Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “I shall see you again, sweet Guinevere,” he promised. “I shall come to your wedding.”

  I shuddered. “Don’t talk about weddings, I pray you.” And I told him what Queen Alyse had said.

  He only smiled. “She can’t do it. You will see. There are forces at work in this land that not even Queen Alyse can command. Open your eyes.”

  “What will you do when you are free?”

  “To Ireland, I suppose, since the High King is away. And you?”

  “What I always do in summer. Ride away from the castle as often as I can, on whatever excuse I can fashion.”

  “You should get yourself a falcon. That’s all the excuse you need. Oh, Guinevere, this parting is more difficult than I expected.”

  He reached for me and pulled me up against him. He kissed my throat, and then my lips, and hugged me tightly. “Never forget you have a friend in Ireland. You need only send a word, and I will come to your aid.”

  His countrymen sailed in that evening and were reunited with him. King Pellinore arrived the next day with much fanfare. Everyone attended a great feast in the hall that night. The room was crowded with extra benches, and between the press of bodies and the flaring torches, it grew very warm.

  The first piece of business was the ransoming of Fion. This was accomplished with great ceremony, and when it was done, and Fion was a free man, he was offered and accepted a seat of honor at the round table. Then King Pellinore gave an account of the battle against the Saxons and the finding of Merlin.

  “He was wandering about the fringes of the battlefield, his wits quite gone, giving directions to the soldiers. One of the captains bound him to a tree to keep him out of harm’s way, but at battle’s end when they went back to release him, he was gone, although the rope was there, with all the knots still tied. The soldiers were convinced he was an apparition, but the captain was not so sure. He had been calling out the names of Ector, Kay, and Bedwyr, and Arthur’s childhood name. When the High King heard this story, he left off his pursuit of Saxon stragglers and raced back to scour the forest.”

  The story Pellinore told of Arthur’s reunion with his friend touched the heart of everyone in the hall. He found Merlin in a small, damp cave, dressed in skins, aged twenty years, gray-haired and feeble, and never left his side from the moment he arrived until the great enchanter opened his eyes and spoke his name, three days later. Then he wept and kissed him, and fed him broth with his own hands. Merlin recovered his wits, but had no recollection of what had happened to him last autumn, or of the time in between. Some said the rigors of the Caledonian winter had robbed him of his youth and vigor; some said it had to be the work of poison; others maintained this was just another shape that Merlin took, by his own choosing.

  There followed many toasts to King Arthur and some to Fion, and the hall began to get rowdy. Queen Alyse rose to lead the ladies out. But before we left, I heard Pellinore advise Fion that the High King was traveling south to Caerleon before going on to invest Caer Camel and would be passing along the eastern border of Wales in the next day or two. Fion’s features lit with joy, and he thanked Pellinore for ransoming him, that he might meet the High King of Britain as a free man. He left the next day to catch the King along the Glevum road. What he thought of our young King we did not learn that season, for he returned along the northern route to Caer Narfon and took sail from there. But I heard later that within a day of their meeting, Prince Fion had sworn the future allegiance of Ireland to Arthur, and Arthur had sworn the present friendship and protection of Britain to the Gaels.

  Caer Camel was invested that summer, and at last Britain had a center, a fighting fortress for her King and his fighting men. It lay in the middle of the Summer Country, that land of gently rolling downs and soft breezes where sheep graze year round, the air smells faintly of the salt marshes, and the signal fires on hill and tor give long warning of an enemy’s approach. The Saxon hordes were quiet that summer. Rumor had it they were finally defeated or, on the other hand, that they were regrouping for one last desperate attack. Arthur of the Eleven Battles was ready for them. He spent that year reinforcing his defenses, reestablishing contact with all his vassal lords, settling territory disputes, and gathering to his side young men of fighting age who wished to join the King’s Companions.

  I followed Fion’s suggestion and persuaded Pellinore to let me hawk. I think he pitied me, after my public rejection by Fion, and sensing the queen’s mistrust of me afterward, determined to do me a kindness. He was a soft-hearted man, though his speech was blunt and his manner gruff. His falconer found me a young bird, which I trained as Gwarthgydd had taught me. I fashioned its jesses myself out of soft worked leather and then, to my consternation, discovered that Zephyr was terrified of the thing. It took two whole months to get her to accept the bird and to get her accustomed to being ridden without reins and following leg signals only. But eventually we three worked as a team, and my young falcon Ebon provided many a fat dove for the queen’s supper, whether she knew it or not.

  The next time I saw Fion was in the autumn of my fourteenth year. Gilomar had died that summer, and Fion was now King. He was on his way to Caer Camel to a meeting of all of Arthur’s nobles and his allies, called by the Companions for the purpose of finding Arthur a wife. Pellinore himself was going and stayed his departure to wait for Fion and travel down with him to the Summer Country. The news of this great meeting spread like wildfire throughout the kingdoms, and every king who attended carried instructions from his lady to propose his daughter, or his granddaughter, or his niece or whomever among his kin was the most eligible. Bards were hired to sing poems extolling the beauties of this maid and that. Family lineages were hunted up and extended back to Roman governors, or Maximus if it was possible. Bargains were made among families for backing; friendships of long standing were broken in the heat of competition.

  The only two people in the Kingdom who stood aloof from this frenzy were, oddly, the High King and myself. By all reports Arthur had no desire to remarry, but was aware of the necessity to produce an heir, and thus yielded to the pressure brought by his Companions. He was content to let his subjects make the choice for him. All he required in a bride, he had said, was an honest tongue and a soft voice. As for myself, even if I had had Elaine’s ambition, which I did not, there was no one to speak for me. My parents were dead. My brothers had daughters of their own. My guardians were the parents of one of the most eligible maidens in the land, and one who desired nothing more than the very position that needed filling. At last, it seemed, the world was marching to Elaine’s tune. This, she told me in secret, as if it were news, was what she had been born for. She was sure of it.

  Indeed, in the new gown she wore to Fion’s welcome feast, she looked every inch a queen. With her dark gold hair bound with flowers, her dancing, sky-blue eyes, her milky skin, and willowy figure, she could have passed for a woman of twenty, although she was but thirteen. Even Fion stared. He was still unmarried, but it was too late to renew his suit for Elaine. The only topic at dinner that night was the searching of Britain for Arthur’s bride, and Elaine positively glowed. When Pellinore announced his intention to propose Elaine to the High King, the hall stood up and cheered. Elaine squeezed my hand hard under the table, and although she cast down her eyes as a maid should, her look was triumphant. I kissed her cheek affectionately and caught Fion looking at us thoughtfully.

  When the noise in the hall had abated somewhat, I turned to Fion. “My lord Fion, the last time we saw you, you were on your way to make your peace with our King. Pray tell us how you found him: Were you treated honorably? Did you get fair hearing?”

  “I have never met a more honorable man,” Fion replied solemnly. “Your King was graciousness itself. He heard me out until I had nothing more to say. He knew who I was, but he did not hold my father’s sins against me. By the questions he asked, I saw he had a thorough knowledge of our shore defenses and knew something of the rivalries among our petty kings. I do not
know how he gets his information, or how he has the time to think of Ireland with the Saxons at his back, but he understood how the land lay all about him, and he welcomed me most honorably. He made me feel like a brother.” He paused. Pellinore was nodding with a broad smile on his face, and Elaine’s eyes were shining. “He speaks to the lowliest of his servants with consideration. Every man has respect at Arthur’s table. Were my heart not in Ireland, I would lay it at his feet.”

  Every man in the hall rose cheering, and there were many shouts of “Arthur!” and “Fion!” I was moved by his testimonial. Elaine was beside herself with excitement.

  “You see, Gwen,” she whispered to me, “he really is what he is supposed to be! I have known it my entire life!”

  So she had. Elaine had never lost her faith in Arthur. She had believed every wondrous tale she had heard about him, and Fion’s words were only fuel to her fire. I prayed hard that night that God would grant her her wish, even if it meant Alyse took us all to live at court.

  Everyone knows what happened, of course. It is difficult to look back over the span of years and remember the uproar of those days. The meeting, which had been planned to last a week in order that everyone could speak, stretched to two weeks, and then three. There were too many candidates, and a consensus could not be found. Every leading family in the land had a daughter or a niece of marriageable age. Every maid had a flawless lineage, flawless complexion, flawless eyes of black, brown, blue, green, gray; flawless hair of gold, brown, black, red; features of surpassing beauty, an honest tongue and a lovely voice. Even Arthur wearied of it and went hawking. Feuds developed, powerful leaders backed one family and then another as the offers of gold increased. Happy was the man who had nothing to gain or lose by the King’s decision. And throughout it all, Merlin sat by the High King’s chair, old and frail, his black eyes watching it all, saying nothing.

  At last, his patience near an end, King Arthur commanded the meeting to close. He would not divide his Kingdom over a woman, he said. He would rather die unwed. Only then did a young man rise from the rear of the Welsh delegation and, having received permission to speak, addressed the High King in a trembling voice. Just as silver was found threaded into black rock deep within the earth, he began, just as gold was sprinkled sparsely over pebbled sands, so all treasures worth pursuing did not come easy; the brightest jewel often lay buried in the darkest clay. As he overcame his fear, his voice fell into the sweet singsong of the storyteller, and the Welshmen in the hall settled back comfortably to hear his tale. It was, it seems, the tale of the emperor Maximus and how he found his Elen, the famous Welsh beauty with sapphire eyes whom Maximus wed and for whom he forswore allegiance to Rome. She was, he sang, fairer than the stars among the heavens, more constant than the sun in his course across the sky, sweeter than wildflowers that grace the summer meadows, and ever a true companion to the king. In all his endeavors she was beside him; she brought him luck and victory; he never lost a battle until he left Britain, where she could not follow. The singer paused—Welshmen were wont to attribute Maximus’ prowess to the virtues of his Welsh wife, but it was unwise to expect this descendant of Maximus to believe it—he claimed, instead, that hidden in the dark Welsh mountains lay a jewel as bright as Elen, a girl as beautiful, as wise and steadfast, as Maximus’ own bride. Like a vein of precious metal lying undiscovered in the hills, she awaited the High King’s notice; a word from him could bring her gold to light. A king’s daughter she was, descended from Elen, with hair of starlight and the voice of a nightingale. And Gwillim, for it was my old childhood companion who had risen to speak before them all, took a deep breath and held hard to his courage. The maiden’s name, he said, was Guinevere.

  There was a shocked silence. The Companions froze. Arthur’s face was a mask. Merlin closed his eyes. Then the throng found their voices, and angry protests arose on all sides. “How dare the boy?” “What maid is this? I have heard no tell of her.” “That he should mention the name before the King!” Then Gwarthgydd rose and clapped a hand on Gwillim’s shoulder.

  “My lords,” he said, and his deep rumbling voice got their attention. “The lad speaks of my half-sister, Guinevere of Northgallis. In his later years, my father the King of Northgallis wed Elen of Gwynedd, a beauty of renown. She died giving birth to the lady in question, who was a childhood friend of Gwillim’s here. She is now the ward of King Pellinore and Queen Alyse and lives in Gwynedd. Gwillim likes a good tale, but all he has said is true enough.”

  “Is that the Lark of Gwynedd?” someone asked. “I have heard of her.”

  “Isn’t that the maid the old witch prophesied about, the night of her birth? You remember Giselda—”

  “A curse, I thought it was, a spell—”

  “Oh, no, she prophesied great beauty and great fame—”

  “Has anyone seen her?” one of the Companions asked. “Where is Pellinore? Who can attest to the lad’s claims?”

  But Pellinore, weary of words, was out hunting. It was Fion who stood.

  That winter lasted forever. Elaine lay abed with an illness born of disappointment and envy, and Alyse could barely tolerate the sight of me. Pellinore was proud and conscious of his new status in the High King’s inner circle, but he never came to the women’s quarters, wishing to avoid Alyse’s cold fury at his betrayal, and I saw him only at dinner in the evenings. The queen’s ladies kept aloof at the queen’s wishes. Only Ailsa, of all the women in the castle, was thoroughly excited on my behalf.

  “Just think of it! Wouldn’t your dear mother be proud! Her little Gwen to be King Arthur’s Queen! Why, I just pinch myself when I think of it! How lucky you are, my lady! How happy you will be!”

  But I could not see how this unexpected event could make me happy. Already it seemed to have cost me Elaine’s friendship, and she was the only real friend I had ever had. Proud as I was to be chosen out of all the maids in Britain, I could not envision happiness ahead. I was to be married to a man I had never met, and because he was who he was, there was no possible way out of it. I did not feel the thrill all Britain expected me to feel; I felt only apprehension and a nagging regret that I had not married Fion.

  However much she suffered at the sight of me, Alyse knew her duty. She set all her ladies to work on my wardrobe, and we sat together all winter sewing my wedding clothes, fashioning new gowns, weaving bed linens and chamber hangings. Dear Pellinore ended up spending Fion’s ransom on my bridegift. For if I did not go to Arthur surrounded by the most luxurious finery in the kingdom, I would shame Wales. We had the long winter to get ready, for in the spring the King would come himself to take me out of Wales.

  I put this from my mind, for I shook with fear at the very thought of it. Wales was the only home I knew. I remembered every word I had ever spoken to Elaine about how dreadful it would be to be Arthur’s Queen—well, I thought, I was justly served. That horrible witch had been proved right. And poor Gwillim, who I am sure thought he was doing me the finest service of his life, had been the unwitting instrument of my undoing. But there was nothing to do but face it. If I opened my mouth in complaint, I would shame Alyse and Pellinore, I would shame Northgallis, I would shame Wales. So I said very little and let the people take my silence for maidenly modesty if they chose.

  In the month before the equinox Elaine finally rose from her bed. She was thin and pale and took the chair closest to the fire, but at least she joined us.

  “Gwen,” she said on our first night together in four months, “please forgive me for my grief. I wish you all happiness, you know that. I hated you for a while, but that was my unruly jealousy. I have remembered the prophecy at your birth, and also Merlin’s prophecy, and I know that it is you who were born for this, and not I. Please forgive me.”

  “Oh, Elaine!” I threw my arms around her and we cried together for a long time. “Dear cousin, I would give anything in the world to change places with you and give you your heart’s desire! Can you think for one moment I would not, knowing how you
feel? Oh, Elaine, I do not want to leave Wales!”

  “You will not have to go alone,” she said. “Mother says we shall all accompany you to court and see you married.”

  “Bless you!” I cried.

  “And although Mother must return, I will stay if you like. Surely you may have your own friends there, as the High King has his.”

  “Oh, thank you, Elaine. You warm my heart, truly. You would give up your home for me? Dear Elaine, marry one of his Companions and stay with me always!” But I should not have spoken of marriage. She went pale and trembled.

  “I will never marry. Never.”

  A cold breath seemed to blow upon my neck, and I shivered. “You will not always feel so, I am sure. Listen, Elaine, once you see the King himself you will not be so enamored of him. He cannot be the dream you cherish any more than he can be the ogre I fear.” But she did not answer.

  Wedding gifts began to arrive in Gwynedd and Caer Camel. King Fion sent yards of the finest, snow-white linen—no one on earth makes finer linen than the Irish, and this must have been bleached and beaten two hundred times to get such softness and luster. Alyse declared it perfect for the marriage bed and would not let me touch it, but set her ladies to do the embroidery, although my needlework was finer. Fion also sent quantities of jewelry for Elaine and Queen Alyse as well as myself, all silver and enamel, worked in the intricate way of the Gaels, with interlocking vines and queer nested squares. And he sent me as his personal gift a pair of silver earrings worked around dark blue sapphires that caught the firelight and reminded one of the color of the sea in a summer storm. “To wear,” said his note, “with sapphire eyes.” I missed him dreadfully.

  King Pellinore’s carpenters were hard at work building wagons to carry all the gifts and all the luggage to Caer Camel. Horses had to be bought from neighboring lands and trained to pull them, and his stable had to be enlarged to hold them. Food had to be bought from other kingdoms, even from Less Britain, for the High King would stay with us a month, and everyone in his train had to be fed, yes, and housed. Barracks were erected, and more temporary stables. The place was a riot of feverish activity. Men worked through snow and frost, day and night; no one rested. I used to stand by my window and watch them, amazed that this was all for me. At such times I felt the crushing weight of Britain’s expectation. I was the chosen of Arthur—I could be no less than perfect. Whatever flaw they found with me would be magnified a thousand times. And there would be many—all the relatives and friends of the maids he had not chosen—looking to find fault. I could take no wrong step, say no hasty speech, or I would cast a shadow across the glory of Britain. These fears usually sent me into a fit of weeping, but the women only nodded to one another and winked behind my back. Even Ailsa said once in my hearing that all I needed was a good bedding and my fears would take care of themselves. I fainted when I heard it, and after that the women were more careful in their speech.