Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Does it please you?”

  “Being Queen? I hardly know. I have no desire for power.”

  “What then do you desire?”

  Although spoken lightly, it was not an idle question, and I gave it thought. I suspected that it mattered much what I answered him, and I knew for certain that he would know a truth from a falsehood. “My lord, I wish Britain to be whole, and safe, forever. I wish her borders to contain one nation. One people.”

  Not a muscle on his face moved, but I fancied his eyes softened. I sensed that he was pleased. “There will be Saxons on our shores beyond your lifetime.” He said it flatly. It was a known fact to him.

  “Perhaps so, my lord. Still—”

  “Still?”

  “Perhaps in time they will be British, also.” His focus sharpened, and I hurried on. “I was Welsh once. It was the world to me. Now I am British, yet Wales is still a part of me. Could not the same be true someday of a Saxon maid?”

  He took in a quick breath and let it out slowly.

  “You dream of civilization,” he said quietly. “Perhaps it will be so. I have not seen. But it is not in Arthur’s destiny. Remember that. He shall hold Britain until the day he dies, but it will be the Britain that you know tonight.”

  I trembled before those penetrating eyes. “Be it so, my lord. I am content.”

  He paused for so long, I thought he was finished with me, but I dared not leave until he dismissed me. “What did you want with me?” he said suddenly. “You have not asked your question.”

  How did he know I had a question? My courage deserted me. “I came to thank you for my garden. It has brought me so much pleasure, and Arthur told me only yesterday it was you who built it.”

  He bowed gracefully. “You are welcome for the garden. It needs only a fountain to complete it.”

  I stared in amazement. “Then you did design it for me? You knew, when you spoke to me, that—Arthur did not believe it.”

  A glimmer of a smile touched his lips. “Visions do not sit easily in the same room with Arthur. It was likewise with his father. What is the other thing?”

  “What other thing, my lord?”

  “The other thing you came to say to me.”

  “Oh.” I looked away, suddenly frightened. “My lord, you are so kind to me tonight. And yet when we met, two years ago, you were so angry. I—I wish to know why my lord was angry, and—and disappointed. What have I done? Or what am I to do?”

  He considered this plea and frowned. “It is not a thing for a maid to know.”

  “Please, my lord. I am afraid—I am only afraid I may bring some dishonor upon the King. If I am to do something dreadful—if you have seen it in the stars—please tell me that I may take pains to prevent it, or take myself away where I cannot be a danger to him.”

  “You cannot prevent it,” he said gently. “You are a noble child, and I was wrong ever to doubt it. But you would do better to go on your way unknowing.”

  “Oh, please, my lord! At least tell me if I shall somehow wound him! Tell me at least something of what you have seen!”

  He paused, and when he spoke, his voice was very kind. “You will come to glory with Arthur. This I have seen. If you leave him, his glory will be less bright; his death will come sooner. Britain will suffer. If you stay, your name will live on the lips of men for beyond a thousand years. Do not ask me for more. There is suffering ahead for you; you will be torn two ways. You must live with that. I think perhaps you are brave enough.”

  “But my lord Merlin! You hated me once! Please, oh please, tell me why!”

  “I was wrong to hate. Even to feel anger. You will fail the High King, Guinevere, although it will not be of your will, and it will grieve you more than it grieves him. I was hurt for Arthur’s sake, and therefore angry. But what will be, will be. Perhaps it is for the best. He will stand alone in glory. Nothing will take from it.”

  I did not understand his words, but I could see that he had done his best to answer me. The gray hair upon his head trembled in the light.

  “My lord, I thank you for your patience with me.”

  He smiled wearily. “No thanks are due me. Everything I do is done in Arthur’s service.” He lifted a long arm and pointed behind me. “Your chamber lies that way.”

  “Truly? Thank you. I fear I do not yet know my way about.”

  He handed me the lamp, and as I took it, the light shone fiercely upon his face. He looked human suddenly, like a grandfather doing a kindness for a child. The fear that had gripped me since the sounding of the horn found voice. “Will he live? Will he be injured? Will he return?”

  Merlin smiled. “I have just prophesied a glory lasting past a thousand years, and you are afraid the Saxons will harm him. No, child. He will come back to you unblemished and, when he comes, will stay. This is the last battle. At Badon, he will break the back of the Saxon snake.”

  14 CAMELOT

  All the world knows what happened at Badon Hill. The Saxons, pushed by the pressure of their growing numbers, made one last and desperately bloodthirsty attempt to take the south of Britain for their own. They landed in longboats in great number and pushed toward Badon with speed, murdering villagers and setting fire to the land as they went. But before they came to the hill itself, which would have given them command of the country roundabout, Arthur and his chosen troops swooped down on them in the darkness of early morning, completely unexpected, like a horde of murderous spirits from the Otherworld, silent and deadly, and destroyed them before they ever knew what happened. At dawn the signal fires flamed across Britain: the Saxon force was broken. For a generation after, Saxon children were raised on the stories of the Demon King, whose white steed could fly on silent wings and snatch them from their beds in the still predawn if they were naughty. As for the Saxon kings, they were resigned at last to peace behind the borders Arthur set them and turned their energies to the arts of peace: government, husbandry, and music.

  It was a grand summer. After celebrating the great victory at Badon, Arthur gave himself time to honeymoon before the real building of his Kingdom began. No one could deny he had earned it. All Britain, it seemed, joined in the celebrations of his victory and his wedding. As for the King himself, he attended games and competitions among his knights and feasted with them nightly. He kept me near him always and seemed to enjoy my conversation. He never tired of my questions and gave me leave to explore the castle from towers to kitchens to stables. And when I willed, I could sit beside him in the audience chamber and listen to the petitions brought by the people. The first time that he asked for my opinion, I colored to the roots of my hair, unable to say a word. That he should care what I thought! The second time I was not so shy, and answered him. But the third time, I ventured my opinion when he had not yet asked me, for the cause concerned me. A villager sued for his wife’s return from her mother’s, whither she had gone when he had beaten her so badly she had lost the babe she carried. The King had heard the man’s complaint with solemn face, and I feared in my heart that being after all a man, he might require the poor woman to be sent back to her husband, as was the law. I laid my hand upon the King’s arm, and he turned to me at once, signaling the petitioners to fall back.

  “My lord,” I whispered urgently, “I know you are an honorable man and wish to keep the law, but consider this poor woman. You consign her to death if you return her to him. He has murdered her unborn child; if he had hate in his heart then, how much more will he have now, that she has fled from him? My lord, consider—what if I were in her place? I believe in the sacredness of the marriage vow, but this man has sinned against God in his treatment of his wife. Women should not stand outside the law, for we need its protection even more than men.” I ended in a rush, amazed at my own temerity, and saw the faintest of smiles cross his lips. But his face remained solemn. After a moment, he took my hand in his and, facing the room, beckoned the villager closer. His voice, steady and low, never wavered,
and all who attended that day were amazed by his words.

  “Gilgarth, hear my judgment. The laws of my Kingdom are based on respect, honor, and trust. The vows of marriage are sacred. You have violated these vows by treating your own wife, who should be dearer to you than any in the land, as if she were a scoundrel. She is your wife; you may take no other. But you treat her not like a wife; therefore she need not share your house nor your bed. You have murdered your unborn child. For this you shall spend three months in my dungeons. The killing of children is a sin against God and a crime against Britain, whose future lies in her children’s hands. When you are freed, you shall reform your life, else you will face my wrath. Your wife may return to you when and if she wills. She shall not be forced. And I tell you now, that all may know it, that in Britain we honor women, and my laws shall protect them.” He dismissed the stricken man with a wave of his hand, and I slid from my chair and sank to my knees at his feet.

  “My lord Arthur!” There was silence in the hall.

  He raised me quickly. “These are not tears of distress, Guinevere, I hope.”

  “Oh no, my lord, I am—I am overcome by your generosity.”

  “Do not mistake me,” he said softly. “I did not speak solely on your account. But you were right. And it would ill become me to deny it. As far as women needing the protection of the law, it is only just. By setting an example, we shall make it so.”

  This was power, and I trembled to think of the magnitude of what I had done.

  “And I am pleased,” the King continued with a glimmer of a smile, “to hear that you value marriage vows as much as I.”

  One night at dinner Lancelot proposed a hawking party for the following day, as the weather promised fair. Lancelot had seemed more at ease with the King since the victory at Badon, in which he had played a major part. I was glad to see their good fellowship restored, for it was clear to everyone who knew them that their love was deep, if unspoken, and cherished by them both.

  The King readily assented, and they began to plan the outing. I waited anxiously to see whether Arthur would think to include me in the party, but they were deep into talk about horses and terrain. I recalled Kay’s dislike of what he called my “forwardness” and I remembered that Arthur had been raised in Kay’s household. Perhaps, I thought, Lancelot’s assurances had been more expressive of his own attitude than of the High King’s. On the thought, Arthur turned to me.

  “And you, Guinevere, shall ride Zephyr and fly Ebon. Have you any among your women who might attend you? We shall be out the entire day. The best hunting is south and west of here.”

  I stared at him. “May I truly come? My lord is very kind to ask me. I—I would love nothing more.”

  Arthur smiled. “I would not go without you. We will leave after breakfast, and Kay will send along a midday meal to Nob’s Hill. Do you think the lady Elaine might attend you?”

  I looked at him in surprise, and I hope I kept my face straight. “I expect so, my lord.”

  “Good,” he said heartily. “Then Kay might come himself, who knows?” And he turned back to Lancelot.

  I was kept busy digesting this piece of news. So Kay was an admirer of Elaine’s! That a man so conservative and unchanging in his views should be interested in a willfull, headstrong girl like Elaine surprised me. I knew well she would never accept him. As I knew well she would come hawking, even though it meant riding the whole day, to be near the King.

  I was up at dawn and in the stables before breakfast, grooming Zephyr myself and checking Ebon’s jesses. The mare was happy to see me and greeted me with a soft nicker. If Lancelot was around, he did not come near. But one of the grooms, a boy named Petri, brought me a thick leather strap, well oiled and soft, and gave me to know that Sir Lancelot thought that, as I rode without a saddle, it might save the King worry if I made the mare wear it. I did not have to use it, Petri recited carefully, but as the High King had never seen me ride, it would be very natural if he feared for my safety. I laughed, taking the hint, and bade him thank Lancelot for the advice. I would use the neck strap.

  I hurried back to my quarters to change into my doeskin leggings and my old green hunting mantle. Dear Lancelot! Encouraging me to be myself! He was right, of course. The pattern of our life together would be set in these few weeks, and it would be well to hide nothing from the King.

  But Elaine, who was dressed down to her fingertips in fine cloth and trimmings, was furious at the sight of me in my old, comfortable hunting clothes.

  “You just can’t do it, Gwen! You can’t go out like that! Think of who you are! You will shame King Arthur before all his Companions! You can’t mean to ride bareback in those old leggings! Oh, Gwen! It isn’t done!”

  I wanted to laugh, but her distress was genuine, and it was, after all, on Arthur’s behalf. “It will be done, Elaine, once I do it.”

  “But—but you are Queen, Gwen! You cannot!”

  “It is because I am Queen,” I said gently, “that I can. Who will say me nay?”

  “The King himself, I’m sure!” she cried, in tears.

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Anyway, I mean to find out now. If he objects, I will simply change. There won’t be any scandal. He will not be dishonored. Wait and see.”

  But as I sat bareback on Zephyr and waited with my women in the courtyard, I wondered if Elaine might not be right. Would the King be insulted, or his pride be hurt? I had to trust Lancelot, who knew him better than anyone. I had to rely on his honor, and not for the last time.

  With a clatter of shod hooves on stone they came, the High King on a pretty bay mare, Lancelot, Bedwyr, Lamorak, Bellangere, Gereint, and some others behind him. He raised a hand in greeting and opened his mouth to speak; then he pulled up short: I saw him glance swiftly at Lancelot, who also rode bareback, and then he gave me that long, cool appraising stare for which he was known and feared. I sensed no anger in him, only concern. It was his duty, after all, as well as his right to protect me. It was an effort to meet those penetrating eyes, but I managed. At last he smiled.

  “I yield, lady,” he said, inclining his head. “Let us see what you can do.” And we cantered out of King’s Gate, side by side, followed by the host.

  It was a glorious summer day and glorious country for hawking. The rolling downs promised fast galloping, the meadows were full of hare, and the woods to the south teemed with birds. We cantered along at a decorous pace down the long approach to Caer Camel and then let the horses out when we met the straight causeway south. It was along this road King Arthur had flown on his great war stallion countless times; now, pounding along beside me on the bay mare, he rode like a boy, relaxed and eager and full of the fun of life. To him horses were a tool of war or a means of transportation, nothing more. He acknowledged Lancelot the better horseman, just as he acknowledged Lancelot the finer swordsman. But this Lancelot disputed. While in sword play, man against man, Lancelot was the quicker, nimbler fighter, Lancelot himself maintained that in a real battle no one could touch Arthur. He had the great gift of calm in a heated fight. And, as everyone knew, he had the deadliest sword in the Kingdom. Wherever he raised Excalibur in the defense of Britain, he was victorious. So did Lancelot praise him to the young men who continually flocked to Caer Camel, hoping to be accepted into the High King’s service.

  As the King found I rode well, he increased his speed, and the party began to thin out, with some of the men reining in to keep pace with Elaine and the other women. The King was first to raise a hare and fly his hawk. The kill was swift and clean. Arthur honored me by offering it to me; I accepted it with thanks and had it stowed into my servant’s pouch. Then Bedwyr flew his falcon at a hare. By this time the rest of the party had come up, and we all watched together. Elaine was looking breathless and unhappy, so I beckoned her to ride up next to me.

  “Are you all right, Elaine? Isn’t this exciting? Isn’t it wonderful to be outside and free?”

  She looked at me strangely and shrugged. “You
always were wild as a boy. I don’t see what’s wrong with a cushioned seat in the garden and a piece of needlework. I have blisters on my leg, and I can prove it.”

  “That’s what comes of saddles. The horse feels it more than you do, I assure you.”

  “Mmmm,” she agreed absently, watching the King as he set his hawk free. “You seem to be enjoying yourself these days, Gwen, after all your fear. I suppose I ought not to ask you how you like married life.”

  I colored and said hastily, “Now that Alyse and Pellinore have returned to Wales, I know you must be very lonely. Let us spend time together every day from now on.”

  She turned toward me slowly. “But you are always with Arthur. Except in Council, you are always at his side or following him about. You don’t even seem to see me, Gwen, and you ignore poor Lancelot. You are—it’s as if you are dazzled by the sun.”

  I opened my mouth to speak, then closed it abruptly. It would serve no purpose to tell her that I was with Arthur because he wanted me there. He knew how short time was. Yet her remarks raised a host of emotions in me, and I could not speak of them. Ignore Lancelot! Could she not see that we looked away and kept apart on purpose? That we were always, always aware of each other’s smallest movement, even in a crowd? I was certain the King knew it.

  “Elaine, I don’t mean to ignore anyone. But everything is so new. Once life settles into a routine again, things will be easier. Let some time pass.”

  Elaine’s face grew stiff with the effort of control. She so seldom made the effort, I braced myself for what was coming. “Are you with child?”

  My mouth dropped open. This was the last thing I expected. “How would I know, until I bleed?”

  “How do you feel?”

  “Fine.”

  Unless imagination deceived me, she was relieved. But this I did not want to believe, even of Elaine.

  “I am sorry to hear it,” she said flatly. “The whole court is waiting to hear the news.”