Guinevere's Gift

by Nancy McKenzie

  Lucius bowed, and his men drew their swords.

  A heavy fist pounded on the door, and a wild voice cried, “Alyse of Gwynedd! Come out, you coward queen, and yield to me!”

  Queen Alyse waited until the pounding stopped. She pitched her voice so it would carry. “I do not yield to traitors.”

  The door shuddered as bodies thudded against it, but it did not budge. “Come out! I command you to come out! I'm master of this castle now.”

  “Are you? Then come in and get me.”

  They tried. They battered at the door with a united strength, but with the weight of the barricade behind it, it proved as impenetrable as stone.

  At length, Sir Darric paused for breath. “Did you set that fire, you vengeful bitch? Come out or I'll burn you out, so help me God! I'll finish the job you started.”

  The men around her stiffened, but the threat did not surprise the queen. It was what she would have done herself, in his place. But she knew something that Sir Darric didn't: there had only been oil enough in the lamps to burn until dawn, and her own men had taken most of the torches. Without access to the oil in the storerooms—which she controlled—it would not be easy to generate enough of a blaze to burn a way into their sanctuary. Indeed, if she was not mistaken, his own men were pointing out that fact to Sir Darric now.

  She stepped closer to the door. “Did you really expect me to sit quietly by and let you take my kingdom? You gave me warning last night, and I took it. I don't apologize if the measures I've taken have kept you busy and soured your temper. They were meant to.”

  An argument flared beyond the door. “What warning?” “You gave her a warning?” “You told her what you were going to do?”

  Sir Darric subdued the dissension with difficulty. “Come out, Alyse,” he said again, sounding tired now. “You have the hall of meeting and the throne, I grant you, but I have the castle. And the land. Your sanctuary is your prison. Come out, and you will be honorably treated.”

  “Honor! I wonder you can speak the word.”

  “I've got the upper hand,” he insisted. “Gwynedd is mine. You can do as you wish in there. Starve, if you like. I am only offering you my protection.”

  Queen Alyse laughed. “Protection against what? I doubt very much we'll starve before you do. We've got the kitchens and the storerooms. We've got everything we need until King Pellinore gets home.”

  As she expected, this statement produced a hubbub among his men. She knew they must be tired and thirsty from their long night's work and eager for a cool drink, a meal, and a rest. The clamor of dissension grew and was cut short only when Sir Darric assigned Regis to take half the men and find a way into the storerooms.

  “Lucius,” Queen Alyse said quietly, “send someone to warn the men downstairs and check all their defenses. I want no displays of heroism. The doors stay shut. We are playing a waiting game, at least for now.”

  Lucius obeyed, and the queen turned her attention back to the door. “So Regis is with you, is he? I suspected as much. You could not have stolen so many cattle without his assistance.”

  Sir Darric's voice was cold; he, too, had been looking forward to a meal. “Still worried about your precious cattle? I tell you, the hillmen took them.”

  “And sold them in the market at Segontium? I have records of the sales. I also have the severed heads of cattle, dug from your own slaughter pits, with King Pellinore's mark on their ears. And I have a witness who last week counted three of the king's animals still grazing in your fields.”

  Sir Darric began to curse. “So you're the one who's been spying on me. I thought as much. Who hires a one-armed man to write?”

  Shouting came from the kitchens and the noise of battering at doors. At the queen's signal, Lucius took a handful of men and went to help.

  “You shouldn't be surprised,” Queen Alyse said, raising her voice to cover the sounds of mayhem below stairs. “All kings use spies. I sent a man to track my cattle even before you came to visit.”

  “Impossible. I looked myself. There were no tracks.”

  “Because you covered their feet in canvas shoes? Even canvas leaves a mark if you know what to look for. And did I say? My spy also brought me three of the canvas shoes that had ripped and been thrown away. Your men are careless, Darric.”

  “What does it matter?” Sir Darric cried hotly. “It was a game—a ploy to swell our larders and fatten my purse. And give me something to do while everyone was away. Are you really so upset about the loss of twenty cattle? It's nothing to a wealthy king like Pellinore.”

  “It's a small crime compared to treason,” Queen Alyse agreed. “But it's still theft. It's the lambs and heifers I mind the most. They are the future of the herd.”

  “Set your mind at rest, then. We took no lambs.”

  Lucius appeared at the head of the stairs and signaled to Queen Alyse. She crossed the room to him.

  “I don't know how long we can hold them,” he said quickly. The kitchen door is secure, but they're battering at the storeroom door with a solid wooden post. Even with twenty men behind the barricade, it won't hold much longer.”

  He did not say the rest; he did not have to. Even if they killed those who entered, word would reach the main force at the door to the hall of meeting, and their little corps of loyal followers would be overwhelmed by trained troops with better arms.

  “Hold them off as long as you can,” Alyse said. “I'll send down more men. Set the cook's boys to carry food from the storerooms into the kitchens, as fast as they can. If you have to, you can fall back and barricade the inner door to the kitchens.”

  Lucius saluted and disappeared back downstairs. Alyse dispatched more of her men to follow him. Now there were only three standing with her at the door to the hall of meeting. One glance toward the dais behind her convinced her she could not spare Yvonet or Bredon. Prince Maelgon was jumping up and down, shouting, “I want to fight! I want to fight!” and it was all both men could do to prevent him from running downstairs himself.

  Queen Alyse drew in a long, deep breath and faced the door.

  “Men of Gwynedd, hear me. You are engaged in treason. If Sir Darric fails to gain the throne, you will surely die. Your families will never recover from the disgrace. Your names will all be forgotten.

  “In what cause do you risk your lives and your reputations? In the cause of a confessed cattle thief who has promised you riches? In the cause of a younger son who has no future without your help? In the cause of an arrogant, careless boy who has no experience of ruling men? I advise you to think twice about it.

  “In changing masters, will you be any better off? I ask you to consider the lives you have led under King Pellinore. When you were starving, did he not feed you? Does he not provide clothes and goods to the poorest among you? In the black year of King Uther's death, when the crops burned in the fields from drought, did good King Pellinore not open his storerooms to you and your kin? We all went hungry that year, highborn and low alike. Do you think it is so in every kingdom? It is not.

  “When the Gaels attacked and burned the lower village, did King Pellinore not send men to repel them? Did he not send men and materials to help rebuild your homes? Do you imagine all kings treat their subjects with such generosity and care? Let me assure you, they do not.

  “If you have complaints, does the king not listen to you? Has he not set aside one day in every week to hear you? Do you think all rulers listen to their people or care how they feel? They most certainly do not.

  “Darric of Longmeadow has no doubt played upon your resentments, called good King Pellinore a tyrant, and promised you riches. Are you so credulous that you believe him? He is the one who is full of resentments. He is the one who longs for a tyrant's power. He is the one to whom riches mean everything. That is why he worked so hard to extinguish the fire in King Pellinore's apartments—to save the riches there. A smarter, less greedy man would have secured the queen and the heir before thinking about riches.

  “A
man who is consumed with the desire for power cares little about his fellows. From your own experience, you must know this to be true. Who cares more about you and your families: King Pellinore or Darric of Longmeadow? Who will be able to repel the next Gael attack: King Pellinore or Darric of Longmeadow? Why, Darric has not even yet wrested this castle from your queen, though he has had three days to do it! Who will keep you from starvation and misery in the years of drought? Can you even imagine this arrogant nobleman opening his storerooms to you? Rebuilding your houses? Listening to your complaints? Do you really think he cares a fig what happens to you once his own goals are accomplished?

  “Men of Gwynedd, you have your futures in your hands. Renounce this upstart lord and join us. All your transgressions will be forgiven. I promise you that. King Pellinore will be back in a few days' time. He will honor any among you who come to my aid. He will destroy you if you do not.”

  “Silence!” Sir Darric cried, panic making his voice rise to a squeal. “Silence, you brittle whore! Pellinore himself will yield to me! I have your daughter!”

  Queen Alyse heard a chorus of mutters from beyond the door. “Men of Gwynedd, hear me! This despicable coward has abducted my daughter, a child who cannot defend herself. I ask you all: Is this the action of a brave man? Has Darric of Longmeadow yet lifted his sword against a foe of merit, or does he content himself with blustering at women and servants? I ask you again, whom would you follow: King Pellinore or Darric of Longmeadow?”

  Voices rose on the other side of the door, rose and swelled into a veritable chorus of shouts and cheers. But from outside rose a new tumult of noise—thuds, shouts, jeers, cries of fury and of pain, and the unmistakable clash of swords.

  Queen Alyse backed away from the door. She was too late. The battle had begun.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  A Measure of Mercy

  Knowing that she could be of no more use to her men, Queen Alyse retreated to the dais. She released Bredon and Yvonet to join the fighting and sat on her throne with Prince Maelgon on her lap. Julia stood beside her, little Peredur asleep on her shoulder.

  “There is nothing to do now but wait,” Queen Alyse said quietly. “They know where to find me.”

  Young Maelgon fidgeted and squirmed and begged to be allowed to join the contest, but she controlled him without a reprimand. She could not bear to speak harshly to him during what might be the last morning of his life.

  The women gathered in a group in front of her. A few of them had daggers, the little, thin-bladed knives they used to cut their food, but most of them were weaponless, and all of them were frightened. Ailsa and Grannic, she saw, had gathered up the oil lamps from the floor and poured what oil remained in them into the two largest lamps. These they had lit and now held ready to fling at an attacker. Queen Alyse appreciated the gesture. By all the rules of war, any woman who attacked a man was considered one of the enemy and could be killed by any warrior without other justification.

  They waited. Beyond the windows high in the wall, the sky turned pale gray and then pale gray-blue. The noise of fighting increased downstairs and could be heard now beyond the barricaded door to the hall of meeting. The queen wondered if the cook's boys would remember the pokers heating these long hours in the embers. A sudden shriek followed by a volley of cursing rose up the stairs and made her smile.

  All at once, a great shout went up, and a chorus of male voices raised a victory paean. Footsteps thundered up the stairs. Queen Alyse clutched her son to her and waited with a frozen face for the first man to appear. Would he be hers or Darric's? All their futures rested on that.

  Stannic burst from the doorway and fell on his knees. His great, broad face was split by a grin. “Victory, my lady queen! We have carried the day! They are defeated!”

  Queen Alyse released Prince Maelgon and rose shakily to her feet. “Is Sir Darric taken?”

  “ Aye, lady, and Regis, too. Lucius has him. It is safe to open the doors now.”

  The women hurried to help pull back the furniture and to arrange the benches in some sort of order around the room. Regis and a handful of others were dragged upstairs, bound and bleeding from sword cuts, and thrown down at the foot of the dais. People flooded upstairs after them. The main door to the hall of meeting was at last thrown open, and a throng of men pushed in with Sir Darric in their midst, weaponless, bedraggled, and bleeding from a cut on his cheekbone. He, too, was shoved to his knees before the dais.

  Queen Alyse looked in astonishment over a hall crowded with men. Half of them were neither guards nor warriors, but villagers with clubs in their hands. Everyone was laughing and jesting and making noise. Pale shafts of sunlight fell from the high windows and lit their buoyant faces.

  The queen beckoned to Stannic. “Where did all these people come from? They cannot be Sir Darric's reinforcements?”

  “No, my lady,” Stannic said with a broad smile. “These men came up from the village when they heard there was trouble. Old Argus roused them. He knew something was amiss when Marcus didn't come home at dawn. Seems he knew there was treachery in the house guard, and he couldn't sleep on account of it. So he raised the village. They took Sir Darric's men from behind. It was short work after that.”

  Lucius came forward and knelt on one knee. “That is how the force that Regis commanded was taken, my lady,” he said. “But Sir Darric was taken by the men of yours he had turned. It was your speaking to them that did it. You turned them back, and they rounded on him.”

  With tears in her eyes, Queen Alyse looked out at all the smiling faces. She called Old Argus forward and thanked him from her heart in front of everyone. From her pouch, she withdrew the jeweled dagger Sir Darric had given her last evening—it seemed a lifetime ago—and bade him keep it as a token of her gratitude and esteem. She thanked the villagers for their bravery in coming to her defense and asked if any had been wounded in the action. A few, she was told, had suffered sword cuts and were being treated and bandaged below stairs. Queen Alyse offered the villagers all the mead they could drink, and with a great cheer, they went back downstairs to the kitchens to take immediate advantage of her hospitality.

  She looked around at the men who remained. They were all warriors of one class or another, even the traitors who lay prostrate at her feet. To the men loyal to King Pellinore she owed her life. She thanked them, each one, for their service and promised them honors from the king when he returned.

  To the waverers, those whom Sir Darric had bribed and who had changed their minds when the going got rough, she acknowledged herself in their debt and promised to put in a good word for them when the king returned. Until then, they were free men. She wondered privately how many would be left in Gwynedd by the time Pellinore got around to passing judgment.

  Finally, she turned to the vanquished. “Get up on your knees. Lucius, help them. Darric may stand.”

  He was already standing, having risen from the floor with catlike grace even before she spoke. He regarded her with the sullenness of a spoiled child. “You don't frighten me, Alyse. You have more men, but you don't have the upper hand. I still have your daughter.”

  An angry mutter ran through the standing men. Queen Alyse stilled it with a look.

  “If you want to live, you'll tell me where she is.”

  He smiled his charming, wicked smile, which had so piqued her interest a mere three days before. “You've got it backward. If you want to see your daughter again, you'll do as I say. You'll do whatever I say.” He lifted a sleeve to the cut on his cheek and dabbed at it delicately. “The first thing you'll do is order your men to keep their distance.”

  Queen Alyse stiffened, and his smile broadened. “Or don't you want her back? Is that it? You've got your sons close at hand, safe and sound, so the daughter doesn't matter?”

  “Nonsense,” she snapped. “But I will not submit to threats, especially not from you. I'd sooner cut your throat and spend the rest of my days looking for her. She can't be that far away. There hasn't bee
n time.”

  Sir Darric made her a mock bow and gestured toward the door. “Then go and find her. She's probably still alive. I told the men not to touch her, but,” he added with a shrug, “it's been a long night, and who knows what they do when I'm not there?”

  “You are a cruel man,” Queen Alyse said evenly. “And for what you have done, you deserve death. But I will yield this far: if you tell me where to find her, I will spare your life.”

  Sir Darric's expression hardened. “So you said before. That offer's already been rejected. Have you nothing more?”

  “Let Father kill him!” Prince Maelgon cried. “Father will surely kill him when he comes home!”

  Julia reached out a hand to shush him, but Queen Alyse looked at her son with a cold smile.

  “Prince Maelgon reminds me that I have one more thing to offer,” she said to Sir Darric. “I will vouch for King Pellinore's mercy. Tell me where Elaine is and I will not let him destroy you.”

  Sir Darric's lips curled in a sneer. “She's not worth the kingdom, then? She's only worth my life? I know how little you value that, Alyse. You hold your daughter's life cheap, it seems.”

  Queen Alyse signaled to Lucius, who drew his sword and placed its sharp edge against Sir Darric's throat. “Are you ready to die, Darric? Or are you going to tell me where she is?”

  “For God's sake,” grumbled Regis beside him. “You might as well tell her, my lord. It's over.”

  Lucius let his blade edge bite into Sir Darric's neck until it drew blood.

  Sir Darric spat viciously at the foot of the dais. “In a cave. Up in the hills. Near the north pass.”

  Alyse exhaled carefully and, with an effort of will, unclenched her fists. “Very well. If she's found alive and well, I will let you live. Lucius, lock them all downstairs in the dungeons. Stannic, get horses ready. We've not a moment to lose.”