The Priestess of Camelot

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  “So it would seem,” Merlin said through gritted teeth.

  And there Morgaine sat in Avalon like a great spider, waiting patiently for her revenge. For her son to take the throne that she thought should be hers. And she dared to say it was Merlin who wanted to rule Britain’s land and spirit!

  But, all I said was, “We have to tell the queen what has happened.”

  “Yes,” he said sadly. “And how I failed Arthur and Guinevere.”

  After calling to the page to ask the king to meet us in the queen’s chamber, Merlin led me back to Queen Guinevere’s room. Once again, the queen asked her attendants to leave. One, a dark-haired woman with gray-green eyes, stared fearfully at us as she went out.

  I knew it was Lady Alana.

  The king joined us almost immediately.

  I let Merlin tell them. I did not want to voice it.

  As Merlin explained what I found, the king’s eyes went as dark as a sea before a storm. His lips were pressed into a hard line. The queen went white as bleached bone.

  When Merlin was finished, the king turned to me. His look was both fiercely angry and pleading. “Can you reverse it, Lady Anya?” he asked.

  “No, My King,” My voice was barely above a whisper. “The herb cannot be taken for more than six moons at a time or barrenness will ensue. If the queen has taken it daily for twelve years … I am afraid there can never be a child.”

  The queen emitted such a shriek as I had never heard from a woman. Guinevere tore at her clothes and hair. The king struggled to keep her from hurting herself, but she struck out at him, as well.

  He bore each blow wearing the saddest face I had ever seen.

  “I will get a soothing draught,” I told Merlin, and rushed back to my room. Quickly, I mixed a dose and ran back. Just as I reached the corridor outside the royal apartment, I saw Sir Cai speaking to Merlin. He looked at me in a strange way, then limped back down the stairs.

  “It seems Lady Alana has leapt from the battlements and is dead,” Merlin said.

  “Likely she saved herself many hours of torture.” I had no time to spare for Morgaine’s puppet.

  The queen was still shrieking, although it was not as loud as it had been at first. I moved to go in and see to the poor woman.

  Merlin stopped me. “Anya, let us keep the connection with Morgaine to ourselves.”

  “But—”

  He stroked his beard thoughtfully. “The fact remains that Mordred is Arthur’s only heir. If the king is forced to kill Morgaine for treason, it will be that much harder for Mordred to take the throne when it’s time.”

  I paused. Yes, I could feel Merlin’s thunderous anger at Morgaine. My feelings were more like disgust. But I thought I saw what he was saying. Morgaine might be right about this: Merlin kept his own council in order to achieve his goals. “You play a long game, my lord.”

  “I’ve had to, yes,” he said.

  I nodded that I would obey, then went in to give the queen the soothing herbs.

  “Get out!” the queen screamed. “Make that ill-omened witch go away! She brings evil! Don’t let her touch me!”

  I stopped where I was. I felt so sorry for the queen and wanted to help. But, Guinevere would blame the bearer of this devastating news as well as the trouble itself. I almost wished I could tell her who did this to her, just to see how she would vent her wrath.

  But I set the herbs on the table, bowed to the king, and went out.

  You who read this will no doubt wonder how Merlin allowed Morgaine to escape punishment at this time, and that I was complicit in this. Would not all have been better for King Arthur, for the Round Table Knights, for Camelot, for Britain, if Morgaine had been hauled into the light, her foul plans exposed, and then executed?

  Even now, I have mixed feelings about this.

  But we did not. And events played out as they did.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  That evening, I found my way up the steep and winding steps of Camelot until I reached the lookout tower. Dusk filled the sky with rose and orange and deep blues. The clouds seemed otherworldly in that light.

  And all I could see was that the world looked as bruised as I felt.

  I had to get away from all the questions! Everyone from the charwoman to the highest lord wanted to know what happened with the queen. Would she be able to bear a child? Why was she screaming?

  So many questions.

  So many bad answers.

  And everyone looked at me as if I should be able to wave my hands and make it all better.

  But I could not.

  Oh, that poor woman, so badly betrayed by Morgaine.

  And that sad king, so manipulated by his sister.

  Even though I thought at first that I did not care about Lady Alana leaping to her death, I realized in the afternoon that she killed herself because of what I found out. I killed her, really.

  How was I any different from Morgaine?

  And what of Merlin?

  Yes, what of his reaction?

  It was the kingship itself that preoccupied him. Not the one who sat in the chair today.

  Morgaine was false, and might be mad, but she was not completely wrong about Merlin. I saw him plotting as much as she.

  But I was beginning to think I loved him.

  And that might be very dangerous.

  Oh! Why could I not be back in Viborg, living the life I should have lived? Why was I brought to this strange land?

  I could not help it. Self-pity—a thing I had been cautioned against in two Motherhouses—overwhelmed me. I wept and hugged myself. The world seemed a terrible place, with no room for such a small thing as me.

  I wanted to go somewhere where I could just heal people in peace. Tend a garden. Maybe even have a family.

  Was that so wrong?

  I hated this life!

  Darkness seeped up from the ground. In the last orange light, a great snowy owl landed on the balustrade near me.

  “Hoo-hoot,” she said.

  Hoot yourself, I thought, miserably.

  She looked deeply into my eyes, blinking golden eyes slowly.

  And it was if I was tipped off the rim of the world into a dream.

  I was on a tall, tall white-faced cliff, looking out to sea, trying to spy my homeland. But it was too far away. I tried to locate the Viborg Motherhouse with the Sight, but when I look to the east, all I saw are dark clouds.

  “I want to go home,” I said aloud. I realized I had this vision-dream before, the night I first slept in Avalon.

  That way is closed to you now, Anya of the Rus, said a voice behind me.

  I seemed powerless to change the dream. As before, I said, “What shall I do now? Where is my home if not there?”

  I have provided you with a new home, a new destiny, if you will but choose it.

  This time, I knew it is the Goddess who spoke. “I am afraid.”

  It is frightening to start in a new direction. But I am here with you. Trust in Me and I will not let you fail. Choose the path I provide and help Me shape this realm’s fate.

  “Who am I to assist you?”

  You are you. You are who I need to accomplish a great task. Come, see this great land in which you are now. See if it does not deserve your devotion.

  I turned and beheld a country so beauteous and green it took my breath away. I felt myself lifted high into the air, but I was not afraid. I was flying above the land like a hawk—no, higher than any bird has ever flown! From this great height, I could see snow-filled mountains and warm fens, great fields and forests, lakes and peat bogs. All around this land was a great thundering sea—it was a large island! Then I could tell I was headed back to the cliffside. But I did not want this moment to end. The view is so very beautiful.

  And I knew the reality on the ground is not.

  In answer to my wish, I felt myself lifted back up. I was given another tour around Britain. This time, I was even higher up and could see more vistas. It was splendid.

&n
bsp; Eventually, I was taken back to the cliff.

  The people are equally magnificent. They have a destiny they do not yet understand. But it will not happen for many generations yet. It is for that purpose I selected you. Say that you will follow the Path I put before you, Anya. Say that you choose this land of Britain.

  “I will, Lady. I will follow where you lead.”

  Good. Trust in Me. Follow the Path.

  Abruptly, I felt freed from repeating the vision. I said: I am doing the best I can, Goddess. But I do not understand what is happening. Why must I be among people who scheme and wish to hurt one another?

  Face your fears, Priestess. Do not be overwhelmed by their distractions. Know that there is a purpose. Do as I ask. Help Me with this task. When I may, I will reveal some of the Path to you.

  And then I was back at the watchtower. The owl had flown.

  There was a frightened-looking young man peering at me. “Lady? Are you all right?”

  I took a deep breath of the heavy night air. A storm was brewing. “Yes. I just … I got lost in a daydream.”

  He chuckled. “That’s what happens to me up here, all the time. I catch hell for it when the watchman finds me dreaming!”

  “Well, I had best leave you to your job and go to mine.”

  “Lady? Will the queen be all right?” he called after me.

  “Yes,” I said.

  But I did not think anything would be the same for Queen Guinevere ever again.

  I wrote out the events with Queen Guinevere exactly as they happened. I did not include my thoughts, nor what Merlin and I said to each other. These I wrote down for myself. I had taken to hiding these separate pages under the flagstone under my bed. I did not know if Morgaine had spies at Camelot, but I preferred to be prepared.

  I jotted down the reactions of the court—who was scheming, now that there was proof the queen was barren. Some assumed the king would put her away and marry a breeding woman. I had heard some of the elder knights suggest their daughters might do well as a queen.

  I did not write down how many in the castle sorrowed with the royal pair, or that Camelot’s servants mourned as if it were their own dear uncle and aunt who had such terrible news. Morgaine would not care.

  Six days later, in the dark of the moon, the courier for Avalon came again. I had two moons to ponder my observations of this person.

  I put the scroll into the courier’s hand.

  Just as the black-draped figure opened the door, I said, “You were a priestess once, yes?”

  The courier whirled to face me. Her lifeglow pulsed purple and brown over a light violet—a deep unhappiness ruled her life.

  “You, too, were once Morgaine’s lover. Then she declared you had betrayed her in some fashion and cast you out. But she keeps you near with the promise of redemption if you do her bidding; she forces you to do these tasks?”

  The courier turned away.

  “You will tell her I am done serving her. Say that she will no longer find me her servant. I gave my allegiance to the Goddess, Lady of Light, not a scheming toady of the Dark One!”

  The courier went out, slamming the door behind her.

  No, I was no longer afraid of that one.

  Morgaine, however …

  It was almost certain I had allowed Lady Morgaine to ensorcell me. Although I had strong feelings for her, I would not be a slave to any. I set out to break the enchantment through chants and burning sage in a particular method I knew of. But I could not undo all of it. I could feel a shard of her inside my mind.

  It might be there until the end of time.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  King Arthur’s Mistress

  Autumn 561

  War!

  As the Blood Moon showed its first crescent, reports came in to Castle Camelot that the Saxons attacked Portus Adoni to the southeast. Quicker than I would have imagined possible, King Arthur commanded a fighting force to ride out.

  I watched from the ramparts as the force assembled. The courtyard filled with men and women, horses, carts, oxen, barking dogs, shrieking peacocks, and small boys who ran in and out of the throng.

  A page raised a brass horn. Aaa-AH-uh-uh-uh-uh! it bleated. It was joined by several more, and they repeated their call until all other noise was silenced.

  The tangled mass of people sorted itself out into a line. All the court’s women gathered at the gate. Queen Guinevere stood at the fore.

  Riding behind a standard bearer holding aloft the orange dragon on the yellow pennant of his reign, King Arthur sat astride a huge black mare I had heard referred to as Llamrei. The king wore a metal and leather tunic over a long-sleeved red suit. Shiny coverings sheathed his legs. His round-topped helmet shone silver and gold in the sun, but the cheek guards shaded his face from view. The great sword, Excalibur, was strapped to his mount, as was a round shield. The king held a large lance in his left hand. His bright red cloak flowed over the horse’s rump, making rider and animal look as one. He blew a kiss to his queen.

  Beside him was handsome Sir Lancelot. He had yet to put on his shiny metal helmet with the extravagant blue plume, and I assumed that was so that the women could admire him as he rode out the gate. I had never seen so pretty a man. If he were not wearing armor and the bright blue cloak, I would have assumed the blond beardless person with the bright blue eyes and the cleft chin was a woman.

  Behind them came the ginger-headed brothers Gareth, Gawain, and Agravaine. They were the sons of King Lot of Orkney, who rode with them. I was told Lot was married to King Arthur’s other sister, Morgause, and so these large men were the king’s close kin. Gawaine was the eldest—the king’s heir-designate—and was heavy-set but not in a soft way. He looked more like a block of granite astride a horse large enough to withstand his girth. Gareth was the slenderest of the brothers. He was said to be only second in sword-skill to Lancelot. Agravaine seemed the more aggressive of the three—his horse fairly bristled with axes, spears, and swords. Gray-haired King Lot wore all black, and it made him look even smaller than he was.

  One-handed Bedevere rode beside the elderly Sir Pelleas and his squire, young Galahad, Lancelot’s son, who was not quite as handsome as his father. Sir Bors and Perceval rode after them. They were the youngest of the knights.

  Farther back in the line, I spotted Sir Ganore, an elderly knight, riding with Sir Dagonet and Sir Lucan. Sir Morhort and Sir Safer came after. There were many others I did not know.

  The column of men rode through the gate. There was much cheering but also many tears. Some threw asters down at the men as they passed underneath the great portal.

  Merlin, riding next to his man, Eoghann, spotted me as he went out the gate and waved up at me. My heart swelled within my chest.

  The main assembly left the castle, followed by men at arms who had to walk behind the horses. Ox-drawn wagons filled with supplies and tents came next, trailed by the servants and pages. It took a long while for the army to move out. The sun glinted on all the metal of their armor, swords and lances trooping away in a long line away from the castle.

  Lastly, and waiting just outside the gate, were wagons from the town of Caerleon. These were the cooks and laundresses and prostitutes, and the men who managed them. They joined the line heading out last.

  After the excitement of the men riding off, the castle settled into a dreary routine. Only women and old men remained. There was endless speculation about what was happening and who would return honored more than the others. I found the talk dull and stayed mostly outdoors. It was time to harvest my garden, pick the last of the wild herbs, and start distilling, drying, and making into pastes all the medicines I knew I would need as the illnesses of winter took their toll.

  Often, I went to the nearby village. They occasionally had herbs from farther away, bards and troubadours plied their trade in the streets, and there was always some celebration going on.

  On the third night after King Arthur and his men rode off, I had a dream. In it, I wa
s with Morgaine again. We were lovers once more, and I was as a pet. I sat at her feet, as she told me a lengthy tale that made no sense. But I was in Avalon, the mead was good, the fire warm, and Morgaine was no longer angry with me. I was content.

  Then she said: “I have found a way to remove the usurper king,” her voice was overly-loud.

  All the hair on my body stood up, but I did not move, for fear of rousing her wrath. “How?”

  “I will tell you when you are dead!” she shouted, striking a black dagger into my heart. She laughed and laughed as I died slowly.

  It was a good thing only the mute boy Varden could hear my screams in the night. At least he would not tell of my mad dream.

  But I did not sleep well the next few nights.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  With little to do, I spent more time idling in the kitchen. I discovered there was much speculation that Sir Lancelot was having an affair with Queen Guinevere. I asked many questions but could find no one who had seen the pair together in any compromising position. Just that one never seemed to be without the other. I recalled a long look Lancelot gave the queen when the army rode off after the Saxons. It seemed little evidence for speculation.

  But, I wondered about it. Could the news that she was barren have changed the queen’s behavior? A breeding woman had to be careful of getting a cuckoo in the nest. One who could not bear … Hm.

  “But they been thick as thieves, those two, since Sir Lancelot brought her to be the king’s bride,” the story-telling head cook Lavena said in answer to my cautious questioning.

  As far back as that? “I have not heard this tale.”

  Lavena instructed Varden to bring her a tankard of ale. The others settled in for a story. “Well,” she began, “it all started about three years after King Arthur took the throne. Some o’ the lords and small kings still wouldn’t bow down to him, ’cause he was so young. Most, he had to conquer or fight their enemies for them, until they recognized his value. One who was loyal from the first was King Leodegrance o’ Cameliard in Wales. He was a vassal o’ King Uther’s in the old days and proud to stand for Uther’s son. That didn’t set well with his neighbors, especially the evil King Reince of North Wales.”