Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Bedwyr!” Lancelot yelled. “To him!”

  Bedwyr was already running onto the field. The dagger caught Arthur in the shoulder, and as his blood soaked through his tunic, the people cried out in dismay. To the astonishment of all, including Melwas, Arthur pulled himself to his knees and pointed his sword at his attacker. The big man stepped back quickly, too quickly, and one foot slipped a pace in the bloody grass. In that moment the King was on his feet, his sword at Melwas’ throat. Every person watching held his breath. But again the King forbore to kill him and spoke instead. Melwas was now weaponless, defeated, and he listened. When the King finished speaking, Melwas nodded slowly and sank to one knee. The crowd screamed wildly for an execution, but they were disappointed, for it was an act of submission to authority, and as such it was accepted. Arthur laid the flat of his blade upon Melwas’ shoulders and spoke the ritual words that bound a vassal to his liege lord. The whole time he did this, the hilt of Melwas’ dagger stuck out straight from his tunic, and I wept to see it. I did not know, having always had a horror of hospitals, that it was only safe to leave it thus; it was in the removal of the weapon that life was threatened.

  The King put out a hand to Melwas and raised him, then suddenly staggered. Melwas lifted him in his great arms and carried him off the field. The crowd parted nervously and let them pass. Lancelot’s face went white as Melwas approached the pavilion with the senseless King. The Companions surrounded him, swords drawn, but Melwas ignored them. He looked up at Lancelot.

  “Where shall I take my lord?” he asked. “He needs attention.”

  The people who heard let out a great cheer, and others took it up. Lancelot’s sigh of relief came from his soul.

  “Follow Bedwyr, King Melwas. Kay will call the physicians.” The clouds opened then, and the rain fell in a sheet, but no one noticed.

  It is a fact that Melwas, having put the dagger in the King, waited by his bedside until he had recovered from its removal. Then he gathered his troops around him and went home in honor. From that day forward, he was Arthur’s loyal ally, and his strongest supporter in the southwest. He would hear no word against the King, and men learned to watch their tongues in his presence. He never looked at me again.

  Late that night, when the physicians were finished and the King lay wrapped in bandages and resting, Lancelot and I were allowed to go in to him. He had been given a posset of some healing drug with a sedative and was sleepy.

  Instead of congratulating Arthur on his victory, Lancelot was hot with indignation. “Why did you let him off? You had him, three times, and let him go. He might have killed you.”

  Arthur grinned. “It’s good to see you again, too.” Lancelot threw up his hands and turned away to hide his emotion. But I did not have to hide mine.

  “Arthur!” I knelt near his head, and he reached for me with his good arm.

  “Hello, Gwen. You have been weeping.”

  I nodded and kissed his hand, unable to speak.

  “Has she not!” Lancelot exclaimed. “All the world knows now where her heart lies.” Then his expression softened, and he regarded Arthur with outright admiration. “What a King you are! With this day’s work you have turned an enemy into an ally and set to rest the rumors that have been flying about the Kingdom. I congratulate you.”

  “It’s about time.” Arthur smiled, and yawned. “I made use of everything you taught me, did I not? And he never meant to kill me, or he would not have thrown so wide.”

  Lancelot shook his head, then came up to the bedside. “It was well done,” he said gruffly.

  They talked awhile about fighting strategy, while I held his hand and silently prayed my thanks to God. At length the King fell asleep, and Lancelot rose. He met my eyes.

  “I will stay with him awhile,” I said softly.

  He nodded and went to the door, where he turned and looked back at Arthur, his eyes full of worship. “There is a King,” he said.

  20 THE SOLSTICE

  Arthur’s shoulder and Lancelot’s knee healed together over the next weeks. By the solstice they were whole. All of Camelot was busy during this time, making preparations for the great day of celebration. The summer solstice had been a sacred day time out of mind, and the people of Britain had not given up this feast day as the Christian God drove out the worship of older deities. Since the King and I had been married on this day, the bishop sanctified it as a holy day, and now Christian and pagan alike joined in the celebrations. Lords and ladies from all over Britain came to Camelot, if they could, and set up their tents, or built pavilions, on the open fields.

  There were to be contests of skill and daring among the men, a few knights who had earned it would be admitted to the ranks of the King’s Companions, and of course there would be horseracing. Competition among the women was less formal, perhaps, but no less desperately waged. Married ladies displayed their fine clothes, magnificent jewels, and their daughters before one another. Maids vied for the attentions of young men. It was well known that any man, feeling amorous, had only to walk down the lane of pavilions to find his needs relieved. Many maids got husbands in this way, I am ashamed to say.

  To my surprise, Elaine had still not married. She had been kept close, it is true, but not without opportunity to make contact with men. I was careful to stay out of the women’s quarters for many hours each day, that she might gain some freedom. But when I questioned her guards, I found she had not stirred from her quarters the entire three weeks, and this amazed me. Apparently she preferred to go home in disgrace than to wed a man who was not High King. I could have told her that it might be worth the risk, that sometimes love came after, but she would not have listened to me, in any event.

  I tried to pump Ailsa for news, since she knew Grannic well, but all she could discover was that Elaine sang to herself and stitched. That she sang boded ill; either she must be mad, or she had some scheme afoot. But why did she stitch? I had set her no tasks. I directed Ailsa to find out what it was she worked upon. But Grannic did not know. Whenever she was with Elaine, she stitched upon innocent things, cushions and such. But on the few occasions when Grannic surprised her, she was at work upon something quite different, which was always quickly hidden. Grannic knew nothing about it, save that it was blue.

  I gave up trying to discover Elaine’s plans and attended to my duties as hostess to all the folk who daily arrived in Camelot. Everyone had to be greeted and made to feel welcome, even though many came only to beg favors of the King. Arthur and I spent a good part of every day in audience with new guests. And most nights he spent in council with his Companions, since it was the only time he had for serious talk. This daily routine grew dull and difficult to bear, for I had to smile and curtsy and mouth courtesies and be stared at openly by strangers. But I bore it because Arthur stood beside me and bore it, as well. His recent victory over Melwas made him glamorous in everyone’s eyes, and he was followed everywhere by admirers. We both began to look forward to the solstice as to the end of captivity.

  Lancelot spent most of his time in the stables, overseeing the final training of the King’s entries in the races. I went often to watch, or to visit Zephyr in her paddock. She was a valued broodmare now, having borne four foals to Nestor. The eldest was the fastest horse in the King’s stables, and on him was Lancelot’s full attention focused. But I liked to stand at the fence and watch Zephyr and the other mares graze in idle content, while this year’s crop of foals romped and played about them. One mare, a chestnut, was barren. Usually such mares were kept apart, because they were nasty to the foals and bullied the other mares. But this mare had been accepted because she loved the foals and always watched after them, herding them away from danger, breaking up fights, leading them to their dams when they could not find their way. Whenever a mare was lost in labor, she was given the foal to raise. Her name was Netta. In the three years I had known her, I had never seen any sign of temper in her. She was loved by the broodmares and foals alike. I had brought Zephyr an apple fr
om the orchards, but on second thought, I split it and offered half to Netta. She took it from me gently and nuzzled me in thanks. I laughed and pushed her away.

  “You have a good time, don’t you, my girl. Your days are busy and your work is important. You have kept your figure, too. You are content.”

  Lancelot came over while I was scratching her ears, and patted her kindly. “Good old Netta. I may have found a home for her at last. One of Gereint’s sisters—”

  “No!” I cried involuntarily. He looked at me strangely, and I blushed. “I beg your pardon. I did not mean to shout.”

  “What’s the matter, Gwen?”

  “Is there another mare that would do for Gereint’s sister?”

  “I suppose, but why? Netta is not needed here.”

  “But she is! Just because she cannot breed—have you noticed how she cares for the foals? How all the mares trust her? How they do not fight among themselves when she’s about? She is the most valuable mare in the stable, if you but knew it. Don’t think her worthless just because she cannot breed. I—I have taken a fancy to her, besides.”

  Very kindly he stepped closer and took my hands in his. There were tears in the corners of his eyes. “Then she shall stay. I had no idea.”

  “Do not pity me!” I hissed, my face hot. He took me in his arms, there in the open air, with the eyes of others upon us.

  “Indeed I do not. But it breaks my heart.”

  I laid my head on his shoulder and wept. Why I could share my grief with Lancelot and worked hard to hide it from Arthur, I did not know. Except that my failure was not betrayal to Lancelot.

  At length I stilled myself, and when I looked up all the grooms had vanished. Lancelot produced a clean cloth and wiped the tears from my face.

  “Let time pass,” he said gently. “All wounds heal with time.”

  “Thank you, Lancelot. I—I am not usually so close to tears. It must be the strain of preparations. Please do not tell Arthur. It would worry him.”

  “I do not talk to Arthur about you. You are the one subject we avoid. By mutual consent.”

  “May God forgive me. I never meant to come between you. I must not come between you. Don’t let it happen, Lancelot, I pray you.”

  He kissed my forehead lightly. “It cannot be helped, Gwen. But the trust stands.”

  How recently had I heard those very words from Arthur’s lips?

  When finally the day arrived, it was glorious. The sun shone in a clear, deep sky and the breeze blew steady and cool. It was one of those days that June is famous for.

  Arthur crept into my room at dawn, still dressed, and woke me up. “Good morning, Gwen. Day is dawning.”

  I yawned and stretched, and finally opened my eyes. “What, are you up already, my lord?”

  “I have not yet been to bed. There was no time. I had a messenger late last night from Lothian.”

  I sat up. “Not Tydwyl? Surely he can handle the remnants of Aguisel’s supporters?”

  “Not Tydwyl,” he said with a smile, and then changed the subject abruptly. “I have come about something else. Kay—”

  “Is it so important it cannot wait?” I broke in, smiling, taking his hand and drawing it to my lips.

  His face flushed, and he hesitated, then leaned down swiftly and kissed me. “I only wish it could. Ah, Gwen, how little time we’ve had!”

  “It will be over shortly.”

  “Tonight,” he said with fervor, and then straightened. “I was bidden to awaken you. Kay tells me Alyse and Pellinore are camped outside Glaston and are on their way here. What do you want to do about Elaine?”

  It was the first time in three weeks he had mentioned her name. I met his eyes. “I will have to tell them. When do they arrive?”

  “It shouldn’t be much later than midday. You sent for them?”

  “Indeed, no. I did not, at Elaine’s request. They must be arriving in all innocence. Has Pellinore sent you no message?”

  “Only one of greeting and congratulations in the ordinary way.”

  “Oh, dear. Well, it must be done. Have Kay send them to me when they arrive.”

  “Bravely done. I will.” He paused, half turned to leave, and gave me a long, appraising look.

  “The way you look now,” he said roughly, “unbrushed and just awakened—five years seems a moment in time.”

  Then he turned on his heel and was gone.

  I gathered up my courage and went to see Elaine. I had feared she would beg leave to be granted her freedom for the day, for her parents’ sake, but to my surprise she flatly refused to see them.

  “Tell them what you like,” she said defiantly. “I will not see them. Say I am ill, or dead. It matters not to me.”

  “How not? You will go back with them tomorrow, alive and healthy.”

  Her lips drew back, but it was more a snarl than a smile. “We shall see.”

  I left her with foreboding in my heart, but even if I had had the time to think about it, I never would have guessed what she had planned.

  The morning we spent in church, dressed in our finest clothes of white and gold, adorned with all the trimmings we possessed. Arthur wore his crown, and I wore mine. The bishop blessed us and led all the people in prayers for our happiness and increase. Arthur squeezed my hand, and it took some of the sting from the words. Then we filed out in great procession, with all the lords and ladies following, through the streets of Camelot to the field pavilion. There we sat all afternoon, watching the competitions. Kay had had the cooks busy for days roasting boar and deer in the fire pits, and stewing fowls in great cauldrons over open fires. All afternoon, as the games continued, servants passed meat and drink among the assembled throng, so that all partook of the King’s meal. This was a special honor; for only a few hundred could be invited to the feast that night, and in this way Arthur made everyone part of his household. Kay had excelled himself. The food was excellent, the sauces rich. When he finally joined us midway through the afternoon, I complimented him well.

  “And if you do not water the wine better,” I told him, laughing, “there will not be a man left standing for the King’s feast tonight.”

  He grinned. “Thank you, my lady. I will see to it. The lady Elaine has sent me to ask if she may be permitted to celebrate the day with a skin of wine. She also begs forgiveness for her rudeness of the morning.” He said this without expression, for I knew his opinion of Elaine. He had offered for her once, long ago, and her rejection had not been polite.

  “You may send it to her, Kay. Unwatered. Perhaps it is best. She leaves Camelot in the morning.”

  “It is arranged. King Pellinore and Queen Alyse have just arrived, my lady, and have set up their tent in the lane. The King told me I was to bring them to you. Will you see them here, or shall I conduct them to the meeting room?”

  I glanced across at Arthur, who was intent upon the contest. “Bring them here, if you please. Let us hope the games engage them.”

  We made room upon the platform for two more, and when Alyse and Pellinore arrived I greeted them warmly. Pellinore gave me a bear hug, and Alyse a warm kiss of greeting. They were thrilled with the honor of sitting in the King’s pavilion, and I did my best to make them comfortable with food and wine. Pellinore was instantly absorbed in the games; it was Alyse who asked after her daughter.

  “Alas, madam, she is not feeling well. She begged to be excused from having visitors today. You may see her in the morning.”

  Alyse looked at me sharply but said nothing. She had known me from a child and could read my face, but if she scented a lie, she held her tongue. Grateful for her discretion, I turned the conversation to the state of things in Wales.

  “I bring you grave tidings from Northgallis, Guinevere,” Alyse said slowly. “Your brother King Gwarthgydd has lost his wife and daughters to a plague.” She touched my hand lightly. “Do not grieve for him, my dear, for he does not grieve much himself. He is already betrothed to the King of Powys’ daughter, a match he ought to
have made in the first place, years ago.”

  “Indeed, I grieve for Gwillim, who has lost his mother and his sisters! This plague, Alyse, this is the first I’ve heard of it! Is it widespread?”

  “No,” she replied with a lift of her eyebrow. “ ‘It has affected no one else, even in Northgallis. I have even heard that they died of a curse, and not a plague.” Her eyes narrowed. “You know something of this?”

  “No!” I said quickly, “indeed, I do not! And I do not believe people can die from curses!”

  She smiled. “May you never cross a druid, and learn differently.” Then, as if to atone for this remark, she crossed herself quickly and turned the subject herself. She had heard something of my abduction, and the King’s fight with Melwas, and asked carefully about it. I told her what was already common knowledge, but made no mention of Elaine’s part in it. I don’t know why I put off telling her; cowardice, I suppose, for they would have to know by morning. But in my heart I still expected Elaine to do something to prevent the need of it. If Alyse noticed my uneasiness, she had the grace not to comment on it. Nor did she comment, as had many others, on my slim and youthful figure, cloaking condemnation in words of praise. For this I was doubly grateful and took trouble to answer her questions and talk with her awhile.

  At length the horseracing began, and Alyse retired with most of the women, as the crowds grew rowdy. I was one of the few who stayed. There were seven heats, thrice around the field outside the flags, and then the final race between the seven winners. Zephyr’s colt won going away, for he had foreign blood in him, but it was a good race, and well ridden. Lancelot was proud of the jockey, a lad of eleven he had personally trained, and of course he was proud of the colt, for whose bloodlines he was alone responsible. The King honored him before the throng, presenting him a new sword with jeweled hilt, made by the smith who made the King’s weapons. Lancelot was speechless, and I smiled with joy to see the two men clasp each other so warmly, while the crowd of people shouted and cheered.