The Bewitched Box Set

by W. J. May

  "I speak of true love, Elibel—the undying passion the bards sing of, the kind of tenderness that gives without want. How would I ever know if I were loved without end or merely tolerated for my crown? Indeed, how would I even know if I were worthy of such affection?"

  "If I were a man, I would care nothing for your status. I would love you because you are tender and caring." Mischief flashed across Elibel's eyes. "And a wee pigheaded," she added with a smile.

  "Oh, I see. You love me because I am as stubborn as a pig?"

  "No, because you are as filthy as one." She pointed to my skirts, which, regardless of my careful positioning, had fallen into the pool and bore a watermark stain above the hem.

  "You love me despite myself, because I am your cousin! See! Even your love is conditional!" I laughed again, falling to one side and pressing into Elibel's shoulder. I reached around her and squeezed her as punishment for her banter. She returned a rigid hug, but I knew her aloof manner did not concern me. She was never comfortable with personal affection, so I hugged her all the harder.

  Her limbs tightened at my touch.

  "It's a hug, Elibel. Not a bite." I reinforced my statement by pulling her close.

  Her lips spread into a thin line as her eyes widened with discomfort—so wide, I thought they would fill her entire face.

  I giggled at her unease and stood, pulling my cousin along with me when Aethelwine let out a round of panicked screeches.

  "What is it my friend?" As I stretched my gloved arm down, Aethelwine latched onto my hand with his beak and crawled up my sleeve to perch on my shoulder. A boom sounded in the distance as Aethelwine stared back in the direction of my father's fortress and released another rapid fire round of calls.

  Elibel and I exchanged a worried glance, then gathered our skirts and raced toward Camelaird. The spiral of smoke I had ignored earlier that morn reappeared on the horizon as we broke through the edge of the forest. The scent of burnt oak assaulted my nostrils.

  Every detail I had dismissed converged to make sense. Over several thousand paces ahead of us, an army stretched before the fortress walls. Warriors, their faces smudged blue with woad and their hair limed into spikes, ran up the ramparts to form a line below Camelaird's walls. Footmen with pikes, swords, axes and spears, beat their weapons against their shields, producing a thunderous clamor. A projectile whizzed through the air, splintering against my father's fortress on impact, creating another ear-splitting bang. Flagmen peppered the cavalry line; banners waved in the breeze bearing emblems of a shield and white hart.

  Elibel's voice trembled. "It appears your suitor, King Melwas, lays siege to Camelaird."

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  * * *

  Chapter 2

  ––––––––

  "Father!" I yelled and attempted to proceed toward the attackers.

  Elibel grabbed my sleeve, holding me back. With the ruckus ahead of us, and our position at the edge of the treeline, we had not been spotted and Elibel edged us backwards into a more concealed position. But a flurry of screeches emitted from Aethelwine again, his head craning backwards, and we spun around at his warning.

  Over a dozen horsemen approached from the opposite direction. The beat of hooves increased, deafening as they grew nearer. All wore armor and bore shields enameled with a gold cross overlaid with a crimson dragon. But unlike the warriors that lay siege to Camelaird, their attire bore the progressive influence the Romans left in their wake after they retreated from our lands, signaling these riders as a different army—whether allied with Melwas' force or against, I did not know.

  Reaching for Elibel, I pulled her close, positioning her behind me. This time she allowed my protective grip without as much as a flinch.

  Their leader skidded to a stop in front of us, his black steed prancing under his command. His gold trimmed helmet shone in the sunlight while the matching plume danced along with his mount's movement. An iron breastplate, also detailed in gold, was held in place by elaborate shoulder clasps and a belt buckle that was molded into dragon scales. Chain mail stuck out from underneath the protective plate, which covered the man's arms down to his iron gauntlets. The hilt of a finely wrought sword, crafted with swirling, ancient designs, peered over an ornate scabbard that was fastened across his back. He hoisted his helmet off his head, revealing ringlets of golden hair. The spirals caught the sun's rays and glimmered as vibrantly as his helmet had moments ago. Elibel released an intake of breath behind me; I thought she would swoon at the beauty of him.

  The man's azure-colored eyes brightened with recognition as he scrutinized me, making me twinge with discomfort since I could not identify him. His smile flashed as sharply as his eyes. The warrior had an air about him—of one who knows he is good looking, and uses that fact to his advantage.

  The others in his retinue followed suit, removing their headgear as their leader had done, all except one, who remained obscured by his helmet. The mysterious knight pulled back on his reins, forcing his dapple gray destrier backwards until he stood at the end of the group. Unlike the others who donned breastplates, he wore lamellar; it covered his chest, shoulders and arms. His armor shone, as if just polished, and caught the sun's beams, casting a golden glow around him. For some unfathomable reason, I could not tear my eyes away from the knight. I examined him with curiosity, wondering why he hid his face, until their leader spoke and recaptured my attention.

  "King Melwas brought insurance incase King Leodegrance refused his offer of betrothal to your Ladyship." The leader's voice boomed as if he was used to directing crowds of men.

  His confidence caught me off guard and I choked on my words, unable to reply.

  Elibel aided me by asking, "What do you mean, sir?"

  She added a flurry of batted lashes as she spoke, which somehow managed to enhance her beauty and draw attention to the largeness of her eyes. If I tried such an obvious act of flirting, I'd look as if I had some unsightly spec stuck beneath my lid.

  Their leader's smile broadened at Elibel, inspiring another wave of my cousin's coy glimpses. His glance sped over her curves as if attempting to hide his obvious examination and subsequent appreciation of my cousin's figure, yet he directed his statement towards me. "Since Lady Guinevere's father did not honorably give King Melwas her hand in wedlock, he seeks to take it by force."

  How could that be?

  I squeezed my eyes shut, knowing well my title held the key to kingship in these lands. Though my father had given way to Christianity long before my birth, Britons in this area still honored the matrilineal rights of nobility. Since I had no brothers or cousins to contest the rules of the old ways, my position assured any man who married me the right to rule Camelaird. If not traded for the privilege by my father, conquered and forced would work just as well. Though one never spoke of such things, when the Romans had occupied our lands, the Druids and their brethren had gone into hiding for fear of abolishment from their oppressors. After the Romans left, our men grew emboldened by the new thought that kingship could be obtained in battle and passed from father to son, as their Roman occupiers had taught them before abandoning their posts, and King Melwas seemed no exception. Melwas' position on the subject confused me, though, since the Summer Lands had ancient connections to the old ways. I had assumed King Melwas honored those traditions.

  Anger welled inside of me, forcing its way into my chest as if arrows pelted my insides. My mind disengaged from its ability to form words and I swiveled toward the army spread before Camelaird. Aethelwine crouched on my hand, as willing and as unable to take flight as I was. I forced a step toward the warriors that lay siege to my father's fortress.

  "Guin, you cannot approach those soldiers," pleaded Elibel.

  Finally, I found my voice; it cracked as I spoke. "I cannot leave Father to face a siege alone. Maybe I can reason with this King Melwas."

  The leader of knights laughed—a noisy, obnoxious sound that assaulted my ears. Then he continued in a more compell
ing tone, "King Melwas is not a reasonable man, proven by his army. He seeks to take you to lay claim to the crown and rule in his own accord. You cannot give over to him, My Lady. You are exactly the prize he desires."

  I whirled on him; the fire rose in my blood, forcing my words out without thought. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"

  "I," he said, tipping his chin down in scant acknowledgment of my status, "am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot."

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  Chapter 3

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  "King?" Again my words raced before any ladylike demeanor managed to surface.

  I meant to continue with, what rights do you bear to possess the title of King? But Elibel stepped between us with all the grace of a diplomat.

  "Indeed, My Lady, King Arthur's countless deeds and victory at Mount Badon have been memorialized by the bards. He is the only Briton to push the Saxon invaders back and bring peace to the land."

  Of course I'd heard of King Arthur's exploits, though, admittedly, I didn't pay close attention to the stories, assuming exaggeration. Had I been a bear I would have growled at my cousin. Instead, I mumbled, "I know who King Arthur is," under my breath, to no concealment, apparently, as "King" Arthur replied.

  "And yet you did not recognize me, Lady Guinevere. I fear my reputation requires enhancement. Perhaps I shall employ a painter to distribute my likeness."

  Whether he meant it as a jest or in truth, I did not know, but his speech possessed all the earmarks of arrogance to me. He leaned over and gave me his hand as an invitation to mount behind him.

  "Does your bird bite?" He asked, throwing a cautious glance at Aethelwine.

  I stared at him without answering.

  "Perhaps he should travel of his own accord. We could tie a message to his leg and send him to your father to let him know we have arrived."

  "Aethelwine does not fly."

  "No?"

  "No."

  "How curious."

  "Why do you find that peculiar?"

  "To keep a creature that serves no function? I cannot fathom your reasoning."

  "Ah, I see. Kindness, in order to rescue one in need, escapes you."

  He threw back his head and laughed again, his golden curls dancing around his head like a halo lit on fire.

  "No, I dare say, My Lady, rescuing those in need seems to be my specialty today."

  I rolled my eyes, but he ignored my exaggerated expression and prodded my compliance by waving his arm for me to come to him.

  "Where are we going?"

  "To get help for your father."

  I reasoned, by his words and gesture, he was no threat—unless proximity to his conceit could be construed as harmful to one's personal integrity. Plus his offer to assist my father was my only foreseeable option.

  After fighting down the rebellion that threatened another round of ill-advised speech, I conceded, stepping forward and clasping his arm.

  He gripped me so tightly I thought my wrist would break as he swung me into motion over the back of his steed. Aethelwine's talons pierced through my gown, poking into my skin with his efforts to hang on. I guided my falcon onto my leather glove, and wished, for all of Camelaird, that Aethelwine would bite.

  Glancing back, I caught sight of Elibel. The mysterious knight that I had noted upon King Arthur's arrival dismounted and maneuvered in front my cousin. He wrapped his hands around each side of Elibel's tiny waist, while managing to keep his stallion's reins secured and his beast steady. I found those hands peculiar—broad and strong as if he could crush rocks with his fists, but the way he touched my cousin as if she were a petal from a summer rose made my heartbeat quicken. He lifted her with such gentleness that a pang of jealousy for her position surged, causing my teeth to grind. She glided through the air, guided by the man's strong arms, and onto the back of his stallion. Her emerald and silver skirts flared; she looked like the perfect portrait, stroked from the brush of a master. The knight swung up behind her, securing an arm around her waist as he nudged his mount into a walk. From her side-saddle position, Elibel swiveled her neck far enough around to glance up at him through her black lashes. He acknowledged her with a brief bob of his chin then directed his gaze to the horizon with a dutiful stare as my cousin's cheeks bloomed with a rush of pink.

  My jaw tightened as I stared at the two of them, until Arthur broke my concentration.

  "You realize, I did not ask to be King." The strength of his voice carried his words to me even though he kept his head forward.

  He replaced his headgear, which scrunched and hid his halo of curls, then nudged his warhorse into a trot, taking the lead. His knights fell back into rank behind him. I grudgingly worked my free arm around his waist to keep my seat.

  At my feeble grasp, he peered back at me and flashed a smug smile as he continued, "I was awarded the title of King after my victory in Mount Badon."

  "You mean your conquest."

  "I mean my rescue and subsequent protection of thousands of Britons, who, otherwise, would have lost their lives to murderous Saxon invaders."

  I started to reply but King Arthur kicked his mount into a gallop. We surged, and I lurched forward, burrowing into Arthur's back. I loved horses: feeding them ripe carrots and nuzzling the supple fur of their nostrils, but riding them? The ground rushed beneath me. Every rock poked up from the ground, seeming a potential hazard to split my head if I fell. I focused my concentration on staying atop the beast as a wave of terror seized my chest. We bobbled along as my rump slid and bounced over the creature's wide hips. I tightened my grip around Arthur's middle, feeling his hard armor against my clenched arms. Arthur's ribs shook at my grip and I realized he was chuckling at me as we ran across the sloping spring meadows of Camelaird.

  Risking a glance backwards, I sighted his retinue speeding along with us. Elibel, cradled within the mysterious knight's hold, resembled a babe rocking in a basket. I reckoned I appeared as a bouncing sack of potatoes with the seams splitting and readying to burst. We must have traveled over a half a league with me struggling to hang on, and nearly fainting from fear, when we crested one last hill. Arthur's steed slowed then pranced in place. My intention had been to continue my argument on King Arthur's "conquest" at Mount Badon as compensation for his laughter at my expense, but my words caught in my throat before they formulated.

  Beneath us spread an army of hundreds upon hundreds of men. Banners in red and gold, depicting the cross and dragon flew in all corners of the gathering. A cavalry unit, some hundred or more horses strong, occupied the back quarter of the troops, while tents with sentries crammed the middle. Ten catapults on wheels towered toward the front, while stock piles of arrows, rocks and barrels were crammed atop wagons that were pulled by sturdy shire horses. A menagerie of pack mules and ponies were tethered to carts. Never in my life had I seen so many soldiers assembled in one place. My father's men looked no more than a gathering of villagers in comparison.

  And I realized as I surveyed Arthur's massive army beneath me that I would be solely responsible for the blood shed that day.

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  Chapter 4

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  Elibel and I had been escorted into one of the tents that squatted in the center of the encampment, then left alone while Arthur made way to rally his troops, and, as he claimed, "liberate" my father. I assumed the tent belonged to our host since it bore two flags, each waving Arthur's emblem at the entrance, along with guards posted on either side. The insides of our shelter contained a center table strewn with maps. The topmost map revealed the geography of the surrounding area, complete with my father's fortress and outlying villages sketched on the parchment. Black ink marked off Melwas' position around Camelaird. The rest of the tent's contents looked as if they had been thrown in upon arrival as bedding, clothing, and more bulged out of the tops of wooden boxes.

  I sat Aethelwine down on the table. At first he refused to leave my hand, but with a gentle prod, he obeyed.<
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  "Elibel, keep an eye on Aethelwine for me, will you?"

  "Why? Where are you going?"

  A soldier shifted outside, repositioning around the front flap. I placed my forefinger over my lips to quiet Elibel. I knew she wasn't going to like what I was about to say, and I didn't want her raising her voice and drawing attention.

  "I'm going to meet with King Melwas—"

  "No!—"

  I smashed my fingers over Elibel's mouth to hush her squeal. Her eyes widened, giving her that inhuman fey look again as I continued to stifle her speech with the force of my hand mashed up against her lips. She mumbled unintelligibly as I continued.

  "I intend to sneak into his camp and discuss this rationally, Elibel."

  We sat for moments, staring at one another, until Elibel's garbled protests stopped. Her brows furrowed downward, creating a dark dip above the bridge of her nose. After pressing my hand against her a tad tighter to emphasize "be quiet," I released her.

  "That's madness, Guin. You'll get yourself killed. Or worse!"

  "You saw how insignificant Melwas' army is in comparison with Arthur's. If a fight ensues, it will be a slaughter. I will not have the heads of slain men on my conscience."

  She softened as she considered my reasoning, then asked, "What makes you think King Melwas will even listen?"

  "He is King of the Summer Lands, cousin. They have long time respect with the old ways in those parts. I believe he would not risk dishonoring a woman of rank."

  "As King Arthur said, his army speaks otherwise."

  Her reference to Arthur's reasoning, as if he was the sole authority on the subject, annoyed me, but I persisted, "If I can convince him that he will wield a stronger claim to kingship if I am a willing bride—"

  "Guin!"

  "Shh—"

  Elibel continued in a heated whisper, "You cannot marry him!"