Wicked Day by Mary Stewart Read Free Book Online

wronged by me. King Arthur has always acted more as an enemy than as a brother and a just lord."
    She paused. The boy's eyes were fixed, enormous, his lips slightly parted. She smoothed her gown again, and her voice took on a deeper, graver note.
    "Soon after King Arthur had assumed the throne of Britain, he was told, by the evil man Merlin, that a child had been born somewhere in Dunpeldyr, a son of its king, who would prove to be Arthur's bane.
    The High King never hesitated. He sent men north to Dunpeldyr to seek out and kill the king's sons. "Oh, no" — a smile of great sweetness — "not mine. Mine were not yet born. But to make sure that any bastard, perhaps unknown, of King Lot's should die, he ordered that all the children in the town, under a certain age, should die." Sorrow throbbed in her voice. "So, Mordred, on that dreadful night some score of children were taken by the soldiers. They were put out to sea in a small boat, which was driven by wind and waves until at last it drove onto rock and foundered, and the children were all drowned. All but one."
    He was as still as if held by a spell. "Me?"
    It was a whisper, barely audible.
    "Yes, you. The boy from the sea. Now do you understand why you were given that name? It was true."
    She seemed to be waiting for an answer. He said, huskily: "I thought it was because of being a fisherman, like my father. A lot of the boys that help with the nets are called Mordred, or Medraut. I thought it was a sort of charm to keep me safe from the sea-goddess. She used to sing a song about it.
    My mother, I mean."
    The green-gilt eyes opened a little wider. "So? A song? What sort of song?"
    Mordred, meeting that look, recollected himself. He had forgotten Sula's warning. Now it came back to him, but there was no harm, surely, in the truth? "A sleeping song. When I was small. I don't really remember it, except the tune."
    Morgause, with a flick of her fingers, dismissed the tune. "But you never heard this tale before? Did your parents ever speak of Dunpeldyr?"
    "No, never. That is" — he spoke with patent honesty — "only as all the folk speak of it. I knew that it was part of your kingdom once, and that you had dwelt there with the king, and that the three oldest princes were born there. My — my father gets news from the ships that come in, of all the kingdoms beyond the sea, the wonderful lands. He has told me so much that I—" He bit his lip, then burst out irresistibly with the question that burned him. "Madam, how did my father and mother save me from that boat and bring me here?"
    "They did not save you from the boat. You were saved by the King of Lothian. When he knew what had happened to the children he sent a ship to save them, but it came too late for all but you. The captain saw some wreckage floating still, the boat's ribs, with what looked like a bundle of cloth still there. It was you.
    An end of your shawl had caught on a splintered spar, and held you safe. The captain took you up. By the garment you wore, and the shawl that saved your life, he knew which of the children you were. So he sailed with you to Orkney, where you might be reared in safety." She paused. "Have you guessed why, Mordred?"
    She could see, from the boy's eyes, that he had guessed why long since. But he lowered his lids and answered, as meekly as a girl:
    "No, madam."
    The voice, the folded mouth, the maiden-like demureness, was so much Morgause's own that she laughed aloud, and Gabran, who had been her lover now for more than a year, looked up from his harp and allowed himself to smile with her. "Then I will tell you. Two of the bastards of the King of Lothian were killed in that massacre. But there were known to be three in the boat. The third was saved by the mercy of the sea-goddess, who kept him afloat in the wreckage. You are a king's bastard, Mordred, my boy from the sea."
    He had seen it coming, of course. She looked to see some spark of joy, or pride, or even speculation.
    There was