Guinevere, the Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley

Author:Persia Woolley
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Historical romance
ISBN: 9780671708320
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services Inc.
Published: 1993-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

The day before our journey to the Federates was to start, one of the Royal Messengers came loping up the hill, covered with mud and carrying the long pole such youngsters use to vault from tussock to tussock in the marshes of the Somerset Levels. He rushed past the sentry, crying out for the High King. I was just coming back from the stables and joined Arthur on the steps as he came out to see what all the fuss was about.

“It’s Yder, Your Highness,” the lad panted, his words tumbling out breathlessly. “Went to Brent Knoll alone, to get rid of the bandits. Hacked to pieces, he was.”

“Alone, you say?” Arthur growled. “I told him to take a cadre of men with him.”

“Why would he do such a foolish thing?” I asked, shocked at the news.

“Wanted to gain your admiration, M’lady.” The messenger bobbed his head in deference to me. “At least, that’s what his brother, Gwyn, said. Yder went off yesterday, and the bandits left his body where it fell. Gwyn went looking for him this morning, since he hadn’t returned.”

The realization of what had happened hit me like a punch in the stomach. The same miserable helplessness I’d felt when the bear died at Caerleon settled over me and I swayed unsteadily on my feet. “There was no reason…I never meant…so pointless…”

“Here now!” Arthur exclaimed as I grabbed his arm to keep from falling. “It’s not your fault, Gwen—by Jove, it isn’t,” he swore, catching me up and carrying me inside.

“Never meant to cause such death,” I sobbed, clinging to my husband.

Arthur put me carefully on the cushion of a windowseat and called for Enid, then began to pace in front of me. “You know how the warriors are nowadays—bored with peacetime endeavors. Too little to keep them busy, so they get restless and go off doing foolish things. You mustn’t blame yourself because the man wanted to look grander in your eyes.”

I nodded, knowing in my head he was right—there are enough things to worry about that we are responsible for, without taking on those we can do nothing about. I hadn’t any more encouraged Yder in this than I’d needed rescuing from the bear at Caerleon. Still, it hurt to know a good man’s life was lost because of such foolishness.

“What if Gwyn holds me to blame?” I whispered, taking the cup of valerian tea Enid brought.

“He won’t.” Arthur was firm in his answer. “After all these years, I know Gwyn of Neath better than most. He doesn’t place blame or look for scapegoats. Yder did what he felt he had to do; Gwyn will respect that, no matter how much he grieves the loss.”

Sitting there, watching my husband through the steam from my cup, it occurred to me that, as Isolde was for me, Gwyn was the closest thing Arthur had to a peer. Bedivere and Cei were his foster brothers, and Lancelot his dearest friend, but these were men who looked to him as their monarch as well.

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