Free Guinevere: The Legend in Autumn by Persia Woolley Page A

But perhaps that wouldn’t matter, all storytellers being somewhat mad, and the look of joy on Taliesin’s face was marvelous to behold, for he was convinced he was destined to sing songs powerful enough to make the very Gods weep.
    Next morning I was up early, seeing to the foods that would be put out for those of our guests who wished to eat before leaving on their journey home. As I headed for the henhouse to collect the eggs, I caught sight of Enid walking slowly along the parapet above our wall. Dropping my basket by the hutch, I went bounding up the stairs to join the new Queen of Devon. But I stopped cold when I saw the expression on her face.
    Enid—dark and pert, with a quick wit and fearless tongue; the girl who’d married the most eligible bachelor king in Britain. That Geraint was a brilliant military leader and she well known for looking askance at brash warriors made for much speculation about their match. But that wouldn’t account for the misery that surrounded her now. I lifted my skirts and ran along the parapet toward her.
    “Enid, whatever is the matter?”
    She looked up at my voice, then half turned away until I caught hold of her shoulders and the words came pouring out. “Oh, M’lady, I don’t know what to do. Geraint and I can’t seem to get pregnant, and it’s not for want of trying.”
    Her brown eyes were shining with tears, and we stared at each other without reserve, two women suddenly sharing a similar sorrow. She leaned her head against my shoulder and I put my arms around her as she began to sob.
    There was no need to speak of the confusion and hurt barrenness brings forth; the soul-searching and recriminations, anger and fear and silent, desperate bargaining with the Gods—I’d known them all myself. So I held her close while her pain overflowed in weeping.
    “What is Geraint’s reaction?” I asked when the crest of her tears had passed. Enid might not be my daughter, but I would certainly speak to her husband if he was adding to the problem.
    “It doesn’t seem to upset him, M’lady, though I’m sure he feels it in the normal sense of missing being a father.”
    She was silent for a bit, and I thought of Arthur. My inability to produce offspring hadn’t bothered him at all, for he had little interest in children and all his time was consumed with the Cause.
    “It feels as though there’s a big hole in the center of my life that nothing else can fill.” Enid didn’t try to cover the despair in her voice. “How can I fill the emptiness, M’lady?”
    “Take in a child,” I told her firmly. “One in need, as Mordred was in need.”
    She sniffed loudly and fumbled for her handkerchief. “Does he know?” I searched her face, wondering how much she knew. “About his mother’s death and all,” she went on. “We heard, even in Devon, that Morgause met an unseemly end.”
    Unseemly end? The miserable woman deserved everything that came to her, whether she was Arthur’s other half sister or not. But of course I couldn’t say that out loud, so…
    I shook my head and chose my words carefully. “I don’t think he’s heard. Bedivere threatened to personally thrash anyone who breathed a word of it at Court, and the boy’s never brought the subject up. Gawain looks after his little brother some; took him north to Edinburgh on this trip to meet with the Picts. But mostly I oversee his everyday life.”
    “Has it met your need, M’lady?” Enid inquired hesitantly.
    “Aye, that it has.” I brushed the last of the tears from her cheeks and smiled. “We spend our mornings together. I give him riding lessons, or take him on errands, and then we study Latin. His mother had him tutored in both reading and writing, before she died, and this arrangement seems to please everyone—though he’s far fonder of the reading than I am.”
    “As I recall,” my erstwhile lady-in-waiting said, giving me a droll look, “you’d rather tell a tale yourself than pick over some