Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  We walked back to the castle, the three of us together, arm in arm. It was one of the happiest moments of my life; I knew it then.

  We had two hours to rest before the feast, and I bade Ailsa bathe me and comb out my hair. I heard the King in his room and hoped he might come in, but then I heard Lancelot’s voice, as well, and knew they were in close conference. I took myself out to my terrace and sang softly while the light slowly faded from the sky, and Ailsa lovingly brushed my hair. At length, when I came in to take my rest, I heard no more voices and thought they were gone. But they had both been listening. For when I had lain quietly awhile, I heard them talking again, but softly, so as not to wake me. Two such noble men! Where else on earth could their like be found?

  At the hour of lamp lighting Ailsa awakened me and shook out my new gown. This had been cut from a bolt of heavy silk Arthur had imported from the East as a Christmas gift. It was a bewitching color, a rich sapphire blue with crimson threads woven in, and in lamplight had a sheen the color of amethysts. I had cut the cloth myself and set my women to work upon it. The lines were simple and straight, with no fancy work or trimmings. I had stitched the bodice myself in purple thread, so the design of interlocking dragons was visible only in lamplight, and even then only at close range. For it was meant to compliment the giver. Arthur had never seen it. Tonight was to be the first time of wearing it.

  Ailsa held it out before her and chuckled. “If I were half the size I am, my lady, I could not wear it. It’s cut so slim it looks made for a boy.”

  “Ailsa, ever since I can remember, you have been saying that to me.”

  “Yes,” she said, “and ever since I’ve known you it’s been true. At least,” she continued quickly, steering away from dangerous ground, “the bodice is cut low on this one. You’re too often shy of that.”

  “The King will like it, I wager.”

  “Indeed he will!” she cackled. “Bless the man, the way he looks at you!”

  “And,” I continued firmly, “it is for evening wear. Such things are now accepted. I couldn’t have worn this gown at seventeen, Ailsa. Admit it.”

  “I don’t see why not. He’d have liked to see you in it. He’s a full-blooded man, is our King, and always has been—may Bilis take me if I lie—like Uther his father. Now there was a man who loved women! Did I ever tell you—”

  I sighed and smiled. She was off again on her favorite stories about Uther Pendragon’s sexual prowess. There was nothing to be done; she always spoke so when she had had a little wine. I stood still while she dressed me and recited her lurid tales, and said silent thanks that Uther’s son showed more restraint than his father. I began worrying about where Alyse and Pellinore would be seated at dinner. Ailsa sat me on a stool and began to dress my hair.

  “You should see what the lady Alissa has done with the fabric you gave her,” she said suddenly. “Very pretty, to my mind, it is, with trimming on the skirt and a ruffled neckline.”

  “Ailsa!” I shivered suddenly as a thought struck me. “Did Elaine get any of the leftover silk?”

  “Why to be sure, my lady. You gave it to her with your own hands. The color does not suit her, really, her eyes are much too light.”

  “Do you suppose that is what she was sewing? The blue piece Grannic saw?”

  “I wouldn’t set much store by Grannic, my lady. She has always had trouble telling blue from green. It’s my belief that Lady Elaine made a tunic from the fabric. I doubt there was enough for a gown.”

  “I wonder.”

  But I put the thought aside. What difference could it make? My distrust of Elaine had colored all my thoughts. I must forget it.

  Ailsa dressed my hair without adornment, for Ygraine’s crown was adornment enough. Instead of Arthur’s great sapphire, I wore round my neck Ygraine’s delicate choker of amethysts and river pearls. Wearing the stones brought out the dual colors in the gown, and the effect in my polished bronze delighted me.

  “It’s beautiful!” I cried in delight. “He will love it.”

  “You are beautiful,” a voice said behind me. “And he loves it indeed.”

  I whirled around. “Arthur!” Ailsa dropped into a curtsy and backed out of the room.

  The King stood smiling by the curtain, looking at me. “Are you flesh and blood? Or did you drop from Heaven? What magic is this!”

  I colored. “My lord, this is the fabric you gave me at Christmas. I made the gown to please you. I am glad if I succeeded.”

  “It’s not the gown,” he said, coming over to me and running a gentle finger down my neck from ear to throat. “Simple silk cannot do such things to a man.”

  I lowered my eyes. Ailsa, had she been there, would have recognized her Uther in his son’s face at that moment. But Arthur was not Uther. He kissed me softly on my neck and stepped back.

  “Would I could stop time! I came to see if you were ready. We must go down.”

  Mischievously I smiled up at him. “I am ready, indeed, my lord.”

  He spun on his heel and walked away, then turned and grinned. “You are a witch! If you tease me so, Gwen, I shall not be able to help myself. Dinner will be late, and everyone waiting. We will disgrace ourselves.”

  I laughed. “The great Arthur, beyond control? Perhaps I should like to see it.”

  His eyes blazed. “By the Bull!” he breathed. “And so you shall!” He drew a long breath and managed a smile. “Later.” He returned to me and offered me his arm. “What you will do to poor Lancelot when he sees you, I dare not think. It is cruelty, you know.”

  It amazed me that he spoke of it. I wondered, with joy and hope, if they had come to some new close fellowship, that they could bear me between them with better ease.

  I placed my hand upon his arm. “I will behave myself. Let us go down.”

  The hall was full when we entered, and the assembled guests rose and cheered us to our seats. The King had placed Lancelot at his right hand, in the seat of honor, while I sat on his left. Alyse and Pellinore were some way down the table, out of speaking range, to my relief. Kay had managed things beautifully. Lancelot’s eyes burned like hot flames, but he was too far removed for private speech. Next to me sat Bedwyr, who was my friend. But Arthur was right, Lancelot suffered.

  There was something special about that night from the beginning. It wasn’t the gown, or the occasion, or the full moon, or the soft June breezes. The very air was alive with promise. It was the smile of God before the bolt was thrown.

  The feast was grand and lasted long. Arthur and I went round together to the tables, greeting guests and exchanging pleasantries. When I returned to my seat, Bedwyr sighed.

  “You gild the lily with a vengeance, Gwen. Forgive me, but I wish you hadn’t worn that gown.”

  “Not you too, Bedwyr. It’s only cloth.”

  “It’s devilment, by Mithra! There’s not a man in the room who isn’t bewitched.”

  “Poppycock.” I grinned. “Water your wine better, you’ll be all right.” Then, seeing his face: “Is there truly something amiss? The King nearly told me not to wear it.”

  “For Lancelot’s sake, no doubt.”

  “Don’t, Bedwyr.”

  He lifted his chin, like a dog testing the air. “I don’t know what it is, but there’s something afoot tonight.”

  “You feel it, too?”

  He shifted uneasily. “I wish Merlin were here.”

  I smiled. “There we part company. I am glad he is not. He disapproves of me, you know.”

  But Bedwyr looked grave. “Not of you, my lady, but of your fate. His only thought, waking or sleeping, is for the King.”

  I gaped at him, unable to believe my ears. He had deliberately touched upon my wound! My body began to tremble, and I could not still it. “How can I change my fate, sir? Tell me, and I will do it! I would gladly change places with the ugliest slut in Britain if it would bring the King a child!”

  My words seemed to ring in the hall. Heads turned. Arthur and Lancelot whipped a
round.

  “What’s going on, Bedwyr?” Arthur demanded.

  “One moment, my lord.” Bedwyr turned to me with quiet gravity and took my hand. “Gwen, look at me.” I raised my eyes and looked at him through tears. His face was full of love, and his voice, low and gentle, spoke softly. “You know, you must know by now that it cannot be.” Arthur looked hastily away and began talking to Lancelot; others followed their example and once again the hall filled with noise. “Merlin has always known it. But know this, also, that it grieves you a thousand times more than ever it grieves the King. He has no time for children. Listen, Gwen, and I will tell you a secret. Merlin told me once that it is you who will ensure his glory. That your fate, which you curse as betrayal, will leave Arthur standing alone in glory, and because of you, his fame will be everlasting.”

  I stared, wide-eyed, as he told me these things.

  He smiled gently. “So you see, even this dark cloud has a gilded lining. Enjoy the King as a man and forget the rest. It is with the gods. As for Merlin—I only wish he were here because I sense something in the air tonight, and I wish the reins were in his hands.”

  “Everlasting?” I whispered. “Bedwyr, is it possible?”

  He shrugged, suddenly shy. “With true greatness it is possible.”

  I felt Arthur’s hand on my arm. “Enough of this. Has he upset you, Gwen? What’s this about?”

  I turned to him, feeling suddenly light and free of a great burden. To think that I might serve him after all! I raised a hand to his cheek and smiled into his eyes. “Upset me? No, my lord. He has given me a great gift.”

  He looked amazed. “I can see that he has. May I know what it is?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think I can tell you.”

  He clasped my hand, his dark eyes glowing. “Then I will not ask. It is enough to see you look the way you look!”

  Lancelot rose and lifted his goblet. “To the Queen!” he shouted.

  All the people rose and cried, “The Queen!” The men stomped and cheered and drank, and I saw tears in the eyes of those ladies nearest us. What, I wondered, had gotten into everybody?

  Suddenly Grannic was there with goblets of neat wine, and the King and Lancelot drank my health with it, and then I drank to theirs. There was much cheering and shouting in the hall, and it was some while before the noise died down, and the bard came on. Only then did I think it strange to see Grannic in hall. I looked about and saw her standing by the wall with the other servants. I beckoned her over. She went white as a sheet.

  “Why are you here tonight, Grannic? Why are you not with your mistress?”

  She curtsied low. “The lady Elaine dismissed me from her service tonight, my lady. She said she had no more need of me. I—I thought it best to obey and to help out in hall.” She trembled as she spoke, and two faint pink spots appeared on her withered cheeks. She looked terrified when she saw that I did not believe her, but just then the bard began to strum his harp, and I waved her away. There was plenty of time, I thought, to get the truth from her.

  The bard, a master musician from Frankish lands, played fluidly and sang in a haunting voice, perfectly pitched. The wine was good, running through my limbs like gentle fire, and I sat back happily in my chair to enjoy the music. Gradually I sensed a change in atmosphere, as if one of those dry summer storms were approaching, that bring forked fire from the sky but no rain or wind. Colors grew sharper, the bard’s balding head seemed haloed with light. I felt a tingling in my fingertips and toes, and a wave of excitement swept my body. I began to breathe in quicker breaths, yet had not moved. Nervously I glanced about, but no one else seemed so affected. I sat back and tried to attend the bard. But I could not keep my thoughts upon him. I kept thinking back to Melwas’ cabin, when Lancelot held me in his arms and kissed me, and his hand had touched my breast— desperately I turned to the King, and he turned to me in the same moment. I saw instantly he felt the same, for his father’s spirit blazed in his eyes, and his jaw was clenched with the effort of control.

  “Sir,” I whispered frantically, “I am ill, I think. I must retire.”

  “Stay a moment,” he whispered back.

  “But, Arthur—I think Elaine has poisoned the wine!”

  His face lit with laughter, and he reached for his water goblet, to hide behind it. “It’s but an aphrodisiac,” he whispered. “And a powerful one. I can see you feel it. Have you never felt this way before?”

  “Why, my lord, I—I—” I stammered. He waved me silent, and saved me from a lie. Beyond him, Lancelot sat with his arms on the table and his face buried in them, moaning softly. Clearly he had drunk the wine, as well. There had been three cups on Grannic’s tray.

  “If it is Elaine’s doing, it gilds the lily,” the King said softly, “for tonight we need it not. Wait till the bard is done, if you can. I promise I shall not be long behind you.”

  It was about the hardest thing I’d ever done, to sit quietly ladylike while my body burned and throbbed. I tried to think about Elaine, for I did not doubt this gift was hers, and why she had done it, but the drug robbed me of thought. I felt like gasping and could not. I felt like running and had to sit motionless. What exquisite torture we endured, to be so tossed by storms of desire and able to do nothing!

  On the bard’s last note I rose and curtsied low to the king. His was a demeanor long schooled in self-discipline; yet even he could barely drag his eyes from my bodice to my face.

  “With your permission, lord, I will go.”

  He nodded. “Go,” he said stiffly. Lancelot looked up once; my flesh felt scorched where his gaze touched it; he stifled a cry and buried his head again. I fled from the hall. Grudgingly the rest of the women followed. The bard was later well recompensed for the early departure of half his audience. He was assured the Queen had taken ill.

  I ran to my rooms and cried to Ailsa for water, for my hair to be undone, for the fretful gown to be unlaced. Yet she did nothing fast enough for me. I paced, and mumbled, and fidgeted, and cursed Elaine, and cursed the King for his slowness. Ailsa said nothing, but I saw laughter in her eyes. I refused my bedgown, but wrapped myself in a robe and dismissed her.

  “I will wait in the King’s chamber,” I announced with as much dignity as I could summon. It can’t have been much, for she cackled heartily all the way down the stairs. I waited what felt like six days before I heard his footsteps. In the room below he dismissed Varric in clipped tones and bounded up the steps three at a time. At the door he threw off his tunic.

  “Arthur!” I ran into his arms, driven, wild with waiting. He kissed me roughly and then suddenly drew back.

  “Wait, Gwen.”

  “Wait!”

  He grinned. “The drug takes hours to wear off, you know. Nothing we are about to do will change that.”

  “Please, Arthur—”

  “Wait. I want to know if you truly meant what you said in hall to Bedwyr. Look into my eyes and say it to me.”

  I drew a long breath and looked into his beautiful eyes. “I would gladly trade places with the ugliest slut in Britain, if it would bring you a child.”

  His face softened, and he gently put his hands into my hair. “I would not make the exchange for any price,” he whispered. I opened my mouth to speak, but met his lips, and the fire was upon us.

  I awoke in the middle of the night with an idea. It came to me complete and in detail, and I am sure its coming was what awakened me. The room was still and dark. Beside me Arthur slept in peace. I slipped into my robe and crossed the room to the water carafe, for the wine had left me with a dreadful thirst. I poured water into the silver goblet and drank deeply. The aftereffects of the drug left me feeling light and drained. I poured a second goblet for the King, when he should awake, and brought it to his bedside. He stirred and opened his eyes.

  “Here, my lord. For your thirst.”

  He grinned sleepily. “I pray you, no more. I feel like an old man.”

  I blushed at his jest. “It is onl
y water.”

  “I know. Forgive me. Thank you for the thought.” He drank thirstily and then sat back, looking refreshed. “Well, Gwen, what do you think of aphrodisiacs?”

  I lowered my eyes. “I would rather do without,” I told him, then looked up hastily, in case I had offended. “Not that I did not enjoy it, my lord—”

  He laughed, and took my hand. “I remember your pleasure. Never mind. I know what you mean. I agree with you. It is better without, where there is no need.”

  I was glad he understood me. I hoped that he would still understand when he heard my idea. Now was the time, for he was relaxed, tired and content.

  “Arthur.”

  “My lady?”

  “I would ask a favor of you.”

  “It shall be granted. Name it.”

  “Make me no promise until you have heard what it is.”

  “My dear, if it is you who asks it, it cannot be base. I will do it.”

  “No, it is not base,” I said slowly, “but as it concerns you more than me, you might not wish to grant it.”

  His attention focused on me sharply. “What is it Gwen?”

  I stood on the edge of dangerous ground; suddenly nervousness consumed me, and I clasped my hands tightly together. There was no going back now.

  “Arthur, is it true you have a son?”

  He froze; not a muscle moved on his face. I stumbled on hurriedly.

  “When I was a girl, even in Wales we heard rumors. Of a boy born to Queen Morgause, and hidden from King Lot. A boy conceived at Caer Eden on the night of the great battle that brought you into Kingship. Is it true? Is this your son?”