Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  Then he turned and fled. Leonora looked at me in bewilderment.

  “Don’t ask,” I said wearily. “It’s too much to tell. Come, let’s get in out of this hot sun.”

  11 THE PARTING

  The day of departure approached. I noted that Ailsa said very little to me and clutched her amulets a great deal. Even Elaine, whom I expected to show increasing excitement, watched me worriedly. I had no idea what about me concerned them.

  On the last day of May I finished the bridegroom’s gift. I had thought long and hard over what I could give a King who had gifts beyond counting, and finally decided that it must be something I made myself. I took some fine white wool, lined it with white silk, and fashioned it into a day robe, such as King Pellinore wore when illness or bad weather kept him indoors. But I wanted to make it finer and more comfortable, for surely warriors must enjoy a change from leather and mail. This was a plain shift, warm enough for all but the coldest days, with soft silk next to the skin. It could be worn loose or belted and was edged in dark blue so as not to show dirt. Over the left breast I embroidered a design of my own invention: interlocking squares in the Celtic pattern, stitched in blue, forming a square turned on end; and within, the Red Dragon of Britain standing on hind feet, clawing the air. And above it all, in the tiniest of stitches for which my work was best known, a silver star to represent the kingstar that had lighted in the west the night of Arthur’s begetting. And that was all. The rest of the garment was without ornament, simple and fine. Elaine was after me for weeks to add some decoration to the sleeves, or along the hemline, but I refused. It would not be my gift, if it was not as I liked it.

  I showed it to no one but Elaine and Ailsa. We packed it carefully in cloth wrappings, and then within a box, and it was placed with my traveling chests that were already in readiness. Then King Pellinore, who had been chuckling secretly for weeks, revealed his wedding gift to the High King. His carpenters had fashioned for Arthur another round table, three times as large as the one in Pellinore’s hall. It broke down into sections for ease of transport and to enable it to be taken through doorways, but he displayed it proudly to us all before it was disassembled. It was made of white oak and sanded and polished until it shone like glass. It could easily seat thirty men and could do double duty as a dinner table, or in the council chamber. The Companions were impressed and complimented Pellinore until his poor head was swollen with pride. Alyse declared it would take months to get him back in line.

  As the day of departure neared, I should have been nervous, but I felt instead both exhilarated and terrified. One evening Elaine and I took Lancelot up to the western tower to watch the sun set over the sea. The sky was aflame with light, and we watched in silence as the red streaks burned purple and the evening star blazed forth.

  “I shall miss Wales,” I said softly. Elaine turned to me, and I saw there were tears in her eyes.

  “I’ve always lived in sight of the sea,” she exclaimed. “I cannot imagine what life will be like without it.”

  “Caer Camel is not far from the sea,” Lancelot offered. “You cannot see it from the towers, but you can see the signal fires on the tor of Ynys Witrin, which sits on the Lake of Avalon, which is fed by the sea tides.”

  It was not the same, but no one said so. Lancelot seemed subdued.

  “Has there been any news from the north?” I asked.

  “There has been no fighting, my lady. The High King and his allies have shown the Saxons a strong front. I believe they are working on a treaty and on strengthening the line of defenses.”

  “There is no new word on when—when—” I could not finish, so Lancelot finished for me.

  “No. My instructions are to take you to Caer Camel and there await him.”

  I nodded. In the darkness, Lancelot took my hand. Elaine had her handkerchief to her face, and Leonora had not wished to make the climb. I breathed out slowly as excitement and longing filled me. I now understood what I had only felt on the first day of his visit. In a month’s time he had become more precious to me than life. His touch inflamed me, his smile robbed me of breath. Each night I dreamed I stood in his embrace, and each morning I awoke yearning for his kiss. And I knew that he felt the same. It was exhilarating, agonizing, thrilling, almost overwhelming, but it also hurt more than daggers, and all at the same time. So we stood in silence, hand in hand, in the beauty of the long June evening, loving without hope, and thinking of Arthur.

  In bed that night, Elaine put her arms around me and said, “I know now, Gwen. I know why you’ve been so happy and so sad, and why you are not nervous about leaving, and why you so dread Arthur. You love Lancelot.”

  “Please, Elaine—”

  “I shall never tell a soul. I was angry with you, though, until I saw that you could not help it, any more than I could. But what are we to do, Gwen?”

  I gripped her by the wrists. “There is nothing to be done.”

  “Is there no way to talk to them and come to some agreement? That you may take Lancelot, and I Arthur?”

  “No!” I cried, the tears that had been kept back at such cost all day finally bursting forth. “No, there is not! Think, Elaine! Arthur is High King of Britain, and Lancelot his second-in-command. The honor of all Britain is in our hands!”

  “But—but it seems so unfair!”

  “Yes. It is unfair. To you, to me, to Lancelot; most of all, to the King himself. But I truly don’t see what is to be done about it. We must bear it. That is all.”

  “And if I can’t bear it?” Elaine cried in despair.

  “Elaine, you must!” I had a sudden prevision that filled me with horror. “Elaine, attend me! You must make me a promise—when we get to Caer Camel, you must behave as if you care nothing about the King. You must pretend that you dislike him. Be polite but always, always cool. Don’t follow him with your eyes, don’t put yourself in his way—you know what I mean. Everyone’s honor depends on it. Will you promise?”

  Elaine wept. “What you ask is impossible and you know it!”

  “It is no more than I must do toward Lancelot. I know it is hard, but we are strong. You have to do it. It is the only way.”

  “You ask too much. I cannot promise.”

  “Then,” I said slowly, “you cannot come.”

  She gasped. “You cannot prevent me! Mother has given me permission!”

  “I can send you home with her when the celebrations are over. I will be Queen then. Even your mother must be obedient to my command.”

  Elaine went suddenly still and silent. Her tears dried but her body trembled. For a long time she said nothing. I waited in wretchedness, remembering Gwillim kneeling at my bed, sacrificing his friendship to my power. But I had no choice—it was the Kingdom’s honor.

  “I see,” she said at last in a different voice. “Very well. I promise.”

  “You will be discreet? And engage in no embarrassing display?”

  “I promise.”

  “And you will stay out of his way, as much as is in your power, and never let him know what is in your heart?”

  “I promise.”

  I exhaled slowly. “And I will hold you to it. I have sworn to do the same with Lancelot. If we break these vows, we shame ourselves, and Wales, and Britain. I know it makes the future bleak, when it should be bright. But somehow, the future must be borne.”

  Suddenly the day was upon us. The castle yard was filled with loaded wagons, servants scurried everywhere to fetch packages and search for last-minute, forgotten items. The troops stood by their mounts, surrounding the caravan. Goods and gifts were bundled onto pack mules. A stableboy held Zephyr’s bridle in one hand and Nestor’s in another, and he had his hands full. The women’s litters were just behind, and from my window I saw Leonora taking charge of the women’s arrangements, while Kay supervised the troops and the loading procedures. He was good at his job, patient and exacting, organized and able to keep track in his head of a thousand details. Everyone who needed information came to him
, and he knew where everything was, or where it was headed, or when it would be needed, and whose responsibility it was to tend.

  “Come, Guinevere,” Alyse commanded. “It is time.”

  Lancelot appeared at the doorway and made a low obeisance to the queen. “The litters are prepared, my lady. King Pellinore is mounted and ready to be off.”

  “Thank you, Lancelot. We are ready. I suppose, Guinevere, you will choose to ride like a man again?”

  Lancelot was shocked at her tone, but I was not. To Alyse, I was still her sister’s daughter and her ward. I was not yet her Queen.

  “No, madam. On this journey I shall ride in the litter with Elaine. But I should like to ride into Caer Camel when we get there.”

  And to everyone’s surprise, I consented to be carried, while my mare walked alongside, unbridled. But I thought there might be people who would come out at crossroads to see the girl the High King had chosen to wed, and I wished to appear to them as they wished to see me. But once we got to Caer Camel, I wished to be myself. Before the people who would live with me, I wanted no false impressions. Also, to tell truth, I both dreaded and craved Lancelot’s company. It was easier in the litter with Elaine, who knew my secret, than it would be riding by his side, with my face a mask and my heart in turmoil.

  I was right about the people’s interest in their new Queen. Not just at crossroads, but along every highway people stopped their labors and came out to watch the caravan go by. Elaine and I kept the sides of the litter open since the weather was fine, and people threw us flowers and called to us as we passed. As I got used to it, I waved to them, and they cried out their blessings and good wishes. It became a real procession, all the way through Wales, past Caerleon, across the Severn, and down into the Summer Country. Every night we stopped and set up tents, and for three hours or so received the good folk who lived round about, and accepted gifts of all kinds. I sat in a little gilded chair, with Queen Alyse on one hand, and Elaine on the other, Lancelot behind me, Bedwyr to one side, and Pellinore to the other. Kay stood at the door and let well-wishers in by twos and threes. They all brought gifts, from carved tools to woven stuffs, to trinkets to hens, vegetables and fresh eggs. One village maiden brought a yellow songbird she had trained to sing, and this caught my fancy. She kept it in a little cage of willow reeds, and it sang joyful melodies all day. Everyone who came was kind, and blessed me, and everyone seemed to go away pleased and satisfied. The farther south we went, the more people crowded to see us. Bedwyr, who was a quiet man with a shy manner, grinned at me one night as he handed me a goblet.

  “My lady, you were born for this,” he said proudly. “I wish Arthur could see it.”

  “You may be sure,” Kay answered, “that he will hear about it.”

  Early in the mornings and very late at night I spent time with Zephyr, grooming her, crooning to her, occasionally riding her. Lancelot came with me for escort at these times, but he kept his distance. Eyes were upon us, it seemed to me.

  On the tenth day we camped in sight of the signal fires of Ynys Witrin, the Isle of Glass, the Holy Hill, and knew that the next day would bring us to Caer Camel. Kay left us that night to ride on to the fortress, for he was frantic with worry that his lieutenant had not carried out his instructions, and he felt strongly that nothing should go amiss the day that Arthur’s bride came to his home. Since we were so close to Caer Camel, messengers came and went constantly. The High King was still in the north, but expected well before the solstice. In his stead, I was to be welcomed by Melwas, King of the Summer Country. There was to be a ceremony, everything would be formal, stiff and endless, and I did not look forward to it. For one thing, it meant the end of Lancelot’s company. For another, it meant the beginning of yet another period of preparation and waiting that would end only with the High King’s arrival. All I could see ahead was one trial after another.

  Hundreds of people came that night to pay their respects, and Bedwyr had to send to Caer Camel to have more carts brought up before morning to carry all the gifts the kind people brought. The people themselves truly amazed me. Arthur was a person to them, not just their war leader who kept their lands from the Saxons. He was more real to them than he was to me, and they were intensely curious about the girl he had chosen to marry. They came from every walk of life, not just lords’ domains, many old and poor, some of them in good health, some in bad. Everyone wanted just a few minutes of my time, and when I saw that Bedwyr was ready to quit after three hours, I signaled him to continue. I excused Alyse and Elaine, since they were tired from the journey and wanted to rest, but I continued to see the people myself.

  “My lady Guinevere,” Lancelot murmured after four hours had passed, “are you not tired? Should you not take rest for tomorrow?”

  “Yes, my lord, I am, and I should. But look at the people outside. Think of the distance they have come, and for what? Just to greet me and wish me good health and long life. How can I turn them away?”

  Lancelot glanced at Bedwyr, who smiled and shrugged. “You can do nothing, Lancelot. It’s just what Arthur would say.” Lancelot nodded. The people kept coming.

  The morning broke cool and cloudy, with a rose-pink haze across the sun, and the meadowlands swathed in fog. I was up early to tend Zephyr, whom I would ride today, and to have some time to myself for contemplation. I was alone in the horse lines, but people were up and about, for I heard the voices of grooms and cooks, although I could not see them. Zephyr did not like the fog, and it made her a little edgy. She moved restlessly and tossed her head while I tried to braid her mane. Then suddenly she calmed and stood quietly. My heart began to race. Lancelot’s face appeared like magic in the mist across her shoulder.

  “Lancelot!”

  “Guinevere.”

  We stood and looked at each other.

  “I came to tell you,” he began, and then stopped. He cleared his throat. “How much I have enjoyed your company. I think you are the bravest woman I have ever known, and the kindest and the truest. I know you look at what is to come as a trial to be endured, but I want to assure you—Gwen, you will come to love him, as we all do. You won’t be able to help it, any more than I was able to help—you know I love you, Guinevere, and I will always be at your service, whatever happens. But for Arthur’s sake, we cannot—”

  “Oh, Lancelot!” I whispered. “It will kill me to say farewell! And I couldn’t help it, either! Lancelot, I will love you till I die.” I gasped as the words came out; they were the last words I had meant to say! Lancelot ducked under the mare’s head and took me in his arms. Thank God the mist lay heavy around us, for he kissed me with passion, and I returned his love. Then he was gone, and I collapsed breathless against the mare’s body, shaken to my soul. How the future was to be borne, I did not know. I had no protection against Lancelot.

  By midmorning the mist had lifted, and the sun shone forth in splendor. Lancelot rode at my side, stone-faced and silent, wearing his sword in its ceremonial scabbard of silver set with jewels. We rode slowly, for we still had litters, and I was content to walk along, wave to the crowds who lined the road, and let the time pass. It was lovely country we rode through, rolling green hills where sheep grazed, fertile farmland, thick woods full of game. In the west from Ynys Witrin the marsh birds came in flocks, wheeling overhead and calling, and then soaring back to the Lake of Avalon. It was a rich land compared to stony Wales, soft and green and full of life.

  In early afternoon Caer Camel came into view. I caught my breath at the sight of it, and Lancelot finally smiled. “There it is, Guinevere. Your new home.”

  There were twelve turrets, each with a flag flying gaily in the summer breeze. The castle looked huge, even from this distance, and I knew from the soldiers’ talk that there was a triple ring of fortifications around it. The sandstone walls shone golden in the sun, and it looked lovely set upon its green hill. The closer we got, the steeper I realized were the sides of this hill. Only the lower shoulders were forested. Most of it was sheep m
eadow and open, so as to see the enemy’s approach. But the fortress itself was gigantic. At one end of the flat-topped hill stood the castle, at the other a sizable woodland, all within the ring of fortifications. A city would grow there in time, although in those days there were only workmen’s huts outside the castle. As we approached along the western road, we saw the great, sweeping thoroughfare that ran up to the studded double gates: the entrance to Caer Camel. This road was wide enough for ten men riding abreast, and the steep sections were paved with rough stones so the turf would never wash away in the spring rains. This was the road down which Arthur’s fearful cavalry flew at a moment’s notice, swooping down upon the enemy almost before he had time to draw his sword.

  “Will Merlin be there?” I asked Lancelot suddenly.

  “No, my lady. Probably not.”

  “Why not?”

  “He is old, Gwen. He has retired to a small house in the forest east of here, where he lives with an apprentice. Arthur rides out to visit him every now and again, but Merlin seldom comes to Caer Camel.”

  “Won’t he come for the—the wedding?”

  “If Arthur wants him, he will be there. But I shouldn’t say it’s likely.”

  “What has Merlin advised the King about this match?”

  Lancelot eyed me warily. “It’s odd that you ask. He was there when your name was proposed and said nothing. When Arthur asked him for his advice, he simply said ‘what will be, will be.’ No one knows how he truly feels.”

  I shuddered suddenly, remembering my audience with Princess Morgan. “I know how he feels.”

  Slowly the procession climbed the great roadway. Sentries saluted Lancelot, and he gave the word to open the fortress gates. Within stood King Melwas, a huge, blond man with hard, light eyes, and beside him, old white-robed Nimue of Avalon, Lady of the Lake, and Landrum, Caer Camel’s Christian bishop, overdressed. A crowd of people stood behind them, and as we rode up, they broke into cheering and shouting.