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Aulan, one of her father’s men. She tried to smile.
    “Aulan! What brings you here before the roads have dried? Do you have a letter for me from Mother?” She held out her hand.
    He drew a leather pouch from a pocket of his cloak and handed her the scrap of vellum inside. Guinevere read it slowly, seeing her mother’s face as she sat at her table. Some words had smeared before they dried.
    “Aulan, was my father still alive when you left?”
    “Yes, Your Majesty. He is very weak, though. We should hurry.”
    Arthur put his arms around her, for support. Her eyes closed and she leaned against him a few seconds. Then she took a deep breath and made herself stand alone, gently pushing him away.
    “Lydia, call your brother here, please, and ask if he will come with me. He was fostered by my father. Cei, can you possibly spare Caet this journey? I know he has charge of the horses, but he was born in our house and he belongs with the rest of the family. Aulan, has anyone sent for my brother?”
    The guard nodded. “Your mother said nothing to us about it, so Pincerna sent the best horsemen for him at the same time I left to come here.”
    “That was right.” She looked around, suddenly bewildered. Lydia took her and led her from the room.
    “Come, my dear. We’ll find Risa and get your things together. I’ll have her warm some wine for you, too. Then I want you to rest. This evening I’ll come back and let you know what is happening. Don’t worry about anything but your father. Let me take care of it all.”
    Alone in her room, the cup of wine next to her couch, Guinevere tried to piece together what was happening. Her mother’s letter, laid upon her lap, was only a jumble of words. “Leodegrance not well. Please come to us.” She had not had the heart to write more. Writing it would make it come true. Guinevere tried to picture her father as he was now, as she had seen him last. He had never recovered fully from his last battle and had remained drawn and old even after he had been able to leave his bed. But she couldn’t see him so. Instead she saw him on horseback, pounding into their courtyard just behind her, letting her think she had won the race, or swinging her high on his shoulders when she was still too small to keep up with her brother’s games. On his strong back she was mistress of all the world, and she never felt so omnipotent or so safe as then. He was what kept the world glued together. In all the years she had spent away, she kept the certainty within her that she could always return home and it would not have changed. Whatever happened outside, her father and mother could hold away the darkness and the evil. What would rush in if Leodegrance were gone?
    There was a soft tap on the door. Guinevere sat up and tucked the message under a cushion.
    “Foster Mother, can I come in?”
    “Of course, Galahad!” She held out her arms to him.
    “My father told me you were sad. He wanted to make you feel better but didn’t know how. So I’ve come to ask.”
    “You can help me. I need you now, just to hug me.”
    She scooped him into her lap and asked him about the things he had done that day and what he wanted to see at Camelot and what he wanted to do when he grew up. Slowly the burning cord in her throat faded as her fear ebbed and all the world became less important than the golden boy encircled by her arms.
     
    • • •
     
    Arthur was wrapped in a blanket, as the morning was chill. He had not slept well. He did not know his father-in-law well, but Leodegrance was part of the legends Arthur had grown up on. Leodegrance had seen Ambrosius and had dined with Uther Pendragon. As boys, he and Merlin had hunted and raced together. His father had been one of those who received the last message from the Emperor, telling Britain no help was coming, that they must maintain Roman tradition alone. “Now,” Arthur thought, “I’m becoming the old one. And I don’t know the old ways anymore. I can