Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Twenty! I did not think her above fifteen!”

  Alyse laughed unkindly. “And even after he saw her the young fool would not be dissuaded.” She closed her eyes and sank back into her chair. “Such willfulness. It reminded me of my sister Elen. Everyone advised her against Leodegrance. Northgallis was too small; he was nearly old enough to be her father, with grown sons already from a former marriage; she was so beautiful she could do so much better! But she would hear none of it. She loved Leo and would have him or none other.” She sighed deeply as my face flamed. How did she dare speak so about my father to my face? But I held my tongue and reminded myself sternly what I was about.

  “It is possible, you know, Alyse, that the little convent flower is only waiting for the gardener’s hand to bloom into something lovely. Who has her trust?”

  Alyse shrugged. “God knows. I do not. And I care not, Guinevere. That is behind me now.”

  I took her hand and held it in my own. “And if Pellinore were to walk in that door right now, what would he say to hear you say such things? He would scold you for faintheartedness and bid you train the girl to her task. She will never be a queen without you.”

  She opened her eyes and smiled slowly. “Pellinore never scolded me in his life, and you know it well. He did not dare.” The smile faded. “And I do not wish to hear it from you. It matters not to me if Maelgon has a queen or a doormat for a wife. He chose her. Like Elaine, he has made his bed and now must lie in it.”

  I left her soon after for she was tiring, and I had no wish to discuss Elaine’s marriage. She begged me to come see her daily, and I agreed. Already she looked better than she had when I arrived, and her interest in affairs was reviving. Before I left I drew from her a promise that she would attend dinner with us every night of our visit. Whatever there was between her and Maelgon, I felt sure neither of them would voice it in Arthur’s presence.

  In this I was right. They never so much as looked at one another. But this only served to make conversation at dinner more difficult. Maelgon our host did not want us there; we were interfering in his affairs, but he was obliged to make us welcome. Arthur did not want Maelgon to know his real purpose in coming to Gwynedd, which Maelgon was trying hard to learn, but he wanted to know what the current situation was, which Maelgon was trying hard to hide. Anet kept her eyes in her lap and spoke to no one. Alyse plied Lancelot with questions about Elaine, her daughter, which he strove to answer in a low voice so that I would not hear. What with that, and the necessity to chuckle at Maelgon’s jests and nod at his asides, poor Lancelot looked as comfortable as a cat on hot bricks. The awkwardness of the situation grew amusing, and when Arthur, catching my eye, winked at me, I nearly laughed aloud and disgraced myself. I looked forward to less formal talk after dinner, when the mead was passed around and the men talked more freely about affairs of state.

  I should have remembered we were not in Camelot. Too soon for me, little Anet rose and led the women out. Alyse retired immediately to her chamber, but I was obliged to follow Anet to the meeting room and engage in pointless chatter while we waited for the men. After a time, it became clear that the men were not coming. Perhaps I should have expected it, knowing how different Maelgon was from Arthur, but it was a blow. I sat on the long bench by the unglazed windows, looking out on the paved forecourt, the grassy embankment, and beyond to the woods, longing for the freedom to escape to the stables. If this was to be nightly repeated, I should go mad. The men were discussing events of importance, while we idled talking about the weather. My gaze alighted upon a woven hanging that was new to me, and I sat up a little straighter. It was skillfully worked and designed by someone with a sense of color and style. It depicted an ancient Celtic king being feasted by his companions after a successful cattle raid. The firelight threw half his face in shadow, and his eyes seemed to burn through the very fabric. I rose, shocking the women into silence, and went over to get a closer look. The source of these wondrous effects then lay revealed; here were threads of many colors I had never seen before, shades and gradations of common colors, and hues completely unknown in nature.

  “Whose doing is this?” I asked, turning back to the women.

  To my amazement, little Anet rose, trembling, and made me a reverence. “It is mine, my lady.”

  “This is wonderful work, Anet. Did you design it? Where did you get the dyes to make such colors?”

  Her face flushed crimson with my praise, but some of her shyness left her as she approached. “Thank you, my lady. Yes, I designed it. It is taken from a woodcut of King Cunedda I had in childhood. But I added the firelight. It was done at the convent, for there all the women are skilled in weaving. And Sister Boudice showed me how to make many of the dyes, but some of them I discovered for myself.”

  Her eyes glowed as she spoke, and all hesitation disappeared from her speech. In my heart I thanked God for revealing to me her gift.

  “Do you mean you invented these dyes? Why, they are wonderful. I wish you would show me your workroom, that I may see how it is done.”

  She curtsied, flushing with pleasure. “Nothing would please me more, my lady. Would—would you care to see it now?” She looked so hopeful that I assented at once. Not all the women followed us; probably they saw enough of the weaving room during the day. There were three looms, one of ancient make, twice the size of the others. The room itself had been extended, at the expense of Alyse’s garden, and contained great vats for dyeing, benches and tools for the preparation of the dyes, twenty or so spindles, quantities of raw wool and tubs for washing and bleaching. Once started on her topic, nothing would stop Anet’s tongue, and during the next hour I learned more than I had ever wanted to know about the preparation of plants, lichens, roots, barks, and earth to get the dyes she used. She was an accomplished spinster and could spin the finest thread I ever saw. She showed me sketches she had made on parchment for a large hanging for the dining hall. Maelgon stood at the center, surrounded by his ancestors, with his precious hunting dogs at his feet. I thought this in questionable taste, seeing how Pellinore had met his death, but of course the pose was Maelgon’s idea. I praised her work, and she blossomed under the praise. Anet was a skilled craftsman whose lot it was to be a queen. And while her nature might be unsuited to her role, she had pride. She could do this one thing very well, and she knew it. It was a beginning.

  I bade her sit with me upon the bench while I fingered a skein of woolen thread. She had lost some of her awe and spoke readily about the quality of thread, which wool suited her best, how the blue-fleeced sheep of Rheged grew the finest wool for cloth.

  Slowly I turned the skein in my hand. “Ask Maelgon to procure you some,” I suggested. “He is on good terms with Urien. You could keep your own flock.”

  She gasped. “Oh, I do not dare! Ask him for something for myself?”

  “Why not? It would be to his benefit, as well. It costs him little, and gives you great pleasure. Surely he would like to add to his livestock. Why not try it?” She trembled and grew shy again.

  “I lack the courage,” she whispered. “He does not listen when I speak to him.”

  I took her hand and leaned close to her, lowering my voice. “Ask him in bed. There even a king is defenseless against a woman.” Her little face grew red, and she giggled, covering her mouth. I laughed with her, but in truth I pitied her heartily. I could not imagine that Maelgon had much tenderness in him.

  “Do you—with the High King?” She managed, her eyes wide.

  “If it is important enough. He is a man, after all.”

  “Everyone knows you share the High King’s counsels.”

  “If I have his ear, it is because he has learned to trust me. But that takes time, Anet. It did not start out so. And you have been married, what? Less than a year? It is time to make a small beginning. You are not asking for a sword. This is a woman’s concern, and Maelgon should not object. You have your sphere of influence here in the castle. Make it your realm, as Alyse did.”


  She looked lost and frightened. “But—I am only—what if no one does my bidding?”

  “You are queen,” I said firmly. “They will do it. They expect to. Have you never given anyone an order?”

  She gulped and looked nervously about the room. “Only my women. Only in here. Here—it is safe.”

  “Who enlarged this room? Who dared to sacrifice Alyse’s garden?”

  “Maelgon,” she whispered, looking hastily away. “He asked if I needed more room for the looms. He was glad to do it.”

  So he had deliberately provoked Alyse. He had made it clear to her he was king, and she had no power over him. This steadied my resolve.

  “Did it please you to lose the garden?”

  “It pleased me to enlarge the room. But I was sorry to lose the garden, and Queen Alyse was so angry.”

  “Well, then, why not enlarge the garden? At this time of year the gardeners will have time to do it. I know which blooms Alyse likes best. What say you? We will go together in the morning, and you will give the order for it.”

  She had been ready to object until I offered to come with her. But she finally agreed and thanked me profusely for the trouble I took.

  “No thanks are due me, Anet. It behooves us all to please Alyse. Gwynedd, Wales, even Britain will be the stronger for it. I only wish I knew why she has quarreled with Maelgon.”

  “Oh, I can tell you that!” Anet exclaimed. She blushed faintly, but her joy in our newfound sisterhood had loosened her tongue and she told me the truth without prompting. It seemed that when Pellinore died he had been buried without proper Christian ritual. Father Martin had succumbed to illness the previous summer, and although the bishop in Caerleon had promised to send a new priest to Gwynedd, none had arrived when Pellinore had his accident. Alyse had wished to wait, even months, to see him properly buried, but Maelgon had refused and finally had performed the rites himself. It was his right, as king, but Alyse was furious, resenting his kingship as much as his use of power. Afterward, when the promised priest finally arrived, Maelgon publicly rejected Alyse’s demand to have Pellinore disinterred so his body could be properly blessed. Instead, he bade the priest say the blessings above the gravesite. For, he said, what difference could a few feet of earth make to the Almighty Creator?

  “Queen Alyse was very angry,” Anet whispered, shifting uncomfortably. “Maelgon was not very polite.”

  “That I can well believe,” I agreed dryly. “Politeness does not run in this family.”

  “She said in front of everyone that she would never speak to Maelgon again until he had apologized for his rudeness.”

  “Then she played into his hands.”

  “Yes, my lady. It seems so. I know that he laughed.”

  I turned to look at her. She had fine, dark eyes and a straight nose. If her hair were better dressed and her gowns more carefully chosen, she might yet make a presentable queen. “Anet,” I said suddenly, “would you rather be Queen of Gwynedd or a princess of Strathclyde?”

  Her jaw dropped. “What do you mean?”

  “Listen carefully. Your future is in your hands. If you care for Maelgon, or for your place here in Gwynedd, attend me well. Maelgon must change his ways or yield his throne.”

  “Yield his throne?” she whispered, shaking.

  “Why do you think Arthur is here?”

  Her hand flew to her mouth, and she covered a shriek. Clearly, she had no desire to return to Hapgar’s court and be pawned off to one of his petty lords.

  I slipped an arm about her waist and hugged her gently. “Do not be afraid. That is the last resort. And you can do much to prevent it.”

  “I?” There were tears in her eyes.

  “Yes. You. You share Maelgon’s bed. You have the opportunity to sway him. He must learn that the greatest Christian virtue is that of love.”

  “You—is this about—the Druids?”

  “Yes.”

  “Oh, my lady Guinevere! I told him—everyone told him—it was wrong! It was cruel! But he has a hate within his soul he cannot control! I knew he would bring suffering upon us all! I knew it!”

  I cradled her against me, rocking her as she wept. “He is a man now, and a king. He must control it. Without control, how can he rule? Discipline can be taught, Anet. He can learn it.”

  “But—but how?”

  “Little by little. We will start with small steps. First we will give the order to enlarge the garden.”

  Late that night when Arthur came to me, I told him all that had passed. He was pleased. It had been harder going with Maelgon. Most of the men were still drinking and looked to be at it till dawn. Maelgon would not let Lancelot go, no doubt hoping that in time the drink would loosen his tongue.

  “All I have been able to learn,” Arthur said wearily, “is that he has scouts posted throughout the forests, watching all the approaches to Gwynedd. If he does not expect an attack from Salowen, he is giving a good imitation of it.”

  I shivered. I would not want to be in Maelgon’s boots, with a Druid’s curse upon my head, never knowing from which direction violent death would come.

  “Surely Salowen must know you are here.”

  Arthur shrugged. “Even the Saxons know I am here. Let us hope he can get a messenger safely past the scouts.”

  “And Fion? When does he arrive? Will Maelgon make him welcome? How long will he visit?”

  At last Arthur smiled. “I should have known who was foremost in your thoughts all this while. Thanks to you, he is on excellent terms with Gwynedd. We have had no message from him, either, but we should see him soon.”

  “You know very well, my lord, that he is not foremost in my thoughts.”

  “Do I?” he whispered, coming closer and putting his hands into my hair. “Then you must prove it to me. This may be a homecoming for you, my lovely wife, but to me it is like stepping into a strange sea. I cannot get my bearings.”

  36 THE MESSENGERS

  By the end of our first week in Gwynedd Alyse was walking with me about the castle, gaining strength daily, and beginning to look forward to seeing Fion again. In her eyes he would always be Pellinore’s ransomed hostage, but I did not think that would bother Fion. To get her out in the sun again, I asked her to take me to Pellinore’s grave, that I might pay him my respects and place flowers upon his resting place. This she did with great dignity, saying little, and keeping her eyes dry. On the way back I took her past the garden. In a week the gardeners had almost doubled its size and had built a little bower where she could sit and doze out of the bright sun. When she saw it, she stopped as if struck, and I felt her hand tremble on my arm.

  “Did Maelgon do this?” she whispered.

  “No, madam. Anet gave the order for it.”

  “Anet?” She turned slowly toward me, and I saw tears in her eyes. “This is your doing, Guinevere, may God bless you. Anet never gave an order in her life.”

  “I do assure you, she did. She told me herself she felt responsible, since it was on account of her looms that you lost it.”

  She shook her head. “Maelgon was responsible. Yet he permits this? Has he seen it?”

  “Oh, yes. He has seen it. But he is too busy worrying about Arthur to worry about gardens.”

  A small smile twitched at the corners of her mouth. “And well he should worry,” she said under her breath.

  Just then Anet looked out from the weaving room and waved to me. “My lady Guinevere! I want your advice!” She lifted her skirts and came hurrying breathlessly up the path. “The cooks are angry because we have taken the carrot bed and the vines—I have an idea for expanding the kitchen garden, as well! Oh!” She stared in disbelief at Alyse, who stared in wonder at her.

  “My lady Queen Alyse!” She fell into a curtsy. “Please forgive me—I did not know it was you!”

  Slowly Alyse put out a thin hand and raised her. “Anet. My daughter.” They looked at one another in silence for a moment. Then Alyse released her hand and slowly smiled. “Guineve
re tells me I have you to thank for replacing what my son had taken away.”

  I shot Anet a warning glance, and she read my thought. Gulping, she nodded shyly. “Does it—I hope it pleases you, my lady? If there is aught you do not like, or would rather rearrange, you have only to say so.”

  “And you will see that it is done? Thank you, Anet. That is a generous offer.”

  “Oh, Queen Alyse, I would do anything to please you!” The truth of this heartfelt avowal was so clearly written on the girl’s plain face that even Alyse was moved.

  She patted Anet’s hand as we walked together through the garden. “Perhaps you would care to take some refreshment with me this afternoon, when the heat of the day is past? Guinevere has been coming daily to see me, but we are tired of reliving old times and could do with some new conversation.”

  Anet was nearly struck speechless by the honor being done her, but commanded her fear enough to accept politely. When she had excused herself and returned to her weaving, I bent and kissed Alyse’s soft cheek.

  “That was graciously done, my lady queen. You will not regret it.”

  Alyse chuckled. “Well, it was what you wanted, was it not? I am not blind, Guinevere. I see what you are after. And I owe it to you. For the garden.”

  It was never easy to fool Alyse.

  One night at dinner, when the heat of the hall was oppressive, the air unmoving, the torches smoking and everyone’s temper was frayed, a sentry came to Maelgon’s elbow and announced the arrival of a messenger for the High King.

  “Who sent him?” Maelgon asked gruffly.

  “He will not say who sent him, my lord, but he says to tell you he bears a message from Salowen to the High King Arthur.”

  Maelgon’s eyes blazed. “Throw him in the dungeons and let him cool his heels! I will not have the filthy vermin in my hall!”

  Arthur’s body went taut, and his eyes grew cold. But he waited.