The Priestess of Camelot

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  The darkness was complete, after the door closed. I heard the lock click-to.

  I wept and huddled into myself. How I longed for the simple days when I was new at Viborg, under the tutelage of that great Lady. What ill wind brought me to this strange place called Avalon?

  I realized I had not been cautious about offending the Lady. I had not thought so great a personage would feel threatened by the way the girls reacted to me. But I had little experience with the world. It was clear that I should have been more careful with the young women. I saw how Lady Morgaine was when Merlin said there were now two high priestesses in Avalon. There cannot be two in the same Motherhouse.

  Who knows that better than me?

  There was only one conclusion: my very presence was a threat to the Lady Morgaine’s power. How could I resolve the problem? I wished nothing more than to serve the Goddess and live in peace. How could I explain this to the Lady when she is now set against me?

  For the next three days, I had much time to study the error of my ways.

  And you reading this, how will you judge me? Was I a fool to ever think two high priestesses could live in one Motherhouse in peace? Why did I allow myself to be enthralled by the Lady of Avalon? Was I not provocative in the way I attracted the young ones? Was not Morgaine simply protecting her right as the Lady of Avalon? Was I capable of betraying her for power, as she thought? Was it not in my mind to betray her and take her place, perhaps buried so far back even I did not notice it, but she did?

  Long years later, I still do not know the right of it.

  Chapter Sixteen

  On the fourth morning, the door to my prison opened. Bright, blinding sunlight seemed to stab me in place on the floor. Mabina rushed in and gave me a dipper of water. I sucked down the icy-cool water gratefully, feeling the liquid hit my parched, sore throat. My legs were weak, and I felt sick and dizzy as Mabina led me to the healer’s hut. If my sisters stared, I did not see them in the bright green blur.

  Later, after I had drunk and eaten a bit, Mabina said, “I told you to obey her.”

  I nodded tiredly. “You did.” I almost did not recognize the raspy whisper that was my voice. “I will not leave this hut. I will excuse myself if anyone comes to the door.”

  “You cannot be a healer if you run from everyone who comes!” Mabina said.

  “Sister-friend, I cannot long stay in Avalon with the Lady set against me. Better to hide for a while. Perhaps her anger will cool.”

  I did not set foot outside the healer’s croft for a fortnight. When women came for medicines, I hid in a cupboard until they left. Each day, the girls who were my most devoted followers brought flowers, a pretty pebble, a speckled leaf as presents for me. They said nothing, knowing I was there, but unwilling to be seen.

  Mabina quickly got rid of these offerings of devotion.

  But my attempts to stay away from the high priestess’ wrath were to no avail. A little while after midsummer, Lady Morgaine called me to her dwelling. Rowena and Beatha were there on either side of her, and my stomach turned to molten lead. Their presence did not bode well.

  “Anya, it may interest you to hear that the healer at King Arthur’s castle, Camelot, has died,” Lady Morgaine said.

  “Oh?” I said, feeling confused. “That is too bad. Was she elderly?”

  “She was,” Lady Morgaine said. “That’s why I was thinking you’d be perfect to replace her.”

  “Replace her? At a castle?” My voice quivered. The idea of leaving Avalon—even with an angry Lady—was more than terrifying. I did not want to go out into the world! Things did not go well for me the last time I left the safety of a Motherhouse.

  “Yes.” Across the Lady’s face spread a smile of a predator about to relish its prey. “I have long needed someone who can be close to the usurper and his court. Who can report back to me their doings. Our information from the castle is too fragmented, too filtered. You’ll report each moon to us. I’ll arrange to have a courier take your written observations.”

  “Lady, please. Do not ask me to do this. I wish to stay here and serve you and Avalon,” I said, holding back my tears. I would do anything—anything at all to stay with the sisterhood.

  “You will do this, Anya. We leave tomorrow for Camelot.” The smile thinned, and I saw a hint of the wild beast behind her eyes. “Or do you refuse?”

  Were there worse punishments than what I had already suffered?

  Suddenly, I noticed Rowena had a short whip in her hand. It twitched like a live thing. I almost cried out, the sight so terrified me. The scar on my cheek ached and throbbed. “As the Lady commands, so shall I do,” I whispered.

  “Good. Prepare to leave at first light.” And a strange fire burned in Lady Morgaine’s eyes.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Healer of Camelot

  Summer 560

  I am being exiled from the Avalon Motherhouse!

  It was all I could do not to scream and cry, as I boarded the magickal barge that crossed the misty lake. Where once I proudly called that boat as part of my initiation into Avalon’s Sisterhood, now I quailed and shook to be on it.

  Goddess, do not make me go!

  But She said nothing.

  Instead, I followed the Lady of the Lake’s retinue as they stepped off onto the soggy landing and started the trek to Castle Camelot. Step by step took me from the place I had called home for three years—my sole refuge in this strange land.

  The wet world seeped into my thin leather boots. The rain slithered down my hair, down my neck, and ran coldly down my back.

  How I wished it would just wash me away!

  I tried everything to appease the Lady Morgaine. But she would not hear me.

  She wanted me gone.

  Mabina told me to consider myself fortunate. “I know of women who were cast out but bound to the Lady’s will, ever to serve her, but never to live again in Avalon. It is not so bad, this position. You could do worse than be the healer for a great castle!”

  I wanted to stay in Avalon, to worship, and serve the Sisterhood!

  But it was not to be.

  And so, I slogged along with the group, under gray drizzling skies, mulling my misfortune and dreading my future. Step by step, my mind shouted:

  Why am I being exiled?

  It was in this turmoil of emotions that I arrived at Castle Camelot. Despite my sadness, I was amazed at the place. I had never seen walls so tall, nor gates so vast. The castle itself was massive: gray towers with slits in the first two floors, small windows at the next two. At the top were flags in many colors, but the largest was a long yellow pennant which depicted a roaring orange dragon. I was stunned at the vastness of the building. It seemed to climb to the heavens.

  Between the great building and Lady Morgaine’s exile of me, I felt small in size and relevance.

  Our arrival was greeted by two of the strangest birds I’d ever seen. They were large strutting creatures with blue heads and long green tails that they splayed out in a kind of fan. The birds made a screeching-hooting sound at our approach that scared me right down to my bones. What manner of demon creature is that?

  Lady Morgaine was known to the people of the castle, and she was greeted warmly. The Avalon entourage was brought inside and admitted to the great hall. It seemed we walked forever through the vast room that had a very odd, large round table, behind which was a huge tapestry of men sitting around that same table.

  At the far end of the hall were the king, his queen, and all of their court. As I had seen in Merlin’s dream-tale, King Arthur was a tall, well-built man of middle years. He had dark blue eyes, dark brown hair cut in the Roman fashion, and a close-shorn beard threaded with silver. He wore a crown shaped like the tendrils of a winding golden vine; golden leaves stood upright, looking more like flames. Each leaf had a different jewel: rubies, aquamarines, amethyst, cat’s eye. Although I tried to suppress my ability to sense lifeglows in crowded situations, I could not help but perceive the king’s extraor
dinary red, orange, and yellow glow, denoting strength of mind and will, courage, and positive energy. It looked as if he was wreathed in flame! His personal power seemed to radiate from the throne.

  Beside him sat Queen Guinevere, a fair woman whose skin looked white as new milk, with hair the color of straw in the sun. Upon her brow sat a crown of thin gold, at the fore of which was a large ruby. Her lifeglow was a very pale yellow almost surrounded by brown. This, I knew, indicated a vain personality.

  There were many well-dressed men and women standing about in twos and threes. They watched we women from Avalon approach the dais with interest.

  The king boomed, “Sister! It’s been too long since you’ve visited Camelot.”

  Now that they were together, I could see the resemblance between the king and Lady Morgaine. The shape of their eyes and the bow of their mouths were the same. But his brow was broad, and his nose looked like the beak of a hawk, where her nose was thin, ending in a small bulb. I wondered if he was like her in temperament? Or was he Merlin’s puppet, as the Lady said?

  “It’s been too long, dear brother,” Lady Morgaine said, smiling her predator smile. “But, I heard of your recent loss and have brought you a gift.”

  “A loss?” the king asked, his expression puzzled.

  “Your healer,” Lady Morgaine prompted.

  The queen leaned over and whispered something to him.

  He nodded. “Yes. I recall Erea passed away last month. You bring us a new healer from Avalon?”

  “Indeed, I do.” The Lady motioned me forward.

  I hesitated a moment. I was not prepared to meet a king and queen, nor had I been instructed in Britain’s way to act in such an event. I decided to behave as I would in my homeland, and prostrated myself in front of the royals, saying, “My King. My Queen.”

  The people tittered. Even the royals laughed.

  I have erred right from the start!

  “You may rise,” the king said. “Who are you?”

  I stood and brushed the debris from the floor rushes off the front of my cloak. “I am Anya of the Rus, the people of a land far from here.”

  There was more laughter. How had I made a mistake this time?

  I was close enough to the royal couple to hear the queen whisper, “I like her not. Look at the mark on her face. It gives her an evil appearance. And what does she say? Her words seem like our tongue but sound all wrong. Your sister and her witches should not be in a Christian great hall.”

  I wished very much to turn to liquid and slip between the flagstones.

  The king did not heed his wife. He gave me a piercing look, although his face appeared kindly. “I feel I’ve seen you somewhere before, Anya of the Rus.”

  Before I could open my mouth, Lady Morgaine said, “This is the poor girl who was found on that boat at Wyke Regis. We’ve done our best to teach her our speech and our ways, but she’s best suited to healing.”

  There was a knowing sort of laughter from the others. My breath caught in my throat. Lady Morgaine had just announced that I was too stupid to talk and too ignorant to do anything but handle plants.

  I could do nothing but stand there mute and humiliated.

  “Well, we’re glad to have her, Sister. Thank you. Are you staying with us long?” the king asked.

  I lost her answer in the loud heartbeat in my ears. I brought the hood of my cloak up and covered my head so that no one could see my reddening face, the splash of tears I could not stop. I stepped to the rear of the Avalon retinue. My sisters avoided looking at me.

  But even that bit of hiding was not to be allowed.

  A large, bald man tapped me on the shoulder. Beside him was a young boy. “Ane-yah, is it? The page will take you to your quarters. I expect you’ll want to get started right away.”

  At first, I could not move. What did he mean?

  He seemed to mistake my hesitation for stupidity. “Here, boy, take her hand. Lead her to the healer’s quarters.”

  The young man took my bag from my shoulder and grabbed my hand. He led me up a flight of stairs. Instead of going along the hallway to rooms I could see were of a goodly size, we turned down a narrow passageway. Stairs at the end revealed the kitchen below. I—a völva of the Rus, a priestess and healer of Avalon—was to live in the servants’ quarters!

  The boy opened the door. The stench was appalling. A badly tended barnyard would have been cleaner than the sight that met my eyes.

  “If you need anything, ask Lavena, down in the kitchen.” When I did not respond, he repeated slowly, “Lah-veen-ah,” and pointed down the stairs.

  I was so appalled, I could only nod.

  He handed me my bag and went back the way we came.

  I walked into the room and looked about. An animal funk filled the room, as if some creature had died and rotted there. A small slit for a window, high up, provided the only light, and it faced north. The room would be dark as a cave in the winter. There was a goodly fireplace, but it was choked with ashes and soot, and what might be bear grease by the smell. The straw underfoot was well-trod, old, and showed traces of mildew. I saw evidence of vermin on the stone floor. The thin bedding on the pallet in the back was stained and reeked of disease and death. I spotted some jars on a shelf with labels in terrible writing. The table beneath it had something sticky on it.

  I shivered.

  This is my new abode in Camelot.

  Perhaps I should run away. No one will miss me.

  But where would I go?

  And would not Lady Morgaine be well satisfied if I disappeared? She does not really care if I do this job or not.

  There is nothing for it. I must make the best of this situation.

  Placing my bag on the cleanest part of table, I went down to the kitchen and sought out this Lavena person. She turned out to be a large woman with thin, graying brown hair, in charge of the cooks. “Who might you be?” she demanded, obviously none too pleased to have me appear in her domain.

  “I am Anya, the new healer.” I had to say it again twice, because Lavena could not understand me. Until I reached Camelot, I was not aware that I had what they called an “accent,” or that it was difficult to make out what I said. No one at Avalon had remarked upon it.

  “Healer? Well, we need one o’ them. What do you want with me?” Lavena said.

  “The room is filthy. I need sand and water, new rushes for the floor and bed—new bedding, if any is to be had. And I could use some help, if you have anyone you can spare,” I said.

  Once I made my wishes clear through repetition, the older woman said, “Well, you don’t want much, do you? Old Erea wasn’t so picky.”

  “Have you seen the room?” I asked.

  “Well, I—” she started.

  I took the big woman’s elbow and walked her up the stairs. Lavena gasped when she saw the healer’s quarters and whispered, “I wouldn’t let a dog stay here.” She turned to me and said defensively, “I can only spare the boy I use to turn the spit to help you. We’ve a feast to prepare for tonight.”

  “The boy will be fine, thank you. I know you are busy and am sorry to disturb you. If you will give me the brushes, sand, water, and rushes, I will deal with this myself,” I said.

  Lavena seemed satisfied not to have me demand more. “I’ll ask the head housekeeper for bedding for you. I’m sure she can come up with something.”

  The cook sent up the needed cleaning material and a small mute boy named Varden right away. Before we got to work, I noticed a burn on the boy’s forearm he must have gotten from tending the spit. I spread some salve from my bag on it. “Better?” He smiled and went to work with a will.

  We spent that day and the next scrubbing every inch of the room and replaced the fouled straw with clean reeds. Rather nice—if much-washed—bedding appeared the next afternoon.

  During the evening meal on the second day, I was visited by a page—Lavena told me that’s what these errand boys in the castle were called. He said Lady Morgaine and the other
priestesses had departed for Avalon, then gave me a note.

  The Lady did not even see fit to say goodbye.

  I read the message quickly, then stuffed it into my pocket. I could not eat the roast hare Lavena had prepared for the servants that night, both because meat tasted so awful to me, and because my heart was so low.

  On the third day, Varden and I stood on the doorstep and beheld a room that, while not much brighter or wider than a hermit’s cell, at least was clean and smelled fresh. A merry fire danced on the hearth. “A fine job, Varden.”

  He nodded and went back to the kitchen.

  I started to unpack the few belongings I had brought from Avalon. I hung my healer’s drum above the table, far away from the drying smoke and soot of the fireplace.

  Mabela had divided many of the jars of herbs we made together and had given me half, thinking—rightly, as it turned out—there might not be supplies at the castle. I had wrapped herbs still in the drying stage. These I hung from hooks Varden and I found under the foul straw. A few packets of herbs had gotten all tangled up in my bag. I sat down by the fire on the small bench to sort them out.

  It was the first time I had been quiet and still since the afternoon when Lady Morgaine brought me to court. Almost of itself, my hand reached into my pocket and retrieved the note from the Lady of Avalon. Reluctantly, I opened it up and read it through six times, to make sure I made no mistake in understanding:

  Anya,

  I will send a courier to collect reports from you at each dark of the moon. You must write to me about all the visitors who come to Camelot, the stories people are telling about this knight or that small king. Set down the rumors the servants tell each other. Especially you must tell me everything you find out about the usurper, his sow, and Merlin the betrayer. I want to know ALL of it.

  Be faithful in this, and I will allow you to return to Avalon midsummer after next. Fail me, and I shall arrange a fate worse than banishment to a comfortable castle.