Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  He smiled, a shadow of his grin. “There was a timely snowstorm. Yes. And now you see why Merlin has avoided Camelot and comes to me only in private. He cannot bear the sight of Mordred, although for my sake, he does not say so.”

  I shuddered. “If Merlin loved you, Arthur, he would never have told you this!”

  He sighed. “I know this is hard, Gwen. It was hard for me once, too. That’s why I never told you myself. But what is it, after all? Just an event foreseen. Knowing or not knowing will not change it; all it will do is bring joy or pain to those who know. I can see that my son has accepted this. It has made him a man. And it must have been more difficult for him than ever it was for me. You will have to accept it, too, my dear.”

  “I cannot!” I cried, and appealed to Bedwyr. “Bedwyr, make him see it must be somehow averted! His own son!”

  Bedwyr’s smile was sad, and his eyes were full of grief. But he only shrugged and said gently, “Listen to Arthur, Gwen. If he can bear it, then we all must, for his sake.”

  “Arthur! Speak with Merlin! Let it not fall to Mordred—what has he done to deserve it? He is innocent. Let him be free of this!”

  “Yes, he is innocent,” Arthur agreed. His warm brown eyes held my own, and I felt the soft, light touch of his will, soothing, calm, serene. “We must both do all we can to help him, to protect and honor him, to ensure that his fate will be undeserved.”

  I was held, helpless, in the web of his powerful love, and gradually felt my anger drawn from me, until I was left empty of grief. I slipped from the chair, sat at his feet, and kissed his hands.

  “Leave us now, Bedwyr,” I heard him say.

  “My lord,” Bedwyr said softly, and went out.

  Arthur lifted me in his arms and carried me into his chamber. He undressed me quickly, wrapped me well in warm blankets, and put me in the bed. Then he stoked the fire and brought me watered wine and made me drink it. He called for the page and sent for hot broth. When it came, he took it and fed me himself. When I could take no more of it, he set it aside and, sitting down beside me, looked into my face.

  “Why would you not let Bedwyr tend you?” he asked gently. “He is sick with worry about you. You do not eat or sleep. He feels he has failed me.”

  “I did not know he felt so, my lord. He has been so kind to me, and my thoughts were always elsewhere—I did not notice his distress. It was selfish of me. I will beg his forgiveness.”

  Then he smiled and gently touched my face. “That is more like the Guinevere I know. Let it be. I kept him here this evening to show him what it was that ailed you, so that he did not feel it was his fault. He knows it now.”

  “How did you know, my lord?”

  “I looked at Mordred’s face, and I knew the witch had told him.”

  “I made him tell me. He did not want to.”

  “He should have been stronger. But he loves you.”

  I closed my eyes on that, but two small tears slipped out. “Oh, Arthur,” I whispered. “I do not want you to die.”

  “Ahhhhh.” He breathed it out slowly and kissed the two tears. “Now we are coming to it. It is death you fear. You are young, and you have not felt its touch before.”

  How could he know? Did he know my every thought?

  “I fear your death. I cannot envision life without you. And to die by his hand—”

  His finger closed my lips. “Don’t, Gwen. We don’t know that. Not even Merlin knows how it will happen. Only that it will. And that is not such precious knowledge, for every man must die. I do not think about it. It is what we do in life that matters.”

  He was so calm, so strong, so sure, he gave me strength. I looked at him in wonder. “Is it because you are a soldier, you do not fear death?”

  He smiled lightly. “Every soldier fears death, before every battle. But not during it; there is not time. And yes, it is easier, to have faced it and come away. Now listen, while I tell you another of Merlin’s prophecies.”

  “No! Please, no more!”

  “You will like this one,” he said, coming closer, pulling the pins from my hair. “He promised me I should have time to accomplish what I most desired. Time and to spare, he said. So, you see? You need have no fear that this wicked day of destiny is near, for I have plenty of plans still to carry out. Many things remain to do. But I will need you beside me to do them.”

  He took my hair down and let it fall around my shoulders. What with the warmth of the fire and the wine and the hot broth, my shivering had gradually subsided, and I began to relax within my warm cocoon of blankets. When he was with me, death seemed infinitely remote.

  “Arthur,” I whispered.

  “My love.”

  “You are—you are such a force for life.”

  He smiled and kissed me gently. “And you, my dearest, are more than life to me. I am nothing without you. Now sleep. I will sit here by the fire.”

  “But—”

  “There will be plenty of time for love.” He grinned. “This also Merlin told me.”

  I laughed. It seemed like the first time in years.

  34 THE WITCH OF RHEGED

  What on earth did you say to my sister?” the King asked with a smile, looking up from the papers at his desk.

  “Your sister, my lord?” I waved away Hanna, who was fanning me, and turned in the chair to see him better. The library doors were open to the terrace, where Kay, Bors, Galahantyn, Bedwyr, Lancelot, and I sat languidly in the midday heat in the shade of the Camelot oak. Nearby, the new fountain, an alabaster dragon tipped with gold on claws and tail and fangs, spewed spring water in a refreshing tinkle of sound. It made us feel cooler just listening to it. We had barely moved the last hour. Only the King had energy enough to work. I peered into the cool dimness of the chamber. He had just broken the seal on a scroll, which he read with some astonishment.

  “Yes,” he said, beginning to frown. “My sister Morgan. Witch of Rheged, as she likes to style herself. Listen to this.” He paused and, keeping his finger on the close and flowing penmanship of her scribe, began to read carefully in Latin. “ ‘And whereas your good lady Queen did insult me, in the company of sundry lords and princes, who will bear witness to this on their oaths as King’s men, and as this took place in the royal city of Camelot, albeit while you yourself, my good lord King and brother, were abroad with my most reverend lord King of Rheged, I do beseech and require of you justice to the satisfaction of our honor, as we two Pendragon’—I can’t make this out, I think she wants a hearing— ‘and set aside the enmity between us of past years, by setting aside the very root and cause, which, however lovely, brings forth naught but a rank and barren blossom—well, I guess the gist is clear enough. Oh, yes, she goes on to wish me ‘happiness and increase’ and refers once again at the end to my youth and Urien’s strength. He was fifty when he got Morgaine on her. I suppose she means to tell me it is never too late.”

  In spite of myself, the color rose to my face. I lowered my eyes. The bruise still gave pain, when tapped sharply.

  “Oh, God.” Lancelot groaned, watching me. “Not again. You settled all that years ago, Arthur. She can’t be serious. She’s just being nasty.”

  “But why?” asked the King, rising and coming out to join us. He sat on the plinth of the fountain pool, facing me. “She says here”—he tapped the letter—“that she’s coming to Camelot to settle the matter. What matter? What happened while I was gone last year?”

  I looked up from my lap and met his eyes. “I should have told you, my lord. But it seemed so small a thing at the time. The morning after the stable fire, when Queen Morgan left with her train, she said some very rude things to Bedwyr.” The King glanced at Bedwyr, who nodded. “I only meant to defend him,” I continued, “and return her remarks in kind . . . you know, my lord, the sort of things women will say to each other in a fit of temper, where a man would keep silent. It really was nothing at all.”

  Lancelot and Kay, who had heard nothing of it, sat up a little straighter.r />
  “Did you insult her, Gwen?” Arthur asked calmly. “If you did, I am sure she deserved it. But I must know what you said.”

  Good Bedwyr jumped in to my rescue. “Your lady sister insulted you, as well, my lord, which was what upset the Queen.”

  “Oh?” He raised an eyebrow and turned to Bedwyr. “How so?”

  “Ah, she implied your marriage to the Queen was, ah, unconsummated.”

  To my relief, Arthur laughed. “Oh, I see. A catfight. Say no more. I will disregard it. She also says here that she is bringing Morgaine, her daughter, and to be sure to let Guinevere know. Does this signify anything?”

  I lifted my chin. “Yes, my lord. I had no right to do it, but I told her to her face she was an unloving mother to leave the child untended for so long. That is the insult. But see now, she will bring her, so perhaps it was all for the good.”

  “Perhaps. But I do not like the tone of this letter. She asks for a formal hearing. It sounds almost like a Plea of Complaint.”

  “Against the Queen?” Lancelot sat forward and would have risen but for the look on the King’s face.

  “I assure you, my lord, it was a small thing!” I cried. “When she was gone, I thought no more upon it!”

  “Nor did I,” Bedwyr said quietly.

  “I—I suppose I should have remembered it, and told you, but so much else was happening—with Queen Morgause—and I forgot,” I finished lamely.

  The King’s eyes were kind, but his face was grave. “Be easy, Guinevere. I do not blame you for this. As you said, it is a small thing indeed. What you said to her, if impolitic, was true. But it seems she would make something of it. I would like to know what.”

  He looked around at the company in expectation.

  “It is clear,” Lancelot said hotly, “that she wants the Queen put away.” Bors and Galahantyn looked at him swiftly.

  The King shook his head. “No. That is what she wants us to think. She was just indirect enough to hope we would think so. But I have publicly declared I will not do it. This is known throughout Britain.”

  “It is known in Less Britain, as well, my lord,” Galahantyn offered.

  “So. What is it she wants?”

  But no one answered him. He rose and paced slowly back and forth before us. The very air shimmered as he passed.

  “When is the lady Morgan arriving, my lord?” Kay asked. “And with how many?”

  “In a week. With twenty men and the child.”

  “Not with King Urien?” I asked quickly.

  The King stopped his pacing and looked sharply at me. “No. That is what makes this so interesting. Urien is in Cornwall to see his youngest son married to Constantine’s sister. I will wager he knows nothing about this.”

  “Her husband’s son wed to the sister of the High King’s heir?” Lancelot asked. “And she the High King’s sister? This smells of ambition.”

  “Oh, Lancelot,” I said in irritation, “you smell ambition everywhere.”

  He flashed me a look, and Arthur saw it.

  “I don’t like it,” Bedwyr muttered.

  “Nor do I.” Arthur sighed. “She is up to something. But I fear we will have to wait to see what it is.”

  A page appeared at the library doors and bowed from the waist. “My lord King! Sir Lamorak is returned from Castle Daure, my lord, and requests a word with you.”

  “Bring him here.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “What’s this?” Kay asked. “You recalled Lamorak from the Winchester garrison?”

  “Not exactly.” The King smiled wryly. “I should have done last winter, but now it is too late. He is enamored of Morgause and no doubt comes to beg me for her freedom. For the third time.”

  Lancelot rose. “Shall we leave you, my lord?”

  The King waved him back to his chair. “No, no. He knows what I will say. He will be glad to appeal to you. Watch him well. Do you remember Lamorak?”

  “Of course, my lord. A good knight, bold and sensible. A good shot with a bow. A fine swordsman.”

  “With an eye for women,” Bedwyr added.

  The King rolled up Queen Morgan’s letter and tucked it in his tunic. “You will find him changed,” he said shortly.

  Lamorak came in behind the page, knelt at Arthur’s feet and kissed his ring.

  “My lord King! My thanks for this audience. You do me great honor.”

  “You have given me good service, Lamorak. I will hear you,” the King replied politely, raising him.

  Lamorak was a well built man of middle height, about Arthur’s age. He had never married; rumor had it he loved women too well and never could settle on a single one. His demeanor now was one of boyish eagerness; with shining eyes and flushed face and fluid tongue, he described Queen Morgause as a changed woman, a sorrowful and humble penitent who, under the encouragement of good King Arres, had given up her pagan ways and accepted the True Christ. She had confessed her sins, he said, and received absolution. She had forgiven them all, even Merlin. But now she spent the long winter nights weeping for loneliness and the hopelessness of her condition, doing Arthur worship always, and praying mightily for his soul. She would beg, and he begged for her, to spend her last days in freedom, living quietly in some distant corner of Britain, wherever the King might choose to send her.

  At the end Lamorak lay on the paving stones and kissed the hem of the King’s robe. Arthur said nothing, but glanced at his Companions with a meaning look. I saw Galahantyn was moved by the knight’s desperate pleading, and Bors, too, had a face of sympathy. But those of Arthur’s men who knew Morgause looked sickened.

  “Good Lamorak,” Lancelot said gently. “Beg not so piteously for the freeing of a witch. She is not some innocent, unjustly imprisoned. This abject pleading does you no honor.”

  Lamorak rose, and some dignity returned to him. “Sir Lancelot, she is a witch no longer. All her charms and magic she has renounced for the True Christ. She repents of her past deeds, sir, and lives now a Christian life.”

  “Then,” Bedwyr said dryly, “she should beg permission to remove to a nunnery.”

  Lamorak flushed. “My lords have sport with me. No matter. This is a lady wronged, and I would see her righted.”

  “No.” Arthur said it flatly, and the word hung heavy in the unmoving air. “Your intentions may be honorable, Lamorak, but you are led astray.”

  “But, my lord—”

  “I have not wronged her,” the King said quietly. “It is she who has wronged me. And my wife. And her sons. And more than once. She has no one to forgive. And she has not asked those she has injured for forgiveness. For the crimes she has committed, she deserves death. But I do not kill women. She will stay where she is.”

  Lamorak drew himself up and met the King bravely. “I am betrothed to her, my lord. With your permission.”

  Arthur stared at him, shocked beyond speech.

  I rose. “Sir Lamorak.” I dipped him a curtsy, and he bowed to me.

  “My lady Guinevere.”

  I put a hand on his arm and felt how it trembled. “You are an honorable man, and lately of the King’s fellowship of Companions. We have missed you since you have been stationed at the Winchester garrison.”

  “Why, thank you, my lady.”

  “Have you thought well, my lord, about this step you take? Does Gawaine know you would be his stepfather? What think the twins?”

  He paled slightly. “I have said nothing yet, my lady. First I seek the King’s permission.”

  “Ah. Let us give this some thought.” I took his arm, and we strolled around the fountain. The splashing of cool water kept our words from other ears. “What is it a man seeks in marriage? A warm bed, a loving pair of arms to come home to, a ready smile, a forgiving heart? Yes, if he is lucky. But these any village maiden can provide. What does a man want who marries a queen?”

  “It’s not that!” Lamorak gasped. “Do not accuse me of hubris, my lady. This is not because she is the High King’s sist
er! I love the lady!”

  “You misunderstand me, sir. I meant, any queen. You must know she has held the reins of power in Orkney since her husband’s death. She is a woman of strong will. Would you agree?”

  He licked his lips nervously and nodded. “What of it?”

  “What will you come home to, Lamorak? A woman who can listen to your cares and understand them? Who may speak her mind, but bow to your will in a dispute? Who will temper her judgment with soft words, when it disagrees with yours? Who will put anger aside for your sake? Will Queen Morgause put you, who have never ruled a kingdom, higher in her estimation than herself?” The longer I went on, the more uncertain he became. I spoke very kindly to him, and he had no resistance against kindness. “Happy is the man whose wife loves his honor more than he does. Will Queen Morgause put your honor before her own?”

  I could see he knew her well enough, despite infatuation, to know the answers to these questions. He wavered. “Well . . .”

  “We will grant you time to rethink it, dear Lamorak. In the meantime, stay with us awhile and renew your friendships here. If at month’s end you still seek the King’s permission, ask then. But do not ask today.”

  He knelt and kissed my hand and, bowing to the King and his Companions, left us hastily.

  Arthur rose and came to me, taking my hands between his own. “Thank you, Gwen.”

  “I spoke the truth, my lord. And he heard it. He has not yet lost all his sense.”

  “He is besotted,” Sir Bors muttered.

  “Bewitched, more like.” Bedwyr added. “If she is Christian, I am King of Rome.”

  Kay laughed. “They are lovers, surely. How else did he know she wept all night long?”

  “He is her pass to freedom,” Galahantyn observed acutely.

  But Lancelot said nothing. He sat in quiet agony, his eyes aflame, watching and trying not to watch our hands clasped together. Arthur let go of me and turned. Lancelot looked away.

  “Blessed is the man,” the King said, “who does not have sisters!”

  Queen Morgan came to Camelot in state, riding at the head of her company with Sir Accolon at her side. In a closed litter some way behind rode her daughter the princess Morgaine. It was said that since her terrible ordeal, the child had not uttered a single word; she could hum a melody but she could not speak, and she hated the sight of men. It was my dearest hope that Niniane would take charge of the girl and heal her.