Guinevere's Gift

by Nancy McKenzie

  Until this morning, when Queen Alyse broke the news of the coming wedding, Guinevere had not believed that Elaine truly expected even to meet King Arthur, much less to marry him. But there seemed no other interpretation of Elaine's weeping fit or of her genuine despair. Ambition was one thing, but common sense was quite another. King Pellinore was high in King Arthur's graces just now, but he was merely one of a handful of Welsh kings and only one of several hundred kings in Britain. What gifts did Elaine think she possessed that raised her above all the other princesses in the land, most of whom were probably as calf-eyed as she?

  Guinevere grieved for Elaine, but she could not understand her. Did she really want to leave her parents and the country of her birth to move to a distant land where she knew no one, where the people and even the language would be strange to her? Could she not understand that the girl who married the High King of Britain would be forced to spend most of her life alone? The High King was always on the move, as the last four years had proved. He went where the Saxons called him, with whatever forces he could muster, in his eternal battle to unite the kings of Britain against their enemies. She could not believe Elaine had ever really thought about what life would be like for King Arthur's queen.

  Elaine had never questioned any of the fabulous tales about King Arthur. His seemed to be a personality that attracted stories the way a still stone did moss. But Guinevere had once heard a tale about Arthur Pendragon that tarnished, if not destroyed, the luster of his reputation. She had never told it to Elaine; she could not imagine repeating it to anyone. It was a dark tale of incest, revenge, and the massacre of innocent children. The blame for the entire tragedy had been laid at Arthur's door by the royal courier whose gossip to Stannic Guinevere had accidentally overheard. Even if it was not true, the fact that one of his own men could believe it of the King sent a shiver up Guinevere's spine. Imagine having to live with such a man! She pitied the Dumnonian princess with all her heart.

  She crossed the battlement to the stairs and made her way back down to the women's quarters. She would tell Grannic and Ailsa that King Pellinore was expected by sundown and urge them to ready Elaine in time. She resolved to say nothing of the suitor.

  In spite of Guinevere's best intentions to behave like a lady all day, it was she and not Elaine who was late to dinner. The day was too mild and her heart too high to resist a quick gallop through the woods. There was plenty of time before sundown, and Peleth had not been outside for a run in three long days. Since Queen Alyse had granted Llyr's request, Guinevere could ride to her jumping field with a carefree heart.

  Peleth seemed as ready for a romp as she was. He cleared all his fences with room to spare and still had energy to burn. She whistled for Llyr and saw him step smiling from the woods.

  “Shall we go for a gallop along the shore road, Llyr? You've never ridden a horse that fast, have you?”

  He shook his head. “I am willing to try.”

  She laughed as he leaped up behind her. “You've got the knack of balancing on a horse. We shall have to find you a mount of your own before long.”

  Llyr's eyes widened. “To ride?”

  “Of course to ride. What else? It won't take you long to learn. I can catch you a mountain pony, and we can train him together over the summer. It will be lots of fun. Horses are amazing creatures when you understand them.”

  “And amazingly good to eat,” Llyr said with a smile. “I will have to warn Mapon that Earth's Beloved must not eat my pony.”

  Guinevere turned to him in shock. “You eat ponies?” She turned away again so that Llyr might not see the revulsion in her face.

  “We have no other use for them,” he said gently. “We do not hunt with them, for they are too noisy. We do not need them for travel, for our territory is not large. In the heights, they cannot go where we go, for their feet are too big. They are not like sheep; they are wanderers and must always be corralled. But their flesh is wholesome, the hair of their manes and tails is wonderfully strong and has a thousand uses, and the marrow from their bones can save a life. Forgive me. I see this pains you. But we sacrifice to Rhiannon before we hunt horses, and the ones we take are taken with her blessing.”

  Guinevere could not still a shiver. All deities had a dark side. The Good Goddess, mother of men, whose gifts were bounty, fertility, and life, was also the Great Goddess, whose gifts were victory, justice, and death. Likewise, the God of Christ was both a merciful God who forgave sins and a wrathful God who destroyed whole cities in a single breath. There was no reason her beloved Rhiannon should not be the same, but it grieved her to know it. The ivory carving of the horse goddess still rode in her pouch, but she did not touch it.

  Llyr enjoyed his gallop along the shore road. At full stretch, sitting the horse was easy, and he did not need his arm around the girl's waist to balance. But he did not withdraw it. He liked the sensation of her nearness; he liked the loose strands of her hair whipping against his cheeks. For her, he would learn to ride a mountain pony, even though it took him one more step away from the life he had known as one of Earth's Beloved and one more step closer to the life of the Others. His father would grieve over it, but Llyr would never be leader of the White Foot now. His fate had changed the day he first spoke to She With Hair of Light. His future, like hers, lay shrouded in mystery, or “in the smoke,” as his people put it. He was content that it should be so.

  They were halfway back to the castle when Peleth threw a shoe. They slid off the horse at once and searched for the shoe but could not find it.

  “Is it a cause for distress?” Llyr asked, as Guinevere emerged from a clump of roadside brambles with scratches on her hands and tears in her much-worn tunic. “We can walk back, surely?”

  “Yes, of course we can. We shall have to. But if I had the shoe, Stannic could nail it back on. Without it, I can't ride again until the smith makes a new one. That will take days. No one works on Beltane or on the day after. They are all sleeping it off.”

  Llyr smiled sympathetically. “Perhaps you, too, will be ‘sleeping it off.’ The queen is preparing a feast tonight, I think, to welcome the king back home?”

  “The feast!” Guinevere gasped. “I forgot all about it! Oh, how could I?” She stared in disbelief at the sun hanging low in the western sky and at the long shadows the trees cast across the road. She would never make it back to the castle in time. She would miss King Pellinore's arrival, and Queen Alyse would be furious. All the ground gained by her rescue of Elaine would be lost by one impulsive decision to ride out! For the first time, she recognized the justice of the queen's complaints. Had she given Queen Alyse the obedience owed her, she would have been ready for the long-awaited moment of the king's return. Her lateness was bound to be seen as an insult to King Pellinore. In her grief, she saw it so herself.

  “Come,” said Llyr. “I can see you wish to hurry. I will teach you how to walk before the wind. It is the step we use to cover open ground on a long journey. Six steps walking, six steps running. Like this.” He demonstrated. “You will get there in half the time and will not lose your breath.”

  They moved off at once, leading Peleth back home at Caesar speed while the shadows lengthened and the brightness of the day slid into dusk.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  King Pellinore's Surprise

  Ailsa was not pleased. After a long day nursing a spoiled girl in a weeping fit she was in no mood to countenance Guinevere's tardiness. She stripped the girl of her clothing, bathed her hastily with a wet cloth grown cold with waiting, ruthlessly combed out the tangles in her hair, yanked the green gown over her head, pulled the laces tight, and rebraided her hair with swift, ungentle fingers.

  Guinevere submitted meekly to such fierce handling. She welcomed the cold sting of the water and the sharp tugs at her scalp as the beginning of her penance. They were alone in the room, which meant that for once, Elaine had had the wisdom to obey her mother and go down to dinner. When Ailsa released her, Guinevere hurried downstai
rs, hoping to slip unnoticed into the gathered crowd.

  She was foiled by King Pellinore himself. He saw her the moment she entered the hall of meeting and called out her name. Heads turned. Guinevere dropped into a curtsy and fumbled for the right words to beg the king's pardon. He cut her short with a hearty laugh.

  “Come, come, none of this, lass. All the world knows where you've been.” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her breathless. He looked just the same despite six weeks on campaign. His bearded face creased with laughter, and his eyes shone bright with merriment. “You and your horses. Can't keep away from them, eh? Just as well, just as well.” He winked at her, and the men around him chuckled in agreement.

  “See who I've brought home with me?” he said, grinning. “Do you know them after all these years?”

  Guinevere turned to his companions, and her eyes widened. The elder of the two men, dark-bearded and swarthy, opened his arms to her.

  “Gwarthgydd!” she cried, running into his embrace. “Gwarth, my dear brother, how wonderful!”

  “Birthday greetings, little sister,” he rumbled in a deep bass voice. “I hardly knew you, Gwen, you have grown up so. I hope you remember Gwillim?” He indicated the young man at his side, and Guinevere stared in disbelief at her first and oldest friend.

  She did not recognize him. Her childhood playmate was a stranger. He had grown into the twin of his father, only slightly shorter and a little less muscular, with a beard nearly as full and as dark. But the change in him went deeper. His eyes avoided her, lifting for a moment to her face and then dropping instantly to the ground. He shuffled his feet uncertainly and mumbled a halfhearted greeting.

  “Gwill?” She made to give him a kiss of welcome but hesitated as he shied away and instead made him a reverence. “It is wonderful to see you. I am so glad you've come to visit.”

  He bowed, but civil speech was beyond him.

  Gwarth laughed and slung an arm about Gwillim's shoulders. “He's shy around girls yet. Doesn't know enough of them. We're hoping a brief stay here might cure him.”

  “Let him sit near me and Elaine at dinner. We'll get him talking.”

  She looked around for Elaine and saw her sitting with Grannic and the other women on a bench before the fire. She was dressed in her new blue gown and her hair was braided with ribbons, but she seemed insensible of the occasion. She sat sullenly with downcast eyes and a face still swollen with weeping. Guinevere had to bite her lip to keep from smiling. A suitor who was shy of girls and a princess who had clearly been made to appear in public against her will—it was not an auspicious beginning.

  Queen Alyse came to her husband's side and laid her hand upon his arm. “Now that we are all gathered,” she said, with a pointed look at Guinevere, “we shall take our seats.”

  As the crowd of people moved to find places at the long tables, Queen Alyse leaned close to Guinevere. “Say nothing about what has happened here. Say nothing to anyone. I don't want his men to know until I have had a chance to tell Pellinore in private. Do I have your word?”

  Guinevere nodded. “Of course.” She glanced quickly at Elaine, who moved sluggishly forward at Grannic's fierce insistence. No, Elaine would not speak, either. Her very presence was proof of her submission to her mother's will.

  The feast was a noisy affair. Guinevere reflected that Queen Alyse need not have worried about gossip spreading far, when each diner had to strain to hear his neighbor's voice. Since neither Elaine nor Gwillim spoke at all, she had leisure to notice other precautions the queen had taken. It was usual to include the entire household on occasions such as this, but the tables were filled only by the men King Pellinore had taken into battle. The few members of the household present were the children's nurses, and they all sat at the round table with the family, directly under Queen Alyse's eye. No one else who had stayed at home was there.

  Regis usually stood behind the king's chair on feast nights, with six of his men stationed around the hall to check any overexuberance once the wine went round. Tonight, however, the house guard was posted outside the hall, and the space behind the king's chair was empty. If King Pellinore noticed any of these changes, he gave no sign of it. He ate and drank with all his usual gusto, as merry as ever, glad to be home, and frowning only when his glance alighted on Elaine.

  Toward the end of the meal, when bellies were full and voices hoarse, and the air was thick with smoke from the torches and the fire, Queen Alyse rose to lead the women out. At the same moment, Guinevere saw Marcus come through the door, pause to assess the condition of the half-drunk men, and proceed swiftly to the round table on the dais. She knew from his guarded expression that something was amiss.

  Marcus stopped at a point halfway between the king and queen and saluted. Guinevere could not hear what he said, but King Pellinore could, and she watched confusion, bewilderment, and consternation cross his face as Marcus spoke and Queen Alyse replied. Gradually, conversation died at the table, and she heard King Pellinore say in a voice thick with shock, “Escape? Escape from what?”

  One by one, the tables in the hall fell silent. All heads turned toward the dais. King Pellinore pushed his platter away and rose. His voice, never dulcet, was rough with anger. “Explain yourself, man. Why was he imprisoned? And where is Regis?”

  Guinevere glanced at Elaine, who shot her a look of triumph. Instantly, Guinevere understood. Elaine wished the whole tale to be told in public, that she might regain the attention and sympathy of all the court. For the last three days, no one had paid her the deference she felt she was due as a victim of abduction. Now, when her mother told King Pellinore the truth, all that would change.

  “What do you mean, Regis is locked up, too?” King Pellinore roared, his face red with temper. “What's been going on here?”

  “Was locked up, my lord,” Marcus said ruefully. “I'm afraid they have escaped together. Along with Darnal, who stole the keys and let them out. We have traced them as far as the coast. They may have taken ship to Ireland. There was a trader in port that sailed on the afternoon tide.”

  King Pellinore's nostrils flared, and he banged a fist on the table. “You go too fast, man! Will someone please tell me what has being going on in my kingdom while I've been away!”

  Queen Alyse rose. “I will,” she said with cold precision, “if you will be so good as to sit down and give me the courtesy of your attention.”

  King Pellinore opened his mouth to object, saw the queen's resolve, and decided against it. “Very well,” he grunted, thudding into his chair and reaching for his winecup. “Begin.”

  Queen Alyse gazed coolly out at the expectant crowd, and as one, each man turned back to his meal and his wine. The low hum of their conversation made the queen's words audible only to those around the king's table. She told him the truth, without hesitation or excuse, in short, clipped tones that brooked no interruption. She did not dwell on anyone's villainy or heroism but gave him the facts as she knew them, the measures she had taken, and with what results.

  Elaine's expectations were rewarded. King Pellinore beckoned to her with tears in his eyes, held her on his lap, and hugged her to him while he listened to the end of the tale.

  “I held them in the dungeons until you could come yourself to pass judgment on them,” she finished wearily. “But it seems they have defeated me there. I have promoted Marcus to captain of the guard, since without him, I could not have proved Sir Darric's guilt, and I hope you will confirm him in the post. You have him and Guinevere to thank for Elaine's safe return. Oh yes, and Llyr, son of Bran, a prince among the Old Ones. Guinevere knows how to summon him from his fastness. I do not.”

  King Pellinore looked solemnly at Guinevere. The emotion in his face was clear enough for all to see.

  “Alyse, my dear,” he said at last, turning to her, “you are a woman in a thousand. Without you, I'd not have had a kingdom to return to. I bless the day God gave me a woman with wits.”

  Queen Alyse colored faintly. “Thank
you, my dear. You will have to send a courier to Sir Gavin tonight, for by now, he has arrived home and discovered the absence of his son. And if you will confirm Marcus in his post, I believe he is eager to continue his investigation of the ruffians' escape.”

  “Of course,” the king replied. “Marcus, you are captain of my house guard. Send a man to the Longmeadow Marshes and tell Sir Gavin I would see him here tomorrow. You may let him know it concerns Sir Darric, but nothing more.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “And you will find that scoundrel for me, however long it takes. Any man who endangers my daughter,” he growled, with eyes growing moist as he pulled Elaine closer to him, “has forfeited his life and will die by my hand.” He paused and steadied himself. “You're a good man, Marcus. You have my sincerest thanks for your bravery and your skill. I confess I did not know you were so accomplished.”

  Marcus bowed. “My lord is kind. But there is one who is braver than I, for she is young, female, and without the use of any weapon but her wits.” He flashed a smile at Guinevere. “And her horse.”

  King Pellinore's grim face relaxed. “Yes, indeed. Such courage is astonishing in a maid.” He turned to Guinevere, his kind face shining. “Guinevere of Northgallis, I thank you with all my heart.”

  Guinevere flushed and hurried to explain. “My lord, it took no courage. I couldn't just let them . . . I had to find . . . it was Elaine,” she finished simply, as if that explained it all. And to King Pellinore, it did.