The Lady of the Sea Read Free Page A

want to get rid of Isolde, because the sons of Merlin must reign alone. I see it all.” She pressed her long fingers to her temples as the visions came thick and fast. “You mean to use all your ancient Welsh dragon-power to destroy the Mother-right.”
    “No, no,” Merlin screeched. “I protest—”
    Igraine held up her hand. “Fight for your fatherless men all you like, I shall defend Isolde and the Mother to the end.”
    “Hear me! On your own head be it—”
    “Oh, sir—” Igraine turned on him, swelling like a stormy sea. “Go back to the Welshlands and your crystal cave. Learn there if you can the simple secret of life. All men are lost without a woman to love. Woman is the circle that contains all life itself, all that is human in its journey from birth to death.”
    “Madam, I swear—”
    Words, threats, and curses were pouring from Merlin’s lips. The old Queen stood for a moment surveying the tortured features and livid, twitching lips. Then she raised her hand and the young knight appeared at the door.
    The old Queen bowed. “Safe journey, Merlin,” she said sternly, “and be warned. Leave Isolde alone. She must find her own way through the dangers ahead. She will triumph or fail, there is no middle way, and not even the Mother can turn back the wheel.”

chapter 2

    H ear us, King Mark!”
    The man at the head of the table made a final appeal. “The Gods know I’ve been loyal to your house.” He gestured to the worn faces round the board. “We’ve all grown old serving you and your father, in war and peace. But we’re all agreed that you must take action now.”
    Must, must . . . ?
    The slack figure on the throne listened with dull rage. What, a sovereign in his own stronghold to be attacked like this? A King of Cornwall to be harassed by those whose duty it was to bow and obey? He could smell them all circling now, like beasts of prey. How dare Sir Nabon and his lords tell him what to do? He had called this Council. Let them obey him
—now!
    His fist crashed to the table. “I am King here! And you, my lords, will hear me!”
    Balefully, he stared down the length of the green baize. Who would challenge him? Not the white-bearded Sir Wisbeck, already a hoary ancient when Mark was a boy and now sailing serenely toward his eternal night. Nor the fat and pompous Sir Quirian, busily avoiding the King’s eye. Mark laughed sardonically. Quirian might be playing manfully with the hilt of his sword, but if swords were drawn, the stout knight would not be seen.
    Fools! Didn’t they see that he was offering them fame beyond compare? Men would talk of the Quest for the Holy Grail for a thousand years. This nonsense about the succession must not throw him off. He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward, glowering.
    “Arthur and his knights are all going on the Quest,” he pronounced. “Cornwall should be there, too.”
    Sir Nabon watched every eye round the table turn toward the King, and stifled a sigh. Where was Isolde? No one else could deal with Mark at times like this.
    Isolde . . .
    A tall, lithe shape drifted across his mind, and he saw again the Queen’s cloud, womanly red-gold hair, thoughtful eyes, and quicksilver smile. Sourly, he eyed the King’s soft leather tunic and breeches of fine wool, the gold chain adorning his less than manly chest, and the undeserved torque of knighthood around his neck. Isolde had more royalty in her little finger than this man in all his ungainly body, no matter how richly he dressed.
    Mark felt Nabon’s honest scrutiny and thrust out his chin. “How long is it now since Arthur sent word of the Quest? He’ll be leading his knights out on the road, and I should be, too.”
    “Oh, sire—”
    Sir Nabon’s voice was bleak with despair. “Your own kingdom craves your attention, not the Quest. In the north, the Picts threaten to overflow the Roman wall, and the savage Norsemen batter the eastern shore.”
    Old Sir Wisbeck frowned. “Hear him, sire. A