Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Oh, Gwen, I’d love to! Just to peek into his chamber—but Mother would have my hide. I dare not do it. You’ll be all right. Sit with Ailsa a while and have a hot posset.”

  I followed her advice. Ailsa and I sat together in her anteroom, talking about old times in Northgallis, and she sent for a warm drink, fragrant with spices. There must have been a sleeping potion in it, for soon I grew weary, and when she took me upstairs and tucked me into the great bed, I fell asleep instantly.

  I awoke quite suddenly in the night to the sound of voices. I looked toward the leather curtain and saw the soft glow of lamplight around the edges. He was there. I clutched the coverlet about my throat and held my breath, listening. I could hear his heavy tread on the floorboards and heard him speaking to someone, probably Varric or Bran, but I could not hear the words. It was a warm voice, pleasant in tone and deep. I heard muffled responses, and quite suddenly the lamp went out, and all was quiet. I lay there for what seemed like a long time, but I heard nothing. At last, toward dawn, I drifted back to sleep.

  I awoke with sunlight streaming in through the terrace doorway and knew that he was gone. I rose and donned my robe, then tiptoed to the curtain.

  “Bran?” I called softly, hoping it was not Varric I heard stirring coals in the grate.

  “My lady?” He came to the curtain and drew it aside. He looked tired but, in some indefinable way, satisfied. His King was back.

  “Bran, were you up late last night?”

  “Yes, my lady. We put the King to bed.”

  “Did—did he say anything about—”

  Bran smiled. “Oh, yes, my lady. Of course he knew you had arrived safely. He got the full report from Sir Lancelot. But when he discovered I had met you—I did not tell him I heard you weeping, my lady. I said it was by accident.”

  “Oh, thank you, Bran. I am in your debt.”

  “Not at all, my lady. When he discovered I had met you, he asked me if I liked you.”

  “He did? Does he value your opinion so?”

  “I could not say, my lady. But he knows that I am near your age, perhaps that was why he asked.”

  “What did you say?”

  Bran’s eyes widened. “Why, I told him the truth, of course. I said yes. He asked me why, and I told him you were without affectation. That seemed to please him.”

  I felt heat rise to my face. Bran looked suddenly shy and cast down his eyes, but I reached out and touched his arm. “Thank you, Bran. I think you have done me a great service.”

  “I told him the truth, my lady, as everyone does who knows him.”

  I drew back into my chamber and left him to his tasks. It boded well, that the High King was somewhat curious about me. It meant, perhaps, with luck, that he would treat me as a person. I did not want to hope too much; for if it were not so—and who could blame the High King of Britain if he had more important matters to think about than the thoughts and feelings of a girl?—I should be the more disappointed. I wondered how much Lancelot had told him. Had the King been able to see the truth behind his praise of me? I called Ailsa to me then, to occupy my mind with other thoughts.

  Our audience was set for noon. People thronged all morning in the forecourt, waiting for the great doors to open. I sat with Elaine at her window, while Ailsa and Grannic dressed our hair, and watched them. Once again I noticed that people of every station were assembled, lords and ladies in fine clothes, knights and ladies-in-waiting, workmen, servants, peasants, and poor folk with only rags to wear. They all came, and they were all admitted.

  Sometime later a page came to our door and brought the message that the High King was in court and waited upon our leisure. The time had come. Elaine and Ailsa put last-minute touches to my hair and gown. It was the smoke-blue gown Elaine had embroidered, and the High King’s sapphire was round my neck, and Fion’s earrings on my ears. Someone had gathered early cornflowers for my hair, which Ailsa dressed with seed pearls, braiding in the flowers to frame my face, and letting the long tresses hang loose down my back. In summer the sun turned my hair almost white, like a child’s hair, much to my dismay. The gown itself was of heavy silk, and the day was warm, but I was shivering and my fingertips were ice.

  Elaine gripped my arm, trembling. “Oh, Gwen, take care what you say! The honor of Wales is in your hands!”

  As if I could forget it! With these helpful words ringing in my ears, I was led to the outer door. Lancelot was there, with Pellinore and Bedwyr, and I was never so glad to see him in my life. They led us through the long halls, where sentries snapped to attention at their posts, and slid their eyes sideways as we passed, watching. We came to the gilded doors of the Hall of Meeting and stopped. Lancelot looked down at me. My hand upon his arm trembled visibly.

  “Courage, Gwen,” he whispered, and I took a deep breath and stilled myself. He nodded to the guards, and the doors swung open. The babble of conversation stilled as the throng divided to let us pass, silent except for the occasional gasp and sigh. The High King’s chair was on a dais at the end of the hall, and I gathered my courage and dragged my eyes off the tiles to look at him as we approached. He was standing, looking at me. It was a good face, of straight planes marked by dark brows, dark eyes, and straight lips. It was a rugged, handsome face, which one might expect of a warrior who was Uther’s son. What caught me by surprise were his eyes. They were a rich, warm brown in color, glowing with a joyful light that seemed to come from within himself. He stood easily, waiting, not at all stiff or nervous, not shaking like a leaf in the winter wind, but calm and serene, and sure.

  I dropped my eyes hastily and felt color rise to my face. I held on to Lancelot’s arm for dear life and fought to collect my wits. The procession halted before the dais, and the High King came down the step to greet us.

  “My lord Arthur,” I heard Lancelot’s voice dimly, “it is my pleasure to present to you the bravest, truest, loveliest maid in all Britain, Guinevere of Northgallis.”

  I sank helplessly into a curtsy at his feet. He extended a hand, brown from the sun, and raised me. He must have felt me shaking, for his voice was very kind.

  “So this is the lass who has taken my Kingdom by storm.” I glanced up quickly and saw he was smiling. “Since I left the north country, I have heard nothing but tales of your great beauty and your unflagging generosity to my people. I thank you, Guinevere of Northgallis, for this service. You are welcome here.”

  I tried to speak, but could not. He gently squeezed my hand and brought me to stand beside him, then turned to greet Queen Alyse and Elaine. I never heard what he said to them, for my head was whirling. His flesh was warm and dry and comforting somehow. He imparted strength and ease of heart to me, I know not how. It was always so in his presence. It was his gift.

  When the greetings were over, King Arthur offered me his arm and led me to the small, gilded chair that stood next his own. He bowed over my hand, screening me for a moment from the throng.

  “You need say nothing,” he said softly. “We must greet all the people who have come, but you may let me do the talking.”

  “My lord is kind,” I whispered.

  “Thou art young,” was his reply, and then he straightened. It reminded me suddenly of Fion, who had a habit of saying personal things in Latin.

  It took hours. First the nobles came forward, lord and lady, and bowed and curtsied and welcomed the High King home and looked me over from head to toe and wished us well. Then came the common folk, and this took longer, for they were mostly tongue-tied, but determined to say their piece. Arthur was amazingly patient and kind, addressed some of them by name, and knew their wives and kinfolk; others he met for the first time and took time to inquire about their lives, the number of their cattle, and the success of their crops, or the death of their elders. I had sense enough to realize that there was military intelligence to be gleaned from these conversations, and I was sure he was filing away new facts in the back of his mind, but he also seemed genuinely interested in how his people liv
ed and what they needed.

  At last the greetings were over, but none made move to leave. Now the petitioners lined up before him. The business of the High King’s court was about to begin. But first Arthur turned to me and looked somewhat anxiously into my face. “Are you tired, Guinevere? You need not stay for this. It happens every day. You may leave when you will.”

  By this time I was able to manage a smile. “No, my lord. I am not tired. Though it may happen every day, I have never seen it before. It would be my pleasure to see the running of the Kingdom at firsthand.”

  He looked at me a moment, and his gaze was utterly direct.

  “By Heaven,” he said softly, “Lancelot was right.” Then he grinned as I colored. “You are one in a thousand.”

  So we sat for three hours while Arthur’s justice was dispensed. He listened attentively to each case that was brought before him, and I thought the questions he asked were to the point and clever. He was quick to smoke out lies, and I began to understand why people told him truth. His decisions were even-handed, and although not all parties went away pleased, I heard no grumbling. And after three hours had passed and everyone had been seen, he seemed as fresh and eager as he had at the start. At last he gave the signal that the meeting was ended and rose, extending a hand and raising me as well. He led me through a door behind the dais into a small anteroom. Lancelot was there, standing stiffly, waiting. Arthur stretched his arms and sighed. It was the first sign of weariness he had shown.

  “I could do with a workout, Lancelot. Is there any chance of it?”

  “Sword practice in the library,” Lancelot said, his eyes lighting. “Or mud wrestling in the sties. There are crowds everywhere else.” Arthur threw back his head and laughed. It was a deep, honest, joyful laugh, and I could not keep from smiling.

  “What would I not give to be able to do it!” the King cried. Then he took my hand and raised it to his lips.

  “You have been an angel, Guinevere. It bodes well. I wish we had more time to spend together. When is the solstice? Three days? Perhaps we could ride out together. Lancelot tells me you are accomplished. But I fear we may be too busy. Too many people about, and more are coming. I shall see you at dinner, at least.” He inclined his head. “Till then.”

  I curtsied. “My lord.” Lancelot offered his arm, and I took it.

  The King paused at the door, suddenly looking almost shy. “I don’t wish to be bold, or to instruct you in matters that are none of my concern,” he began, and I froze, fearful of what was coming. “But I like you in blue,” he finished, and disappeared.

  I was so relieved I laughed out loud, though Lancelot was silent. He escorted me back to the women’s quarters and stood solemnly by the door.

  “You see,” he said.

  I nodded. “Yes.”

  I was awake late that night when the King came to bed. I saw the lamplight creep around the curtain, heard voices, the King’s and one other, and then the light died. But the King did not sleep. Instead, he paced the chamber, back and forth, and I listened, amused, until I fell asleep to the steady sound of his measured tread.

  We did not have time for riding. Two days were hardly sufficient to prepare for an event the Kingdom had waited so long to see. Thousands of people came to Caer Camel and camped upon the slopes outside the fortress walls. Their bonfires lit the night sky, their dancing and games and hunting cries filled the day with noise. I was taken to be examined by Bishop Landrum, a sour stick of a man, who questioned me at great length and at close quarters, with lust in his eyes and garlic on his breath, before pronouncing me fit to wed a Christian prince.

  “I pray I will never have any sins to confess,” I cried to Elaine when I returned, “for, most certainly, I would not tell that man!”

  She quieted me somehow, and we both longed for friendly Father Martin. I was fretful and restless, much to the amusement of Alyse and her ladies. I could not ride out, for the crowds. I could only walk in the Queen’s garden, for the palace was thick with strangers. So I paced there by the hour, much as Arthur paced his room at night, as the time crawled by. Whoever had designed the garden knew what he was about. There were pear trees set against the wall where the morning sun warmed them and creeping vines that flowered in many colors. Roses grew along the walks, and wildflowers and sweet herbs along the walls. It was peaceful there, when everyone would leave me alone, and I blessed the gardener, whoever he was. All it needed was a fountain for the birds to play in. As I paced, Elaine kept up a steady stream of chatter.

  “He has fine, strong hands and a dexterous touch. Have you noticed how he holds his head when he is listening? His concentration is tremendous. He listens with every fiber of his body. No wonder grown men twice his age tremble before him! I’ll bet he is skilled at bending other wills to his purpose. And such handsome features! His face should be stamped upon a coin. What joy it would be to see him wield a sword! With shoulders like that—who could stand against him? I’ve never known a man with such a bearing, such a presence. And his stride is twice the length of Lancelot’s—”

  “Heavens, Elaine!” I cried. “Have you looked at no one else besides the King? What have you been doing?”

  “Don’t worry,” she said lightly. “I’ve been discreet. I’ll wager a copper coin no one’s seen me watching. And I’ll wager another you could describe Lancelot from head to toe.”

  “I could. But I won’t.”

  “Well,” she said with a defiant toss of her head, “you were wrong about his falling short of my expectations. He is everything a king should be, and more. And he does have beautiful hands.”

  “Oh, Elaine!”

  She came up to me and gripped my arm until it pained me. “Gwen,” she whispered fiercely, “take care. You have never known a man like this. This is a powerful man.”

  “Well, of course, he is High—”

  “I am not talking about kingship!” she said, leaning closer. “I am talking about the man himself. He has power of a kind you don’t suspect. Take care you please him.”

  I felt heat rise slowly to my face as I trembled in her grip. I dared not ask her what she meant.

  We took our meals in our quarters, by choice. But dinner was a public affair. The High King sat surrounded by his Companions, and I sat between Pellinore and Alyse, on his right hand. I was toasted every night and heard many speeches in my honor. Only Lancelot never looked my way. Every time I saw him he looked thinner and paler than the time before. Once or twice I saw Arthur look at him with compassion and felt a trickle of fear slide down my spine. I returned from this ordeal exhausted, for it was hot in the hall, what with the torches and the press of bodies. But sleep came hard. Ailsa mixed me potions, and on the night before the wedding, I sat on the floor with my head in her lap and cried. She stroked my hair and sang me songs as she had been wont to do in nursery days. But each night it was Arthur’s restless pacing that lulled me finally to sleep.

  The wedding day dawned cool and cloudy, with a fitful breeze. I knelt by my bed and prayed God to give me strength. I was up early, but Arthur was already up and about. Ailsa brought me tea, and we sat on my terrace and watched the morning mists rise off the distant meadows.

  “It will clear,” she predicted. “And be cool for the games. Never fear, my lady. ‘Twill be a perfect day.”

  We were married at midmorning by the bishop in the church. King Pellinore was my escort, and as my guardian it was his right to give me to the King. I remember little of the preparations. My dress was white, and trimmed with laces. Arthur, too, was simply dressed in white. He wore a thin circlet of red gold on his head, and wonderful Excalibur hung from his jeweled belt. I remember the moment I first saw it, as King Pellinore led me down the aisle to where he stood. The scabbard was old, oiled leather, and very plain. But the hilt burned bright and deadly in the candlelight, while the dark emerald flashed once, as he turned toward me, and then lay quiet. It was a cold weapon, and dangerous, the Saxon-Slayer, and hugged his hip as if it were part
of him. Kingship sat upon this man like a glowing mantle, and he wore it easily.

  We were married while the mists lifted, and as I left the church on his arm, the sun broke through the clouds and the throng of people cheered.

  I sat beside him at the wedding breakfast, for it was now my place, while Elaine sat weeping between her parents. Lancelot, straight and pale on the King’s right, never glanced my way. All the people who could fit into the dining hall were given seats, rich and poor alike, and shared the same food and drink that was served to the King. I noticed that while wine was served to all, Arthur and I drank water only. The hall was loud with the babble of a hundred tongues, and at some tables the people sang and danced. The High King walked about the room, stopping at every table to say some word of thanks, or endure a humorous remark, or greet a friend. He did not seem to weary of it. I remarked to Bedwyr, who sat next me, that he had a talent for making friends.

  “He loves his people,” was Bedwyr’s reply. And they, it seemed, loved him. As Lancelot continued to stare moodily at his plate, I kept talking to Bedwyr to keep nervousness at bay.

  “And where is Merlin? I would have thought he would be here, to see the High King wed.”

  Bedwyr smiled and shook his head. “Merlin dislikes weddings, and he is getting old. He sent to beg to be excused, for he suffers from a chest cold. He will be here in a few days, however, for the High King has called a Council meeting. And Merlin is his chief counsellor.”

  This was good news and bad news. I was mightily relieved the old enchanter was not there, but uneasy about his coming. Sooner or later, I knew, I must face him.

  King Arthur returned to his place, gathered the hall with a look, and raised a toast in praise of me. Everyone drank and cheered. Then I stood, to his surprise, and raised a toast in praise of Arthur, who brought glory and honor to Northgallis and all of Wales, by choosing a Welsh maiden as his bride. This brought the house down, and there were shouts of “Northgallis!” and “Pendragon!” as men slammed their goblets on the tables and stomped their boots upon the floor.