“Pretty enough, though, if you like them small.”
Guinevere’s face burned. Did everyone talk about her this way, but they were too polite to let her hear it? Brangien glared at the knights’ backs. Mordred looked longingly toward the center of the market.
“We could lose them in the crowd,” he whispered.
“They are my husband’s family.”
“I am your husband’s family. They are an embarrassment.”
Sir Ector waved for them to join him and Sir Kay. “I found us a tent! We can have a nice drink in the shade.”
Guinevere really did want to continue exploring with Mordred and Brangien. But it would be rude. And while she was fine with being rude, the queen could not be. With an apologetic grimace for Mordred, she followed Sir Ector and Sir Kay into a cramped tent. The men sat on the floor, leaving the two chairs for her and Brangien. Brangien immediately pulled sewing out of her bag, cutting herself off from the conversation. Mordred lingered at the entrance to the tent.
“I will be right outside,” he said, apparently deciding he preferred the glare of the sun to the company of Sir Ector and Sir Kay.
Guinevere did not find either of them appealing. But she was intrigued. What had Merlin seen that made him think Arthur would best be served by being raised by them? It took nearly thirty minutes for them to get drunk enough that their stories became interesting. Then Guinevere’s patience was rewarded and she understood Merlin’s decision.
“Back, what, ten years ago?” Sir Ector asked.
“Ten years.” Sir Kay nodded, staring into his empty tankard.
“Uther Pendragon was still in charge. And I am not saying I am unhappy with Art being king. Makes a great king.”
“A pretty good king,” Sir Kay said with a shrug.
“But our lives were much easier under Uther Pendragon.”
Guinevere frowned. “I thought he was a terrible, violent tyrant.”
“Oh, he was! Absolutely. Meant there was a lot of work for knights-for-hire such as ourselves. When the king thinks nothing of using a sorcerer to help him, ah, conquer another man’s wife—meanwhile having that man killed—well, you can imagine what was going on in the countryside.”
“Not to mention the fairies,” Sir Kay added.
Sir Ector blew a noisy, wet blast of air between his lips. “Fairies. Bah.” He patted his sword affectionately.
Sir Kay raised his glass. “Poor Igraine, though. I hear she was beautiful.”
“Had to have been, for Uther to go to all that trouble.”
Brangien stabbed her needle into the cloth. Guinevere did not blame her for her silent rage at the way these men were speaking of Arthur’s mother. Merlin had told her the story. Uther Pendragon, warlord king, had seen the Lady Igraine during a treaty negotiation. He had tried to get her to his bed, but she refused him. She loved her husband deeply. And Uther wanted that more than he wanted her. He wanted to feel what it was to be so loved by a woman. Uther lured Lady Igraine’s husband into a battle, trapping him there. Using dark magic, he disguised himself as her husband and entered her chambers in the middle of the night, declaring the battle won. And then he took what she willingly gave to the husband she loved. But it meant nothing, changed nothing, because she did not love him. Who could?
He left her husband dead and Arthur in her womb.
Igraine had older children. Mordred’s mother was among them. Morgan le Fay, Mordred’s mother and Arthur’s half sister, wanted vengeance. When Arthur was born, Lady Igraine died of a fever. Morgan le Fay planned to kill the child and deliver the body to Uther. That was when Merlin found him and whisked him away.
“Art was too young to fight back then, so we brough
t him along as our page. Oh, he cried when we found that slaughtered village, you remember?”
Sir Kay nodded, wiping his nose. “Cried all night. No use in crying. They were already dead. He was always soft.”
“If you stopped to cry over everyone who died because of Uther Pendragon, you would have your own lake.”
“Might be where Camelot’s lake came from!” Sir Kay slapped his leg as though he had made a funny remark.
“Maybe the Lady of the Lake was dribbled out of his snotty nose!” Sir Ector laughed so hard he turned purple. Finally he caught his breath and took another drink. “Anyway. I was saying. We showed Art what the world was like. Village to village. Even fought a few fairy knights.”
Brangien made a doubtful noise in the back of her throat.