Queen of the Summer Stars by Persia Woolley Read Free Book Online Page A

Sanctuary, leaving me to try and explain their absence without revealing what had happened.
    Now I glanced at Ettard and said as casually as possible, “I think the Lady of the Lake is too busy teaching the young princes at the Academy to come south.” If Igraine’s companion knew Morgan was angry at me, she didn’t pursue the subject.
    “What about Morgause?” The girl was studying my face intently and nodded when I shook my head. “I thought not. She would have come to see her mother if she had been this close. I always wondered why she wasn’t at your wedding…”
    The implied question hung between us, and I tried to shrug it aside, unwilling that anyone else should know how deeply Arthur hated his other half-sister. “The Orkneys are a long way away,” I hedged.
    “But Gawain is with the High King still?” Ettard’s voice turned eager.
    “He’ll no doubt be the hero of the summer campaign.” I grinned. The Prince of Orkney was coming into his own as a warrior, full of bravery and a bright battle-lust that was the envy of all the other men. Before long the bards would be making songs of glory in his honor.
    “What about Silchester? Is it very fancy—more fancy than Sarum?”
    “Oh much more,” I assured her. “It used to be a wealthy merchant town, so the sewers actually work and the bigger houses still have running water and heated floors.”
    When we arrived at the Mansion I turned the convent girl over to Vinnie, who greeted her fondly. They had gotten on well enough last summer, so I was confident she was in good hands.
    With the harvest coming in and the men due home before long, I had more than enough to keep me busy from dawn to candletime. There was fruit to gather and roots to dig, hay to be secured and cheeses to put by. Working side by side with peasant and servant, I watched the larder grow each day and sighed contentedly before dropping into exhausted sleep each night.
    As the summer waned Brigit helped me set up an infirmary in the little Christian church—any war-leader’s wife knows that the proud boasts of springtime are paid for in the shattered bodies that come home in autumn. And every evening I prayed fervently that my husband would not be among the casualties this year.
    I had the children take turns on the walls, watching for Arthur’s return, but it was Griflet who brought the news. He found me repairing, for the hundredth time, the fence around the cabbages, and I whirled in alarm as his horse clattered into the courtyard. The animal was lathered and the boy covered with grime and sweat, but the smile on his face spread from ear to ear as he dismounted.
    “The High King wants you to know he’ll be home by tomorrow’s sunset, and after all these months of foraging, could do with a home-cooked meal.”
    “Not hurt?” I asked as Ulfin’s son dismounted.
    “Not a scratch, M’lady—not a scratch!”
    With a yelp of glee I flung my arms about him and we danced a wild little jig amid chickens and children while the rest of the household came dashing to see what all the commotion was about.
    “There’s others that are wounded, some of them right bad,” Griflet added breathlessly when we came to a stop. “But the Irish have been driven from southern Wales once and for all, and His Highness is mighty hungry.”
    “You there,” I called to the youngsters, having instantly decided on the menu. “Whoever catches that roaming porker gets an extra helping of dessert. Just bring him around to Cook so she can get started.”
    Next afternoon the Companions marched down the broad Roman Road with the sun glinting off their spearheads and the horses prancing proudly under the Banner of the Red Dragon.
    Brigit and I stood on the ramparts while the crowd gathered by the gates and filled the air with cheers and clapping as they waited for the victorious warriors.
    Even from a distance Arthur looked splendid: bronzed and ruddy, he carried the pride of his accomplishment with youthful