A long, thin shadow bisected the scene. It fell like a blade across the gathered women: the elderly queen lifting up the ragged girl, Guenyvre puzzling over the magnificent garment in her hands. Night would come hard and fast on this raw solstice eve: already the sun was dying beyond Traprain Law to the west. The Merlin stood outlined in its light. “Artorius,” he called, voice carrying like a raven’s windblown caw. “Cover the woman’s nakedness. Invest her in her robes.”
Nobody seemed to know what to do. Art drew a breath as if he would argue, even with a Merlin’s command, but then let it go and stood swaying, buffeted by the cold gale. For some reason tears were spilling down the old lady’s cheeks. As for poor Guen, if she knew the hem of the robe from its beautiful sable-trimmed neck, she was giving no sign. At last it was Lance who stepped forward. “Here,” he said kindly. “It goes like this, Guenyvre.” He took the robe from her hands and shook it out. “My lady Coel, will you stand just here to shield her? That’s right.”
He unfastened the cloak Art had tied at her throat. The cloak had billowed out like clouds behind her, like wings, and she hadn’t been naked at all: only her pale breasts and belly exposed, her dark pubic patch. Who cared if such things were seen? They were part of the glory of the world. “It’s all right,” he said, because she was staring at him in depthless bewilderment. “Let the cloak drop. Now I put this over your head. It goes on like so, and your arms in here and here.”
She obeyed him like a child. God, she was comely! All trace of the dragon was gone. The robe settled as if it had been made for her. Lance, smiling at her in spite of himself, raised the sable-trimmed hood as a frame for her rosy face. “Well, there you are, Lady Guen.”
“I like that name. Not the lady part—just Guen. You must always call me so.”
“If I can. My name is Lance.”
“What do they want of me, Lance—these people?”
“I don’t know. Arthur will, though.” He held out a hand. “Art, come here.”
Slowly Arthur approached. He let Lance take hold of his hand and put it into Guenyvre’s. Once more he glanced between them, taking in their sameness and their difference. Nobody could resist Guen’s bright face for long, and he tightened his grip. “All right, you two. I don’t know what the Merlin’s cooking up, but it’s better we meet it head-on. Old man! Whatever you’re up to, get on with it, please, before this lass dies of the cold.”
The Merlin swung his blackthorn staff out to the right. Between the rod and his own gaunt frame, the gesture was akin to the opening of a door. “Come, Artorius and Guenyvre,” he called, loudly enough to scare up the ravens from their perches on the tower. “The white wave has risen from the earth, the queen the prophecy foretold. Come and be sanctified—man to woman, sun to earth, sword to grail. Come forth in holy union!”
Art looked at Lance in alarm. “What is all this? Do you know?”
“Not a clue, but we’ll sort it out later. Humour him.”
“A grail, though—isn’t that what you said you were, Guenyvre?”
“A graal, yes.” She put a hand to her brow. “I don’t know what it means anymore. I’m forgetting.”
“The prophecy was that I was meant to find one,” Art said. “A graal, I mean, after I’d found the sword. That was drummed into me when I was a boy, and I don’t know what it’s all about, either. So don’t be afraid—take my arm. We’ll find out together.”
Lance stood aside to let them pass. Guy appeared beside him and clapped him on the shoulder as if to tell him to buck up, and he raised his head, grateful for the reminder. The two fell into place behind Art and Guenyvre, Ardana and the others clustering behind. Only the little girl seemed unaffected by the occasion’s sudden deep solemnity. She rushed around the group in a wide orbit, emitting high-pitched cries, a little foreign seagull in a world of her own. The Merlin led on. He strode around the outer wall of the keep, then through the tunnel beneath the tower.
And now at last Lance understood why the silence had felt like a pressure in his head. The courtyard was full. Every soldier, servant and stable boy—the Hen Ogledd kings in their separate huddles of bodyguards and hangers-on, the women of Coel’s household from their secluded quarters, Arthur’s knights, Coel himself, frowning tremendously—all were gathered, and some power or command of the Merlin’s had held them mute.
Certainly it wasn’t by Coel’s priest’s authority. He was trembling in the archway, staring as if he’d been expecting the dragon herself from the fort’s foundations. He was no more than a boy, hollows beneath his eyes from poring over parchment by candlelight. The Merlin gestured to him curtly. “Well, bless the union, then! Since it must be so these days.”
The priest raised his staff. It was topped with a golden cross, and looked puny beside the blackthorn rod. Arthur and Guen emerged from the tunnel and stood like dazed children in front of the crowd. “In the sight of God,” the priest quavered out, “let the joining of this man and this woman be sanctified.” He dropped his voice to a whisper directed at the Merlin. “They’ll still have to be married, you know—in the church.”
“Yes, yes. Get on with the rest of it.”
“In the name of our saviour, may it be so. This is the bride the Merlin foretold. They will be wed when the proper preparations have been made.” A few cheers arose from the crowd. Encouraged, he ploughed on more boldly. “Welcome them, good souls of Din Guardi—King Artorius and the lady Guenyvre, soon to be his queen.”
Chaos erupted like beer from a fermented cask. Whatever magic Merlin had worked to hush this many people, the enchantment wore off in a flash. Winters were long on this northern coast, the days cold and short, festive times few and far between. The maids and stable lads flung up their hands, laughter and shouts ringing out. Art’s soldiers, normally stolid fellows, caught the infection and began to cheer too, and that blew the top off the barrel entirely. The women launched into a rich-toned chant, their children joining hands around them and starting a wild, spinning run of a dance.
Coel pushed his way to the front. Of the Din Guardi people, only he still looked sombre. Ignoring the priest and the Merlin, he stumped up to stand in front of Arthur. “This is all very fine, lad,” he said, just loudly enough to be heard over the racket. “But are you sure it’s what you want?”
It took Arthur a long time to respond. Guenyvre had huddled against him, recoiling from the noise. He’d put an arm around her, but to Lance it looked like the action of a man lost in a dream. “What I want?” he echoed. “I don’t know. It’s what the Merlin prophesied.”
“This is my castle still. I can have your Merlin thrown off its ramparts. What about Lance?”
So strange to hear his own name! Lance had begun to forget that he was here. If Art was dreaming, so was he. Perhaps they’d wake up in the sea-lit chamber, limbs entwined. “I’m fine,” he said dazedly. “Guen has to marry the king.”
“I don’t understand. You found this woman… in the caves beneath the fort, the place where the worm used to dwell?”
“That’s right. The worm won’t ever come back now, Your Majesty.” Lance held out a hand to Arthur, who was gazing back over his shoulder at him in desperation. “Everything will be all right, Art! It’s Guenyvre, your white wave. She’s meant for you. All will be well.”