Guenevere, Queen of the Summer Country

by Rosalind Miles

  “Call the guard!” Guenevere burst out to the woman nearest the door. “Have them take her to her quarters, and admit no one, except those I allow!”

  “At once, lady.” The woman was hurrying forward as Guenevere spoke. “And the King is here. Will you speak to him?”

  Guenevere approached the door. Outside in the corridor King Leogrance stared out unseeing as he kept a silent vigil, his face still grimed with the dust of the jousting field, clutching his helmet in the crook of his arm.

  “Goddess, Great Mother, save her, save the Queen!” Farther off Lucan was waiting too, crying out and beating his forehead to blood as he roamed up and down the hall.

  She could hear the old crone wailing as the guards led her away: “He came for her, the Dark Lord …”

  Trembling, she stepped back into the quiet of the chamber and shook her head. “Tell the King that as soon as there is any news, he will be the first to know.”

  She hurried back to the Queen’s bedside and caught at the healer’s sleeve. “Will she live?”

  He shook his white head. “Only a fool would say.”

  “Be a fool then!” she said fiercely. “We have gold enough, if that will help you decide!”

  The old healer’s smile came from very far away. “You must find another fool then, Princess, for my thoughts are not for hire.”

  He bowed and moved away. Guenevere clasped her hands and pressed them to her eyes. Goddess, Mother, help me now—

  Another of the Queen’s women had crept up like a cat. “Madam, Lord Taliesin, the Chief Druid, is here. He wishes to call all the Queen’s knights and lords to meet with you, to take counsel what to do. Will you consent?”

  Taliesin here? Goddess, Great One, thanks …

  She could not remember a time when the wise old man had not been there to advise her mother and warmly encourage her. All Druids had been warriors once, she knew. But to her Taliesin had always been the very soul of peace. She looked at the young woman at her side. “Tell him—forgive me, I have quite forgotten your name.”

  “It’s Ina, lady.” The girl with the spotless headdress and white collar was on the verge of tears. “Oh, lady, bid me do anything to help the Queen! I’d die for her, if that would bring her back.”

  “Thank you, Ina.” Guenevere took a breath. “Send to Lord Taliesin that he has my consent. See that the King and Sir Lucan are informed, and say that I shall meet them all in the Great Hall.”

  The woman dropped a curtsy and was gone. Guenevere crossed to the bed and leaned over the motionless form. All around her now lay the quiet of the sickroom, the clean scent of rosewater and herbs, and the soft hum of the Queen’s women as they moved to and fro lighting the chamber lamps as evening drew in.

  She took her mother’s hand, seized by a sudden fierce reluctance to leave. She called to the nearest of the women, “Send for one of the bards to sing for her till I return.”

  The woman curtsied. “Who shall we call, lady?”

  Guenevere paused, and one name filled her mind. She tried to steady her voice as it passed her lips. “Call Cormac. She always loved him best.” Her heart lurched. “And tell him—ask him to wait for me afterward. Beg him not to leave till I get back.”

  The woman smiled sadly. “As you will, lady. But the Queen will not hear.”

  Fool! Of course she would hear; who dared say otherwise? Swallowing her anger, Guenevere turned away. She took a last look at the figure on the bed, the strong face still so luminous, the long red hair without a thread of gray. Stooping, she brushed the smooth forehead with a kiss. As she did so, the Queen’s eyes opened and looked straight at her.

  “He is coming,” she said clearly. “Through the fires, he comes.”

  AFTER THE GLOW of the Queen’s chamber, the Great Hall struck cavernous and dank. Overhead the high stone arches were lost in the soaring gloom, despite the torches flaring up the walls and the fires blazing on every hearth. As she came in, Guenevere caught sight of the knights’ bright shields and colored banners hanging from the walls, and her skin crawled. Could she ever bear to see a tournament again?

  At the far end of the room, set proudly on its dais of dressed stone, was the Queen’s throne. In the center of the hall stood the Round Table, its vast surface glowing with its inner light. Around it stood the great wooden chairs the knights called their sieges, each with its high back and carved canopy bearing a name in gold.

  The knights themselves clustered nearby, talking unhappily. She could see the iron-gray head of old Sir Niamh, one of the Queen’s earliest champions, deep in conversation with Sir Lovell, the champion who had succeeded him after a heroic fight. Behind them stood a clutch of the younger knights, Sir Damant, Sir Cradel le Haut, Sir Epin of the Glen, and a dozen others—yes, there were more than she expected here.

  As she came in, a tense figure detached itself from the nearest group, and Sir Lucan, the Queen’s champion, bore down on her.

  “How is our lady?” he demanded roughly.

  His eyes were red with weeping, and Guenevere’s heart strained to tell him what he longed to hear. Yet what was there to tell? After those few strange words, the Queen had closed her eyes again and said no more. And if that was news, then King Leogrance, her father, should be the first to hear. Guenevere nodded. “The Queen is well enough.”

  Across the hall, King Leogrance was waiting stiffly by the hearth. Beside him stood a tall, spare figure robed from head to foot in white, his hands folded inside his flowing sleeves. Guenevere hastened toward him. “Lord Taliesin!”

  The Chief Druid made a slow and formal bow. His face was grave beneath its crown of white hair. “Princess Guenevere, I am glad to see you well—and sad beyond measure at what brings us here today.”

  “My lord—” A rush of sorrow blocked Guenevere’s throat and she could not speak.

  “Shall we proceed?” asked the Druid gently. Before she could reply, he took her hand and led her toward the throne. With a start, she drew back, but Taliesin pressed on. “It must be, my lady,” he murmured softly as he seated her.

  The steps to the throne were firm, and the arms of the great bronze chair were cool beneath her grasp. Standing on the dais beside her, Taliesin raised his arms like wings. “My lords,” he called. He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Princess, will it please you to summon them to begin?”

  Guenevere spread her hands in greeting, and swallowed hard. “My lords,” she began, trying to sound as her mother always did. “Welcome to this Council. May I ask you all to take your seats?”

  There was a general murmur as the knights bowed and obeyed. King Leogrance took the place of honor as the Queen’s first champion and her chosen one. Taliesin moved to the seat at his right, and Sir Lucan, the new champion, to his left.

  As soon as all were seated, Taliesin rose to his feet. “Forgive us this hasty Council, lords. Not all your number can be present, as so many are out on knightly errands for the Queen. But they have all been sent for by the swiftest horse, and those nearest home should be with us soon.”

  Seated beside the Druid, King Leogrance cocked an eye. “Malgaunt?” he said dully.

  Taliesin bowed. “Prince Malgaunt was the first name in our minds. He should be with us any moment now.”

  Malgaunt.

  Guenevere shifted uneasily on her throne. “Where is he?”

  Taliesin smiled. “On the same errand that the Queen gave to me. She directed us to find out Merlin’s plans, as soon as she heard the rumors that he had been seen. Prince Malgaunt went to London at her bidding, to attend the gathering that Merlin summoned there.”

  “And?” A note of irritation sounded in Leogrance’s voice.

  Taliesin sighed. “Merlin still dreams of his days of glory, when Uther ruled and he sat at the King’s right hand. We should never forget that he was Pendragon born.”

  “Pendragon born?” Leogrance stirred in anger. “Merlin? He was no more than a bastard in the female line! It’s true his mother was one of the daug
hters of the royal house. But his father was never known, and the wench covered her shame with some mad tale about being raped by a devil, and never knowing a man! Merlin was the by-blow of all that. He has no claim to power!”

  “That never stopped any man from seeking it,” Taliesin said quietly. “Least of all one like my old Druid friend. And now at last Merlin thinks his time has come. He is playing for high stakes here—no less than all.”

  “So!” One of the knights swore softly under his breath. The rest exchanged glances, and looked away.

  A heavy silence settled in the room. Outside the window the white ribbon of the highway wandered off through the purple dusk. As Guenevere looked, the dark green hills shimmered before her sight, and a tramping filled her ears. Through the haze she saw kings in red robes and coronets riding toward London, proud princes in furs and velvet, great lords in silver mail, and rough chiefs with their battle-hardened warriors tramping behind. Newly made knights freshly come to chivalry, ladies on fine horses, and pink-cheeked squires eager for adventure were all riding to hear the word of Merlin, rallying to see his sign. The road to London lay choked with the dust of countless feet.

  And in London itself—

  Nothing.

  The scene faded, and she came to herself again. Her sight cleared and she drew a deep breath. “What can we do?”

  “No more than we have done, until we know what Merlin plans,” Taliesin said. A shaft of piercing sorrow crossed his face. “The Queen’s ailment is a grievous blow.” He paused, then held Guenevere in his pale stare. “Are you prepared, Princess? All our hopes lie with you now.”

  Guenevere shuddered. An answering frisson ran round the table as the knights gazed expectantly at her. King Leogrance turned on the Druid angrily. “With Guenevere? What are you saying, man?”

  “Guenevere will be Queen.”

  Guenevere forced herself to speak. “My mother is still Queen. When she recovers, she—”

  “Hear me, lady Guenevere.” Taliesin’s voice sang in her ears like the sea. “For time out of mind, your mother has held this kingdom, and the Sacred Isle, and the white towers of Camelot itself. She had it from her mother, and her mother had it from her mother, back to the days of the Old Ones, from the One who is the Mother of us all.”

  He paused. “Elsewhere it was not so—not in the north or west, nor in our neighboring country of the Middle Kingdom after the Christians came. They set their faces against the Great Mother, and where they found her worshiped, they tore down her shrines. But here in the Summer Country, we have kept the old ways. You are the only daughter of a ruling queen. This is your country, lady, and this is your time.”

  “Yes, yes!” Guenevere cried in agony, “One day, but not yet—”

  Taliesin held up his hand, and his voice took on an incantatory tone. “Remember Avalon. That is why the Queen sent you there.”

  Avalon, Avalon, sacred island, home …

  Guenevere’s senses swam. She saw the beloved landscape once again, the island floating in the pearly air, the green hill rising from the dark, still waters, its rounded slopes drifting with apple blossoms, its woodlands loud with birdsong and the flutter of white wings in every tree.

  Avalon, Avalon, home …

  Taliesin’s chant went on. “The Queen your mother lies in the land of waking sleep. Until she wakes, you are Queen here by the ancient Mother-right, and all men of the Summer Country are yours till they die.”

  He rose to his feet and motioned Lucan to stand. Lucan obeyed at once, grieving and deathly pale. Taliesin moved toward the throne and beckoned Lucan to follow him. As they reached the dais, Taliesin turned to face the younger man. “You are the Queen’s knight and her champion, hers in life and death. Do you swear to follow the lady Guenevere as you would the Queen, until the Queen recovers, or the Princess is Queen indeed?”

  Lucan reached for his sword. Kneeling before Guenevere, he lifted his swollen eyes to hers. He held his weapon by the blade and laid the heavy jeweled hilt between her hands. “By the Goddess-Mother of the land, by the faith of the Summer Country, by the order of our knighthood and my honor as a knight, by the Old Ones who made the world and all the new Gods waiting to be born—I swear.”

  Taliesin waved Lucan to his feet. “And now, my lady, shall we conclude our debate, or wait till Prince Malgaunt returns? He has been sent word to hasten back at once.”

  Malgaunt? she wanted to say. Let him stay away, we do far better without his dark face and sardonic smile. But the time had passed when she could be governed by her own desires. She had to think as her mother would have done. “If Merlin has been active in London, should Malgaunt go on there, as the Queen my mother planned?” she said at last.

  King Leogrance shook his head. “No, Malgaunt must return. We must have him here, ready for whatever comes.”

  “Until we know what is coming, Father, we do not know how to prepare.”

  “Child, we need men in a crisis. Malgaunt is one of the best fighting men we have!”

  Guenevere leaned forward passionately. “Surely we need to know what Merlin means to do?” She groaned under her father’s angry frown. Why does he not see?

  Taliesin turned to Lucan. “You are the Queen’s warlord, sir. In your advisement, what is it best to do?” Then he broke off, listening, and smiled. “Our dispute is resolved, I think. He comes.”

  A Druid’s ears can catch the sound of fishes whispering underwater, and the small thoughts of snakes as they slip sideways through the grass. Guenevere waited with the rest until she heard the far-off tramp of approaching feet and the sharp cries of the guards outside.

  “Ho there—within!”

  “Prince Malgaunt comes! Make way for the Prince and his knights!”

  Guenevere turned. A shaft of light split the gloom at the end of the hall. The high bronze doors groaned on their hinges, the torches flared, and looming against a bank of swords and shields, the man she feared was here.

  CHAPTER 6

  As he came in, Guenevere saw the dogs on the hearth growl and back down—no creature loved Malgaunt except himself. Yet his bold gaze and hard brown body always drew women’s eyes, and he never lacked a bedmate when he wished.

  Why did she fear him so? He was neither tall nor strongly built, and the clothes he wore hung on a wiry frame. The lines on his face showed a man of thirty or so hard years, but she knew his restless moods were those of a willful child. Now his tawny eyes were dark with meaning as he bore down on her, ignoring the greetings of the other knights. At a glance he took in Lucan and Taliesin standing before the dais and Guenevere ensconced on the throne. “So!” he hissed.

  Slowly he twitched his travel-stained cloak from his shoulders and held her gaze as he let it drop to the floor. “So, Princess! Or should I call you Queen? No kiss for your cousin, then, no welcome for the traveler gone on the service of the realm?”

  “Good evening, Uncle.”

  Uncle, cousin, too near kin for me …

  His hot eyes on her, there it was again, the old blend of resentment and lust. Guenevere nodded as lightly as she could. “Welcome back to your country, sir, in the Queen’s name and my own.”

  Malgaunt flung his mud-caked gauntlets to the floor. “My country, you say? Only under the Queen my sister, and now, as it seems, under you?”

  Guenevere closed her eyes. Do not mind him, her mother used to say when Malgaunt’s cruelties were too much to bear. Fate had made him a puny, late-born child always lagging far behind the Queen, and for that he would never forgive the cruelty of the Gods. He was the son of a lesser, later union too, not like the Queen his half-sister, who was born of her mother’s marriage to her first champion and chosen one. But Malgaunt had a fiercer quarrel with the Great Ones, Guenevere knew. Why had they made him male in a land where women were born to rule? Why was he born her kinsman, when the heat of his loins drove him to look on her in quite another way?

  Yet cousins could be married …

  He would have thought of
that …

  He was taunting her now, determined to draw blood. “Under you, Lady Guenevere?” he sneered. The lingering emphasis made his lewd meaning plain. “Indeed any man who served under you would find himself well rewarded for his pains.” His eyes raked her up and down. “You have your mother’s beauty—do you have her other tastes as well?” He glanced at Lucan with an insulting stare.

  She would not let him rile her. “I sit here, sir, only until the Queen resumes her place. You went forth at her bidding. Will you tell us what you know?”

  Malgaunt laughed bitterly. “Oh, it is true. The sword in the stone, everything the madman Merlin claimed!”

  Merlin again.

  Guenevere’s stomach turned.

  “What?” Leogrance stared. “You mean the assembly Merlin called took place?”

  “It did indeed!” Malgaunt snorted. “From far and near, kings, lords, and chieftains came to answer Merlin’s call.”

  Taliesin raised his eyes. “And the miracle he promised, the sign of the new King?”

  Malgaunt grew pale. “There was a sword set fast in a block of stone. It stood in the churchyard of the Christians, by the great new place of worship they have built for their God. Whoever should be rightful King of all the Britons would draw it out, Merlin declared. Many tried, and every one of them failed. Then up stepped some great lout and pulled it out, while Merlin grinned like a gargoyle and looked on.”

  “King of all the Britons?” Lucan leaned forward urgently, gripping the handle of his sword. “So then—it will be war.”

  Malgaunt nodded, his rage breaking through. “It cannot be avoided. In the face of the whole assembly, the boy from nowhere was proclaimed High King. Merlin declared that he is Arthur, son of Uther Pendragon, the lost heir of Uther’s kingdom, and so, by descent, King over us all.”

  King Leogrance gave an angry gasp. “But no man can be High King by descent!”

  Old Sir Niamh hotly backed him up. “The title only comes by making war!”

  Sir Lovell nodded. “Just as Uther won it long ago, when all the lesser kings agreed to follow him.”