Queen of the Summer Stars by Persia Woolley Page A

child-bride.”
    Dinadan’s announcement took us all by surprise. Mark was a walking monument to self-indulgence—a great mountain of flesh who’d never curbed any of his appetites. His determination to wed a girl on the edge of puberty had been the cause of much comment over the years; the men made jokes about it and the women frowned in empathy for any child so chosen.
    Even I had been considered, back when I was barely thirteen years old, but Mark kept a very Christian court and I’d managed to disqualify myself by stressing my Pagan beliefs.
    Lancelot was sitting on the other side of the hearth, rubbing tallow into a pair of boots, and he looked up from the shadows. Although I was growing used to his coldness toward me, there were still moments when his similarity to Kevin took me unawares.
    “Who is the girl?” he asked.
    “Isolde, daughter of the Queen of Ireland and niece of Sir Marhaus.” Tris’s voice was glum.
    “Whew…” I let out a whistle, wondering if Mark knew who had killed the Irish Champion.
    “I just hope the Irish don’t know,” Tristan went on with a slow frown. “It’s me Mark is sending to fetch the girl for the wedding.”
    Distaste for the errand was evident on the warrior’s face. Tristan wasn’t strong on either diplomacy or duplicity, nor was he particularly quick-witted, so I hoped he could take Dinadan along to keep him out of trouble.
    “Well,” Arthur pointed out, “there’s no need to flaunt the fact that you were the one who wielded the sword. The deed was done in my name, after all.”
    And so the matter was left. But later that night Arthur brought the subject up again as we prepared for bed.
    “Even if they realize Tris’s role in Marhaus’s death, I have a hunch the Irish wouldn’t stop this marriage. It makes an ally of Cornwall, and they may hope to turn King Mark against me in the future.”
    “Could they do that?” I asked, taking the pins and barrettes out of my hair.
    “With Mark, who knows?” Arthur sighed and pulled off his boots. “He’s probably the least trustworthy ally in the whole of Britain.”
    I nodded, remembering it was Mark who would not come to his own Duke’s aid when Uther had marched on Tintagel.
    “We’ll miss Tristan sorely,” my husband continued. “He’s been wonderful in seeing Bedivere through his convalescence. He even suggested that Bedivere go to Rheged to study music with your family’s bard. Do you think Edwen would be willing to take on a student?”
    The idea had never occurred to me, though everyone said Edwen was the best bard in Britain. Perhaps in his older years he would enjoy teaching others his craft. My father already liked Bedivere, and it seemed certain Gladys and Kaethi and all the rest of the household would take good care of him. If we sent Taliesin with him, the lad could study with Edwen, too, as well as provide the lieutenant with whatever help he needed as he learned to live with his new, hooked hand.
    So when the weather lifted and the Roads opened, we said farewell to Tristan and Dinadan, who went south to Cornwall, and sent our two aspiring musicians north to Rheged with messages of love and good wishes for my family.
    It was now two years since I’d seen my father and I would have liked to go with Bedivere, but we were expected to attend Mark’s wedding at Castle Dore. I settled for sending all the news I could think of, including how well Arthur and I got on. The one thing I couldn’t give them was word that I was pregnant; in spite of all our romping, my prayers, and the mistletoe talisman Kaethi had given me, my courses came as regularly as the new moon.
    This summer, I told myself…this summer I would seek help from the old women who had charms for such things. In the meantime there were preparations to make for the journey to Cornwall, for we planned to leave right after Beltane and take the household with us.
    ***
     
    It would be the first royal progress I’d ever organized