Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Good morning, Queen Morgause,” I said pleasantly. “You look well rested. I am glad to see it. You may be seated, boys.”

  Morgause shrugged gracelessly as I sat and took up a piece of needlework.

  “We were talking,” she snapped, “about private matters.”

  “The boys are late for sword practice. Perhaps you should let them go and save the private matters until they are at leisure.”

  Hope lit Gawaine’s face, and his mother saw it.

  “First I will tell you of the time your father King Lot defeated Caelric, the Saxon king, single-handed.”

  “Oh, Mother,” Agravaine groaned. “We have heard this tale twenty times before. Mayn’t we go to the practice field? We’ll be in trouble with Sir Berys and Sir Lamorak if we miss more training.”

  “Don’t you worry about Lamorak.” Morgause smiled coyly. “He will do as I tell him. As for Berys, he will follow Lamorak’s lead. Now, attend me.” Mordred shot me a swift glance, and I understood at once the kind of danger Lamorak was in.

  She continued with her story, dressing it up with details that reflected on Lot’s glory but that could not possibly be true, when suddenly Mordred rose, white-faced and determined.

  “Excuse me, Mother.”

  Morgause looked up. “What is it, Mordred?”

  He bent down to her ear and put a hand up to cover his mouth. He whispered something and as he drew away, his dirty fingers touched her cheek. She turned toward me. I gasped. He had left a dark blot on her cheek, and suddenly I knew that face! The long, green eyes, the clear skin, the dark, ugly mole: Sybil!

  Shaking, I rose to my feet, staring. She lifted a hand to her face, realization dawning. At her feet Gaheris turned to look up at her. Gaheris! Gaheris and Sybil! I screamed and covered my mouth with my hand. My stomach heaved; on the verge of sickness, I put out a hand to steady myself and found it grasped by Mordred.

  “Mordred!” It was more a curse than a cry. He would not look at her, but led me out, calling to the guard.

  “Take the Queen to her quarters. She is ill. I will inform Sir Bedwyr.”

  “Mordred!” I looked back at him through tears. “Oh, Mordred!”

  32 THE ACCUSATION

  When Bedwyr came to see me he found me pacing around my chamber, cloaked and shivering with cold. He stood awkwardly by the door while Ailsa fussed about with possets and hot cloths.

  “Mordred sent for me, my lady. He said you were taken ill, and indeed, you look so. What has happened? What’s amiss? Was there a courier while we were in Council?”

  I shook my head and beckoned him farther into the room. Behind me the thick leather flap hung across the entrance to the High King’s bedchamber; I lifted it and checked to make sure no chamberlain was listening.

  Bedwyr approached nervously. “What is it, Gwen? It is the King?”

  “No.” I sat him upon my stool and paced back and forth before him. “Oh, Bedwyr, I do not know how to tell you. I am afraid you will not believe me. We must imprison Morgause. Now. She has committed a grave sin. For the—for the second time. And she is endangering a child.”

  “Guinevere, be still a moment. If you accuse her, I will imprison her. But first I must know what she has done.”

  My hands twisted together as I fought for calm. “She has—she is—she has seduced Gaheris.”

  His dark eyes slowly widened. “Incest?” he whispered, making the sign against evil as I nodded. “Are you sure?”

  “I am not the only one who knows it. Let me tell you what happened while you were gone with the King this summer.” I told him the whole tale, from meeting the witch in the forest to recognizing her that morning. I told him all about Grethe and her accusation, and about what Lancelot found when he went to Sybil’s house to try to clear his name. I left out only my private interview with Lancelot, as it was nobody’s business but mine; no doubt he heard about that already; no doubt it was already stale barracks gossip.

  When I finished, he pursed his lips and nodded thoughtfully. “So it was Lancelot who found them together.”

  “He told Arthur about it, but of course we did not know she was his mother! As Lancelot had expelled her from the city, he thought the problem solved. Had Arthur known—oh, Bedwyr! When Arthur knows this, he will kill her! And then, think of the stain upon his soul! We must prevent it, at all cost!”

  Bedwyr took a cup of warmed wine from Ailsa and bade me sit and drink it. I sat on the edge of my bed, with Ailsa’s arm about my shoulders, and tried to calm myself. All I could think of was Arthur’s face when he learned the truth.

  “Guinevere, attend me. I cannot arrest Morgause.”

  “What?” I cried. “Why not?”

  “You cannot accuse her. You have seen nothing. Lancelot is the only one who has seen them together, and he is not here.”

  “My God, Bedwyr, do you think Lancelot was lying?”

  “No, of course not. But I must be fair. She has the right to face her accuser.”

  “Would you be fair to a demon? To a witch?”

  “Yes,” Bedwyr replied sensibly, “even to a witch. And so would you. It is Arthur’s way. Think, Gwen, if you have seen anything at all.”

  “I saw—I saw the boy’s tunic on the floor by her bed!”

  He shook his head. “Even if you knew it to be Gaheris’ tunic, and I can see by your face that you do not, it proves nothing. There are a hundred other reasons why it might be there.”

  “But, Bedwyr, this is true! She is corrupting her own son! We must do whatever we can to spare him! If you don’t believe me, ask Mordred—Mordred has known it for a long time. Only, only don’t ask him to accuse his mother. He was brave enough to betray her to me, but it was stealthily done. If his brothers find out—you know how they are—his very life could be at risk! We must keep Mordred out of it, but send Morgause away, permanently away, from Camelot!”

  We argued about it a long time. I wept and pleaded and demanded, but Bedwyr was adamant. He could take no action until she was formally accused, and the only ones who could accuse her were Lancelot and Mordred. Mordred had already risked a great deal in revealing to me what he had kept from Lancelot; I refused to ask him to do more. When Bedwyr had gone, I stood alone in my room and cried Merlin’s name aloud.

  “If you hear me, King’s Enchanter, take shape and come to me! The Kingdom needs you. I need you!”

  Merlin might not care much about Gaheris’ soul, but he would want to keep Arthur’s honor clean. And even though I dreaded meeting the enchanter face to face, I would do anything to free Gaheris from the witch’s curse.

  Days passed; nothing happened. Merlin did not come, and Morgause’s behavior did not change. Mordred’s brothers, it seemed, had noticed nothing. I avoided Morgause as much as I could. She was cold to Mordred but when she looked at me she seemed always amused. Finally, I could stand it no longer. I rose early one morning after a sleepless night, determined to face the witch myself and demand to know the truth. I had appealed for help and gotten none. I would see what I could do myself, woman against woman.

  Wrapping my cloak about me, I hurried through the cold corridors. We’d had a biting frost the night before, and my angry breaths hung in clouds in the freezing air. I climbed the stairs to her apartments and tapped upon the door. No one answered. Annoyed, I pushed it open; Hadarta slept in the antechamber hard by the grate, snoring loudly, an overturned winecup near her pallet. As I stood there, gathering my courage, the inner door opened, and a shirtless boy backed slowly out.

  “Before moonrise,” he called softly. “I will come again, Mother. I will bring you a present. Wait until you see.” In his hand he held the tunic I had seen on the floor. As he slipped it on he turned and saw me. Gaheris froze. And then, as if in imitation of the witch herself, his green eyes narrowed and his lips slid into a sly smile. He said nothing, but passed by me and went silently out the door.

  “Come in, Guinevere,” Morgause called, stifling a yawn. “I’ve been expecting you
for days.”

  She sat amid her rumpled sheets, sleepy and unbrushed. The harsh morning light displayed a thousand lines around her eyes, mouth, and neck; her chin sagged, her full breasts flattened in her shapeless shift, the slack flesh on her inner arms shone sickly white, like a frog’s belly. And still she smiled at me.

  “Does Arthur know you spy upon his guests? That you are a snoop as well as a coward?” The long eyes narrowed and the hairs stood up upon my arms.

  “Leave him alone!” It burst out of me before I knew it. “Leave the child alone! You are corrupt and filthy! As you value your life, Morgause, let him be!”

  “But, my pretty pet, he enjoys it so.” I gasped. She did not bother to deny it! “There is something about a young boy, so new to love, that I find appealing. And there is nothing a boy will not do to please his mother.” She was watching me, and as my disgust progressed to horror, so her amusement grew to contemptuous satisfaction. “He’s no Arthur, of course.”

  “Oh, God!” I cried, flinging my hands to my ears. “Stop it! Have you no compassion in you at all?”

  “I show you as much as my dear brother has shown me!” She flung aside the covers and sprang out of bed, pulling on a silken robe of dark green. She glanced in her polished bronze at her reflection, then whipped around and faced me. “You bitch. You have no right to outshine me. I will be revenged on you for that. I will tell you what it was like with Arthur.”

  “You will not! I will call the guard and have you taken to the tower!”

  “On what grounds?”

  “You—you have lain with your son!”

  “And with my brother. But if you accuse me, I will deny it.”

  “I saw it!”

  “No. You saw a boy leaving his mother’s room. What harm is there in that?”

  “Oh, God! You cannot, you will not go free!”

  “No?” She smiled again and took a comb to her hair. “I will do just exactly as I please. If you accuse me, I will tell them what a little whore you are. I will name names.”

  “That is a lie!”

  “So? Lies have ruined reputations before now. And they are hard to disprove. There will always be doubts. And be sure I will bring Arthur’s shame to light. What a fine, strong youth he was! So eager and so proud. I was his first woman, did he tell you?”

  “Of course not! He hates the very—”

  “Fresh from his first victory he came to me, all fire and hot breath. He knew nothing.”

  “My God, have you no shame?”

  “None.” She picked up a jar of scented balm and began to rub the cream into her skin. Magically, the lines began to disappear. “He was a pleasure to teach, I will say that for him. And he learned well, did he not? Does he please you with those beautiful hands of his?”

  “Don’t, I pray you! How can you?”

  She leaned closer and whispered. “Every time he touches you, my pet, think of me.”

  “No! Oh, no!” I found myself sobbing into my hands, I, who had come so bravely to her door not half an hour before! Was it witchcraft, or had I just been naive about the depth of cruelty a woman’s heart could hold? I wiped away my tears and faced her. “You do not deny, then, Gaheris has shared your bed?”

  “Not to you. It amuses me to confess it.”

  “For this you deserve death.”

  She shrugged. “In your narrow Christian eyes, perhaps. But none of you can kill me. I do not fear you.”

  “I will have you imprisoned.”

  “You can try. Come, Guinevere, I am tiring of this game. You have voiced your outrage. Now go back to bed.”

  “I will not! Guards! Guards!”

  Morgause began to laugh. “You will not even awaken Hadarta, much less rouse a guard.”

  “What have you done to her? Drugged her wine, I suppose?”

  “Clever girl.”

  “That is enough, Morgause. You are evil, and I will see you put away.”

  “Will you, indeed? We shall soon see, my sweet, which of us is more powerful. It’s been clear for more than a month now, there is room for only one Queen in Camelot.”

  I gasped at her audacity. “How dare you! And you call me a bitch! I’ll see you flogged!”

  “You shallow, empty-headed fool! I’ll make mincemeat of you, and then see how my brother likes you! I will serve him well for leaving me to rot on that sea-swept rock!”

  “Ladies! Ladies!” cried a male voice from the doorway. “What’s all this fuss?” Lamorak walked in, looking from one to the other of us in consternation. “My lady Queen, Sir Bedwyr is looking for you. Whatever are you doing here?”

  “I have come to lay a charge against Queen Morgause. Take her in hand, Lamorak, and call the guards. I will not stir from this chamber until she is imprisoned.”

  “Why, what has she done?”

  I hesitated to tell him, until I saw the smirk on Morgause’s face.

  “The charge is incest. Corrupting a child. One of her own sons.”

  “What!”

  He turned to her, and the face she lifted to him was so totally changed, so full of charm and hurt innocence, I pinched myself to be sure I was not dreaming.

  “Good Lamorak, I fear the Queen is ill. Her long barrenness has affected her wits at last.” I gasped as I saw the line she meant to take. What a gift she had for finding the sorest spot and plunging the knife straight in! “She burst in upon me this morning, unannounced, and started raving at me. She has got this wild idea about my bedding a boy. No doubt these are her own secret dreams she turns upon me.”

  “How can you deny it?” I cried. “I saw him here with you!”

  “Begging your pardon, my lady, but you did not. There was no one here for her to see, Lamorak. It is absurd and disgusting. What would a grown woman want with an untried boy? Men, experienced men, are much more to my taste.”

  She sidled up against him and looked up at him with sultry eyes. Lamorak’s breathing quickened as he gazed down at her, and his hand slipped stealthily inside her robe. In another moment they would be asking me to leave. I groaned in exasperation. Was there no man in the castle proof against her? On the thought, Bedwyr came through the door.

  “Queen Guinevere! There you are!”

  “Bedwyr! Arrest her! I charge her now!”

  He looked at Morgause and then at Lamorak, who stood beside her, hands at his side. “Well?”

  “I deny it,” Morgause said proudly. “It is ridiculous. It is beneath me.”

  Bedwyr grunted. “It was not beneath you once. Lamorak?”

  “Uh, my lord, I was passing by and heard words between them, and so came in. I know nothing about it, really. Except I cannot believe—”

  “What you believe does not matter. Go downstairs and tell Prince Mordred—”

  “Mordred?” Morgause spoke sharply. For the first time I detected a hint of fear. “Where is he? I wish to speak with him.”

  “Tell Prince Mordred to await me in the Council chamber,” Bedwyr finished. Lamorak saluted, bowed to us, and left.

  “Where is he?” she repeated.

  Bedwyr hesitated a moment before answering and noted the change in her composure. “He was belowstairs as I came by, looking for the Queen, and detained me when I tried to come up.”

  “If he is still there, bid him come and see me. I have something of importance to tell him.”

  Bedwyr looked at me.

  “He was here when I came to the door, Bedwyr,” I whispered. “He was in her chamber. Half dressed. She in a shift, and his smell upon her. At dawn. What more do you need?”

  “I deny it!” Morgause spat, seeing Bedwyr’s face.

  “And sneaked away, no doubt, the coward. You should see him, Guinevere, when blood is spilled, the lily-livered—”

  “Silence!” screamed Morgause. “He is not a coward!”

  “Indeed?” Bedwyr retorted, his eyes lighting. “Why, he’s worse than his twin, who cannot stomach—”

  “I’ll have you know that Agravaine h
as killed three men bare-handed!” She caught her breath, but too late. Bedwyr was smiling.

  “So we are agreed,” he said softly, “that we are speaking of Gaheris.”

  Trapped by her own tongue, Morgause went still. Bedwyr grasped her arm and turned to me. “Mordred did not know you were here, my lady. But he thought Gaheris was. That’s why he tried to keep me away.”

  I exhaled in relief. “So. You believe.”

  Bedwyr’s face went cold. He held Morgause well away from him, as though she were a viper. “Oh, yes,” he said. “I believe.”

  Morgause stiffened. “You will regret the day you crossed me, both of you.”

  Bedwyr sighed from the depths of his soul. “I regret the day I ever laid eyes on you, Witch of Orkney.”

  Morgause lay that night in the tower cell and the next day was brought before the Council. I expected her sons to be outraged, but although they frowned and wore long faces, they said nothing. They knew, all of them, the charge was true, and they were torn between anger at their mother’s imprisonment and shame for her behavior. Bedwyr had confronted Mordred, who told him the truth of what he knew. But Mordred did not want to speak publicly against his mother. Where he had grown up, the queen did as she pleased, no questions asked, and he did not see why we could not imprison or exile her if we willed. But Bedwyr was worried. It all depended, he said, on whether the Companions could be brought to believe the charges. Most of them thought well of women; none of them would want to believe such evil of Arthur’s sister.

  Morgause sat in the Chair of Complaint, composed and lovely. Lamorak was not her only admirer at the Round Table. As her chief accuser, I sat at Bedwyr’s right hand. The High King’s chair, below the Sword Excalibur in its embroidered hanger, remained empty.

  Bedwyr got straight to the point. He laid the charge of incest against Morgause and named me as her accuser. The Companions stirred, shocked. Bedwyr then told them what Lancelot had witnessed that summer; had we known then Gaheris’ seductress was his mother, she would have been brought before both Lancelot and Arthur and made to answer for it. At this, the Companions frowned and shifted in their seats. If Lancelot had seen it, it was true. There was much discussion between them. Finally, one of them asked who was present when Lancelot revealed what he had seen between the woman and Gaheris. After a quick glance at me, Bedwyr told them: the High Queen and Mordred. There was a small silence. Then Lamorak rose.