression softened. “I know that, and I respect your experience. It is one of the reasons why I keep you in close council. We have time yet before such things will take place. We can discuss them more later. But now”—he took Elga’s hand and rose to stand beside her—“I have a populous to address.”

As he strode onto the balcony, I slipped from the room with Aggrivane at my heels. I could not stay and listen to Mordred and Elga speak. The reaction of the crowd would be too painful, and it would be a betrayal of all I stood for to silently witness the shattering of the dream Arthur and I had created. But even the thick walls of Camelot could not shield my ears from the competing cheers and jeers that rose like an angry sea in the aftermath of Mordred’s words.

Like it or not, we were in full-on rebellion.