Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  Arthur said nothing, but kissed my hand to the cheering of the crowd.

  Then we returned to the church in grand procession, this time for my coronation. Arthur himself took the slender silver crown set with amethysts and set it on my head, while the bishop blessed me.

  “It was my mother’s,” he said softly as he came close. “May you wear it in good health and have long life, as she did.”

  Wearing Ygraine’s crown and feeling overwhelmed, I was led at last to the open fields by the woodlands, where flags waved gaily in the breeze and stands had been constructed for the King’s guests. We spent the brilliant afternoon watching Arthur’s Companions compete at various skills for the honor of his notice. There was wrestling, and swordplay, and foot races, and horseracing. There were even contests to see who could throw a spear the farthest and whose horse could pull the most tree trunks the greatest distance. Nowhere, although I looked for him, did I see Lancelot. But finally, as the shadows began to lengthen in the long, June twilight, I saw Nestor’s head through the crowd and then heard the stallion scream. Lancelot rode out alone upon the field.

  He gathered Nestor under him and began to canter in a circle. With a fluid change of lead they changed direction and circled the other way. Then he cantered away in a straight line, changing leads every four strides, every three, every two, every stride—it was like dancing! I held my breath in excitement. What skill was this! Then he galloped the horse down the field, gathering speed, till they raced by in a blur of motion and came to a full sliding stop, the stallion sitting on his haunches and the clods flying. The horse whirled and reared, striking out with his forelegs, and when Lancelot set him down, he began to canter sideways, bent around the rider’s leg, first one way and then the other. It was breathtaking! How I longed to get astride Zephyr and teach her those things!

  “I see you are a horseman in your soul,” Arthur whispered, smiling.

  “Yes, my lord,” I breathed, unable to take my eyes from the field.

  Then the stallion reared again, holding it, standing on two legs in arrested motion, then coming down and trotting smoothly forward. Suddenly he leaped into the air and kicked out with his hind legs, like a deer in full flight, and the crowds gasped. They did it three times, Lancelot landing lightly, never stirring from the horse’s back, never tugging at the bit, hardly moving a leg. It was like magic. To wild applause, my own included, horse and rider came and stood before the King. Nestor ducked his proud head, as Lancelot touched his forehead with his sword.

  Arthur was moved. He leaned over the railing and spoke to Lancelot. Above the roar of the crowd I could not hear what he said. Lancelot, white-faced, asked him something. The King paused and then assented. Lancelot saluted him once more, sheathed his sword, and rode away.

  The competitions over, we all moved back indoors as dusk fell, to the great feast that awaited us. This time the wine that went around was not watered, and the men drank thirstily. Even the King partook of it, although I did not. Lancelot did not appear at dinner. When Bedwyr asked after him, the King replied without expression that he had asked to be excused, and after the demonstration he had given, he had not been refused.

  “Is he ill?” Kay inquired, who overheard. “He looked well enough this morning. What ails him?”

  Arthur turned slowly toward Kay. His eyes were dark and sorrowful, but his voice was hard. “It is something he has suffered from for weeks. He will be better in the morning.”

  Kay looked bewildered and shrugged. Bedwyr seemed to have lost something in his lap. The King could not mean what I thought he meant, I was certain, but I began to be uneasy. Suddenly Arthur downed the wine in his cup in a single gulp and signaled to bring on the bards.

  Four bards sang for us that night, from the four corners of Britain. One of them was a Welshman with a melting tenor. We had all the King’s favorite tales, and then the one about King Arthur that Merlin himself had devised. Several new tales had been composed for the occasion, one of them very lovely, accompanied by lap harp and flute. I enjoyed the music, and after the last bard had finished and been served his well-earned wine, I turned to Arthur to praise his choice.

  I found him looking hard at me, seeing through me, in the way he had of judging men. It was a moment of testing, and I knew it even then. His color was high with the effects of wine, and his eyes were bright, but they pierced like a sword thrust and felt like cold steel. It took every ounce of courage I possessed to meet his gaze and hold it; this was in deadly earnest. There was no tenderness on his face. I saw suddenly that he knew everything, he who could judge a man’s character to a hair’s breadth and from whom few could keep secrets. He was wondering what manner of woman he had married. In that instant I felt his spirit reach out to me, and I felt his great need. I placed my hand upon his own as it rested in his lap.

  “My lord.”

  “Art thou mine?” he asked in Latin, so low that only I could hear.

  My throat ached, and I blinked back tears. I held onto his hand and from it drew strength. “King. I am thine.”

  He nodded and slowly lifted my hand to his cheek, where he held it resting against his face. At last he let me go and turned away. Released, I felt drained; strength had left me, and my hand shook as I reached for my water cup.

  “Dearest Guinevere,” Bedwyr whispered, leaning toward me and staring hard at his plate, “I bless you.”

  I shook my head, but I could not speak. There was no way to explain the turmoil of emotion I felt. The power of the man was real, and it was tremendous. And Elaine had known it before me.

  Singers and jesters were circulating now, and the hour was growing late. Alyse kept looking at me expectantly. The songs grew bawdier and bawdier, and many of the men, who were drunk, started telling anecdotes and singing little ditties that reflected on the High King’s prowess in more domestic fields of battle. Alyse’s looks grew pointed, but she had never told me what to do. At last I turned to Arthur, who was laughing. He had recovered his good spirits and looked at me kindly.

  “Yes, I think it’s time you went. It’s only going to get rougher, and I see Alyse is already embarrassed. Take the ladies away. We will be hours yet.” Then he caught me by the hand as I rose and kissed my upturned palm. “But I shall come to you before midnight.”

  I fled back to my rooms, Elaine close behind me, and fell quaking into Ailsa’s lap. She was tipsy herself and giggled at my distress.

  But Elaine understood. “Oh, Gwen, dear Gwen, don’t go! I can’t stand it!”

  I hugged her tightly in my terror. Too much was happening, and too fast. He knew, I kept saying to myself, and yet when he had asked me the question I dreaded, I had told him the truth. It had been dragged out of me without my will, and it was true. It was true, and I had not known it until I said it. What kind of man was this?

  Ailsa tempted me with honey mead, but I refused.

  “You’ll need something to calm your nerves, dear,” she advised. “Lady Elaine, see if the queen has any of that sherry left.”

  But Alyse, who was on her way in with it, smiled kindly at me. “Guinevere is Queen now, Ailsa.” And she dipped a curtsy to me.

  “Oh, Aunt Alyse!” I cried, using the name I had not used since childhood. “I am so afraid!”

  “Of course you are,” she said easily, pouring a small glass and putting it into my hand. “Every girl is. I was terrified of Pellinore. But it passes.”

  “Let’s see your crown,” Elaine interrupted hastily.

  I took off the silver circlet and let her hold it. “He told me it belonged to Queen Ygraine.”

  Alyse confirmed it, for she had seen Ygraine wear it. This led to stories of King Uther and Queen Ygraine, and between the two of us, Elaine and I kept her going for a long while. But it could not last forever. She happened to glance out of the window and saw how high the stars stood and cried out in anguish.

  “Dear God, what devil has possessed me, on this night of all nights! Come, Gwen, Ailsa. You must be read
y. You must be waiting when he comes.”

  They dressed me in the gown Elaine had made for me. The bodice fitted me now to perfection, but neither she nor I could look at it. Ailsa slipped my blue robe over my shoulders, and we all climbed the steps to my chamber. The leather curtain had been pulled aside and fastened against one wall. The lamps were lit in my room and the King’s. There was no one there but us, and Alyse heaved a sigh of relief.

  “I shall do penance tomorrow,” she said fervently. I sat down on my bed and looked at them all unhappily.

  “No, no!” Alyse cried, smiling, “not here, Guinevere. In there.” And she pointed to the King’s bedchamber.

  I paled and gritted my teeth to keep my voice from shaking. “What must I do?”

  Alyse came over and took my hand gently between her own. “Simply get into his bed. He will expect to find you there. Go in and close the curtain. No chamberlain will come in. Once the bride is there, no one goes in but the bridegroom. Don’t shake so, child. He seems a kind man. He will not be long. It is near midnight now.” She kissed me tenderly, as a mother would, and I clung to her. She hugged me once, then led her women back down the stairs.

  Elaine, struggling against tears, embraced me. “Be obedient and please him,” she whispered. “Just remember, I would give half a lifetime to be in your place!” Biting her lip, she whirled and raced for the stairs. Ailsa waited until I had gone in and pulled the flap across the doorway. Then she left.

  13 THE KING

  I stood in the center of the room, shaking. It was warm. A low coal fire burned in the grate, and the night breeze blew through the window, laden with scent. On one side of the bed stood a skin of wine hung over a low flame, and a small table with two silver goblets, one set with amethysts and one very plain. I went slowly to the bed and sat on the bearskins. They were soft and tickled my bare feet. I looked up at the Dragon of Britain above the bed and pinched myself on the arm. It was still there. I slipped out of my robe and folded it neatly, laying it on the oak chest in the corner. The thudding of my heart was the only sound. Tentatively I lifted the bearskins. The chamberlains had remade the bed with the sheets we had brought the King from Wales. I stroked the fine linen; it felt like silk. Holding my breath, I slipped in and pulled the bearskins tight around my chin.

  Nothing happened. The lamp flared in the corner as the breeze passed, and then all was still. I tried closing my eyes, but it was pointless. It was so very quiet. There were no sounds from outside. I could not hear the rowdiness in the feasting hall. I knew they would give a great cheer when they finally sent the High King off to bed, but I did not hear it.

  After what seemed like hours lying rigid on his sheets, I heard the King coming. There was laughter from the room below his stairs, and several voices wishing him good hunting. Then there were only two voices, his and Varric’s. I heard the splash of water and the King’s deep voice asking a question, and Varric’s soft one giving an answer. Then there was silence. I heard no footfall on the stairs, but suddenly he was there, standing at the foot of the bed, watching me. He was wearing the day robe I had made him, and against his tanned skin it shone silver white. He came around to where I lay and sat down beside me. I had not realized I had a death grip on the bearskins until he gently pried my fingers loose, one by one. He had washed his face and hair and looked scrubbed clean and rather boyish.

  “Guinevere, sit up.” He took the skin of warmed wine and poured a little into the jeweled cup and handed it to me.

  It smelled enticing, heavy with sweet spices I did not know.

  “Try it,” he said gently. “It’s mulled wine. We have a recipe here that comes all the way from the East. That wonderful smell is cinnamon, and there are rare cloves in it, also. It is not strong.” The shadow of a smile crossed his face. “But I think you need to relax a little.”

  I obeyed him and drank. It was very good, sweet and fragrant and warming. Slowly my joints began to thaw.

  “I don’t know how much young maids are told about wedding nights,” he said, holding my eyes. “But there really isn’t much to fear. I promise not to frighten you, Gwen. I know you are brave, but this should not need courage.” He poured some wine into the plain cup, sipped, and put it down. He reached out and took a strand of my hair and ran it through his fingers, watching it as the white-gold threads crossed his rough palm.

  “ ‘Hair like light,’ Bedwyr told me. Bedwyr is a poet, did you know? He’s a skilled musician, as well. But he has a gift for words . . . hair like light . . . I have never seen hair so light as yours, nor blue eyes so dark.”

  I sipped the wine and watched him over the rim of the goblet. He was not drunk. He was not in a hurry. He looked as if he had all the time in the world. Such was his patience.

  “Do—do you like your robe, my lord?”

  “Indeed I do. It is the most comfortable thing I have ever worn. It was a gift from you, I am told. Did you design it?”

  “My lord, I made it.”

  He looked surprised. “Yourself? And the emblem here? You stitched that? The work is very fine, Guinevere. Then the gift is doubly dear to me. I like the way you have done the Dragon. I was thinking of having it copied for a new banner in the Council chamber I am building. Would that please you?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Guinevere,” he said, drawing closer. “My name is Arthur.”

  “My lord Arthur,” I repeated in a whisper. I did not mean to shrink back as he leaned forward, I simply could not help it. He sat up and looked at me thoughtfully. I expected him to be annoyed, but he was not.

  “There are ways around it, you know,” he said calmly, watching me steadily. “It needn’t be done tonight. I have no desire to force you. I will await your sign.”

  I stared at him wide-eyed. “But—but what about—the proof—”

  Something flickered in the dark eyes. “There are ways around that, too. I know a few tricks.” With a flick of the wrist he whipped back the bearskins. A dagger leaped to his hand, I know not from where, and he cut his fingertip, squeezing three drops of blood onto the sheet. “There,” he said, binding up his finger. “You see how easy it is?”

  But I had jumped up and stood trembling beside him.

  “No!” I cried. “I will not be shamed so! What you suggest is a disgrace to Wales and a disgrace to Britain!”

  Arthur rose slowly, a look of great tenderness on his face. His shoulders were very broad. He took my face in his hands and kissed me.

  “You pass every test with honor,” he said softly, “and yet you fear me. I will not hurt you, Guinevere. Trust me for that. And I meant what I said. I will not take you against your will. I believe it’s wrong. You must give the sign.”

  “I?” I quavered. “I do not know how.”

  “When you are ready, it will come to you. In the meantime—” He drew away and smiled down at me. “How much of the castle have you seen since you’ve been here?”

  I think I gaped at him in shock. “The women’s quarters.”

  “That’s what I thought. Come on, put on your slippers. I want to show you something.”

  “What? Where are we going?”

  He was already at the top of the stairs, whistling. “Varric! Get Kay! Send him here. Double march!”

  He picked up my robe from the chest, fingering the fine cloth. “So soft. Will it keep you warm?”

  “Is it cold where we are going?”

  He laughed. “No. You’ll be warm enough.” He held out the robe, and I slipped it over my gown. He lifted my hair and held it in his hands a moment, then let it fall. As he took breath to speak we heard running footsteps, and Kay’s panicked voice.

  “Arthur! My lord Arthur! What’s amiss?” Kay bounded up the steps and into the room and stopped dead, staring.

  “I want you to clear the way to the northwest tower. Minimum sentries. No lights. No passwords. Double guards on the entrances.”

  Kay’s eyes widened. “Now, my lord?”

  Arthur gri
nned. “Yes. Now, Kay. No questions.”

  Kay turned on his heel and was gone.

  “We’ll give him five minutes. He’s a good man.”

  “What’s in the northwest tower?”

  “A sight not to be missed. And some clean air. It will do us both good.”

  He took my hand, and the torch from the wall sconce, and we sneaked out through the castle corridors like a couple of errant children. His glee was infectious, and I found myself enjoying the adventure immensely. The whole castle thought we were abed, and instead we were tiptoeing through the dark, hand in hand. Kay had doused the torches in the hall, and the sentries on guard snapped to attention, eyes forward, and said nothing. Eventually we reached the tower door. Two soldiers stood there. Arthur brought the torch down to his face, and they sprang aside, eyes averted. Not a word was spoken. Inside the stairs wound upward, slowly circling. He led me up cautiously. I began to giggle, and Arthur squeezed my hand.

  “I feel as if we’re stealing something,” I whispered.

  “We are,” he whispered back. “Privacy.”

  Up and up we went, stopping once or twice so I could catch my breath. Arthur was not even winded. At last we came to an unguarded door, and Arthur pushed it open. At once I smelled the salt air and felt the light sea breeze in my hair.

  “Arthur!” I cried. “The sea!” The northwest corner of Caer Camel was the highest part of the hill, and from the turrets of that tower the view was fabulous, leagues in every direction. The full moon rode low in the western sky, and distant Ynys Witrin seemed close enough to touch.

  Arthur stood beside me, leaning his arms on the parapet and pointing west.

  “On a clear night when the moon is in the west, you can see the sea,” he said. “Look for her reflection, that silver streak? That’s the sea.”

  “It is? Oh, how wonderful! Are you sure it’s not the Lake of Avalon?”

  “I’m sure. I’ve checked it.”

  The wind blew steady like a sea breeze, and smelled of salt and salt marsh and new-mown hay. I breathed in great gulps of it, and felt at home.