Queen of None by Natania Barron

Author:Natania Barron [Barron, Natania]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Vernacular Books

Chapter Eight:

A Fine End

It was to my surprise, as the days and weeks unfolded before the mass deployment North, to hear Arthur was, in fact, planning on commanding the troops from the field rather than from the throne. I thought, initially, his behavior was flying in the face of Merlin’s wishes, but I was informed later, while lunching with Gweyn, it was not so.

“Oh, Merlin was quite adamant about it,” said Gweyn. Mordred was off with the wet-nurse, and we both sat eating figs and honey while the knights drilled down on the green. From the distance, I couldn’t recognize one from another but had my guesses as which three knights were at the front: Gawain, Lanceloch, and Bedevere. In spite of Arthur’s favor for Lanceloch, he still included Gawain in nearly all of his decisions, and I heard, my son would command the front regiment during the campaign.

Perhaps war would do him well, if he survived the aftermath. Perhaps he would learn to treasure family more. My anger regarding Gawain quelled to general disappointment and in many ways, I felt he was already dead to me, ignoring me as he did. War taught Lot the importance of home fires and good food, he once said. Gawain would do well to learn the same.

“Adamant?” I asked, flicking out the stem of one of the figs. It was not the best crop this year, unfortunately, and I went to grab some of the bread and honey as I spoke, hoping it would improve the flavor. “Merlin rarely seems adamant to me. More like … vaguely officious.”

She grinned and turned to her side. She already consumed most of the figs, and I had no complaint. Though Gweyn shed the obvious curve of pregnancy around her middle, she showed no sign of slowing her voracious appetite, owing to the demands of a nursing mother.

Hwyfar lounged nearby, to my chagrin, carousing with her courtiers before a yellow and green silk tent, playing the harp and singing every now and again. As much as I detested the woman, I could not deny her voice was lovely. And on this day, it did add a rather enchanting feel to the season.

“The old man is not so terrible,” Gweyn said. “He has been ever attentive to me since Mordred was born. And I could scarcely believe it, but the other day no matter what I did I could not get him to stop crying. I tried everything! Then, Merlin and Arthur came in—I was such a mess, crying into my pillow as the nurse tried to quiet him. But not one moment in Merlin’s arms, and the child was silent—cooing! Quite a little miracle.”

“Astounding,” I said, nibbling the edge of the bread. It was not so bad. “But I am still surprised he is letting Arthur go afield. It seems a large risk to put one’s king in such a precarious situation.”

Gweyn shrugged, as if the idea of losing Arthur in a grim battle was no concern of hers.

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