Ruins of Camelot

by G. Norman Lippert

  Finally, she raised the incense stick. She touched its smouldering tip to the unburnt wick, watched it flare to life, and then stood back. Her candle burnt brightly, its flame tall and straight. It was good. Gabriella nodded at it, and then snuffed out the incense stick between her gloved fingers. She pushed her hood back with her right hand, a sign that her schooling was officially complete. Finally, she turned to face the crowded cathedral, keeping her back straight and her face sober despite the excitement she felt in her breast, glowing much like the flame on the candle behind her.

  There were very few students left. Most now stood gathered around their family alcoves, their own candles lit, their incense sticks extinguished in their hands. Dimly, Gabriella realised that Goethe was not present. She wondered about it, but only for a moment. Perhaps he had been expelled for his treachery in the dueling theatre. Perhaps he did not care about the graduation ceremony, especially with his father unable to attend, still locked in the castle dungeons.

  Perhaps he simply had better things to do.

  For the moment, Gabriella had the luxury not to care. Already, the incident with the hidden dagger on the battle floor seemed small and unimportant. She was of age now. Her whole life was stretched out before her, humming with anticipation, bursting with the promise of good things yet to come.

  Outside, the sunset burnt deep red over the mountains, fading upwards to purple and deepest blue. The twilight stars twinkled.

  It was the first day of the last glorious spring of the age of Camelot.

  Chapter 2

  As it turned out, the wedding ceremony was to take place in the castle.

  Gabriella awoke at dawn and found herself completely unable to get back to sleep. She rolled over and blinked slowly at the linen curtains that surrounded her bed, glowing pink with the day's first light.

  This is my last night in the bed I grew up in, she thought to herself. It seemed ridiculous and absurd, and yet she knew it was the truth. She imagined Darrick lying awake in his parents' cottage on the other side of the village, imagined him thinking of her, and felt a tremor of nervous exhilaration.

  Gabriella was a sensible girl. She knew that marriage did not usually mean happily ever after, regardless of what the fairy books said. She'd been around enough married people to know that even the best relationships were often fraught with challenges, disagreements, and even that most poisonous of all marital realities, boredom. She was not like Constance, who had grown up to be rather vain and silly, convinced that matrimony was the cure for all ills. She, Gabriella, knew that after the thrill of the honeymoon wore off, the work of marriage would occasionally be difficult.

  And yet she also knew that, for reasons she did not fully comprehend, she had been granted a luxury not afforded to many princesses: she had been allowed to marry for love and not politics. After all, Darrick was the son of a common blacksmith, himself from a long line of pot-makers. There was no royalty in her fiancé's blood whatsoever. For this reason, Gabriella had spent years refusing to acknowledge what everyone else had known immediately: that they were meant for each other. As a girl, she had merely seen a dirty common boy, only permitted into the royal school because his parents had made a hefty tithe toward his education. Despite the sacrificial gesture of his parents, the boy had been insolent and brash, completely unimpressed by Her Royal Highness, Princess Gabriella. This had infuriated her, of course, and launched a rivalry that burnt (on her part) until they'd been sixteen years old.

  It had all changed on the day that Darrick had defeated Gabriella in a practice duel. This had left her speechless with fury, since none of the other boys had ever bested her before. She had stormed outside, her face brick red with embarrassed indignation, and thrown her wooden practice sword into the grass. When Constance had tried to soothe her, Gabriella had nearly pushed her down the brook hill. Finally, unable to control herself, she had cornered Darrick between the bell tower and the castle wall and demanded that he show her the proper respect.

  "I am the Princess of Camelot!" she had rasped hoarsely, leaning into his face. "Bow to me! Show me the respect that I deserve!"

  She had known even then that it was a pathetic, stupid thing to say. No true princess ever had to command her subjects to bow to her. Darrick didn't bow, but he didn't mock her either.

  "You want me to let you win the duels every time like all the other blokes just because you're the Princess?" he'd asked, squinting seriously at her. "Because if I were you, I'd want a better kind of respect than that. I'd want to be honoured for who I am, not just for my last name."

  "How dare you?!" Gabriella had seethed. "You're just a blacksmith's son!"

  "I'm the son of the best blacksmith in Camelot," Darrick had replied, lifting his chin. "That's no small feat. There's pride in that, you should know. If my father hadn’t worked so hard to get me into the Royal Academy, I'd have been content to become a blacksmith like him and earn the same honour for my skills. What about you, Princess? You wish for me to respect you like all the rest, bowing to you in class but laughing at you behind your back? Or do you want me to honour you for true, for the girl you are and the woman you're becoming?"

  Gabriella had not known what to say to that. It had never even occurred to her that the others had let her win duels simply because she was the Princess, or that their respect for her was anything but genuine. She'd wanted to argue with Darrick, but suddenly, horribly, she saw that he was right. As far as the rest of her classmates were concerned, there was nothing to her but a title. She'd simply stared at him, first with affronted anger, and then with shocked dismay. Finally, shamefully, she had turned and stalked away from him.

  Before she had reached the corner of the bell tower, however, Darrick had spoken again.

  "I like you, Gabriella," he'd said, his voice cool and thoughtful. "Not because you are the Princess, but because you are… special. There's something about you that I can't forget. There's more to you than anyone else sees."

  Gabriella had stopped at his words. "You should not say such things," she had said without turning around.

  "You feel the same way about me, I would wager," he'd commented in a lower voice.

  Gabriella had turned quickly and looked back at him. She'd expected him to be grinning at her, mocking her, but he wasn't. He'd merely looked at her calmly and then gone on.

  "If you did not feel the same for me, you would not care so much, I think. You'd just ignore me. Do you know what I think, Gabriella? I think we are made for one another. Perhaps that only happens in stories, but I don't think so. I think we're like those two magnets in Professor Toph's laboratory. We're either going to come smack together like two pieces of hot iron, red from the forge, or push apart like God and the devil. It's all just a matter of which direction you're facing. You've been so busy raging against the truth that I daresay you've never even really seen it."

  Gabriella had felt strangely terrified. It was as if he could see through her armour and clothing, even through her skin, right into her deepest being. Suddenly, for the first time in years, she'd remembered the kiss that he had given her, back when they'd both been children, quarreling over a pilfered bag of Whisperwind powder.

  "You should not say such things," she'd said again, nearly whispering.

  "Perhaps I shouldn't," Darrick had replied with a half shrug. "But that's never stopped me before."

  In her bed, Gabriella smiled, remembering it all. She had walked away from him that day feeling the strangest mixture of emotions: shame and embarrassment, yes, but also an unexpected, giddy excitement. She had grown so used to impressing people as the Princess that it had never even occurred to her that she could impress anyone as Gabriella. Suddenly, the thing that she had most detested about Darrick—that he never called her by her title, but by her given name—became the thing she was most intrigued by. Was he right? Were they like magnets, destined either to repel or attract? Even if it were true, how could it ever possibly be? She was the King's daughter after all, and ki
ngs' daughters simply did not marry the sons of blacksmiths. Of course, even then, some small part of her had known that such things didn't really matter. Gabriella was a sensible girl, but she was still a girl. Even for her, no amount of imperial politics could win out over the possibility of true love.

  She did not love Darrick from that day forwards, of course. But she did begin to turn around, to not defy and resist him at every opportunity. And just like the magnets in Professor Toph's laboratory, the turning around made all the difference. Soon enough, repulsion turned to irresistible attraction. Once she gave in to it, the force of it was so strong, so pervasive, that it was rather frightening. It pushed all of her practicality aside, made all of her sensibility and reasonableness seem insipid, like paper castles on a child's windowsill. She still attempted to goad him sometimes, to command his respect or cow him into submission, but it never worked, and deep down, she was glad. He loved her because she was Gabriella and not because she was the Princess. Over the past three years, this fact had stricken her as simultaneously incredible and sublime.

  Now, on the morning of their wedding, it still did.

  The door of the bedroom burst open, wafting the curtains that surrounded her bed and admitting a staccato of bare feet on the wooden floor. A moment later, the curtains were thrust aside, and a figure jumped up onto the bed.

  "Sun's up, Bree! Who's ready to be the royal blushing bride?" It was Rhyss, of course, who had spent the night in the adjacent bedroom. She knelt on the bed and bounced with excitement. "Because if it isn't you, I'll be happy to take your place. What are friends for, hmm?"

  Gabriella smiled. "You had your chance already. You ended it with him, remember?"

  Rhyss shrugged languidly. "I was a child then, but I do end it with all of them eventually. I'm born to be a breaker of hearts. It's my lot in life. Come, let's sneak down to the kitchens before Sigrid knows we're awake. It's our last chance to breakfast with the cooks like old times!"

  Gabriella looked at her friend affectionately, knowing this really was the last chance they would ever have to simply be girls together. "Race you," she said, throwing off her covers and pushing Rhyss backwards on the bed. Both girls scrambled up. Laughing and shushing each other, they bolted out the door and down the hall.

  "It's bad luck for you to see me before the wedding," Gabriella scolded Darrick when she met him in the King's reception room four hours later.

  "I was summoned, same as you," he smiled, reaching for her as she joined him near the room's only window. The window was tall stained glass, decorated with the stern visage of King Arthur in his armour, his sword gleaming steely blue and his beard streaming regally down his chest. Gathered behind the glassy King was a line of handsome knights resplendent in their own armours, shields bearing the red dragon and holy cross of their order.

  Gabriella laced her fingers through Darrick's and stood in front of him. They kissed briefly, and she said, "Father did not tell me you would be here. I hope all is well."

  "All is well," Darrick nodded, touching his forehead to hers. "I have spoken to the King already this morning."

  Gabriella frowned quizzically up at him. "You have?"

  He nodded again. "We're not even married yet, and already I am going over the Princess's head for councils with the King," he smiled, teasing her. "Truth be told, he sought me out. His messenger arrived just after breakfast, bearing the details of my summons."

  "Then tell me," Gabriella said with a sigh, plopping onto the bench that ran beneath the window. "I don't like surprises. Especially on a day like today."

  "It is your father's news to tell," Darrick replied. "I won't steal his thunder except to say that it seems to involve a story and a mysterious box."

  Gabriella glanced up at him from beneath her eyebrows. "It means a bit more than that by the look on your face. What did you discuss?"

  Darrick laughed and lowered himself to the bench next to her. He put an arm around her shoulders and squeezed her. "If you must know, we discussed my position in the Kingdom."

  This made Gabriella sit up ramrod straight. She looked aside at him seriously. "Your position? But we've already arranged that. When you asked for my hand…"

  Darrick nodded. "Of course, and nothing is changed. I no more wish to be King than you wish to be a herring. When you become Queen, I will be the royal consort, Viceroy of Camelot. I will assist you and represent you on those few occasions when a beard may carry more weight than a bustle, but you will be Queen Sovereign, ruler of the Kingdom."

  Gabriella studied his face for a moment and then shook her head and slouched. "I'd rather be a herring than Queen. I wish you could become ruler someday rather than just Viceroy. But if that arrangement still stands, then what did you discuss?"

  Darrick was silent for a long moment. Gabriella glanced aside at him again. He met her eyes, pressed his lips together, and then looked away, out over the dimness of the room.

  Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "You're going to be knighted," she said.

  "More than that," he answered, returning his gaze to her. "I have been promoted to commissioned officer in the Imperial Army."

  "Commissioned officer!" Gabriella gasped, jumping to her feet and rounding on him. "You've barely graduated the academy!"

  "I received best marks in our class for Strategy and Battle Skills if you recall," Darrick reminded her. "Besides, it isn't as if I will be High Constable or any such thing. That post is still occupied by Sir Ulric. I shall be his field marshal. The post will provide invaluable experience for when you are Queen and I am your viceroy."

  "Those are my father's words, not yours," Gabriella interjected derisively. "Why should you require such experience? As Viceroy, you will have your own men to advise you on military issues."

  "The Kingdom does not need another administrator right now, Bree," Darrick said in a low voice. "Your father fills that role quite nicely. People are fearful. News from the outposts gets more worrying every day. There are rumours of bands of villains raiding towns, recruiting new members by the point of the sword. Worse, there are tales of wanton bloodshed, of whole villages being wiped out."

  "But surely, if these tales were true, father would have received reports…"

  Darrick shook his head slowly. "Not if the messengers were killed before they could deliver them," he said meaningfully. "Five of the fourteen provinces have not been heard from in almost half a year. Their tax manifests are overdue. Most troubling of all, there is evidence that two of the manifests from the reporting provinces have been falsified."

  "Falsified?" Gabriella repeated, lowering her own voice. "But how can that be? The chamberlains are all loyal to my father. They would not cheat him."

  Darrick's eyes had grown hard. "They would not unless they were forced to."

  "Forced to… but by whom? And why?"

  "The question of why is the simple one. Your father's advisers believe that there is a brute army on the march. The unreported taxes are being used to support and pay them. The tributes of the Kingdom are being used to fund an insurrection force against it."

  Gabriella was shocked. Why had her father not told her about these things? Had he believed that he was protecting her? How could she be expected to be Queen someday if she was not welcomed into the council of the King on such matters now? For the first time, she wondered if perhaps her own father did not believe she was capable of the task. Did he himself doubt her ability solely because she was a woman? Her face reddened at the thought.

  "I hate that I must learn of these things from you, beloved," she said rather more stiffly than she had intended. "But who does my father believe is responsible for this treason?"

  Darrick shook his head. "No one knows for certain, but there are rumours as you well know."

  "Merodach," Gabriella breathed, drifting slowly to her seat again. "Goethe told me. On the battle floor. I thought he was just trying to frighten me."

  "Again, dearheart, no one knows for certain. The name does not matter. Th
e point is the people are worried. As I said, the Kingdom does not need another administrator."

  "What do they need?" she asked without looking at him.

  Darrick peered back over his shoulder, up at the stained-glass window behind him. "They need heroes," he answered.

  Gabriella turned and followed his gaze. Behind them, the glass knights glared down, their faces grave and handsome, their swords and shields at the ready.

  "I was taught that it was a good thing that there was no longer a council of the Round Table," she said softly. "Father told me that it meant that we live in a time of peace. There is no need of a coalition of war when there are no wars to be fought."

  Darrick nodded. Gabriella continued to frown up at the stained glass. "It always made me sort of sad," she mused. "When I was a girl, I longed for the days when gallant men rode in force against beasts and villains, marauding armies and unstoppable foes."

  "Every boy I knew growing up wanted to be brave Sir Lancelot," Darrick added, smiling wistfully. "I was one of them."

  "But you aren't!" Gabriella hissed suddenly, turning back to him. "You're Darrick. You are to be my husband, not some military officer running into the heat of battle. You belong to me, not the Kingdom."

  "We all belong to the Kingdom—" Darrick began, but she interrupted him.

  "I won't have it! Let the people have their heroes if they need them, but not you. I need you more than they do."

  "Bree," Darrick said, grasping her hand earnestly, "I can be both. It is your father's wish. It is my duty. I do not resist it. What are you afraid of? Surely not some rabble of malcontents hiding in the northern hills? I long to rout them out and put an end to their debauchery. Why do you rage against this?"