The next morning’s ride was very hard, but Bellina didn’t complain once. We abandoned our tents, and streaked through the forest to the far end of the valley. Mordred led us around a long loch and into a small village of stone, built where the loch rushed into a wide river. There was long jetty with space for ten or eleven boats, but at that time of the day only one rather battered fishing vessel was moored. We crossed a stone bridge into the village proper, and rode past a number of small of children playing in the huddle of the settlement. They stopped their games and watched us with open, curious eyes.
We dismounted at the riverside. Mordred cupped his hand around his mouth and shouted words in a language I didn’t know to someone I couldn’t see. ‘Dia dhuit!’
A greeting that sounded like ‘Madinn mhath!’ was returned from somewhere downriver, and after a few moments I realised that there was someone along the bank, thigh-deep in the water. She had been tending to fishing nets, but was now wading towards us. Mordred and the fisherwoman spoke to each other in what seemed to be different languages, though the two of them understood each other well enough.
‘What are you speaking?’ I whispered to him.
‘Gaelic. We have a version of it on Erin. Different words sometimes, but we can understand each other mostly.’
Mordred and the weathered but healthy-looking woman negotiated for a good long while. From the sceptical look on her face it seemed she drove a hard bargain. Eventually they reached an agreement and shook hands.
‘She’ll take you over the water,’ Mordred told us. ‘But you’re going to have to leave your horses with her.’
Petal pouted; she was fond of her palfrey. I tried not to show it, but I was also upset to be giving Tommy away in exchange for a boat ride.
‘Just as a loan until you come back,’ Mordred assured us. ‘She wants to teach their children to ride. King Lot keeps the riding horses for the islands.’
* * *
I told Mordred that I did not like his plan to guide Sir lamorak to Orkney before he left us on the dockside, but he ignored me. The others wished him the best of luck. The fisherwoman, whose name we never learned, rowed us onto the river in silence, and we took our lead from her. We sat together in the stern, our eyes fixed on the woman’s strong arms as she powered the boat along. The wide river opened out to the sea, and the misty bulk of the Orkney islands appeared on the horizon. The tide was with us, and we crossed the open water to the largest of the islands in two hours.
Our boatwoman took us around a headland, beautiful cliffs made of layer upon layer of flat grey stone, and into a great bay around which was a large town, which rose to a fortified homestead made of wood. Many men, women and children roamed the dockside, and a sea-blasted old man with wild white hair helped us ashore. The fisherwoman from the mainland pointed at the wooden house at the top of the rise, said something in Gaelic, and promptly turned her boat around. She rowed back out to sea without taking a moment of rest.
The three of us walked through the busy streets of the town, the name of which we didn’t know and couldn’t ask, as every inhabitant of the place spoke in the language none of us knew. This wasn’t to say that the Orcadians were unfriendly; indeed, Bellina and Petal each received more than one smile from the boys of the town, but the folk were busy with their work, and didn’t pay us strangers more than an occasional glance. The town itself was complex, full of dead-ends and roads that appeared to lead upwards but disappointed us by bending back down towards the bay. Eventually, however, we reached the sharp wooden wall around the round palace. Two frowning guards barred the gates to us.
‘Mathinn mahoth,’ I said, trying my hand at the greeting the woman had given Mordred, but all that produced was a smirk from the two men.
Bellina clicked her tongue, and strode forward. ‘Out of my way,’ she said, parting the guards with blows from her eyes. ‘You remember me; I was here last year.’ They looked a little confused but allowed her through. Petal followed close behind. When I approached the two men came together again, but an apologetic shrug from me led to resigned shrugs from them, and they let me in after the two women.
When I caught up with them, Bellina was talking sweetly to a young man, a dark-haired version of Agravaine, though a few years younger. One of his hands was normal, but the other had been replaced by a metal hook. ‘Sweet Prince Gaheris,’ she said. ‘How you’ve grown since last we met. You’re quite the young warrior now. Will you do me the honour of announcing us to your father?’
The lad looked at her adoringly. I saw that Bellina had made a strong impression on him during her last visit. ‘Aye, aye, Lady Bellina,’ he managed to squeeze out, though he was blushing furiously. He offered her his hook, then became flustered and moved round to give her his hand instead. ‘If you’ll, er – aye – if you’ll follow me. Who’s your friend, er – companion?’
‘You remember my maid Petal, I’m sure –’
‘Oi,’ grumbled Petal. ‘I’m not really your maid – you don’t pay me.’
‘And this is Lord Drift of the Lake.’
‘Oh aye? Lady Nemue’s son? The one the Saracen girl’s always talking about? Welcome, all of you. Da’s been busy preparing his fleet to sail south, but he’s back now.’
‘You’re sailing south?’ I said.
‘Not me,’ said Gaheris disconsolately. He raised his hook by way of explanation. ‘Bloody lower lists do for me again.’ He saw my confusion and explained. ‘I was at one of King Pellam’s tournaments a few years back. Ugly bruiser called Urre swiped it off me. Isnea my sword hand, like, but it gives Ma an excuse to keep me home. Though I’m as good as my braw Agravaine now, better even.’
‘Then your father has agreed to aid King Mark of Cornwall?’ said Bellina.
Gaheris became flustered all over again. ‘No, that is – aye – no.’ He sighed. ‘Will you not tell him I said anything, my lady? I’m supposed to be careful who I say... anything about it... to.’
Bellina giggled lightly and stroked his hand. All colour drained from the boy’s face. ‘Your secret is safe with me; do not concern yourself, my prince.’
We came to a double door, decorated with large brasses etched with horses and ships. More guards barred our way.
‘Alright, lads,’ said Gaheris proudly. ‘This is Lady Bellina Saunce Pité, and er –’ He turned to me; he had already forgotten my name.
‘Drift of the Lake,’ Bellina prompted him.
‘And Petal of Cornwall.’ The maid folded her arms angrily, upset at being ignored by Gaheris in favour of Bellina. ‘I saw him first,’ she hissed at me as the guards opened the doors. ‘And she’s too old for him anyway.’ Bellina overheard this, and purposefully broke her stride so she could nip Petal’s toe with her heel, which she did without attracting Gaheris’ attention.
The youngest son of Orkney led us into a high wooden hall, at the head of which was a large table, strewn with all kinds of papers. A huge grey-bearded man in a long gown stood behind the table. The man was the size of Agravaine, if much larger in the belly. He was muttering to himself as he shifted the papers, looking first at one, then another. It took a prim cough from Bellina to alert him to our presence. At the moment his attention turned to us a woman appeared between the pillars to our right. She was tall and queenly, past forty, severe, and very beautiful. Her auburn hair was greying but lustrous, her deep blue dress flattering to figure.
‘Ah, Gaheris lad,’ said the man, moving from behind the table, ‘you bring a sight for sore eyes.’
Bellina released Gaheris’ hand and gave the man a low curtsey. Petal followed suit. I had never been in the presence of royalty before – unless you count Epicene and Agravaine, I suppose – but I had learned enough of the protocol from Bellina’s memories: she had a wealth of knowledge about etiquette. As the girls curtsied I bowed stiffly, and remained bowed until the man took Bellina’s hand and raised her to her feet.
‘My king,’ said Bellina.
‘Damosel Bellina,’ smiled King Lot. ‘An unexpected pleasure. I have a letter here from your father. Sir Breuse is well and sends his love.’
‘It pleases me more than words can say to hear of my father’s good health, King Lot.’
The woman swept forward from between the pillars, her fine gown shimmering around her. Bellina gave another, shallower curtsey. ‘My queen.’
‘And who have you brought with you, I wonder?’ said Queen Morgawse, her eyes never leaving me.
‘I’m Drift, madam.’
Queen Morgawse took my chin in her fingers, and examined first one side of my face and then the other. ‘Lady Nemue’s son?’
‘I am.’
‘Oh aye?’ said King Lot bluntly. His hand went to his sword, and the guards under the arches and on the high wooden gallery that ran around the room went for their weapons. ‘She changed her mind and sent her son to us, has she? Brunor the Moorish lad told us that your ma had tipped him down her well, rather than help us against Arthur.’
‘My mother hasn’t changed her mind, your majesty,’ I said. ‘But she’s no longer well enough to aid anyone. Sir Lamorak attacked her on the road north, and stripped her of her powers using a magic of Merlin’s. I’ve seen her, and she is no threat to anyone now.’
King Lot and Queen Morgawse exchanged glances. At first I thought they were disgusted by the relish in my voice as I spoke the last part, but the king’s next words made it clear they’d hardly heard a word about Nemue.
‘Lamorak’s still on the northern road, then?’ he said angrily.
‘He is. Coming ever closer to Orkney.’ I said nothing of Mordred’s plan to bring lamorak to king lot, and knowing how the queen felt about Mordred hoped my face didn’t betray what I knew.
‘I will not have you upset once more, Morgawse,’ said the king. ‘That beast will never again come here.’
Queen Morgawse joined her hands together, gripping them so hard her knuckles turned white, but her voice was almost calm.
‘Damosel Saunce Pité, young Petal, you are right welcome to Orkney,’ she said. ‘Gaheris, will you take the ladies to Agravaine and the others, please?’
‘Aye, Ma,’ said Gaheris. He offered Bellina his hook, and this time forgot to correct himself. Bellina placed her hand on his stump, with a look of slight disgust on her face, and allowed the boy to lead her from the hall.
When they had gone Queen Morgawse looked at me. ‘I would have words with you in my rooms, Drift of the Lake.’
* * *
Queen Morgawse’s apartments were high up behind the hall in her husband’s wooden palace. The room she took me to was richly furnished with animal-skin rugs and the metal etchings and stone carvings which were the principle forms of art on the islands. The rooms smelled of the good wood that made up the walls and furniture. The smell reminded me of the cave on Avalon where Palomina had taught me to season and shape the wood for our longboat. The windows afforded a view over both the rolling treeless farmlands of Orkney, and the rear yard within the palace walls. The others were down there, practising with swords and bows. John of the Marsh was teaching Aglinda and Alisander the rudiments of self-defence; Melwas was tutoring Piers in the best way to wield a broadsword rather than his sickle; Brunor and Agravaine were laughing as they went at each other with full force. Elia was at the far end of the yard, shooting arrow after arrow into a target mounted against the fence. Epicene sat to one side, observing the scene with a book open on her lap; beside her, Norma was trying to hold back Christian, who was excited by the activity around him. There was no sign of Palomina.
The queen coughed to get my attention, and then gestured me to a cushioned chair opposite her own. Her expression was as it had been in the great hall, tense and angry.
‘Do you drink, Drift of the Lake?’ she said, gesturing to a jug and two goblets on a small table by her side. ‘I was once rebuked by your mother for offering her water, and I would not like to offend another of her family through my naivety.’
I sat down opposite her. The sharp look in her observant face expressed anything but naivety.
‘I would not be offended by a kindness, Queen Morgawse, but I do not require water. Like my mother I do not often drink.’
‘When your companions were last here the Gaul Melwas told me a little of you. She said you had looked into her mind, and trusted you not to reveal her secrets.’
I felt like she was looking for me to try and trick her, but did not understand her line of questioning. ‘Aye, your majesty, that’s correct.’
She breathed in a deep, uncertain breath. ‘And Mordred of Erin too? You looked into him?’
I nodded.
‘What kind of man is he?’ She raised her hand to stop me responding for a moment. ‘I do not mean, what did you see within him, but rather what kind of man is he, in your opinion?’
‘Madam, my friends told me you have no fondness for him, but I know that Mordred is one of the most noble men I have met, if not the most noble. He and his family have suffered terribly at King Arthur’s hands, but he puts our greater struggle against Camelot above his own revenge. I do not know I would be able to do that if I had been as happy as he was, and seen that happiness torn down.’
‘He has not gone beyond the seas as I asked, I think.’
I said nothing.
She took a sip of water from her cup, then dabbed her lips with an embroidered handkerchief. ‘I thought not, and now I am sure. My son and your other friends are terrible liars, and you are no better.’ Then she said something that seemed to come from nowhere: ‘I love my sons, Drift of the Lake. All of them.’
I could feel my confusion transfer to my face. Was she making some point about how Mordred had kept Agravaine and Melwas apart? Or something about how her boys were on opposing sides: Gawain and Beaumains with Arthur, Agravaine and Gaheris with her husband?
‘I’m sure you do, madam, I would never doubt that.’
‘I would ask...’ she said, ‘I would ask that you apply the same respect you show for the memories of others to this conversation, son of the Lake.’ She swallowed. ‘I would have no hint of it pass to Agravaine, or to your Saracen girl, or to Mordred.’
Now I was completely confused. ‘Of course not, madam. Of course I will keep the conversation private.’
She straightened herself in her seat, her hand on her flat belly. ‘I love my sons,’ she repeated, looking out of the window. Then she turned back to me, and this was what she said: