Child of the Northern Spring (Guinevere Trilogy)

by Persia Woolley

  The Magician paused, and I thought of how much my father would have liked this moment, and wished he were here.

  Merlin was speaking again, his voice rising to fill the Hall, rich with the timbre of prophesy and import.

  “Be it known to all men here that you are taking part in the creation of a new order. Throughout the whole of the Empire the barbarians have brought death and savage destruction to city and villa alike. Governments have cowered in the face of marauders, and holy men of all faiths lie slaughtered in this most wretched of convulsions. Yet it has been written in the skies that Britain will rise to defend herself. A powerful king will rally his countrymen against the tide of invasion that floods our eastern shore, and he and his followers will keep the torch of civilization alight as the rest of the Empire reels into darkness.

  “Behold, the promises of old have come to pass, for Arthur Pendragon is that king, and this meeting of the Champions of Britain is but the first unfolding of that destiny. From this day forth the allies of Arthur shall be special to the gods, drawn together under the banner of the Red Dragon. Therefore,” he intoned solemnly, “I propose a toast to you.”

  There was a pause while someone filled a goblet and passed it out to him. The audience barely stirred, awed that the Sorcerer should pay them such honor. Arthur was sitting forward on the edge of his chair, his fingers so tensely intertwined the knuckles had gone white. When I glanced about the Hall it was clear that there was not a single leader who was not similarly enthralled. Captured by Merlin’s vision, the noblemen were all defining themselves in a new way, and the fire of enthusiasm was taking hold of their souls.

  “To the Knights of the Round Table,” Merlin intoned, raising his glass in the traditional salute. “To that mystical alliance of leaders in both war and peace. The Gods are forging, even now, your place in history. In Brittany and Spain, as close as Scotland and as far away as Constantinople they shall hear of Arthur’s court and will come to pledge their honor to The Cause of Britain. So I, Merlin the Mage, salute you, the first of this great fellowship. As members of the Round Table you will become part of a glory that shall be sung of for all time…May your courage shine forth, your honor be assured, your loyalty be rewarded by eternal fame.”

  He poured out the libation for the Old Gods, then drank the wine in one long quaff, like a warrior in the prime of his career.

  A roar went up from the guests, heady with excitement and proud to pay him honor.

  I found Arthur grinning from ear to ear, applauding like any other noble. He leaned close and hollered over the tumult, “I think we’ve done it! We’ve given them an identity!”

  “You planned this?” I queried.

  Without another word he nodded, then, rising, led the assemblage in a standing ovation for his old tutor.

  When the accolade died down, the Enchanter gestured toward us. “Now,” he declared, “it is time to pay homage to Arthur and his new queen, Guinevere.”

  A hum of happy comments filled the Hall as people settled back in their chairs. I noticed that Lavinia had contrived to be seated with Agricola, and I smiled, hoping that such companionship made up for all the years of tried patience and endless endeavors to make a lady out of me. Surely the good matron deserved something in recompense.

  Igraine, who was seated next to me, had taken up quite a conversation with Brigit, and when I looked about for Bedivere, I found him seated with Gawain and Palomides; no doubt he intended to contain our hotheaded young champion should the need arise.

  Even Morgan was there, though when she had arrived I was not sure. She sat in aloof majesty, not speaking to anyone, and I wondered if she’d left Accolon behind. Only later did I recognize him among the young warriors in the Gaulish contingent.

  Merlin turned and bowed deeply to me, with the smooth motion of a practiced courtier. For a moment I thought he might even smile, but then he was facing the Fellowship again, his fine voice tolling out the name of the first noble to be presented.

  What a signal honor, I thought, to have your name called forth by the magic of the Sorcerer at this, the first meeting of the Round Table. Surely somewhere that unforgettable sound would linger, forever part of the music of time, so that generations later people would hear it and whisper in awe, “What kind of wonder was this?”

  Arthur and I sat in majesty upon the flat hard seats of the carved chairs and greeted each as the nobles were presented. Some I had met already, of course, but there were many I knew only by reputation. Cador, Duke of Cornwall, was a rangy wolf of a man, both leaner and older than I had expected, with gray hair and a face seamed by battle scars and seasons in the wind. He had an air of antique courtesy that was charming, bowing low to the Queen Mother before being presented to me. It was only later that I remembered Igraine had been his stepmother in the days when Gorlois was still alive.

  Urien of Northumbria was smaller and more placid in demeanor than I would have guessed, considering the troubles he had laid at Rheged’s doorstep when I was growing up. He knelt proudly before me, offering the homage that is due the High King’s wife, and I smiled graciously and thanked him for his allegiance. Clearly I heard my father’s voice saying it was better to have Urien as an ally than an enemy, and I was glad it was now possible.

  His son Uwain was a lad barely old enough to be a squire, but already he carried himself with the dignity of a young man who knows that someday he will lead a major kingdom in Britain.

  Arthur grinned broadly as Merlin called up Bors of Brittany. A large blond man who wore his mustaches in the same downward droop as King Ban, he bounded forward with an abundance of hearty goodwill. Even if he hadn’t brought Theo and his sailors to our shores, Arthur would have been glad to see him, for he was boisterous and hardy and full of the same open camaraderie as Arthur himself.

  There were others whom I hadn’t heard of, and their names and faces became a blur as the time went on.

  When the last of the guests had paid homage, Merlin bowed low and retreated to his seat next to Nimue, who was radiant in her white dress and crown of ivy leaves. The smile she gave him was grave and admiring, and though the Magician’s back was to me, I was sure that we were seeing the God and Goddess looking upon each other.

  I rose then, thanking our guests for coming just as Mama used to do at the feasts in Rheged. A murmur rippled through the court and then became a chant. Arthur got to his feet, so that we stood together while the bravos and acclamations filled the room. I looked slowly around the gathering.

  Someday, I thought, you will all be as familiar to me as the warriors and nobles of my childhood. Someday I will know all your histories, the stories of your hopes and dreams, broken bones and lost promises, deeds of daring and stupidity, loves claimed or lost, children raised or buried…great and small, triumphant and tragic, our lives shall run together. Like a tapestry of human endeavor, woven on a god-held warp, dyed with the glories of each individual’s action, we shall be remembered and sung of for generations to come.

  I smiled at my husband and my court, then signaled to the pipers standing by the kitchen door and called out, “Let the Feast begin.”

  Reading Group Guide

  Questions by Persia Woolley

  1. The vast majority of novels about King Arthur are fantasy—the idea of treating these characters as real people living in real time only began to take hold in the 1960s. If you have read fantasy versions as well as this, which do you prefer and why?

  2. Even if you have not read other books about Guinevere, you’ve probably heard about her as an iconic character. How has this portrayal of Arthur’s wife differed from what you thought of her before, and has that been for better or worse?

  3. Some of the turning points in Guinevere’s life are beyond her control, such as the death of her mother and her marriage to Arthur. What would you say were the most important turning points that she did have control over, and how did she handle them?

  4. What were some of the expectations that Gwen had early
in her life that proved to be wrong as time went along?

  5. For centuries, Guinevere has been portrayed as beautiful. This Gwen has no illusions about being a beauty. Does that add or detract from her character? From the way others react to her? From what she wants or expects out of life?

  6. What kind of master–servant relationship is part of Gwen’s childhood? How do the differing attitudes of Nonny and Kaethi affect her? Who do you think was her closest mentor? Who does she think was?

  7. When Gwen and Arthur first get acquainted, Gwen is delighted to find how many social attitudes she and Arthur share, only to be disappointed because he is emotionally distant. Is this something you have experienced with a mate? Do you think it is more likely to be a problem for men or for women?

  8. Merlin is one of the most familiar Arthurian characters, often portrayed in fantasy as a magician. How different is this portrayal, and what do you like or dislike about it? Have you ever known someone who could slip from seemingly feeble to thrillingly powerful? To what do you attribute that?

  9. In the traditional legend, Nimue is a shadowy, mysterious, and even treacherous figure. Woolley makes her young, spiritual, and quite human. What do you make of her relationship with Pellinore, and later with Merlin? In what ways are those relationships different? In what ways are they similar?

  10. Pellinore is the quintessential Celtic warrior. If you were equating him with a modern-day athlete, which sport and position would he play? What are the modern-day equivalents of Merlin? Gawain? Igraine? Morgan or Bedivere?

  11. In the first meeting between Gwen and Arthur, each sees the other as a youngster of the working class. How have they changed by the time they meet again? In what ways are they still similar, and in what ways are they different

  12. As Gwen is growing up, she keeps bumping into the conflict of duty versus desire. How much do you think she leans toward one or the other, and does she learn more by expectation or encouragement?

  13. The author wanted the reader to know about both Arthur’s and Gwen’s backgrounds before they meet to get married, and so she presented the stories by Bedivere telling Gwen about Arthur, and Gwen’s later remembering of what was happening in her life at the same time. Did this work for you, or did you find it confusing? Can you suggest a better way of doing it, while still telling the tale through Guinevere’s eyes?

  14. Persia Woolley sometimes jokes that she’s a frustrated architect who only writes novels because she can make a living at it. She made Gwen an outsider so that the reader will see Arthur’s world with fresh eyes, which includes a description of the buildings and environs. Did this approach add to your enjoyment of the book, or seem to be a hindrance?

  15. Given Gwen’s provincial beginnings, she copes fairly well with the immense changes that she’s confronted with as she goes south. To what do you attribute this? Do you think it’s confidence or curiosity that drives her forward? Have you had patches of revelation where childhood assumptions, fears, or fantasies have come to be seen as different from your original perceptions? Is this inherent in all growing up, for everyone?

  16. When Gwen and Igraine first meet, Igraine shares her ideas of what makes a good queen. Toward the end she implies that it was not what she had had in mind for her own life. She lists several things—a grand passion, great ambition or devotion to another person—as being reasons for seeking queenhood. Which of these do you think applies to her, or is her mystery even deeper?

  17. Gwen’s perception of Merlin changes radically as the procession gets to and then reaches its destination. How much is that due to her getting over her fear, her own world becoming so much less provincial, and/or actual changes in him as his talents are needed? Have you seen this happen in others? In yourself?

  Possible Thematic Ideas for Guinevere Celebrations

  As this is the fiftieth anniversary of Lerner and Loewe’s great musical Camelot, it would seem appropriate to watch it while enjoying some traditional snacks and discussing Child of the Northern Spring.

  The original cast album is by far the best. It includes Richard Burton as Arthur, Julie Andrews in her American debut as Guinevere, and Steve Lawrence in his first major role as Lancelot. The music still holds up well and the lyrics are both clever and touching, so it could be a nice addition to your gathering.

  A menu from Gwen’s young life would have been pretty simple and direct, including garden veggies and simple soups with a joint of beef. Before she went south to marry “that king,” bread would have been largely oat or barley cakes—it would have been dense and possibly an acquired taste. Once in the south, Gwen encounters wheat for the first time (it didn’t grow in the north), so she would have then been introduced to lighter and fluffier breads.

  In medieval times, bread was used as a serving trencher. A slightly stale, long loaf of crusty French or Italian bread can be sliced horizontally, somewhat hollowed out, and the center filled with whatever you desire. This is best served open-faced, cut it into sections. Or there’s the more familiar circular loaf hollowed out for soup, stew, dips, and so forth. Both further the atmosphere of when people lived closer to the earth and didn’t have the exotic array of food choices we have now.

  Dessert would be fairly direct—stewed, dried, or fresh fruits (depending on the season), sometimes baked in a pudding or cake. Probably no frostings but rather a drizzle of honey or a dollop of whipped cream would be typical (though I’m sure a bit of Cool Whip could be available on the side for those who want it).

  During medieval times, Gwen was sometimes referred to as Guinevere the Gay or even the May Queen because of her playful, good-natured spirit. Consequently, any form of silk flower garlands, bracelets, or crowns would be appropriate for favors or festive garb. It was only much later that she was portrayed as a scheming, fretful woman or, as in The Mists of Avalon, a truly neurotic basket case.

  This change was caused by any number of cultural factors—the rise of the male-dominated Church wanting to make powerful women into repentant sinners, the excessive prudery of the Victorian era, and the polemics of modern women wanting to show men as being blinded by vapid but beautiful women. It seems as if it’s time to restore Guinevere to her rightful place as the delightful partner of one of our great icons, King Arthur himself.

  So take the time to enjoy conversation and discussion with good friends as you share the world of this Child of the Northern Spring.

  An Overview of Arthur, Guinevere, and the Matter of Britain

  References to Arthur go back to the sixth century AD, when monks noted the comings and goings of famous warriors—Arthur included—on the margins of vellum calendars.

  Unfortunately, there is no other contemporary material that mentions either Arthur or Guinevere by name, though the monk Gildas (who wrote during the mid–sixth century) does make oblique references to a leader who may have been the prototype of Arthur. Gildas was a very negative fellow about everything, and I introduce him in Child of the Northern Spring as a potential suitor for Gwen. Her comment that his eyes are too close together was meant as a metaphor for his narrow-sightedness, not as her judging him on physical attributes alone.

  In a later book, my Gwen notes that Gildas refuses to give Arthur credit for all his accomplishments out of spite over the fact that Gwen chose Arthur over him when the matchmaking was going on—not an unheard of reaction even down to the present day!

  If we join archaeologists, sociohistorians, and collectors of folk tales, the actual roots of the Arthurian characters can be traced back even farther, to the days before Julius Caesar, when the Celts were headhunters and, at least in Ireland, revered a fearsome war goddess named Morgana. This goddess had a school for educating the heroes to come, which was attended by princes of high rank from throughout Europe. The Arthurian Morgan le Fey (of the fairies) is a clear echo of this magnificent, if terrible, deity.

  There is less direct linkage with the Irish gods for Guinevere, though her Celtic name means “white spirit” or “white wave,�
� and at least one scholar has linked her with an obscure fertility goddess—a rather ironic twist if true, as Gwen’s inability to have children has stayed with her all down the life of the legend.

  One of the major connections between ancient Celtic culture and the Round Table tales can be found in the importance of the king’s nephew. The Celts traced a person’s lineage through the mother’s bloodline, so the heir to the throne was often the son of the current king’s sister.

  In the early stories, Gawain, son of King Lot and Arthur’s half sister Morgause, is Arthur’s probable heir and bravest warrior, as well as a man of honor and high reputation. (Gillian Bradshaw portrays him wonderfully well in her book The Hawk of May.)

  But while Gildas was a historical person, Gawain may well have been a sun god who got demoted to human status, since he was said to have a growing (or rising) strength in the morning, and waning (or setting) power in the afternoon. In my own work, I have presented him as the typical Celt, ruddy of color and high of courage, if more than a little brash, even in childhood.

  As with most mythical stories, the shadows of forgotten ancestors lurk in the fabric of the tales, passed from one culture to another without any real understanding of what they meant. Thus in Thomas Malory’s Le Morte d’Arthur (which is generally accepted as the most coherent collection of the stories), you have a myriad of beheadings—usually of a woman—in which the beheader grabs the amputated pate and runs off, brandishing it gleefully. Malory didn’t make this up; those stories reflect the actual days of Celtic headhunting, and I incorporated it in Balan’s beheading of Vivian because it rang true to the times.