Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [18]
Igraine had given him a soft answer. She could not forget that she had seen Gorlois’s death, and she would not argue with a condemned man. And she too had been annoyed by Morgause’s behavior.
So Gorlois is to die. Well, it takes not much prophecy to foresee that a man of five-and-forty, who has been fighting Saxons much of his life, will not live to see his little children grown. I shall not let it make me believe all the rest of the nonsense she spoke to me, or I shall be expecting Gorlois to take me to Londinium!
But the next day, as they lingered over breaking their fast and she was mending a great rent in his best tunic, he spoke bluntly.
“Did you not wonder what brought me here so suddenly, Igraine?”
After the night past, she had the confidence to smile into his eyes. “Should I question fortune, which has brought my husband home after a year’s absence? I hope it means that the Saxon Shores are free and in British hands again.”
He nodded absently, and smiled. Then the smile was gone.
“Ambrosius Aurelianus is dying. The old eagle will soon be gone, and there is no hatchling to fly in his place. It is like the legions going again; he has been High King for all my days, and a good king for those of us who still hoped, as I did, for the return of Rome one day. Now I know that day will never come. The kings of Britain from near and far have been summoned to gather in Londinium to choose their High King and war leader, and I too must go. It was a long journey to stay so little time, for I must be off again within three days. But I would not come so near without seeing you and the child. It will be a great gathering, Igraine, and many of the dukes and kings will bring their ladies; would you like to come with me?”
“To Londinium?”
“Yes, if you will travel so far,” he said, “and if you can bring yourself to leave that child. I do not know why you should not. Morgaine is healthy and sound and there are enough women here to look after a dozen like her; and if I have managed to get you with child again"—he met her eyes in a smile she could hardly have imagined on his face—"it will not yet hinder you in riding.” There was a tenderness she had never guessed in his voice as he added, “I would rather not be parted from you again for a little while, at least; will you come, my wife?”
Somehow you must contrive to come to Londinium with him. Viviane had said it. And now Gorlois had made it unnecessary even to ask. Igraine had a sudden feeling of panic—as if she were on a runaway horse. She picked up a cup of beer and sipped at it, to cover her confusion. “Certainly I will come if you wish it.” Two days later they were on the road, riding eastward to Londinium and the encampment of Uther Pendragon and the dying Ambrosius, for the choosing of a High King. . . .
In midafternoon they came to the Roman road, and could ride more swiftly; and late that day they could see the outskirts of Londinium, and smell the tidal river that washed its shores. Igraine had never guessed so many houses could be gathered together in one place; for a moment she felt, after the chill spaces of the southern moors, that she could not breathe, that the houses were closing in on her. She rode as if in a trance, feeling that the stone streets and walls cut her off from air and light and life itself. . . . How could people live behind walls this way?
“We will sleep this night at the home of one