Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  On one such night a courier arrived just as the wine went round. An Orkneyman by dress, the message he delivered announced the arrival of Queen Morgause.

  I looked toward Bedwyr in surprise. He stared, stunned, at the kneeling courier.

  “The Queen of Orkney is here?”

  The man nodded. “She is without, my lord. Awaiting entrance.”

  My head ached with fatigue, and I grumbled to Bedywr, “Arthur has too many sisters. What does this one want, I wonder?”

  “Not much,” came a smooth voice from the doorway, “beyond a courteous greeting from his Queen.”

  I blushed to the roots of my hair. Queen Morgause stood watching, her escort behind her, as Bedwyr rose and went forward to welcome her to Camelot on the King’s behalf.

  Never had I seen a woman so lavishly dressed; even her cloak was trimmed with golden beading. Her hair, once red-gold like Uther’s, had darkened to dull russet, but she wore it bound in golden mesh; where it framed her face it accented the creamy pallor of her skin. Hands, wrists, neck, and ears were hung with gold and rich enamels, all worked intricately in the way of the northern Celts. Her face had Arthur’s bones, but not his features. She had a small mouth and nose and narrow forehead, and lashes too black to be unpainted. Beauty, yes—by anyone’s standards she was beautiful, and yet there was something spoiled about it, something slack, stale, beyond its best. But then, she was past thirty.

  She acknowledged Bedwyr and made her reverence, a dip of the knee, no more. Cat eyes, long, narrow, slightly slanted, glinted green. I went to Bedwyr’s side. She was not as tall as I was, but her shape, even after bearing five sons, would have outdone any maiden half her age.

  “Welcome, Queen Morgause.” I did not apologize for my rudeness; had she obeyed Arthur’s orders and stayed in exile, she would not have heard it. “We have lately had a visit from Queen Morgan. How sorry I am you did not come a month ago, when both your brother and your sister were in Camelot.”

  She regarded me a moment in silence, and my flesh crept on my bones. The dread I felt seemed so familiar! The eyes narrowed suddenly; sweat broke upon my brow. She turned to Bedwyr. “It is unlikely that either my brother or my sister will regret missing my visit. I came to see my sons, but I do not see them in hall. Are they not here?”

  “No, madam, they eat in the soldiers’ mess. Let me arrange rooms for you and get you settled, and I will have them sent to you.” He did not tell her that the reason they ate with the soldiers was because, even after a year, they had not acquired the manners to eat in hall—except for Mordred, whom the King did not wish to single out.

  She looked slowly around the gathering and slowly smiled. “Very well. Show me to my rooms.”

  Kay bowed low at her side. “My lady, I will escort you.”

  She turned away, ignoring the arm he proffered. “I will have meat and broth brought to me, and unwatered wine, as well. See to it.”

  She swept out, followed by her attendants, and Bedwyr and I looked at one another. We had thought Morgan a handful!

  “It is no accident she comes when the King’s in Brittany,” he said with feeling. “She has disobeyed his direct order. But how can I imprison the High King’s sister, when he is gone and her sons are here?”

  “What do you suppose she wants, Bedwyr?”

  He shrugged. “Nothing good, you may wager what you like on that.”

  “I fear you are right.” I did not tell him my deepest fear: that she had come, somehow, to reclaim Mordred.

  She swiftly became a general nuisance and as great a thorn in my side as Elaine had been at her worst. She disliked me; not, I discovered, on account of my unthinking rudeness, but merely because I was dear to Arthur. Kay and Bedwyr she treated as her servants and bade them have things brought, replaced when they did not suit her, and taken away when she was weary of them. For Arthur’s sake, they held hard to their patience and did her bidding.

  Most days, she held court in the High King’s library. There she would send for whom she wished to see. Instead of going to the practice field to see her sons’ progress, she would send for them and engage them in reminiscences about their Orkney homeland. Gawaine and Agravaine chafed under such treatment; they wanted to show off their prowess with spear and sword. Mordred bore it with grim patience; Gareth frankly fell asleep after a while. Only Gaheris truly enjoyed every minute in his mother’s presence. Indeed, I was amazed at the change in his demeanor. I had thought him a sour, whining child, but now he positively glowed with joy and pride. It was a pleasure, I told myself when I was wont to anger at her presumption, to see the boy so changed. Everyone else was ready for her departure when she had been a week in Camelot, but Gaheris at least had come into some sort of bloom.

  She stayed past the harvest, past the fall of the first snow, and the longer she stayed, the more fractious we became. Everything she did rubbed someone the wrong way. And Morgause herself not only enjoyed the disruption of our peace, she went out of her way to make trouble. Once she sent a maid of mine to her chamber, to fetch an amber bracelet from her jewel chest. The girl asked Hadarta, Morgause’s chief attendant, to fetch it for her. But Hadarta could not find the chest. She searched everywhere, and flew into a panic, crying out that Camelot was full of thieves, and Morgause would have her life if it could not be found. Little Anis helped her search the queen’s rooms; they spent half a day looking for it and weeping. Finally Anis came to me in tears with this silly story and asked me what to do. Neither of them dared tell Morgause the jewel chest was missing; indeed, Hadarta was packing her belongings into a sack, preparing to leave Camelot altogether. Slightly annoyed, I followed Anis to Morgause’s chamber and searched the place myself. There were plenty of furs and cushions flung about, and a fine linen tunic too small for a man to wear lying on the floor near the bed—could she be mending it for one of her sons?—but the chest was not there.

  “It is a small box,” Hadarta wailed, “but very precious! The cover is embroidered with crimson threads and sea pearls! Oh, oh! She will be in one of her horrid wraths, she will have my eyes out!”

  “Not in my domain, she won’t,” I said firmly. “Come, Hadarta. There is nothing to do but face it. Delaying telling her the news will not make it any easier. Come with me, both of you, and we will tell her together.”

  Morgause lounged in the library before the fire, admiring the rings on her fingers. Anis fell into a curtsy; Hadarta hung shaking at the door.

  Morgause listened calmly to my explanation and, with a light little laugh, waved us all away. “Oh! I had quite forgotten! I have the chest with me. And here is the bracelet on my wrist—I found it just after the child went after it.”

  And that was it: no apology, no regret, no expression of gratitude for half a day wasted by two women on her behalf. Anis and Hadarta were happy enough to escape without punishment, but I could barely control my anger. Watching me, Morgause’s long green eyes began to narrow and her lips slowly twisted in a smile. I turned on my heel and walked out.

  Not even Arthur’s hound was left in peace. Morgause had brought with her a white-haired cat, which she often kept upon her lap and stroked. Whenever she brought it into the King’s library, she had Cabal kicked out from his place on the warm hearth, although he cared nothing for cats, so that her darling might not be affrighted and scratch her with his claws. Cabal was stiff with age and winter cold; I let him sleep near my grate, but it was not the same as a good log fire.

  Poor Bedwyr had the worst of it. I, at least, could escape on horseback, for riding was beneath Morgause. She traveled only in a cushioned litter, lined with velvet. But as regent, Bedywr could not escape. The only place he was free from her was in the Council chamber. The guards had orders to physically restrain her if she tried to enter, but wisely, she did not. Councils grew longer and longer, and I had wine sent in to the men, which Arthur never allowed, to help them prolong their session and to signal that I understood.

  Dinner became something to be endured.
The springs of conversation dried under Morgause’s scorching wit; no one cared to venture an opinion and then be made to look a fool. How I wished we had a bard, that we might listen to the sweet sounds of music! Hearing this, Bedwyr offered to fetch his harp and give me a song or two. I was delighted and begged him to do it. Morgause wondered, with a lift of her lip, how the Kingdom had come to such a pass, that the Regent of Britain should stoop to harping for himself. Did he garden, too, she wondered, and spin his cloaks himself? I had opened my mouth to snap back an answer, when I caught Bedwyr’s eye and was silent. He gave us the song that Merlin wrote for Arthur, about how Britain waited in darkness for a thousand years until the King should be born that would bring her into light and glory, an everlasting glory that men would forever honor. As he sang about Arthur, the soldiers in the hall grew solemn and the women misty-eyed. Only Morgause looked on in half-concealed contempt. When the last note had faded to a sweet vibration, more felt than heard, Morgause rose and faced me.

  “In my life, I have never heard the truth stretched so. One might almost believe Arthur had written it himself. As for the singer, be sure to reward him, my lady Queen, as I hear only you can do, who are so liberal with your favors, for the honor he has done us all.” She made me a low curtsy, and swept out.

  Every man in the room was on his feet, crying out in protest.

  I stared after her, aghast. “Bedwyr, why does she hate me so?”

  He gripped my shoulder firmly. “Pay her no mind, my lady. To show anger is to play into her hands. She’s a different breed from Arthur.”

  “Indeed!” I breathed. “Niniane warned me, but I did not believe her. She is a devil.”

  I fought to keep my temper, but I could not bear the way she treated Arthur’s friends as her servants. The final straw came late one afternoon when I had returned from a ride upon the downs and sat in my chamber while Ailsa combed my hair. A page scratched at the door, sent by Morgause.

  “The Queen of Orkney is in the library and commands the Queen’s attendance,” he quavered, knee to the floor.

  Ailsa stiffened. “ ’Commands’ her attendance? Surely not. ‘Begs’ you mean, Brynn.”

  “No, madam,” the page whispered, trembling. “She said ‘command.’ ”

  “Repeat the message,” I ordered.

  “ ‘You there, go to the High Queen and command her to attend me. I have heard she has a lovely voice. I wish to hear her sing. Have her come and sing me a song.’ ”

  Ailsa gasped. “How dare she! How dare she send such a message!”

  The poor page shook so badly he could hardly speak. “Madam, I told her I could not take the Queen such a message, but, but—she said she’d have me whipped if I did not!”

  I went to the child and raised him. “She cannot touch you, Brynn. You serve the King, not Queen Morgause. These are idle threats. Unless you believe them, they have no power. Where is Sir Bedwyr?”

  “In Council, my lady.”

  I hid a smile. “Very well. Take him a message from me. You are to attend him in Council and see the men have wine and mead enough. Do not return to Morgause.”

  “She bade me return at once with your consent.”

  “You cannot do that, because you do not have it. Forget her. I myself will give her the reply she deserves.”

  When he was gone, I returned to the stool and bade Ailsa resume her combing.

  “What will you do, my lady?” she asked nervously.

  “What I have learned from Bedwyr is best to do,” I replied. “Nothing.”

  I took my time and let Ailsa dress my hair with ribbons and donned Arthur’s favorite gown of sapphire blue. It was dark when I went down at last, and the lamps had all been lighted. Anis, Hanna, and Mary attended me. We walked slowly through the corridors, talking and laughing, and as I expected, the library door opened as we neared it, and Morgause came out.

  “Ah, there you are at last. I must say, Guinevere, you have kept me waiting long enough.”

  The sentries near enough to hear her drew breath together; my girls froze. I did not pause, but kept walking.

  “What, would you snub the High King’s sister?” Morgause hissed.

  I turned slowly. “I beg your pardon. Were you addressing me?”

  “Is your name not Guinevere?”

  “Queen Guinevere to you, Morgause.”

  To my surprise, she smiled. “Surely, sister, we may use first names between us. My father was High King of Britain when yours was fighting hillmen for his tiny patch in Wales. Do not imagine you outrank me.”

  I clutched my gown and stilled myself and answered quietly. “Have you anything else to say?”

  “Come sing for me, Gwen. I should like to hear your voice.”

  I have never done anything so hard, but I turned away without speaking and, reaching out a hand to my shaking maids, continued down the hall. From a distance, we could hear the witch’s laughter.

  That night, Mordred came to me. I saw him in my antechamber with Ailsa in attendance. He went on his knees, his features solemn, and his voice tight with control. “My lady Queen, you must make her leave. You must find some excuse and make her leave.”

  “Mordred, is this your mother you speak of? You wish me to send her away?”

  “Yes!” he cried. “You must! She means nothing but mischief.”

  “Mischief can be endured. How would your brothers feel about it?”

  “Gawaine and Agravaine would not much care. They were pleased at first to see her. As I was. But now, but now she is a nuisance. They want to be soldiering, not waiting on her hand and foot. They are tired of it. We all are.”

  “Gaheris, too?”

  He looked quickly away. “Gaheris—would be better off without her. It is partly for his sake that I have come. Can’t you send her back to Orkney? Didn’t the High King send her into exile? Hasn’t she disobeyed him in coming here?”

  “Yes and no. When Lot died, Arthur gave the governing of Lothian to Sir Tydwyl, as regent for Gawaine. That left Orkney for Morgause. Orkney or another husband. She chose Orkney. It wasn’t exactly exile, and yet it was. You know better than I how far away Orkney is.”

  “But when the High King sent for us, he did not send for her. Sir Lukan read the orders aloud. She was commanded to stay in Orkney. So hasn’t she disobeyed by coming here?”

  “Yes, Mordred. She has disobeyed.”

  “Then can’t you have Bedwyr send her away?”

  “As she is the King’s sister, we are loath to do it. It is, well, a personal matter between them. Until she gives us good reason to do otherwise, we must treat her with the respect she is due. As Uther’s daughter and as Arthur’s sister.”

  His face shuttered. “The matter between them is my begetting.” He spoke with no emotion. At thirteen, he already had Arthur’s hard control. “He will never forgive her that, and she will use his shame against him, while she feels none. It is clear to me now.”

  “What is clear, Mordred?”

  He looked up at me. “She intends to stay. Here in Camelot. Forever. She intends to take it over, as you have seen. She won’t let Arthur stop her; she has a weapon against him. The life you have led this month past, she intends you will lead forever.”

  I gasped, as much at the pain of hearing him speak so of his parents as at the horror of the future he described. “How do you know this, Mordred?”

  He shrugged. “I have heard the way she speaks of my father. I have heard the way she speaks of you. You are—so easy to make angry. Forgive me, my lady, but it gives her such delight.”

  “When Arthur returns, he will deal with her.”

  “What will he do? If he sends her back to Orkney, he must have a reason why. That means he himself must publicize his shame. I don’t think he will do that.”

  He was right. Unless Morgause publicly transgressed, or breeched the law, what reason could he give for treating his sister so? He, who was revered as the just King, the wise King, who treated others fairly, no matte
r what their station—his hands would be tied. I saw why Mordred had come to me. I was not so bound. I could do whatever I willed and answer for it to Arthur, who would be relieved not to have to deal with it himself.

  “But even I, Mordred, must have some good excuse. Else it will look like spite and still reflect upon Arthur. She came and made a nuisance of herself and teased the Queen, who could not take a jest and sent the King’s sister away. You see?”

  “Yes.”

  “Thus far, she has done nothing but disobey Arthur’s wishes.”

  “I could tell you something she has done,” Mordred said slowly, his eyes on the ground. I said nothing but watched his face. Not an eyelash moved. “But—I want there to be another way.”

  “Perhaps I should speak with Bedwyr.”

  “Or Merlin.” He looked up suddenly. “She would fear Merlin. She has heard rumors of his return, but does not believe them. Can you not ask him what to do?”

  “You and Lancelot give me the same advice,” I said softly, and watched color flood into his face. “But I do not know how to summon him, even if I were willing. Merlin and I do not, well, see eye to eye.”

  He drew a long breath. “I see.” He paused. “Does the King love Lamorak?” The question came out of nowhere and took me by surprise.

  “Of course. He’s one of the Companions.”

  “He’s in danger.”

  “What kind of danger?”

  But he rose quickly and bowed. “Perhaps I’ve said too much.”

  “All right. I will keep my eyes open. I appreciate your coming, Mordred.”

  He hesitated, chewing his lip. “Why don’t you come to the library one morning, when we are there with Mother? I—I may have something to show you then.”

  I rose. “If you advise it, I will.”

  “Perhaps,” he breathed, “there will be no need for Merlin.”

  Several days later I did as Mordred bade me and joined Morgause in the library as she sat with her boys. Gareth was asleep on the hearth in Cabal’s place; Gawaine and Agravaine played a covert tug-of-war with their little fingers, and Gaheris curled at her feet, his head resting against her knee. Mordred sat nearby, rolling a chunk of coal between his fingers, working the coal dust into his flesh. He did not look up when I entered, but they all, well trained by Lancelot and Bedwyr, jumped to their feet.