The Priestess of Camelot

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  “I am overwhelmed. Clearly, you planned this for so long, and I am so unworthy of it,” I said near tears.

  “No, no.” Merlin kissed me. “We are done with that now. You deserve to live in this place.”

  He took my hand and led me to the east side of the property. I felt a rising excitement in him. “Come, you must see something else. Why you and I should live here, and no one else.”

  We made our way across a field to an ancient oak forest. When we entered the woods, I felt the slumbering holiness of the place. My steps slowed.

  He brought me to the center, where there was a clearing. There stood a large bluestone with a tumble-down altar before it. The whole place had a lifeglow that was green and silver.

  There was ancient power here.

  “This was an old place of Druid worship back many hundreds of years ago, and the source of the name of the house—drunemeton means holy oak grove. No one’s claimed it for their own in years,” Merlin said.

  “We must repair the altar—clear the forest of dead-fall and bracken,” I said, feeling the place asking to be set right.

  Merlin nodded. “We’ll hire some men to do it before the first snowfall.” He turned and pointed further east, through the trees. I could just see the top of Glast Tor with its standing stones, almost as close as it was when I lived in Avalon. “Of course, that’s the holiest site in these parts. I received my rites up there when I was young. Now, no Druids meet there.”

  “Why not?”

  “The Druids are receding. The Christians are replacing our worship …” he paused, then shook his head. “But, it wasn’t to talk about that I brought you here.”

  I let go his hand and turned in a circle. The brooding silence, the feeling that the Goddess walked among the trees; these things I had missed since losing the Viborg Motherhouse. While the house was lovely, for the first time since I came to Britain, I felt myself in the right place.

  “Anya,” Merlin said, “when you let me in your mind last night … I saw something.”

  “Please, ask me anything, and I will tell it,” I said, fear rising in me like an adder.

  He kissed my fingers. I felt him projecting calm at me. “Tell me about the dream you had in Avalon and again at Camelot.”

  I was surprised, but I said: “Like all visions, it makes no sense when told. Here, take it from my mind:” and I let him see the dream I have written before. The vision concluded with the Goddess’s voice saying, Trust in Me. Follow the Path.

  Merlin slipped out of my mind and stepped back a pace, a thoughtful frown on his face.

  “I have had the vision twice since. But I still do not know what it means, or even if it was a true Sending,” I said. I felt the pricklings of power surrounding me, as if Drunemeton’s Sacred Grove was confirming the dream.

  “What did She say about the people of this land?” Merlin questioned.

  I paused to remember the words exactly. “She said: ‘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.’”

  Merlin leaned on his staff as he looked up at the Tor. “Curious.”

  “When we discussed Arthur’s birth that one night, I was thinking about what the Goddess said in the dream. Merlin, I think Arthur is not the final result of the Goddess’s plan, but the beginning,” I told him.

  He turned, puzzlement in his face. “I wish I knew what it meant.”

  “I do as well.”

  He took both my hands. “Another moment in your memories I found of interest. It was during your consecration in Avalon. The Goddess spoke to you.”

  “Yes,” I said, recalling it. “After I was made a priestess of Avalon, they laid me to the side to have my vision. And what I saw—no, that is not right. It was as if I was living it again—the night I was made the high priestess of Viborg. And when the memory or vision was over, the Goddess said to me, ‘You are My priestess. Follow the path, Anya. Remember the dream. Do not give in to fear.’”

  Merlin’s forehead wrinkled.

  “What do you think it means? For I have thought on it many times and can make nothing of it,” I said.

  “And the Goddess has said nothing further to you since then?” Merlin asked.

  “Not much else. I have tried to open myself to Her, but She feels very remote.”

  Merlin stared at the bluestone, but I did not think he really saw it. “I can’t parse the meaning of all this. But this I feel: you are a part of a great whole. I laid awake most of the night pondering this. I believe whatever the Goddess is doing, for this were we brought together. For this we were made to love each other. That’s why this place is even more important than when I thought to buy it. This is your Sacred Grove, High Priestess Anya. This is the place the Goddess has prepared for you. I know it now.”

  “And for you!” I said, hugging him.

  His long gray beard brushed my cheek as he nodded. “Yes, a little bit. But mostly, the Goddess wants you to be here, in this place.”

  I could not deny the validity of his words.

  There, in that moment, I knew the truth of my destiny. The feeling of the holiness of the place intensified. It was as if roots were springing from my toes and digging into the deep-brown, loamy earth. My blood was zinging through my veins in a way it never had before. The very air felt full of sanctified perfumes. My scalp tingled, as if my hair was about to rise out, as it did on cold winter nights if one rubbed fur on fur.

  Merlin stepped away and bowed deeply to me. Then he kissed my belly and traced the design of the Great Tree that was underneath my dress.

  He straightened and said in a deep priest voice, “You are the high priestess of the Goddess, and She wants you here. Trouble yourself no further about the whys and the wherefores. It simply is. Do as you feel commanded to do.”

  I felt the baby within me stretch out his tiny hands and legs, as if exposing himself to all the power he could gather for himself.

  A gentle fall wind filled with leaves swirled around us, and it was as if my soul was lifted toward the heavens.

  Only several moons beforehand, I had cursed the Goddess as I was forced out of the Pict priestess’ cave, thinking myself banished for all time from the shelter of my former life. But now I saw that She had prepared Drunemeton’s Sacred Grove for me.

  I took on the glamour of the High Priestess, becoming larger than my everyday self, and glowing with golden light.

  Merlin sank to his knees.

  “Blessed be,” my voice boomed.

  And the trees echoed the words.

  Chapter Forty-Three

  By the time the Blood Moon was full, most of my herbs and equipment had been brought from Camelot and installed in my new workroom off the kitchen. It had its own door so that people from the nearby village could come for cures and not disturb the rest of the house. My healing room was spacious enough that I could put in a bed, so I might lie down when I became tired. And I did frequently, now. My belly had grown quite a lot in the past month, and the baby was restless. I could feel his need to walk about in the living world. I could hardly wait until he joined us on this plane of existence.

  Fredic arrived with his family and took up duty caring for the house a week after I awoke in Drunemeton. Eoghann taught him the basics of service, since I knew nothing about running a lord’s manor. Droja, his wife, turned out to be a fine—if limited—cook. Eoghann taught her a few dishes, and she quickly made them better than he did. Their children—Kelvan, Turi, and little Cinnia—were entertaining to have about. They filled the courtyard with their boisterous play. They did not bother Merlin, whose study was in the back of the house. I enjoyed hearing them yell and chatter.

  We gave Eoghann a small room of his own next to Merlin’s study. He seemed thrilled with it. With Eoghann’s help, I found two women willing to work as maids, an older woman to be a laundress and another to help Droja in the kitchen. A bent-backed man with a young
son started the keeping of the stables.

  Much to my surprise, I was the mistress of a fine house. I had not one idea how to go about doing that. The servants and I were all learning together.

  It was a delight to move about without the covering of a cloak, as I had to in Camelot. In my own home, I did not have to be afraid of the looks strangers gave my whip scar. The servants were used to it, and those visiting for healing were only interested in my Art.

  There were few demands on me, daily. I felt free for the first time in my life.

  One night, close to Imbolc, I was almost doubled up with birth cramps. It came on fast and without warning. I knew the delivery would be quick. I had Droja assist me in my workroom. Merlin, I set to singing the birthing song with my drum held up to his lips. I sang the song as well, weaving a space to receive our son: a place that was full of love and pain-free for both of us.

  “Wish I’d known you when I had my three!” Droja half-grumbled as the birth proceeded calmly and with gentleness.

  By morning, we had a fine, healthy boy with a shock of reddish-brown hair that stood straight up from his head. His lifeglow was already a deep blue with streaks of violet. Merlin was totally in love from the first meeting and could hardly be bothered to eat for wanting to hold or watch the child.

  We named him Falcon.

  A week after the birth, Merlin went to Camelot. I assumed it is to consult with the king—with whom Merlin had patched things up, somehow. But when he came back just hours later, he had something in a box for me.

  “What is this?”

  He sat beside me in the big bed in our room as I fed Falcon. Merlin’s eyes were drawn to the small mouth latched onto my nipple. He said, “Open it and find out!”

  I untied the pretty pale blue ribbon—which I planned to use for my hair later—and discovered the most exquisite necklace. It was made of gold and silver chains woven together and fashioned like vines. Every few thumb-lengths along it were small while flowers made of river pearls.

  I cried and cried over it. “It’s so very beautiful!” I removed the blue shell necklace and let him put the lovely gift on me.

  Merlin kissed me, then kissed the crown of Falcon’s head. “Not half as beautiful as you deserve, my love.”

  Life at Drunemeton House settled in to a happy routine. The people of Glast and the surroundings were happy to have a healer nearby, and so there was someone at the door every day. The house needed more attention than I would have guessed, even with Fredic and Droja offering their thoughts. Merlin was often away, and so I also had to manage the farm and animals. I coped with everything as best as I might.

  My chief delight was raising Falcon. He was an entertaining and interesting little person. I was counting the moments until he learned to talk.

  At Beltane, Merlin and I celebrated in the Sacred Circle. Full of the Milk of the Goddess, we capered and pranced between the bonfire and the altar, until at last we gave in to the rut. Merlin took me on the stone table just as a beast of the field would.

  It was as glorious as it was last year.

  But that seemed to be an unlocking for Merlin. Where before he was cautious, full of tenderness and care and wary of letting anyone at Camelot know we were lovers, now the Lord of Drunemeton had become adventurous to the point of nearly ruining our reputations. He wanted me everywhere—and I happily gave in, if we were not in too much danger of exposure. So: a bench in the stables, by the reeds at the lake, on every bed in the house, in the alcove, in my workroom (several times), became our bower. One evening, he decided he must have me on the dining table. I demurred, saying the last thing we needed was to lose Droja’s good opinion by coupling on what she thought of as “her” table.

  He took me to his study and pulled his worktable to the firelight. He helped me undress, taking his time, looking at me, touching me, as if I was yet again new to him. His kisses were slow fire. His hands roamed over my body—I felt as if my skin was his harp. He plucked here and there, sometimes concentrating on one spot until I called out.

  Merlin had me lie on the table with my bottom at the edge. He took my legs in each hand and entered me, slowly, delving deep. Then he withdrew, just as slowly. He watched our union with a kind of hunger.

  “Is that what you wanted, to see our lovemaking?”

  “Yes. This is the deepest of all magick. This coming together and making pleasure. The ultimate in creation,” he said, his voice just on the verge of turning to the priest’s booming tones.

  It was all I could do to hold my own lust back. But, I wanted us to be together. I entered his mind, and he clung to me. Our desire and pleasure melted together as he pumped me harder and faster. Our thoughts swirled into a tight spiral—passion and love into one white hot flame.

  After a time, he laid on me, and I briefly worried if the table would hold us both. Merlin kissed my ear and slipped out of my mind. “You’d think I was some young randy boy.”

  “Ah, but you are.” Tapping his Third Eye position, I said, “I see beyond this mortal shell you wear. You are as strong as an oak, as powerful as a tall waterfall, as virile as a great stag in spring!”

  He kissed me long and thoroughly before saying, “You, alone, see these things. Only my Anya knows who I am, body and soul.”

  “As you see me. We are only for each other.”

  I knew another thing: He hoped for another child. I wished it, too.

  But in my heart, I knew it was not to be.

  I had a line of lilac bushes planted underneath my workroom window. The smell of the flowers made me feel as if I were at the Viborg Motherhouse.

  When Merlin was home, there were often visitors from far away. Scholars, Druid priests, and musicians came from places like Rome, Abyssinia, Gaul, and even the Nordic places of my homeland to see Merlin in his new abode before riding on to Camelot.

  On festival days, Merlin and I took the whole household to the village and participated in the celebrations. Merlin played his harp, and Eoghann played his lute for hours. Falcon and I danced with the crowd. It was always a merry time, and I loved all of it.

  The only worries I had came when Merlin traveled to Avalon. He saw in my mind how Morgaine had controlled me in Avalon, tried to poison me at Camelot, how she wished to sacrifice our son in some unholy ritual of dark magick.

  But he would not believe it.

  The first time he went to Avalon, before Falcon was born, Morgaine was apparently sweetly solicitous of my health and the baby’s. “How charming that you and she will be parents,” Merlin reported she said.

  Each time Merlin went there, he told me of Morgaine’s endless questions about her “little cousin.” Merlin seemed to think the comments sincere and well-meant.

  I knew better. I was sure Morgaine was plotting something.

  One trip, Merlin came back with a present from Morgaine for Falcon. It was a charmed silver rattle that shook itself. Merlin showed it to me before placing it in the child’s bed. The toy shivered and rattled. Falcon scooched away as far as he could with his limited movement. I heard something behind the pretty noise—the murmur of a chant.

  That night, I dreamt of distant incantations. A dark green fire with blue jets burned in some unholy place. I smelled blood—animal? No, human!—poured onto the fire. I felt the words pass over my body, circling my empty womb, sliding down the hallway.

  “No!” I shouted and sent a bolt of lightning into the fire in my vision. It exploded and went out in the same moment.

  “Wha … whazzamattah?” Merlin muttered sleepily.

  “Bad dream,” I whispered, kissing him. But I was watchful all through the night.

  The next morning, when Merlin went down to his study, I used one of Falcon’s blankets, wrapped the toy up, and took it downstairs. Making sure no one saw me, I threw the enchanted rattle into the midden. Just for good measure, I cast a spell to destroy it.

  BANG! came the noise up from the pit. A wisp of blue smoke wafted up.

  The smell of deat
h hung over the yard.

  After that, I wove spells around Falcon’s room and the kitchen—since Morgaine favored poisons as her tool.

  When Merlin discovered these, at first, he seemed amused. “You and she mistrust each other. She means no ill.”

  I offered no rebuttal. It was pointless to argue with him once his mind was made up.

  But, I knew what I knew, and I would protect what I had at Drunemeton with all the force I had at my command.

  The next day, however, I noticed he had strengthened my charms and created new spells of protection of his own.

  Chapter Forty-Four

  About two years after Falcon was born, Merlin came home at dusk, looking weary and concerned. He seemed distant over the evening meal and barely played with Falcon. As soon as dinner was over, he retreated to his study. I waited until the nurse, Lota, took Falcon up to bed and Droja was busy directing the clearing of the table. Then I went to his room.

  I entered without knocking and found him sitting before the fire, brooding. I drew up a stool and sat beside him, sliding my arm around his waist. “I do not know what burden you find so heavy, beloved, but if you share it, at least I may help you carry it for a time.”

  He turned, smiled, and touched my cheek. “It is indeed a burden. I will share it, but I know not how it will help to tell.” I nodded for him to go on. “I had a disturbing talk with Cedric of Alewick. He’s High Priest to the Druids in the North. He says he’s not had an initiate in three years.”

  “Why?”

  “The Christian priests tell the people the Druids serve the devil. That they’re damned if they follow the Old Ways. And so, because the people are afraid of the Christian priests and their jealous God, they make offerings in secret to the Druids but don’t let their young men go to be trained.” Absently, he patted my hand. “I’ve also heard from Druisilla—you recall her?”