Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Lady Elen!” Her hard, rasping voice rang loud in the room. A thrill of fear raced up my spine. Elen was my mother, dead these five and thirty years. “It is done . . . You are delivered . . . of a daughter . . . A queen . . . like no other . . . One day she will make you proud.” She gasped horribly, fighting for breath. I bent over her. Her eyes looked into mine. “So proud.” The eyes rolled back, the racking noise faded to a sigh, Anna’s hand came down upon my shoulder.

  “No! Ailsa! Ailsa! Don’t leave me! I need you still!”

  Gently Anna’s hand pulled me away. “Come, my lady. Let me cover her face.”

  “My lady, they have crossed the Camel! The floodwaters abated enough to let them through!”

  “My lord Ferron, she takes no heed. Can you not let her grieve for the old woman? She loved her as a mother.”

  “But, Anna, she is regent. We cannot act without her.”

  “Have they sent a messenger?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Are they shaping for attack?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Then, I pray you, leave her awhile longer. She cannot attend you now. As you see.”

  “But how soon?”

  “Ah, sir, that I do not know.”

  “My lady, Sir Ferron has come thrice to see you. Duke Constantine is camped upon the plain of Camlann and has sent a messenger begging entrance.”

  I stared at the shrouded figure on the pallet. “How dare he, when she is not even in the ground? Beg him say a prayer for her, my dearest Ailsa.”

  “I’m sorry, Sir Ferron, it must wait awhile longer.”

  On a gray morning in a warm rain we buried her. Bishop Landrum spoke the words that sealed her body in the earth and her soul in heaven. I blessed him in my heart, when he allowed my dear Ailsa Christian burial. In life, she had worshipped not only Christ but every god she knew.

  47 THE RESCUE

  I opened the curtain to see Arthur standing by the window in a loincloth, his flesh shrunk to no more than a shroud upon his bones.

  “Britain needs you, my lord! Take up your Sword and lead her.”

  “I am powerless to do it. Britain will have to wait.”

  “No!” I wept aloud. “I will lead the men myself, if you will not! Though a woman, I can die as easily as you!”

  “Put down the Sword, Guinevere.”

  “I cannot! Oh, come and take it from me, my lord! It is so heavy!”

  His hand gripped the hilt; light flashed from the living blade and burned my eyes.

  I looked up. Sunlight streamed into my chamber, dazzlingly bright. I was in my own bed; I could not remember how I got there. But I remembered my dream.

  “Anna, how long have I been here?”

  She knelt nearby, head bowed against the coverlet, but when I spoke, she raised her head. “Oh, my lady! A day and a night!”

  In irritation, I pushed the covers aside, sat up, and then stopped, dizzy. “What has passed? Where is Ferron?”

  “Outside, my lady. Council has just ended.” There was fear in her eyes, but also hope.

  I paused. “How do we stand? Tell me, if you know.”

  “Elisane is below with a tray of food. I will tell you while you eat. I beg you not to argue with me, my lady, I can see you are dizzy. It’s been over a week since you’ve had a proper meal.”

  While I ate she told me what she knew. Constantine had finally arrived and sat down at the foot of Caer Camel, blocking the Roman road and commanding the approaches to King’s Gate. There he had sat for three days, every morning sending his second son, a youth named Markion, with a message begging an audience of the Queen.

  “And what answer did the Council give him?”

  Anna, as always, spoke straight. “None, at first. But as so long a silence demanded explanation, they finally told him you were ill and could not receive him.”

  “They should have told him it was grief. Constantine would delight to know they were all held helpless by a woman’s weakness. It would have fed his pride and made him overconfident. I do not mind their scorn.”

  “My lady, their pride would not allow it. They would never admit to helplessness, not King’s men.”

  I sighed. “Well, and what did Constantine say?”

  “He laughed at them.” Anna smiled. “He called them cowards and accused them of hiding behind a woman’s skirts.”

  “How like him.”

  “But angry as they were, they took it and did nothing. Sir Kay made them obey, at swordpoint.”

  “Did it come to that? Bless Kay. It must have been hard for them.”

  I pushed aside the tray of food. Already I felt less lightheaded.

  “He cannot be serious about war. He dare not make Arthur his enemy. His eldest son, his heir, Sir Meliodas, worships Arthur—he is with him in Brittany, leading the Cornish troops. I can’t believe the duke truly wants a battle, unless he is using his sons to hedge his bets. Have we seen any sign of Wales or Elmet?”

  “Not yet, my lady. They are daily expected.”

  “And where are the men now?”

  Her smile faded. “On the practice grounds, my lady. Falling in, for battle. The horn sounded but half an hour ago.”

  “What! Are they mad? Who led them?”

  “Sir Villers, my lady. And—”

  “Dynas and Clegis, yes, I know.”

  “And Sir Gryfflet and Sir Bleoberys.”

  “Ahh, dear God, Berys gave in to them, did he? He swung the balance for war—well, what can you expect from rule by Council? The fools will kill themselves, and Arthur will hold me to account.” I rose, and found my legs were steady.

  “But—does not the Council always make decisions?”

  I nearly laughed. “Don’t you believe it, Anna. Arthur rules Britain. No one else. The Council is for consensus. And no one ever disagrees with Arthur. Long experience has taught them he knows well what he’s about.” I reached for my comb. “Quickly now, there is little time! Bring me my best gown, the blue one, while I put up my hair. And bring me my crown.”

  I stepped out into the bright June sun of the forecourt. The Council, on horseback, were mustering the troops, each commander giving his men instructions. Ferron and Kay had not yet mounted but stood with their backs to me, their very postures bespeaking their anger.

  Someone called out and pointed. Several of the soldiers fell to one knee.

  Kay and Ferron whirled. “My lady Queen!”

  I strode down to where they stood, and they each bent a knee to the ground. “What goes on here, my lords? What is meant by this defiance?”

  “My lady,” Ferron began, glaring sideways at Villers, “in your absence, the Council has decided to give the blackguard fight.”

  Silence fell across the courtyard. Even the horses stood still.

  “How dare they? Who gave the order?” No one moved. I turned to Villers. “Sir, you will follow me to King’s Gate and bring the soldiers up behind me. Sir Clegis, I see your men are ready on the battlements. Bid them fit their arrows to their bows and when I go out the gate, aim them, every one, at Constantine.”

  Ferron gasped. “You are not going out!”

  “My lady!” Kay cried in a strangled voice.

  Villers slid from his horse and fell to both knees. “My lady Queen, do not take this risk on account of me!”

  “You leave me no choice, sir. But it is not much of a risk, with Clegis’ archers at the ready—if he so much as draws his sword, he will die.”

  I turned to face the troops, who stood gaping at me. “I know you men are loyal to King Arthur. Be patient yet awhile longer, I pray you. Together, we will protect Arthur’s fortress and keep Britain whole. And I will spare your lives, if it is in my power. Now.” I took a deep breath. “I will speak with Constantine.”

  They shouted protests, and Kay and Ferron begged me strenuously not to go, but I did not slow my pace, and no one laid a hand upon my arm to stop me. At King’s Gate, Kay, near panic, forbade the guards to open the gate
s.

  “I’m sorry, Kay, my old friend, to give you such trouble, but I must countermand the order. Guards. Open the gate.” The poor guards shook, shrugged apologetically at Kay, and swung open the double gates. “Villers, stay here. If the archers let fly, you must needs attack. But until then, stay well out of sight.”

  “Guinevere!” Ferron cried. “You cannot go out alone! I am coming with you.”

  He shook from head to foot and had turned pale. I yielded; he would never be able to face Arthur, else.

  “Very well, but leave your sword and dagger here. If you come, come naked.”

  He obeyed me without protest and followed me outside.

  We took Constantine by surprise. We were well out into the sunlit meadow before his sentries saw us and sounded the alarm. I stopped within thirty paces of the gate. Above us, atop the length of the outer walls, Clegis’ archers had their arrows ready. Clegis himself I saw, above the gates; he saluted smartly and bent his knee.

  “Stay behind me, Ferron, and keep your eyes open. Don’t shake so. It is too beautiful a day for death.”

  Ferron shook his head. “I have never faced a warrior without my weapons,” he admitted. “Never mind an army.”

  I managed a smile for him. “Without fear, bravery is impossible.”

  He gave me a half smile back. “So Arthur has told his troops a hundred times.”

  The thunder of galloping horses turned our heads. Constantine and his commanders rode toward us at speed, with his army running up behind him. When they neared us, they slowed and formed a broad semicircle around us.

  “They’re in fighting position, my lady,” Ferron murmured behind me.

  I nodded. Duke Constantine himself was a man just past the prime of life, with gray flecks in his beard and lines around his dark, angry eyes. But he was as fit and lean as any warrior ten years his junior. He glared at me a long moment, then slid off his horse, signaling his commanders to stay on theirs. He walked toward me. Some whisper of sound made him look up, and he saw the long ridge of arrows aimed at his heart. He stopped.

  “What sort of welcome is this?”

  “Do you come as friend or foe, my lord duke?”

  “As friend, of course.”

  “Then where is your greeting?”

  Scowling, he bent his knee to the earth and bowed his head. His commanders glanced quickly at one another. I looked hard at them; one by one they saluted.

  “Rise, Constantine, and be welcome to Camelot.” Immediately he relaxed, and his hand no longer hovered near his swordhilt. “Forgive, if you will, the Council’s stalling. It is my fault; I was abed.”

  “I am sorry to know my lady Queen was ill,” he said gruffly. “And pleased to see you are now recovered.”

  “Tell me how you found the state of the country on your ride north from Cornwall.”

  He shrugged impatiently. This was talk that usually waited for a good seat at table, a pitcher of mead, and a leg of fowl. “Quiet. Not a whisper of discontent.”

  “And how was your journey?”

  He looked at me sharply, but I kept my face straight. “Smooth, my lady, and swift. In spite of nasty weather.”

  “Ahhh. I am glad to hear it. But why swift, my lord? I thought perhaps you had had some news of unrest that we had missed, but you tell me it is not so.”

  I nearly laughed at his chagrin. How he wished he had thought of that before!

  Instead, he came out with the excuse he had prepared. “I have brought you an army, Queen Guinevere, for your defense, since the High King left Camelot so lightly garrisoned. And as a warning to the Saxons,” he added, as an afterthought.

  I made him a deep curtsy, pleased to find him slow. “What a very generous gift. I thank you, my lord, on the High King’s behalf.”

  His commanders relaxed, grinning at one another. The army, watching them, stood at ease. Constantine jerked his head toward the archers. “Why do they still threaten me, my lady? Call them off.”

  I smiled sweetly and spread out my hands. “They are my only weapon, my lord duke. You wear your sword, your men are armed. As you see, Sir Ferron and I are not. I will call them off when your men are well inside.”

  This suited him perfectly, and he smiled. “Very well. Let us go in.”

  “Of course,” I added lightly, “you will come without your swords.” He froze. “You are not our enemy, my lord; we are not yours. There is no need for weapons.”

  He took a long moment to control his rage enough to answer. “I have brought you an army, Queen Guinevere. But they cannot serve you without weapons!”

  “Of a certainty,” I replied pleasantly. “We shall return them. And I do not refer to your commanders, Duke Constantine. Only to your men. Have them stack their weapons outside King’s Gate as they come in. Sir Ferron will collect them and give them back, when he has trained them and they have sworn allegiance to the High King Arthur. I thank you from my heart for this generous gift, my lord duke. How you will keep Cornwall without them is beyond my ability to imagine.”

  “They are not Arthur’s men!” Constantine cried, reddening. “They are mine! And they do not move without their weapons!”

  I feigned surprise. “Then they are not a gift, after all? My lord, what did you bring them for?”

  “To keep you safe from Saxons! But they do not swear allegiance to Arthur. They are Cornishmen, and follow me!”

  “Well, my lord, if they are yours and not Arthur’s, you had better take them back to Cornwall. We are safe enough from Saxons now.”

  “This is tyranny!” Constantine shouted hoarsely. No woman had ever spoken to him thus, and it was more than his pride could bear. He took three sudden strides toward me; Ferron pulled me back as something whistled through the air and thudded into the turf a stride from Constantine’s boots. A single arrow stood half buried in the ground, the shaft still quivering. Constantine stepped back, the color gone from his face.

  “Another step,” Ferron warned, “and you’re a dead man.”

  On the rampart, Clegis saluted me and notched another arrow.

  I shrugged off Ferron’s arm. “I beg you, Sir Ferron, give the duke a chance to save his skin. My lord, I beg your pardon. In Arthur’s absence, his men are anxious to protect me. Make no sudden move, I pray you. I cannot answer for their actions. You see how it is. I am sorry, but I’m no Arthur.”

  The duke glared, fighting for composure. “You don’t fool me, you Welsh witch! You planned this insult! In all my life I’ve never been treated so! You will let me in the gates, and be polite about it, or—or—”

  I waited calmly for him to speak the treason that would seal his fate forever, but suddenly the lookout sounded his horn and the archers on the wall pointed, shouting, to the plains beyond. From where we stood, we could see nothing, but the alarm could mean only one thing.

  “My lord duke!” I called out, loud enough for all his commanders to hear. “Make your decision now! If you want war, you shall have it, but the contest will be more closely matched than you had planned. My reinforcements have arrived.”

  Constantine swore viciously under his breath, cursed me for a barren bitch, and swung on his heel. As he reached for his stallion’s reins, we saw his scout ride up at a fast gallop.

  “My lord duke! We are surrounded! They come from the west and from the east and from the south! Five hundred men or more! And a host of cavalry!”

  “Damn all women!” Constantine shouted, leaping into the saddle and flinging his horse’s head around. “I’ve been wronged, and I’ll take what’s due me! I’ll be back!”

  The last we saw of him, he was leading his troops down onto the plain as fast as they could go.

  All we had to do the rest of that brilliant day was watch from the towers. Drustan from the east and Gwillim from the west met an army of horsemen riding fast from the south. The Dragon banner flew bright in the summer breeze, red on gold, unmistakable. The men from Elmet and from Wales gathered under the Dragon and took their bat
tle stations. Villers led Camelot’s forces out King’s Gate to take the ground Constantine had yielded. Surrounded, Cornwall dug in his heels and waited. Arthur’s commander, whoever he was, showed calm and sense, and sent to beg a parley. We watched from the towers as they met and spoke. Not until the shadows began to lengthen did Constantine turn and give the signal to retreat. The King’s forces let them pass, then closed behind them and followed them on their way.

  I drew a deep breath and sighed. “All is well. Thank God for Arthur’s friends and allies! I wanted to avoid bloodshed at any cost.” Beside me, Kay and Ferron smiled indulgently. “Whoever Arthur sent must be honored and commended. Will they be back by nightfall? Let us feast them well.”

  “Don’t expect them until tomorrow,” Ferron advised. “No doubt they’ll see Constantine at least halfway back to Cornwall, just to be certain he goes.”

  Sure enough, four hundred men rode in King’s Gate in the bright sun of midmorning. Drustan was there, and Gwillim my cousin; and leading them was Mordred.

  “Oh, Mordred!” I cried with joy, hugging him in greeting. “How glad I am to see you! I am more thankful than you can know that he sent you! I asked only for one of his commanders.”

  “I know. I saw the letter,” he said, smiling. “But he was angry he had misjudged Constantine and thought I should be here. You must tell me what happened.”

  I hugged Gwillim and thanked him most sincerely for coming to my aid. And Drustan, who was well past sixty but had come himself, I sat at my right hand at dinner. We celebrated a long time, and gave them food and wine and song and, finally, rest.

  It was late in the evening before Mordred and I had time for talk. We strolled in the garden with Kay and Ferron, still discussing Constantine’s bold move and Mordred’s thwarting of his plans. Now that Arthur’s declared heir was back in Camelot, Constantine had no excuse for leaving Cornwall.

  “You will stay, won’t you, now that you are here?” I asked, clasping his hand.

  “Yes, my lady. I am to stay until the King returns, as regent, if you are willing to give up the post to me.”