The Undead Queen of Camelot

by M. L. Bullock

  “She said something to me at the lakeshore,” Arthur began as Lancelot appeared in the doorway. He was dressed as a warrior and was clearly ready for battle.

  “Forgive my absence, my king.”

  “There is nothing to forgive, Lancelot. It is a happy day that our wives have returned to us. I was speaking of Vivian’s words, about the sword and her promise to retrieve it.”

  There was a stir in the chambers, and the men continued to speak. Someone produced a map of Camelot and the surrounding lands. There was much back-and-forth about how to deal with two armies, but in the end, I talked Arthur into going to his mother.

  “I can get you there, not tonight but tomorrow night. I am convinced that if she sees you and hears your voice, her fears will be allayed. And with Igraine’s help, we will have an army that may have the chance to withstand Vivian.”

  Gareth nodded as he stroked his neat beard. “It is a sound plan. I agree with the queen. Queen Igraine has been misled. She will know you when she sees you. But this army of Vivian’s…”

  Sir Marcus put his hand on his heart and said, “We will give our lives for our king if so required. She will not withstand us, Sir Gareth. There are a great many of us ready to serve and fight.”

  Arthur put his hand on the young man’s shoulder. “No one doubts your courage, Sir Marcus. Nor yours, Sir Philip. Nor any of you. But Vivian’s army will not be made of men, not like you and me. She will raise another kind of army, one unlike any you have ever seen.”

  And that filled the hall with silence. On this unhappy note, he dismissed the knights. Lancelot fled quickly, no doubt to seek out his wife. He had not participated much in the discussion, but he had been careful to avoid looking me in the eye. Yes, he remembered everything now. I would see that he did not regret that. We would never behave as we had before.

  “Come, Arthur. Let us retreat for a little while. Sir Gareth is perfectly capable of leading the preparations. I want to see Excalibur, my king.”

  I had not realized this until I spoke it. I wondered at my request. Arthur did not hesitate but immediately took me by the hand. We departed the Hall of the Round Table and traveled up the back stair to his chamber.

  As he pushed open the door, I could hear the sword whispering.

  It whispered my name.

  Chapter Ten—Arthur

  “Excalibur knows you are here, Guinevere. You hear it call you, don’t you?” I couldn’t hide the tinge of jealousy I felt, but I truly felt no malice toward my wife. I loved Guinevere, but I served Excalibur. And to think the sword longed for her…it was an emotion I could not express. Yet after all this time, I did not put the sword’s fickleness to her blame.

  “Yes,” she said as the door closed behind us. “I hear the sword, but it is not as before.” A fire roared in the fireplace; I had ordered it although the night was not all that chilly. My wife felt cold constantly, and I wanted her to feel comfortable. The bed was freshly made, but I tried not to focus on that although I wanted nothing more than to be with her. The feel of her hair in my fingers, those eyes glistening up at me, her mouth open in desire. She kissed my cheek, and I wondered if she had been reading my mind. She had done it before, and I had heard her voice in my head and spoken back too. If she did hear me, she said nothing about it. Why should I be ashamed that I wanted to love my own wife?

  Guinevere spun around quickly, and her dark eyes—such strange eyes—betrayed her dismay. “Are you afraid of me, Arthur?”

  It would do no good to lie to her. “Yes, Guinevere. I am afraid of you, but I love you and my love is greater than my fear.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I am sure.” I removed my tunic and stood before her bare-chested. Excalibur was in the chest just beyond Guinevere, but I had no desire to retrieve it. She knew it was there, and it strummed slightly, like a sort of musical instrument.

  “You should be afraid of me, Arthur. I have killed many men, more than you could kill in a hundred lifetimes.” She sat on the edge of the bed, seeming utterly defeated.

  I sat beside her and took her hand. “I am sorry I left you. I never wanted to.”

  “I am dead, Arthur. I can never bear children, never see the sun. I can never be the Guinevere you knew. Those days are over for me, my king. I am a creature.”

  Her words broke my heart. “If you are a creature, then I made you that way. I left you alone with the wolves. I did not want that.”

  “And Lochlon and Alwen…do you blame me for them?” Her luminous eyes were brimming with tears.

  “Never do I. Never have I. I blame those who betrayed us, dear wife. You were betrayed by many, and there were too many enemies for you to withstand. I do not blame you for anything.”

  “But you should hate me, Arthur.” She was on her feet like a wildcat. “You should hate me with an eternal hatred as I hate myself. I failed to serve my king. Hate me! Please! As Merlin does—and Gareth and all those who remember what I have done!”

  “Stop this, Guinevere. You are my wife and my love. You are not my property but my friend and so much more. You do not serve me, and you have not failed me.” I held her gently, my desire to comfort her quickly quieting my fear of her. She was right, I did fear her and had seen her kill. But none of that mattered now. Just for this moment, I only wanted to love her. “All I ever wanted was for you to love me. Me, Arthur. Not the Pendragon. Not the son of Uther.”

  “And I have loved you, Arthur. Do you remember that day? The day you were set to ride for Camlann? I should have told you then—it has been one of my deepest regrets. All through these centuries. It was you, and it has only ever been you, Arthur. I love you and no other.”

  Her words burned in me, and my desire for her grew like a consuming fire. I said softly, “I never stopped loving you. Even when I could not remember who I was, I knew there was someone. I knew that you existed.”

  Guinevere unlaced her shirt and pulled it over her head. She wore modern clothing, from a time that I almost forgot entirely. She removed her trousers and undergarments and stood before the fire. The light glowed behind her, and she seemed to be a lovely statue, perfect and so pale that she almost glowed.

  “Love me, Arthur. Love me.”

  She did not have to wait for my reply. I kissed her hard and lifted her quickly to carry her to the bed. “No, here. Let us remain here before the fire.” I whispered my agreement as she helped me remove the rest of my clothing. Together we fell on the rug and lost ourselves in one another’s arms. She kissed me furiously, and I felt her teeth sharpen. I did not care that her eyes glistened or that her face had taken on a frighteningly hungry look. If she killed me, I would die a happy man, for I loved Guinevere Pendragon as I would love no other.

  “Guinevere!” I whispered in her ear as we collapsed together before the fire. The world outside might fall around us, I may die tomorrow or the day after that, but I would always remember this moment. The moment when she loved me again.

  She stroked my chest with her cool fingers, and I kissed her hair. “I must leave you, Arthur. I do not wish to, but I must. The sun will rise soon.”

  “I understand, my love, but you must swear you will return.”

  “Of course I will. Nothing will prevent that.” She kissed me passionately and then began to get dressed. She smiled at me, and it seemed a lifetime since I had seen that familiar smile, the one that promised to love me forever. To be with me always.

  “What do you need? Where will you go?”

  “Somewhere dark, Arthur. You should not worry. I am more than capable of finding a place to rest. Nimue is calling me. She will go with me, but we will return. I promise you.”

  “Do you need…I have blood, Guinevere.”

  She paused as she slid on her trousers. “Do not say such a thing, Arthur. Do not even think it.”

  “But if you need my blood, I will give it.”

  She pulled on her boots and came to me. She looked fevered, and th
e color in her cheeks made her seem almost human. But she was human. She was my Guinevere.

  “I love you, and I will not take your blood. I must go.”

  I held her hands and whispered, “If you ever need it, it is yours.” She hugged me and kissed my neck. “Go to Merlin’s cave. You remember the way, don’t you?”

  “Nimue will, surely. I will see you at nightfall, Arthur.” As quick as any bird, my wife departed my company, but she did not take the door. She clambered up on the window ledge, smiled at me briefly and then fell. I screamed her name as I raced to the window. I had been a fool to worry. Guinevere was not dead. She was very much alive and flying toward the forest.

  A few minutes later, I fell asleep dreaming of my wife. Together we flew over Camelot and then spiraled up toward the sun. And it did not burn her.

  Chapter Eleven—Arthur

  I walked the balcony and waited for my wife to arrive. The sun would set in a few minutes, and the waiting for her had been excruciating for me. Yes, the fortress was buzzing with activity, but there were also many questions about the return of the queen, and a few concerning the Lady Nimue and the Lady Elaine. People wanted to know, where is the queen? From some source, some informative source, the word circulated that the queen was cursed. I heard their comments, although none would directly ask me such a thing, for they knew my love for Guinevere was greater than any accusation they could make against her. My people were fearful, but I did not answer any of them.

  Except for Gareth. In the company of Lancelot, I confessed to him that the queen was indeed cursed, thanks to Morgan LeFay’s dark magic. Furious at hearing the truth, Gareth railed and threatened to kill Morgan, but I assured him that I had already done so. Or we had done so together, Guinevere and I. But despite her possible death, the shee curse had not abated, and now Nimue was cursed too.

  “This curse is contagious? But what is the nature of this curse, my king? I can see that the queen is changed, as the Lady Nimue is changed. But other than affecting their appearance and forcing them into the darkness, how else does this curse manifest?” Gareth’s voice shook with fear. I did not believe that he was afraid of Guinevere, but then again, maybe he was. I believed his concern was for me and for the people of Camelot, the people he had cared for faithfully in my absence.

  The dragon pennant flapped in the breeze as we stood on the stone balcony overlooking the courtyard below. Horses whinnied at the men who handled them; the animals became more unsteady as evening approached. Carts wheeled in and out of the inner gate, and the blacksmith’s song continued. Whack, whack, whack. Strangely enough, the sounds of battle did not excite me, not as they used to…perhaps because I died in the last one. Whatever the case, I shrugged my shoulders as if I could shake anything remotely similar to fear away.

  Gareth was waiting for an answer. I deemed it best to be honest with him. “The queen’s curse requires her to take blood, Gareth. Human blood. It is the same with Nimue.”

  Gareth’s face reddened as he turned his back to me and leaned against the stone. “It is true, then; the queen is a murderer!”

  “Watch your tongue, Gareth!” Lancelot warned him sourly.

  “No, Lance. He must know the truth. It is true that she has killed many men, but only to survive.”

  “But there are stories, Arthur. A village not far from here. Bodies were found with no blood in them, even children, my king! If it is true, that would mean—”

  I put my hand up to stop him. “I too have heard these stories, Gareth, but I do not know them to be true. I will not again listen to accusations against my wife without her here to defend herself.”

  “Yes, my king,” Gareth answered, his hands in tight fists. “But what would Merlin say if he were here? Your friend would advise you to be cautious, as I do. I do not wish to speak ill of the queen, not after everything.” He cast a surly eye at Lancelot, who seemed oblivious to our presence.

  I did not pick up the thread of conversation that Gareth was offering me. Let sleeping dogs lie, Gareth, I thought. “Surely Guinevere is not the only one of her kind. We know that Nimue has also been affected, so there could be others as well.”

  “But you said she needed blood to survive, and that would mean she must take life to live. Aren’t we sworn to protect the people of Camelot? How can we do that if the queen sees them as…” I could see tears in the knight’s eyes.

  “The queen loves her people, Gareth. The curse has not changed that. She has not harmed one of them. Please, do not spread this fear amongst the knights or the people. Not at this time with all that we face. It is my wish, Sir Gareth.”

  Gareth nodded glumly and muttered, “I will do as you say, King Arthur.” He left Lancelot and me alone with an unhappy glance. We walked the balcony while I watched and waited for Guinevere. Lancelot fumed about Gareth’s words, but I reminded him that they were all true and that as my advisor, he had every right to talk to me about the situation. “How is the Lady Elaine, Lancelot? Is she…well?”

  “Yes, she is well. I thank God that he brought her back to me, Arthur.”

  “As do I. See there? Here comes the queen. I will go and meet her.”

  “Arthur?” Lancelot continued softly, “Thank you. For bringing me back to Camelot. I would have understood if you had refused me.”

  I smiled back and chuckled. “No, you wouldn’t have.”

  I hurried down the stairs and into the courtyard to meet Guinevere and a cloaked Nimue. I could see by her hands that Nimue’s skin was almost gray, ashen and thin. I could see how brutally this curse treated her. The effects seemed much different than with Guinevere, who had darker hair and eyes but looked as young and beautiful as ever.

  The people murmured their greetings, but I noticed they did not come too close to the queen. We traveled inside to the Hall of the Round Table and closed the doors.

  “Lady Nimue, remove your hood so that I may see you,” I insisted when the door closed. It was only the three of us here.

  “I do not wish to frighten you, my king,” Nimue answered in a dry voice. I could not help but shiver at the sound of it.

  “Please, Nimue,” I said softly. She slid back her cloak hood, and my heart sank. Nimue’s face was withered and drawn as if she were an old woman. Her eyes glittered, and her mouth was wrinkled.

  “What is to be done for you, Nimue?”

  “Nothing, my king. There is nothing to be done for me. Please do not worry yourself for my sake.”

  Guinevere said in a steely voice, “Nimue is stubborn. She starves herself quite frequently, but she is strong. Stronger than I, and I am her Maker.” To hear Guinevere admit this horrible truth openly disturbed me no end. So it was not true that Guinevere had hurt no one here. Should I ask about the murdered village? And if she should say that yes, she had done the deed, there was only me to blame. My wife had been left to defend the realm by herself. She had been no match for my sister, Morgan.

  “The queen and I have discussed this. You must not leave Camelot without protection. I shall do a working over you, my king. It will temporarily protect you from blade and arrow and any other type of human weapon. However, be warned, if the High Queen should choose to use magic against you, my protection will quickly vanish.”

  I sat as they explained their plan. Guinevere would wing me away, and we would arrive at Igraine’s camp in less than an hour. Once inside, it would be up to me to convince my mother that I was who I claimed to be.

  “Gareth and Lancelot will not like being left behind,” I told the pair. I thought it was as good a plan as any I had, although I was unsure that I was prepared to fly.

  “They do not have to know,” Guinevere said, her eyes fierce and determined.

  “I will tell Gareth, at least. He is stressed enough already.” Guinevere glanced at me but asked me no questions. Eventually, we would have to discuss the reports he had received, but now was not the time.

  “Do your work, Nimue. I am in your hand
s.”

  Nimue’s enchantment was not complicated. It involved only a few stones and a few words that she spoke over me. I wasn’t sure that it had effected any real help, but who was I to judge her powers? She pulled the hood back over her head and left Guinevere and me alone in the Hall of the Round Table.

  “It is time to go, Arthur. I think it best that we slip away, out of the fortress, before I carry you to Igraine. She will not like to see me. In fact, I am sure the sight of me will only anger her, so I will hang back once we are inside. But I will stay close. I can hear and see, even without using my eyes. I will be watching you, just in case Nimue’s magic weakens. You must carry Excalibur. Igraine must see that you are king still, whether she says nay or yea.”

  “It will be as you say, Guin.”

  We stood in the hall together, facing one another as queen and king. The feelings of last night, the love and passion I felt, lingered still, but this greater role, this greater purpose rose up in me. I imagined she felt the same way. It was rare that we were ever just Arthur and Guinevere, but for this moment, we could be. I cupped her face in my hands and kissed her.

  “I love you, Guinevere. But if you drop me, I swear I will haunt you.”

  She laughed heartily and promised that she would never do such a thing. “I am not so weak as you think, Arthur.”

  “I well believe it.”

  After telling an unhappy Gareth about my plans, the two of us hurried out of Camelot without any notice at all. Gareth insisted we take the tunnel beneath the castle, the one that led through the crypt of warriors. It was humbling to see the stones bearing all the names of the brave fallen. Bors. Pelleas. Too many to name. By the time we exited and Guinevere pushed the stone door back into place, our mood had become heavy and sad.

  This mission had to be successful. Too many had died for the cause of Camelot already. If I must be the next, so be it, but I prayed it would not be at my own mother’s hands.

  I put my arms around Guinevere. In a matter of seconds, we left the ground.