I disrobed and donned the muslin gown, shivering. It would be nice to have a mirror, but the only one who owned such a treasure was the queen. What must be going on in her quarters now? Did the king and queen discuss what had happened at dinner? Did they talk of the affair? Fight? Make love? Perhaps they lay awake, their backs to each other, silent.
Noticing something under the bench, I moved the lamp closer and discovered another neatly folded pile: my twenty-first century clothes. They’d been washed. The T-shirt was almost white. The chain mail sweater had been cleaned so thoroughly it was soft again, like new. Someone had sewn the pockets back onto my cargo pants and scraped my boots clean. I would need those clothes for my impossible return to the twenty-first century.
I sat on the bench and pulled a corner of the cloth away from the window, just enough to peek out. I had to get back to my time, my place, my element. I wanted to wash my face and brush my teeth. I couldn’t even lock the door. How long could I keep up a pretense of wizardry and remain on the king’s good side? How long could I stay alive at Cadebir? Long enough to figure it out, I hoped.
I moved the cloth further aside and leaned on the splintered windowsill, taking in the sharp, cool air. Laughter and the shouts of inebriated soldiers drifted from the barracks on a breeze. Cai’s hut blocked my view of the hilltop, but not of the black sky and countless stars above. Near the kitchen a dog barked, lacking enthusiasm. Closer to my hut a cat meowed, then a smaller animal, a mouse or a rat, screamed its last scream.
Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I was dead and Cadebir was the afterlife. But I knew I was alive. They could have killed me a thousand horrible ways. Instead they’d given me gifts. The king had raised me to a high position. It was life, it just wasn’t my life.
Close by on the path, footfalls came. I closed my makeshift curtain and plastered myself against the wall like I’d seen people do on TV.
Men, more than one, conversing in low tones. They cut between the huts and went on. I dared one more peek.
It was only Medraut and Pawly on their way to the barracks. Whatever I was afraid of, it wasn’t them.
EIGHTEEN
Squatting above the brass chamber pot, I felt momentarily grateful to have been designated a wizard instead of the servant whose job it was to empty it. But I missed toilet paper almost as much as I missed toothpaste.
“Should we wake her?”
The treble notes of women’s voices floated to me from beyond the door.
“Wizards need more sleep than we do. You know Myrddin and his naps.”
Giggles.
After an awkward finish with a rag, taken from a pile which I presumed and hoped had been left beside the pot for the purpose, I threw on the green tunic and hooked my fanny pack around my waist while the conversation continued outside.
“If she snores like Myrddin it’s no wonder.”
When I opened the door Guinevere was making a loud snoring noise, squinching her cute little nose. Lynet and Elaine thought it hilarious until they saw me. I thought it was funny, too, but I didn’t say so.
The queen recovered first, giving me a smile that showed off her teeth. “Good morning, Mistress Casey. We’re ready for our stroll.” She wore her usual white tunic. A diaphanous, white scarf protected her face from the sun.
“I don’t suppose there’s any coffee,” I mumbled, covering my mouth. My breath could’ve set torches aflame.
“I’ve brought breakfast.” Lynet offered a bundle of cloth. “It’s not nearly sufficient.”
To avoid breathing on her I accepted the package with a closed-lip smile. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” The bundle contained a small, reddish-green apple and a couple of muffin-sized loaves. I didn’t see any mint, but a bite of apple would refresh.
“Perhaps you need more time for your toilette?” the queen said, looking me up and down.
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I wouldn’t like to keep your majesty waiting.”
“If you care to rise early tomorrow,” said Guinevere, “you may join us in the hall for breakfast. The meal is finer.”
Elaine tied on her scarf. “Will the stroll take long? I’ve so much work.”
“It might,” said Guinevere. “My husband says Mistress Casey is to lead us around the entire circumference of the fort.”
“You can hardly call that a stroll,” said Lynet.
“A march, then.” Guinevere stepped out from under the eaves into the sun. I followed.
Elaine remained by the door. “I don’t think I should go.”
I’d heard that walking was healthy for pregnant women, though I couldn't cite my source. From the size of her belly I guessed Elaine would deliver soon. “It’ll be good for you and the baby,” I said, stuffing down a bite of muffin.
“If you say so.” Elaine hung her head and slogged after us. I wondered if I’d made a faux pas. Maybe she just didn’t want to go. With all the hush about Guinevere and Lancelot cheating on the king, it was easy to forget Elaine was being cheated on, too.
At the promontory’s edge the land sloped downward toward the wall. Dampening our shoes and the hems of our underdresses in the dew, we walked, sometimes skidded, down to where dirt met wooden posts and the grass grew as high as our knees. I tripped.
“Oops.”
“Did you hurt yourself, Mistress Casey?” Guinevere was overly solicitous.
“I’m okay. Hey.” The grass had overtaken the edges of a large, iron disk on the ground.
Lynet bent to examine it with me. “What have you found?”
“A manhole cover?”
“The oubliette! I’d forgotten.” Guinevere laughed at her joke and started up a nearby ladder. “Everyone’s behaved so well we haven’t had to use it this summer.”
I remembered my high school French (my “Gallic”) well enough. Being thrown into a hole to be forgotten forever was a nightmare as horrible as burning. I pulled the grass aside to get a good look. An iron handle on the disk allowed for a jailer to open it. But it must have been locked; I couldn’t move it. A rat-sized opening beneath the handle would let in a little air. It would take ages to die in there in the dark, starving, thirsting, and unable to move or see anything but the little circle of light admitted through the hole. One would hear whatever life passed by. I peered into the opening and saw nothing.
“Mistress Casey!”
My charges waited for me atop the wall. I had a duty to perform. Leaving the oubliette, I started up the ladderway.
Heavier than ladders yet more portable than a permanent stairway, the ladderways improved upon both with a simple design: they consisted of two aligned poles with planks secured between them like stair-steps. A sure-footed soldier could run up and down with his hands free to wield his weapon. These ladderways leaned against the interior of the wall at intervals.
The ladderway looked innocent from the ground, but I got nervous halfway up. Without the customary railing, the climb felt precarious. I knelt to crawl, like a toddler going up the slide the wrong way. Elaine had struggled up the steps as well, though her excuse was better than mine, and she was still panting when I reached the top.
The sight of Ynys Witrin, glowing green across the northern marshes, was our reward. A mist of fluffy clouds rolled around it, revealing the hill, then hiding it, then revealing it again. I saw then that it was an island, surrounded by a glassy, black lake. I could have stood there for an hour watching the island change, but the walk was my first shot at being useful to the king and I wished to avoid such things as oubliettes.
We settled to walking in pairs, Guinevere marching beside me in the lead, Elaine and Lynet arm in arm behind us. The soldiers who patrolled the wall made way, nodding their respect to the queen.
Elaine halted at the fort’s west end. Myrddin’s woods lay below us. It had seemed vast when I was under its cover, but from atop the wall I could see its borders.
“I’m already tired,” said Elaine, propping herself against the wall. “I don’t understand wh
y we have to do this. I should be at the well. We’ll never finish the washing.”
“The women know what to do,” said Guinevere. “They can manage without you for a time.”
“I don’t mind a break from work,” said Lynet.
“Truly,” said Guinevere. “Since we must endure this ‘exercise,’ let’s enjoy it.” She walked on. We had little choice but to follow. I thought her pace too fast for Elaine, especially because the sun was high and a wool tunic wouldn’t have been my first choice for such an outing. But the southwest gate wasn’t far, and the young soldiers there were as glad as puppies to see us.
“Here they come.”
“Careful, Jonek, these ladies are in fighting shape.”
“Think so?” Jonek tossed his ponytail over his shoulder. “Will they take us on then?”
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said Guinevere, perhaps a bit more flirtatious than a queen ought to be.
“I’d look forward to it, your majesty,” said a dark-haired soldier with a crooked but charming smile.
“Beware, Hew,” said Lynet to the swaggering guard, “we’ll soon be as strong as soldiers.”
“I doubt it not,” Hew answered. “Both you and her majesty already have the muscle to lick me.”
Then came a good deal of laughter of the har-de-har sort. I thought the young men wouldn’t have been so brazen if Gareth or King Arthur had been present, but the women didn’t seem to mind. All these men out in the middle of nowhere, with so few women around, had to be feeling a powerful hunger to say the least.
Flirtation was as good an excuse as any to stop in the shade of the guard house. On a stone bench inside, under which lay a cache of axes, Elaine took the opportunity to rest her feet.
Not Guinevere. “You’d best not tangle with Mistress Casey,” she told Hew on her way through. “She knows well enough to be on our side.”
“I wouldn’t dare, your majesty,” he said, bowing his tall, brown head to her, then to me.
I liked that. I gave him my best smile.
“Good morning, Mistress Casey.” I recognized the red-haired, peach-fuzzed boy who’d driven my wagon on my first day in the Dark Ages. Apparently guard duty was reserved for the young.
“G’morning,” I said, waving as I trotted past. “Nice to see you again.” I was hoping to be introduced, but Guinevere had already moved on. The king had asked me to lead the walk, but his wife was taking over. I had no desire to thwart her authority. Lynet stayed behind while Hew and the other soldier helped Elaine to her feet. Maybe we wouldn’t make her come with us again.
I caught up with Guinevere along the southern wall, where she had stopped to wait for me. Cattle waded in the stream far below, sinking their maws for a drink of clear water. Watching them made me thirsty. On the opposite bank, a herder grazed his sheep on a gentle slope.
Guinevere’s soft cheek lay on her hand and she gazed to the southwest, where a single road curled away, a silver trail blending into the green.
“Where does that road go, your majesty?” I asked.
She sized me up for a second, then returned her gaze to the road. “You may address me as Guinevere.”
“Thank you, Guinevere.” I tried a curtsey.
“The road leads home. I haven’t been there in a long time.”
“The castle on the coast?”
“No. My home.” She watched the road a moment longer, as if hoping to see a friend approach. When she turned to me, her voice was as direct as her gaze. “Everything you see is Arthur’s. All of it.”
“So it’s yours, too, I guess.”
Her laugh was short, but not bitter. “I’m not his ally, Mistress Casey. I’m his property. Like the land.”
“I see.” We began to walk again. “If I’m to call you Guinevere, shouldn’t you call me Casey?”
“Yes, of course I will. Hello, Berrell.”
A sentry stood at attention against the wall, allowing us to pass. I nodded to the sentry and kept up with the queen’s pace. “I’m sorry.”
“What for?”
“I don’t think I would like being owned by someone.”
“There’s no greater position for a woman than mine. I’m fortunate that my father made this alliance. Besides, what makes you think you’re not owned?”
Owned by the king. If I was to survive I had to think of myself that way. I stole a glance at the queen. If she felt anything other than serenity it didn’t show on her face. “I have a lot to learn, your majesty.”
“Guinevere.”
“Right. Guinevere.”
“But it’s my understanding that you know and see all,” she said, still gazing calmly forward.
I was tempted to let her believe in my prowess, but I knew I’d be found out. “No. That’s beyond my powers.”
She puffed a out sharp breath of relief. “Oh.”
We came to a stop where the wall ended, crumbling almost beneath our feet and leaving the hilltop vulnerable. Inside the fort, to our left, the way was lined with storage sheds. Outside, the steep ramparts tiered from high to low. I imagined an army crawling up them, like black bugs on the green. Below us, at the foot of a ladderway, a sun-wizened foreman oversaw a tattered crew.
“Rufus,” the queen called down to him, “how goes the work?”
“We’re getting nowhere, your majesty.” Rufus spat. “These Saxon slaves. Too belligerent to be good workers.”
“Respect, Rufus.” Guinevere began walking down the ladderway. “You’ve not met our new wizard, Mistress Casey.”
From the way he paled when he saluted I guessed he’d heard of me. “I mean no offense, mistress,” he said, shifting his weight and bowing a little too deeply.
I nodded sagely and gifted him with my most benevolent glance. I followed Guinevere down the ladderway toddler-style, feet first and holding the sides. Below the wall, slaves handed rocks from one man to the next, the boulder version of a bucket brigade. Here and there a bleeding hand stained the stones. Their ankles were chained as mine had been, but their scars represented months of endurance, not days. They worked methodically, rock to hands, rock to hands, manacles clinking, eyes downcast, anything but belligerent. To be owned by King Arthur could mean many things.
“Give the slaves a rest and some food,” the queen said to Rufus. “The wall can wait.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
To me, she said under her breath, “No matter how he works the slaves, there isn’t time to finish the wall before we fight. There is always fighting.”
My stomach clenched. The gap in the wall was only twenty-five feet at its widest, and the workers seemed to make progress even as we watched them.
“You’re a fast walker, Guin,” Lynet called from atop the wall. “It’s as though you’re late for an assignation!”
“I’m only enjoying my exercise.”
“Let’s not climb back up,” said Lynet, starting down the ladderway. “It’s too hard on Elaine.” Elaine lugged herself down the ladder, huffing and puffing, while Lynet watched her from below. By the time they reached the bottom Elaine’s cheeks were as red as the last flecks on my fingernails. Lynet blushed a rosy pink.
“We’ll go through the pasture,” said Guinevere, kissing Elaine’s forehead like a mother kisses her child. “Would you like that?” She led us past the slaves at a slower pace, scuffling through the grass to the gate and lifting the wooden latch. “It doesn’t matter what we do,” she said. “Arthur wants me out of his way, that’s all. We might as well enjoy ourselves.”
“I think I’d enjoy sitting down,” said Elaine. She giggled, which was a relief to me. I was afraid we’d overtaxed her. She was cute when she smiled. I saw what Lancelot must have seen in her before she gained her pregnancy weight and still had her hopes.
The pasture was less trafficked than the paths. Grass grew thick there. Tiny, blue and yellow wildflowers filled the corner where the fence met the wall.
“Come,” said Lynet, “you shall rest in the barn.
” She took Elaine’s arm and they moved off, Elaine dragging her feet, Lynet pirouetting, a thousand years too soon for the ballet to have been invented for her.
“Is that your mare with Arthur’s horse?” Guinevere pointed to several horses grazing together among the wildflowers near the barn. Lucy stood in their midst, watching us and chewing. The brown stallion beside her was the only other horse that came close to her in stature.
“That’s Lucy.” I felt pride of ownership even though the big gray wasn’t mine. Her coat shone, a benefit of the break in her rental routine. She seemed to make a decision and begin to stride toward us. Perhaps it was because she was more accustomed to people than to horses, but I allowed myself to hope it was because she was happy to see me. She walked directly to me. Cooing to her and petting her soft muzzle felt familiar, although I had never done so before. I wondered if horses had memories, if she knew we shared a different time than the one in which we found ourselves. When she slobbered green foam on my fingers, eating the wildflowers I picked for her, I wondered if she felt the bond I felt, my friend from another time.
The barn door clattered open. Lucy shied and trotted away.
“Bonjour, your majesty. Bonjour, Mistress Casey,” Lyonel surged through the door, not bothering to sidestep a well-placed pile of manure. He held the door for us, bowing to the queen and watching me from the corner of his eye.
I had liked it when Mike looked at me that way, the way that meant he wanted me. In private moments, he’d bite his lower lip, allow his eyelids to droop, and give me a secret smile. I didn’t want Lyonel to look at me like that. He upset my balance and I was already unsettled.
“Good morning, Lyonel.” Guinevere was all business. “You’ve been seeing to Lancelot’s horses?” I could see by the way she turned up her chin that she didn’t much care for the man, either.
“I have, your majesty,” he said in his oily voice, giving her his attention. “Everything is satisfactory.” For a moment I detected that heavy-lidded look directed at the Queen. “Lancelot will be sweetly satisfied.” He licked his thick lips.
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