Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [19]
She asked him that night, seated before the fire (what luxury, she thought, a fire this near to Midsummer!), “Who, think you, will be the next High King?”
“What can it matter to a woman who rules the land?”
She smiled sidelong at him; she had taken down her hair for the night and she could feel him warming to the smile. “Even though I am a woman, Gorlois, I must live in this land, and I would like to know what manner of man my husband must follow in peace and war.”
“Peace! There will be no peace in my lifetime at least,” Gorlois said. “Not with all those wild folk coming to our rich shores; we must gather all our strength to defend ourselves. And there are many who would like to wear the mantle of Ambrosius and lead us in war. Lot of Orkney, for instance. A harsh man, but reliable, a strong leader, good at battle strategy. Still unmarried, though; no dynasty. He’s young for a High King, but ambitious, never knew a man of that age so ambitious. And Uriens of North Wales. No problems with dynasty, he already has sons. But the man has no imagination; wants to do everything as it’s always been done, says that it worked once and it will work again. And I suspect he’s no good Christian.”
“Which would be your choice?” Igraine asked.
He sighed. “Neither,” he said. “I have followed Ambrosius all my life, and I will follow the man Ambrosius has chosen; it’s a matter of honor, and Uther is Ambrosius’ man. It’s as simple as that. Not that I like Uther. He’s a lecherous man with a dozen bastards, no woman’s safe around him. He goes to mass because the army does, and because it’s the thing to do. I’d rather he was an honest pagan than a Christian for the benefits he can get from it.”
“Yet you support him—”
“Oh, yes. He’s soldier enough for a Caesar; the men will follow him through hell, if they have to. He spares no effort to be popular with the army—you know the kind of thing, going around the camp and munching on their rations to make sure they’re fit to eat, spending a day when he could be taking his ease in going to the quartermaster’s to get a discharge for an old toothless veteran, sleeping in the field with the men before a battle. The men would die for him—and they do. And he has both brains and imagination. He managed to make peace with the treaty troops and get them to fight alongside us last fall—he thinks a little too much like a Saxon for me, he knows how their minds work. Yes, I’ll support him. But that doesn’t mean I like the man.”
Igraine, listening, thought that Gorlois had revealed more of himself than of the other candidates for High King. She said at last, “Have you never thought—you are Duke of Cornwall, and Ambrosius values you; could you be chosen as High King?”
“Believe me, Igraine, I want no crown. Have you a wish to be queen?”
“I would not refuse it,” she said, recalling the Merlin’s prophecy.
“You say that because you are too young to know what it means,” Gorlois said with a smile. “Would you truly like to rule a kingdom as you must rule over your servants at Tintagel, at everyone’s beck and call? There was a time when I was younger—but I do not want to spend the rest of my lifetime at war. Ambrosius gave me Tintagel years ago, Igraine; until four years ago I had not spent enough time there to bring home a wife! I will defend these shores as long as I can hold a sword, but I want a son to play with my daughter, and some time to spend in peace, fishing from the rocks, and hunting, and sitting in the sun watching the peasant folk bring in their crops, and time perhaps to make my peace with God, so that he may forgive me for all the things I have had to do in a life as a soldier. But even when there is peace in the land, the High King has no peace, for when the enemies leave our shore, why, then, his friends begin to fight, if only for his favor. No, there will be no crown for me, and when you are my age, you will be glad of it.”
Igraine felt a pricking behind her eyes as