Guenevere, Queen of the Summer Country

by Rosalind Miles

  “My warmest thanks.” He bowed and turned to go, then turned back, frowning strangely. Guenevere searched for words. “So, when we meet, sir, you will tell us what you want?”

  He fixed her with his clear gaze of command. “Oh, I know that already,” he said calmly. “I want you.”

  CHAPTER 15

  “You and your force of arms,” Arthur’s voice rang out around the Great Hall. “My dearest wish is to come to terms with the Summer Country, and with all of you here.”

  Seated on her throne, Guenevere listened impassively. Is that all? her heart cried. Of course, her reason chided harshly, what else?

  Arthur paused and glanced around, feeling for a response. But the knights and lords of the Council were stone-faced as he pressed on. “I want you as our ally, and I ask for your military help against our joint enemies.” His voice echoed around the vast space to the vault above. “I want a pledge of mutual aid against hostile attack, each to support the other in case of invasion or aggression, whatsoever it be.”

  He was making a good impression, Guenevere noted, there was no doubt of that. Standing between her throne and the Council table he looked entirely at ease, and his urgent sense of purpose filled the hall. His tall, powerful bulk put him head and shoulders above any man there except Sir Gawain at his side. And he was royally dressed in a blue tunic of fine velvet and kidskin breeches as soft as silk, with a gold fillet around his brows, and gold at his neck and wrists. But the kings who had lost all this finery must be planning a royal revenge. Arthur was well advised, Guenevere thought with a sudden chill, to make as many friends as he could.

  The gifts he had brought would win hearts, she knew. Great plates and bowls of silver, goblets, and ewers of gold spilled from a chest borne in by four strong men. For the late Queen, now for Guenevere, he had brought a bolt of wild silk the color of an April evening, and a crown of amethysts. From a pouch at his waist he drew out pearls and rubies and a great tourmaline shining like a star veiled in a cloud. He cast them all before her feet, and the setting sun bathed every one in fire.

  As he offered the gifts, the members of the Council and the knights standing around were slowly weighing him up.

  “The pledge of our aid?” demanded King Leogrance. “A troop or two of our fighting men in time of need? Words and promises of goodwill? Is that your desire?”

  Arthur bowed. “It is.”

  “Well, lords?” Guenevere asked, glancing round the room.

  How strange that so much had changed, while so much had not! Glittering in his finest array, Lucan had boldly stationed himself at the right hand of the throne, as if he were still the undisputed champion of the Queen. Her father the King, grim-faced as ever, still shifted irritably in his seat while Taliesin waited calmly, his hands in his sleeves. Also in attendance were the other lords that a full Council like this required. And lurking in the rear, Guenevere noted with a start, was one she never thought to see hanging back like this.

  But Malgaunt’s defeat at the Queen-making had cost him dear. Looking gray-faced and sick, he held himself aloof from the rest of the Council, his hand restlessly playing with the hilt of his sword. His only companions were two of the lesser knights. A pang of pity swept Guenevere as she watched. She had to try to reconcile Malgaunt now.

  But if Lucan noticed Malgaunt’s misery, he did not care. “As your warlord, my Queen,” he began with a flourish, bowing to Guenevere, “I second King Arthur’s request. Any peace in the Middle Kingdom will bring peace to us too.” He flashed a brilliant smile. “And the sooner we give the King the assurances he needs, the sooner he will be free to return to his own lands. For it seems he has much to do there, and we must all wish him well.”

  King Leogrance nodded darkly. “Yes indeed.” He turned on Arthur. “Surely the wars you face will drain all the strength you have? How do we know our men will only be deployed to protect our borders with your land?” He laughed harshly. “We don’t want blood of the Summer Country shed to make you High King!”

  “A fair concern, sire,” Arthur said stiffly. “But my sole desire is to regain my father’s lands. I do not think of making myself High King. If I can win and hold the Middle Kingdom, my life will be well spent.”

  Guenevere shook her head. “If we make alliance, King Arthur,” she began, “and—”

  My sole desire, he’d said. If I can only win the Middle Kingdom …

  An idea of such raw violence took hold of her that it stopped her breath.

  Goddess, Mother—is that why you sent him here?

  She could not speak. With a swift glance, Taliesin came to her aid. “I think our men know who they fight for, sire.” He smiled at the King. “And if we offer King Arthur the promise of border patrols, I believe they will remain just that.”

  “My lady?” It was Sir Niamh, once the late Queen’s champion and chosen one, then one of her wisest counselors and a trusted friend. He gestured toward Lucan and Taliesin. “These lords speak for us all, I think. Let us make treaty with the Middle Kingdom to hold our borders safe. That is the way to bring peace to all.”

  A chorus of approval followed his words.

  Guenevere found her voice. “So, lords, is this your wish?” She turned to the King. “Does this meet with your approval, sire?”

  “It must,” he nodded moodily, “if all are agreed.”

  “Then let a scrivener stand by,” Guenevere announced. “We will proceed to treaty tonight.”

  “My warmest thanks, Your Majesty.” Arthur’s face was a study in delight.

  A general sense of satisfaction warmed them all. Then a voice like the wind off the graveyard cut through the air. “And is this all?”

  It was Malgaunt, thrusting forward from the back of the group, his face deformed by an inhuman smile. “Something tells me that we have not heard the last of our visitor’s demands.”

  From the look in Arthur’s eye, Guenevere could see that Malgaunt had hit home.

  What did Malgaunt know?

  Malgaunt, Malgaunt … will it never end?

  Arthur raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment, and smiled. “No indeed, sir,” he returned courteously. “We seek your friendship too to learn from you. The Summer Country was loved by your late Queen like her own child. But my poor land has been prey to cruel scavengers, where the evil have grown rich. I must have men pure-hearted enough to drive them out, men who won’t shrink from vengeance, but who would not tread the path of evil themselves.”

  He bowed to Guenevere, and once again she saw the flame of purpose in his eyes. He gestured toward Lucan and Sir Niamh. “Your knights of the Summer Country are famed far and wide. Your order of chivalry is the finest known. The brotherhood of the table where they meet has become the ideal of all.”

  He raised his arm in homage. On the wall high above their heads hung the Round Table of the Goddess, where it had been since Camelot began. Heavy with power, it smiled down on them all, its great face as lambent and inscrutable as the moon. Beneath it stood a hundred great chairs lining the wall, each with its own finely carved canopy bearing a knight’s name inscribed in gold.

  Arthur moved among them, speechless with awe. He reached out his hand toward the gilded lettering. “Here Sits Sir Lucan,” he read under his breath. His tracing fingers moved on down the line. “Sir Niamh … Sir Lovell the Bold.…” He breathed like a man entranced, his eyes never leaving the stately row of seats. “So each knight has his place, his and his alone?”

  “Just so, my lord,” Guenevere agreed. “And if any knight is absent”—she indicated the deep red squares of tasseled velvet lying folded on the seats—“a cover protects the canopy and keeps his name bright till he takes his seat again.”

  “So!” Arthur sighed. “And how did it come here?”

  Guenevere paused. It was a favorite tale of the Summer Country, one she had first heard in her mother’s arms. “It was a gift to us from the Goddess herself. Long, long ago, the Great Mother lived with the Shining Ones here in the Summer Co
untry. Then there were more worlds for Her to rule, and She had to leave us to take care of them. The Shining Ones went with Her to the astral plane, to dwell forever in the world between the worlds.”

  A sudden memory of her mother made her catch her breath. She paused for a moment to compose herself. “But She left behind the boldest and fairest of their maidens to be our first Queen here. The bravest young men also chose to stay, to be the Queen’s knights and defend her to the death. She took the best of them for her first champion and chosen one, and from them all our queens have descended since. And ever since then too, our leading warriors become knights of the Queen. They have the right to sit at the Round Table, and do battle to become Queen’s champion. But their true lives are vowed to service and chivalry. They live to fight against cruelty, to defend the right, to protect all women, and uphold the weak against the strong.”

  Arthur approached the Round Table, his face alight with dreams. I have knights who are ready to move on to another plane. Kay, yes, he is worthy. Bedivere has a secret inner grace, and Gawain is the bravest soul alive. Sagramore, Griflet, and the others, I can bring them with me, too. If I can shape this rough force that I have—if I can raise the ideal of what we might be—and if this sweet queen will make some of her country’s fine horses over to me, for there is no knighthood without chivalry …

  Guenevere watched the dreams fleeting over Arthur’s face with something approaching a mother’s tender joy. See how the hope takes him, how the vision struggles to be born …

  And once again her own white thought bloomed in her head. Arthur, Arthur, I have had sight of the future, hear me—

  Malgaunt’s vicious laugh shattered the dream. “You want the Round Table of the Goddess, sir?” He jabbed a contemptuous finger at Guenevere. “That table is the dowry of our queens. Only the man who marries Guenevere will get his hands on it!” He leaped forward to crow in Arthur’s startled face. “A challenge to any knight! For she is pledged already—married to her own will and desire!”

  A mortal silence fell on all the room.

  “And for you, young sir.” The taunt was unmistakable. “I fear that even the Round Table of the Goddess cannot help you in your quest.” Malgaunt rasped on, glaring at Arthur like a maddened dog. “At Caerleon you beat six kings, that’s true. But let King Lot rally all his vassal kings, and next time you will face twelve of them and more, all hungry for your head.” He gave a cruel, cracked laugh. “And you’ll need more than any Round Table, sir, to save you then!”

  Malgaunt—

  Shaming yourself and me, dishonoring a guest, insulting a king? Is there no end to your hating, hateful man?

  Guenevere surged to her feet. “Where is the scrivener?” she cried imperiously. “We will make the treaty at once! This meeting is concluded. Conduct King Arthur to my apartments for refreshments while we wait. Thank you, my lords, for your attendance here!”

  She raised both her arms as she had seen her mother do. “Go! Go with the blessing of the Great One. May she bring you all safely on your way.”

  Arthur shot her a glance and strode stiffly out. One by one the others bowed and withdrew, and Guenevere was alone. Only her servants and attendants, she noted drearily, lined the walls in silence, awaiting her will.

  Her will?

  Married to her will? What did Malgaunt mean?

  Yes, on Avalon, for sure she had thought she would never marry—that she could live the life of the Lady and all the women there. I wanted so much to own my own soul, to rule my body, to do as I choose, to enjoy the freedom that married women have to forgo. But now …

  Now Arthur waited for her in the Queen’s chamber to finalize the treaty they had agreed on. And with Malgaunt’s foul insults and innuendos poisoning the air, how could she look him in the eye?

  Married to her will?

  Was that true?

  No.

  But now this man is here …

  A flood of sensations seized her, and she burned from head to foot. Slowly she left the Great Hall; more and more slowly she paced the long corridors with her women silently following, till she reached the Queen’s quarters where Arthur awaited her.

  In the corridor outside, Gawain, Kay, and Bedivere stood awkwardly around. Avoiding her eye, they bowed as she approached, and saw her in. Inside the chamber Arthur stood alone before the fire on the hearth. “I have dismissed the chamber attendants,” he said coolly. “Can these women with you wait outside too?”

  Wide-eyed as rabbits, they shot off without a word. Guenevere gasped with rage. “By what right, my lord, do you order my servants now?”

  “Hush, lady,” he said absently. He was very pale. “You and I have things to discuss alone.”

  “The treaty will be ready just as soon as—”

  He came nearer, raising his hand as if to place a finger on her lips. “I do not mean the treaty.”

  Guenevere pulled back furiously. “Not the treaty? Then what?”

  In the low chamber, his fair head seemed to knock against the beams.

  “Why, I told you before,” he said simply. He looked into her eyes. “Merlin has told me much. But I must ask for myself the things I want to know.”

  Through the casement window, the sky beyond his head was spangled with bright stars. He took another step toward her now. “Tell me one thing, lady. Prince Malgaunt, your noble kinsman—when do you marry him?”

  Guenevere’s heart thundered in her breast. “Malgaunt?”

  “Merlin told me that you and he were betrothed to wed. And tonight he said you were pledged—married to your choice—though in truth I did not understand what he meant—”

  “Malgaunt?” She could not contain her rage. “I would not marry Malgaunt to save my life!”

  He beamed with joy. “Then, Lady Guenevere, would you marry me?”

  CHAPTER 16

  “Will you marry me?”

  Guenevere could not breathe.

  Gods, speed my words, Arthur groaned inwardly. Let me not stumble now. “You promised the people a champion, and a queen needs a warlord with a strong right arm,” he urged tensely, his eyes fixed on her face. “For my part, a king must have a queen. My people long for a wedding. All my knights and lords in Caerleon will want me to marry to consolidate my rule.” He gave a rueful smile. “Even Merlin agrees, though Kay teases me that Merlin will always expect to come first in my heart.” Outside the dusk was falling, and a waning moon rose slowly in the sky. All the stars of evening shone around Arthur’s head as he came closer and took her by the hand. “And you—oh, lady, the whole world has heard of your loveliness, and you come of a brave line. Your mother was called Battle Raven, was she not? And her beauty too was sung in every hall.”

  He laughed self-consciously, and his color rose. “I am no poet, but the very thought of you stirred my soul. Then Merlin told me to put away such hopes. You were betrothed to your kinsman Malgaunt, he said, and the two of you were to wed. He said that you were born to love another man.”

  Guenevere shuddered with dread. In a dark corner of the chamber she could see a shadowy shape of a man half turning toward her, then turning his face away.

  Merlin?

  Her unknown lover?

  Who?

  A chill of fear invaded her to the bone. “Merlin—where is he?” Arthur frowned. “I do not know. I thought he would be here. He was coming ahead to make a treaty with you. So I set out to follow him and somehow overtook him on the way. Which left me the honor of calling first on you.”

  He reached for her hands and brought them to his lips. “Lady Guenevere—” He stumbled over her name, and his voice was thick with feeling. “I’m a poor wooer, but I offer you a heart as true and valiant as your own. Will you marry me? Two lands like ours—two rulers like ourselves—could we not build a kingdom together, the like of which has never been seen?”

  She could hardly speak. But once again the white vision bloomed inside her head. “A kingdom, my lord?” she said huskily. “Why not a world?�
�

  TO MARRY ARTHUR …

  To be his Queen …

  Guenevere set little store by the stormy Council meeting the next day when Arthur made his offer known. She informed them all that she had not yet made her choice, and sat back to hear the worst of what could be said. She was prepared for her father’s resistance, Lucan’s stunned disbelief, and Malgaunt’s spite. Nothing mattered to her as long as Taliesin blessed her with his smile. And only one other voice counted with her at all.

  She turned to Arthur as they left the Great Hall. “Will you go with me to the Lady of the Lake?”

  He smiled tenderly. “Lady, I will go with you anywhere.”

  MALGAUNT STOOD ASIDE as the rest of the lords and knights left the Great Hall. At the last minute he leaned forward to pluck Lucan by the sleeve. “Sir—” His white teeth gleamed at the champion. “May I beg a moment of your time?”

  Pale and sweating, numb with growing shock, Lucan knew that the time had come to lay aside old feuds. “For sure, Prince Malgaunt,” he forced out. “I am yours to command.”

  “This will surprise you, lord. But I think for once that our interests coincide.” Malgaunt stared at Lucan broodingly. “It seems that our Queen means more by this youth than we thought.”

  Lucan clenched his teeth. “When he appeared at the Queen-making, I thought it was all a trick of the Gods.”

  “Or of that old wretch Taliesin,” Malgaunt agreed sardonically. “Like you, he only wanted to keep me out!”

  “I thought the Old Ones had sent a spirit shape, or even the God himself, to aid the Queen in her time of need. I never thought he’d still be there in the light of day.”

  “And when he’d vanished, she would choose one of us?” Malgaunt grinned. “Yourself, perhaps?”

  “She had to choose me; I was sure of that!” Lucan swept on, careless of giving offense. “And even when we knew who he was, I thought that all he wanted was to get back to the Middle Kingdom with the promise of extra men.”

  Malgaunt nodded. “I knew that he might want her. I did not think that she would consider him, when—”