Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  With an effort, he smiled. “Oh, I am feeling my age, is all. My days of leading armies into battle are behind me.”

  “I pray to God they are,” I said with fervor, “but that has nothing to do with age, but with the success of your leadership as King. Why, you are but one and thirty! Ambrosius was your age when he took Britain!”

  He grinned and suddenly looked twenty again. “What a honeyed tongue you have, my child queen.”

  “Child, my lord?” I put a hand to his cheek. “You do not treat me so.”

  He kissed my neck, my throat, my shoulder, and his fingers sought the fastenings of my gown. “I know your body better than my own,” he whispered. “You have not changed a whit, in all the years I’ve known you, except to grow more precious to me.”

  My breath caught as I felt his hands against my flesh, and I began to tremble. “We will stay young together, then,” I breathed. His hands moved; his warm eyes grew fierce.

  “We are as we do,” he growled, and lifted me and carried me indoors.

  That night was unlike any in my memory; the heartache and emotion of the past hours found vent in a wild, desperate loving that gripped us both and then, talons in, would not release us. We slept, and woke, and slept again, exhausted. At dawn the King awakened me with kisses and made sweet love while the birds sang to us beyond our window. When he finally arose from bed, his step was that of a young man and not another word dropped from his lips about the complaints of age.

  On a beautiful day a week later, Arthur and his host left for the Saxon territories. Lancelot and I bid them farewell on the castle steps. It was a formal leave-taking; the men who went had to know this was an embassy of state. They were not a large army, for Arthur did not wish to threaten Cerdic, but they were all mounted, for the Saxons feared the power of Arthur’s cavalry. The King invested Lancelot as regent and Protector of the Queen. I scanned the faces of the troops and could detect no raised eyebrows or sidelong glances. Bedwyr was going, and Galahantyn, Bors, Ferron, Villers, Bellangere, and Gawaine. Mordred, too, of course. In the three days they had been home, he and Gawaine had hardly spoken, but in the army they would be required to be civil to one another. Agravaine was left behind; his outspoken hatred of all things Saxon made him a dangerous companion behind Saxon lines. And gentle Gareth, who would have been welcomed by the King, was only fourteen and still in training.

  I kissed Mordred on both cheeks and handed him a packet wrapped in soft linen.

  “This,” I told him, “is for Cerdic’s lady or, if he has none, for the leading woman of his house. Tell her it is from me.”

  Mordred looked surprised. “What is in it, my lady?”

  “A small necklace of silver, of Celtic design. And a net of little sapphires and river pearls for her hair.”

  He looked disconcerted and glanced swiftly at Arthur. “But, my lady, their—I hear their women wear their hair as maids do, in plaits, always down.”

  I smiled. “Give it to her anyway. You don’t know women, Mordred. If she likes it, she will find a way to wear it.”

  Arthur grinned and took my hands. “He has time to learn it. Well, good-bye, Gwen. Keep the Kingdom for me, and take good care of Lancelot.”

  I kissed him on both cheeks, and then, remembering Lancelot’s words about smoke and fire, I kissed him full on the lips. “I keep everything of yours near my heart, my lord,” I said, just loud enough for the closest men to hear.

  His eyes were laughing at me, but he gravely inclined his head. “I rely upon you.”

  Turning, he gave the order to mount and go. We watched them out King’s Gate.

  “Lancelot,” I said softly, as the last horse trotted out of view, “did you know you are employing Saxons in your stables?”

  His eyebrows lifted, and he offered me his arm. “I did. They are born horsemen. But I didn’t know you knew. Who told you?”

  “Mordred. He has been learning their language from them. He thinks you believe them to be Irish.”

  He laughed. “There is a lot about me Mordred doesn’t know.” We passed through the door as he spoke, and I saw Agravaine just entering the hall. At Lancelot’s laughter he stopped dead and glared at us both, before turning on his heel and going back swiftly the way he had come. “They give out that they are Irish to avoid the ire of the people. They are common men, not warriors. Do they worry you?”

  “Oh, no. I just found it hard to believe you couldn’t tell a Saxon from a Gael. Mordred should have known better.”

  “Indeed.” He said no more, but walked on with a set face.

  “Lancelot.”

  “My lady?”

  “When do you take the troops out for drill?”

  “Arthur said to give him a couple of days. First we will drill in the downs, then farther east. By the time he meets with Cerdic, we should be within shouting distance of the border.”

  “Take Agravaine with you.”

  He stopped, startled. “Why Agravaine? He makes nothing but trouble. No commander wants him in the company. Giving him an order is like swimming upstream, much effort is expended for little result.”

  I met his eyes. “Nevertheless, take him. He is trouble looking for a place to alight. Give him work, the hope of a fight, anything but the inertia of castle guard duty. He will be a danger if he stays here.”

  He thought on it and finally nodded. “There is sense in that. And his horsemanship could do with work. I will give him to Gereint; he will stand no nonsense.” He smiled. “But Gereint will make me pay for it, someday. Still, perhaps it will take the boy’s mind off his brother. Have you heard what they are calling him?”

  I nodded. “Yes. Gaheris Yellowbelly, killer of women. For his own sake, I pray he stays away from court forever.”

  We had reached the parting of our ways, and he bent over my hand. “Britain is too small a place to hide such a one forever. We will see him again.”

  42 THE BEATING

  My lady! My lady! Oh, please wake up! Please come!”

  I opened my eyes. A candle wavered inches from my face, and a small white hand plucked urgently at the bedcovers.

  “Who is that? What’s amiss?” The candle fell back, and slowly Linet’s frightened face came into view. Her robe was hastily tied about her bedgown, and her dark hair, braided for the night, was disarranged.

  “Linet! What has happened?” I slipped out of bed and made her sit down upon it. She was shaking. I took the candle from her and set it on my nightstand.

  “It’s Claire,” she whispered. “I came for Ailsa first. When she saw her, she sent me to awaken you.”

  “Don’t worry about that,” I said, chafing her hands. Her fingers were ice cold, although the night was warm. “Tell me quickly, child. What has happened to Claire?”

  Her teeth chattered, but she struggled valiantly to speak. “He has beaten her!” she cried, gulping. “There is blood, and—and her face is askew—and I don’t know why she ever allowed him—I am afraid she will die!”

  “Die?” I threw my robe about my shoulders. “Beaten? Who has done this? What are you talking about it? Who has been with her?”

  I clutched her shoulders and held her still, holding her eyes. “Tell me, Linet.”

  “It was—it was Agravaine,” she whispered, tears spilling from her eyes. I said nothing, but took the candle and bade her follow me.

  The girl lay on a pallet in her room. Ailsa bent over her, pressing cool cloths to her head, a bowl of bloodied water on the floor beside her.

  “My lady!” she cried. “Oh, see poor little Claire. She cannot speak, poor child. I think the beast has broken her jaw.” I came up beside her and looked down at the beaten girl. Her face was bruised and already swollen to twice its normal size. Her lips were thick and broken, her nose awry and crusted with drying blood, her eyes swollen half shut. A thin stream of blood had trickled from her ear and now lay drying on the pillow. And her jaw was crooked. I knelt at her head.

  “Claire. Can you hear me? This is Guin
evere.” But she could not speak, and I could see it would pain her to nod. I took her hand in mine. “Two fingers for yes,” I said quickly, “and one for no. Can you hear my voice and understand me?”

  Yes.

  “Can you speak?”

  No.

  I turned to Ailsa. “Send the page for the King’s physician. Quickly!” She rose and left. Then to Claire: “Did Agravaine do this?”

  Yes.

  “Do you know why?”

  Yes.

  “Does Linet know why?”

  Yes.

  “You are a brave girl, Claire. I will see justice done. Be patient awhile longer, and we will ease your pain. May I ask Linet to tell me why?”

  A long hesitation, and then, slowly, yes.

  I looked up at Linet, who stood trembling by the bed. “Tell me, Linet.”

  Her eyes widened in fear. “Oh, no, my lady. I cannot! Indeed, I cannot!”

  I pulled her down to kneel with me at Claire’s side, where she had a very clear view of the poor girl’s face. Anyone could see that she would be deformed forever.

  “Do you wish this crime to go unpunished?”

  “Oh, no, my lady!”

  “But it will, unless you speak. Claire herself would tell me, but as you see, she cannot. Answer my questions, then, Linet, if you cannot speak out. Take her hand. She will signal to you when you go wrong. Am I right in surmising that this was not the first time Agravaine was in these chambers?” As Linet’s room was next door, this was something she would know on her own.

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “He is her lover?”

  “She is—sort of promised to him, my lady. I mean, they are betrothed, only it is unofficial.”

  “Of course,” I said bitterly. “It is always unofficial. He would have to have the King’s permission. And mine.” I stopped and looked at Claire. “Do you still have affection for him, Claire? Do you wish to be his wife?” Despite the pain, she shook her head. I was relieved to see it. If I knew the type of man at all, Agravaine cared nothing for her and would never take her now. He had used her and for what? For the satisfaction of his lusts? Any girl would do for that. But only a Queen’s maid could give information about the Queen. I drew a deep breath. “What did he want of her, Linet? Did he ever ask questions about me? Or the King? Or Lancelot?”

  Linet shrank back, unwilling. Claire looked pleadingly at her and moved her fingers. Linet was clearly terrified. Her very fear told me what I wished to know.

  “Linet. I will not be angry with you, no matter what you have to tell me. Take courage and speak. Agravaine is the High King’s nephew, and what he does has implications for many futures. The truth here is important. Do you wish Gareth to be dishonored?”

  Her eyes flew up to mine then, and she stared. “Oh, no!”

  “Then tell me, for God’s sake, before the physician comes! What did he want of her?”

  “He—he set us to spy on you and—and Sir Lancelot, my lady,” she blurted, looking away.

  “Ahhhhh. I thought as much.” I knelt down at Linet’s feet and gently took her hands. “My dear Linet, do not fear to tell me. I know well what is in Agravaine’s mind. He wishes to have proof that Lancelot and I are lovers. Is that not so?”

  She nodded, staring at me in horror.

  “He cannot come by such proof, for we are not. I do not fear him. So why, I wish to know, do you?”

  She looked wildly at Claire, whose eyes were on my face. She looked surprised.

  “Answer me.”

  “I—we—the—we—oh, my lady, please forgive us! But we thought it might be true! Agravaine said we must unite to save the King’s honor!”

  I held tightly to her hands, for she shrank from me. “Why did you think it might be true?”

  She shook from head to foot and would not meet my eyes.

  “We saw you together often. Sometimes—in the garden, holding hands. And—and once Claire saw him kiss you. In the way of love, not of friendship.”

  I smiled at her and lifted her chin so she could see I was not embarrassed.

  “Yes,” I said gently, “these things are true. I do confess them. They are evidence of love. And I love Sir Lancelot. All the world knows this. The King himself knows it. But you must be careful what conclusions you draw from this.”

  They were both staring at me now, but their fear was leaving them. I rose and stood before them. “The King knows my heart. He would not leave me in Lancelot’s care if there were not trust between us. Do you understand this? That there can be love without surrender or betrayal? I would not expect Agravaine to understand it, but you are my women. You know me better.”

  “Oh, my lady!” Linet cried, in tears. “I told him it was impossible! For Ailsa guards your door. And I have seen the tenderness between you and the King. I told him it could not be so! But— but—” she gulped, and stopped.

  “He probably told you,” I said slowly, “that where there is smoke, there is fire.”

  She nodded eagerly. “His very words! And when he came tonight, we told him we would not spy upon you longer, for we were convinced he was wrong. We told him of the dark night of no moon, when we crept up upon you in the garden when we had not heard your voices, for thus he had instructed us, and—and we found you praying.”

  “Is this what inspired his rage?”

  “Yes, my lady. He called us fools and cowards. He would not believe it, but would have that we were lying on your behalf. He said he knew that Sir Lancelot had the—the key to your garden gate upon a thread around his neck. He had seen it. He lost his temper, and—and struck Claire. Again and again and again!” She covered her face with her hands and wept.

  A slow anger began to burn within my breast. Ailsa arrived with the physician, and I went out to find the page.

  “Send Lancelot to me. Here, in the girl’s room.” I pulled a ring off my little finger. “Give this token to him and say I request his presence urgently. A matter has arisen that must be settled now. Be sure and tell him,” I added bitterly, “that I am well attended.”

  He was longer than I expected. The physician had completed his ministrations and was shaking his head sadly over the beaten girl. He had given her a sleeping potion, so she was beyond her pain. When Lancelot entered, I understood his delay. He was carefully and completely dressed, down to his sword and his boots. His own chamberlain accompanied him, and stood outside the door. Ailsa and Linet clutched at their bedgowns and lowered their eyes. I myself had been careful to fasten my robe up to my throat and down to my ankles, although the night was warm. When he knelt before me and placed the token in my hand, he did not meet my eyes.

  “My lady Queen Guinevere. I am at your service.”

  “See, Sir Lancelot, what has been done to my poor maid!”

  He went to Claire and spoke with the physician. She would heal, the man said, except for the jaw. She would live, if she could eat soft foods, but she would probably never speak again. Poor Claire. If she was ashamed to go home, then her future lay in God’s service, in some convent where vows of silence were respected.

  When Lancelot turned from her bedside I could see he was angry.

  “Is it known who did this thing?” he asked me.

  “Yes, my lord. It was the High King’s nephew, Agravaine.”

  He drew breath slowly and met my eyes. The message passed. He understood it all. “I see.”

  “I will have justice done, my lord. He shall not go free of this.”

  “Indeed he shall not. But justice might be better served by awaiting the High King’s return,” Lancelot said carefully.

  “But he might be weeks! This must be dealt with now. I will not have the women under my protection made sport of by King’s men.”

  He nodded slowly. He saw I understood the gravity of the situation. It fell to Lancelot to punish Agravaine and make his hot-headed opponent his deadly enemy for life. But it was a matter of honor, and Lancelot understood it well.

  “Do you wish to be p
resent when I confront him?”

  “I most certainly do.”

  “Think carefully on this, my lady. He has little control of his tongue.”

  “There is no other choice. He violated my protection. I must be there.”

  Lancelot glanced sadly toward the sleeping girl. “What is the maid’s wish? Does she wish to wed him?”

  “No. Yesterday, perhaps it was her ambition. But now she would not take him as a gift.”

  His eyebrows lifted. He inclined his head. “I shall send for him first thing in the morning.”

  “Lock him up tonight. Now. Put him in the tower under guard. He does not deserve a moment’s freedom while she endures this pain.”

  Everyone was staring. Lancelot met my eyes and waited. He commanded Camelot. This was in his purview, not in mine. But I was his Queen, and he had sworn to obey me. Yet I knew, even as I glared at him, that I could no more try to command him than I could try to command Arthur. With as much grace as I could summon, I made him a low reverence.

  “Forgive me, my lord. I am in an intolerable position.”

  He moved instinctively toward me, but stopped himself at once. Before others, he would not even touch me. “I understand your anger, Guinevere. The man who did this will be punished. But I cannot imprison Agravaine until I have confronted him and heard his defense. You know this well. It is not Arthur’s way.”

  “But in the meantime, she suffers. It is not fair.”

  “No,” he agreed in a gentle voice, “it is not fair. But I will not make two injustices where before there was only one.”

  “As you will, my lord.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” Then he guarded his face and said carefully, “I think you might investigate the manner of the man’s entry into these apartments.”

  I was startled. Since Agravaine had been her lover, I had assumed Claire had let him in. “What does my lord mean? Linet, did she not give him entrance herself?” The frightened girl shook her head and cowered in Ailsa’s arms. “Then how did he come to be here?” But she could not speak, before all these people, and merely shook with fright. Somewhat impatiently, I turned to Lancelot. “If you know aught of this, sir, please tell me.”