Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  Even now I could feel Aggrivane’s hand in mine as we wound our ways to unknown fates. I knew with absolute certainty that as my body drew ever closer to Dyfed, a small shard of my soul journeyed northeast to Lothian with him.

  I could barely breathe as I waited outside the large oak doors of the great hall. Corbenic was a large holding, much more imposing than my own home, and standing here surrounded by guards did nothing to make me feel welcome. Inside, Lord Pellinor and Lady Lyonesse were holding court. With a murmur of voices, they attended to the room full of courtiers, common folk, and emissaries, each with their own agenda or case to plead.

  The men around me shifted anxiously and stomachs rumbled audibly as the minutes ticked by. My feet were beginning to get stiff and sore when a servant emerged from the suddenly silent room to beckon us in. When I stepped through the doorway, I was greeted by a press of people on either side, strange faces peering at me with open curiosity or obvious distain. I began to sweat under the weight of their judgment, and I tried to ignore the feeling I was being paraded in front of the entire court like a criminal.

  Pellinor’s tall, thin frame came into view first. He was standing in front of his throne with a warm smile on his face. A few new wrinkles creased his face and less of his close-cropped black hair was visible along his forehead, but otherwise he appeared much the same as when I had seen him last, two summers before I went to Avalon.

  “Guinevere, welcome.” He came forward when we reached the dais and embraced me warmly. “I am so happy your father accepted my invitation. It has been far too long since we have had the pleasure of your company.” He regarded me with sincere appreciation, the way I had expected my own father to receive me.

  Ignoring the gaping crowd, he continued in his familial tone. “My, you have grown. You are not the only one who has come of age in the passing years.” He put out his arm, and a beautiful girl about my age with long strawberry-blond hair trotted to his side. “You remember Elaine. The last time the two of you were together, you were covered in mud, do you remember?” He laughed lightly.

  Elaine grinned at me, and although my body was visibly shaking, I couldn’t help but be warmed by her presence. I remembered quite clearly. It was Elaine who had led us into the bog, chasing after one of her many fantasies. Time had dulled the particulars, but I remembered enough.

  My heart was beginning to warm and the slightest hint of a smile tugged at my lips when I caught the eye of the woman perched in the throne next to Pellinor. She had draped herself in such a way as to appear larger, more imposing than I knew her to be. With a sudden chill, I understood it was she who was holding court and that she was simply indulging her husband’s kindness. Her eyes were fixed on my forehead, and her jaw was taut. It was clear she had not been forewarned about my religious views and was not pleased.

  Having held my gaze long enough to make her authority clear, Lyonesse rose and embraced me stiffly. “Welcome, Guinevere.” Her words were kind, but her greeting held no warmth.

  Lyonesse had never been overly affectionate, but her actions were much more formal than I recalled from my last visit. Her brief embrace threw me off balance, and I stumbled as she released me and we both returned to our places.

  Pellinor too took his seat beneath a large painting in which a woman lovingly gazed on her child while the father watched serenely but protectively from behind them. In the background, an older man and woman raised their eyes skyward in silent prayer of thanksgiving. I would have thought it a portrait of Pellinor’s family, if the child had not been a boy.

  “Gentlemen,” Pellinor said to the assembled guards, “I release you from your service. You may tell Lord Leodgrance that his daughter is safely in my care. My men will show you to the barracks, where you may dine and rest before beginning your journey back to Northgallis in the morning.”

  As the clamor of armor and footsteps receded, I was pleased to note the crowd had grown considerably smaller. Besides Pellinor’s family, there now remained only a few people I did not recognize, among them a strikingly beautiful woman with porcelain skin and a wild curly mane of hair that was more orange than red, brighter even than Morgan’s in the sunlight. She observed me with a strange mixture of emotions, as if she knew enough to pity me yet was dying to learn more. Her nearly concealed smile told me that she was amused by my situation.

  I stood silently, still trembling before Pellinor and Lyonesse, unsure how to proceed. If I should speak, I could not; my throat was dry and my tongue seemed glued to my palate.

  Lyonesse gazed down at me, her sapphire eyes hard and disapproving, still boring into my forehead as though she could remove the crescent by force of will. It was then that I realized she made me more uncomfortable than Argante had on my first day in Avalon. That thought sent a shiver down my spine, while beads of cold sweat made an appearance on my forehead and on the back of my neck. I looked to Pellinor and Elaine for reassurance, but Lyonesse quickly drew my attention back to her, exactly where she wanted it.

  “I must admit I had serious reservations about allowing you to live here—and I still do—but my husband promises me you will behave with the utmost decorum and mind your place. Is that correct?” Her voice was grim, as though she held little hope regarding my ability to comply.

  I nodded mutely.

  She seemed the tiniest bit assuaged and relaxed slightly in her chair. “I know the story of how you came to be here, the real reason why our invitation was accepted.” She eyed her husband accusingly.

  Pellinor was nonplussed, but I had a feeling it was all an act.

  “With the addition of you to the household, we now have three mouths to feed and three husbands to find.” She gestured to her daughter, who immediately blushed scarlet. “Elaine, of course, will be no problem, but I question the influence you and the other one may have on her, especially together.” She threw the curly-haired woman a look of repugnance.

  Why does she not call the girl by name? That simple act of disrespect rankled me.

  “I do not want our home to become a house of ill repute. Given your history”—it was clear that she was speaking now both to me and the curious girl in the corner—“that could be a very difficult assumption to avoid.”

  “Be reasonable,” Pellinor interjected. “Isolde and Guinevere have done nothing to earn your ire. Past offenses are nothing to us now. What good is it for Guinevere to have come here if she is not given a chance to begin anew? Even our Lord and Savior did not turn away the Magdalene from his companions, and he often dined with prostitutes and tax collectors. We owe Guinevere the same compassion and forgiveness.”

  Inwardly, I took offense at Pellinor’s scriptural reference, but he meant well, so I ignored him.

  “But those people were repentant of their sins, husband,” Lyonesse retorted, her voice becoming higher and harsher with each word. “Guinevere has done nothing to indicate she regrets what she has done or to show firm purpose of amendment. Therefore, we must be on our guard.” Her attention was back on me now. “You will be the model of righteousness while you live within our walls, do you understand? If I hear even the faintest whisper that you have done or even thought of anything that may be morally questionable, I will turn you out without a second thought.” Her eyes blazed fire. “I advise you to have as little interaction with Elaine as possible until you have proven yourself to be true to the path of virtue—”

  “Lyonesse, you cannot forbid two friends from being together,” Pellinor interrupted, exasperated. “It is against nature, and it is not compassionate. Think how you would feel if someone did the same to you. Guinevere and Elaine are practically kin; you cannot rend the garment of family without displeasing God.”

  For a moment Lyonesse was speechless, thrown by Pellinor’s accusation of un-Christian behavior, but she recovered and quickly changed the subject. “So be it. But your visits must be supervised.”

  She stood, descen
ded two of the three steps that separated us and stood glowering down at me. Silently, she scrutinized my face, my dress, and, I suspected, my body beneath. She took a deep breath and let it out with an exaggerated sigh.

  “You seem to be in good health, and you are comely enough. It will be a challenge finding a good Christian man willing to marry you since you are a branded woman.” She started to touch the mark on my forehead with trembling fingers, but then pulled away, as if she feared being burned. “But I have faced bigger challenges in my time, and I am determined not to fail.

  “The mark may mean little if we can show that you have changed and embraced the true faith,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “But the bigger problem lies in your virtue, or lack thereof.” She smirked. “Normally I would call the healer and have her publicly certify your virginity, but since we all know that would be a fruitless gesture, we will have to improve your spiritual virtue instead. It will be cold comfort when a man realizes he has been bound to a used woman, but it is the best we can do under the circumstances.”

  Pellinor started to object once again.

  Lyonesse silenced him with a wave of her hand and went on. “We attend Holy Mass at dawn every morning. I expect you to accompany us and show the proper respect. Perhaps you will even learn the meaning of true faith.”

  I desperately wanted to remark that my chances were better of learning it from a sermon than from her actions, but I bit my tongue.

  “It is late and you must be tired from your journey,” Lyonesse said, showing compassion for the first time. “You.” She snapped her fingers at Isolde. “Show her to her chambers.”

  Isolde threw Lyonesse a look of clear distain as she emerged from the shadows near the wall and took my arm, leading me up the stairs like a lamb to slaughter.

  I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, trying to comprehend what had just occurred.

  “Is that their idea of a welcome?” I was trying to reconcile the warm memories of my youth with the odd greeting I had just received.

  Isolde shrugged. “It’s normal, if that is what you are asking. Pellinor is a just man ruling with patience and compassion, while Lyonesse is ever lording her self-importance over everyone around her. They are rather judgmental of those who do not conform to their standards, though.” Isolde opened one of my trunks and fished around in the contents. “I dare say that an Avalonian priestess is nearly as bad as Irish royalty in their minds. But I would think you would have anticipated as much.”

  I shrugged. “No, I did not. I—I cannot remember them acting like this when my family came to visit.” A stab of pain hit my heart at the word “family,” and my brow furrowed involuntarily. “Maybe I was just too young to notice, but I think they have changed.”

  Isolde turned from the bed to face me. “That was nothing. When I first arrived, Lyonesse would have had me shackled and handed over like a prisoner.” A sly smile spread across her face. “But she had to receive me like a second daughter, with all the pageantry and circumstance accorded to my rank, and it nearly killed her.” She was grinning.

  Curious now, I raised my head to meet her green eyes. “How did the heir to the Irish throne come to live in the kingdom of Dyfed?”

  Isolde stopped unfolding my garments and looked off into space, cocking her head to one side and pursing her lips. “Actually, that is one thing we have in common. It was your father’s idea.”

  My confusion must have been plain to read because she smiled.

  “Do you not remember? You were there when my fate was sealed, or so they tell me. All of nine years old, you were sitting at your mother’s knee when the council of western lords met with my mother’s ambassador and agreed to trade my freedom for a promise of peace between Ireland, Gwynedd, Dyfed, and Cornwall. My presence here, and the promise of a strong marriage to some unnamed British noble, is all that stops my people from devouring this coast. Your father offered me up then to protect his seaports from plunder just as he offered you up to placate that Powys pig, Evrain.”

  I looked down at the floor, seeking the shadow of my feet in the firelight. “So we mean nothing to them, any of them?” I asked in barely a whisper.

  Isolde snorted and I started. “Oh, we mean plenty to them. We are the most valuable currency there is to Christian men.” She thought for a moment. “Well, we’d be more valuable as virgins, but you understand my point.”

  I met her gaze. “So you’re not. . .”

  “No.”

  “But what about Lyonesse’s test?”

  Isolde laughed, a hearty, throaty sound of genuine joy. “You believed that nonsense? Guinevere, did all those years on that isle rot your brain? Lyonesse is all talk, a liar determined to sell her shell of Christian perfection to everyone, including herself. But Pellinor is her biggest mark. Sometimes I think she fears he would send her away at the slightest hint of imperfection. So she overcompensates. There is no healer, no test. And even if there was, such things are easy enough to fake,” she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

  I eyed her suspiciously, wondering how she came to such knowledge.

  Isolde put aside the item she had picked up and looked at me purposefully. “Life in this house is one extravagant game. You will learn to play it, and I will teach you how.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “It’s actually kind of fun.”

  She sat down on the bed, motioning for me to join her. “But to win the game, you must first understand the other players.” She looked impish. “You were probably too young the last time you were here to understand the details. Let’s start with Pellinor. He claims to be a descendant of Joseph of Arimathea, the man in whose tomb their Christ was buried. According to legend, he was a tin trader, and after the death of Jesus, he escaped along the trade routes to Britain, where he hoped Roman law wouldn’t be able to find him.”

  Isolde grew serious, her eyes distant as she recalled the tale she had no doubt heard countless times. “As Pellinor tells it, the prophecy of the Grail was spoken by the apostle John after Christ was laid to rest. In appreciation for Joseph’s generosity, the seventh child of the seventh generation after his would bear a man of unparalleled purity, second only to Christ himself, and that man would bring the world the gift of the chalice of Christ. Some say that the one who bears it will never die, while others claim it will bestow everlasting peace on the land in which it is held.”

  “But that is ridiculous,” I said. “It is no relic of their god but one of the treasures of Avalon. It is highly symbolic in our faith, but it has no magical properties, at least not that anyone in Avalon speaks of.”

  Isolde glared at me warningly. “Do not let those words, or any like them, escape your lips in this house. If you do, Pellinor will send you back to your father before you have had the chance to blink.” She gripped my shoulders, looking me square in the eye. “You must understand that this prophecy is all that Pellinor has. His sons have disappointed him, so he has no hope for a stronger kingdom until Elaine marries, and given his high standards for her, that is unlikely to be any time soon.”

  My eyebrows knitted together in frustration. I was about to ask her to clarify when she interrupted with a question.

  “Did you see the painting behind Pellinor’s throne?”

  “Yes, I assumed it was of his family—ancestors perhaps.”

  She nodded. “You are correct, in a fashion. You see, that is a painting of what the Christians call ‘the holy family.’ The man is Joseph, foster father of Jesus the Christ; the woman is Mary, his mother; and the child is Jesus. But what makes this painting unique is that it also contains two others: Joachim and Anne, the parents of Mary.”

  I stared at her, thoroughly confused, despite my basic knowledge of Christianity. I failed to see what that had to do with Pellinor.

  Isolde sighed, seeing I was not making the connection. “To Pellinor, this painting represents his past, pres
ent, and future. He believes he is related to a man who performed a great service for this savior-child. He is the sixth generation since that fateful event. Elaine is the seventh child of the seventh generation, if you count all of Pellinor’s children, living and dead. Therefore in Pellinor’s mind, his progeny—Elaine—is fated to bear the man who will discover the Grail. That makes poor Elaine sacrosanct, for she will bear the most perfect man to live since Christ. In a way, she is to Pellinor a reflection of the Virgin Mary, which makes him and Lyonesse like Joachim and Anne.”

  I nodded. Somehow this was beginning to make sense. “But who then will be Joseph? You cannot mean to say that Pellinor believes Elaine will conceive miraculously? I do not think that their god would allow a wonder of that magnitude twice—if he even did once.”

  Isolde laughed. “No. Pellinor’s mind is still partly anchored in reality. He knows she must have a husband for the child of prophecy to be born. That is why he has already begun compiling a list of possible suitors. Lyonesse says they will be brought to Dyfed to interview for her hand as soon as Elaine’s monthly courses begin.”

  “And Elaine? What does she think about all of this prophecy? That must be a mighty weight to bear.”

  Isolde shrugged. “It is hard to say, really. Pellinor keeps her locked away in her room most of the time. I keep her company when I can, but that is only when Lyonesse is out. She wouldn’t want her daughter associating with one such as me. Honestly, I think Elaine is a little . . . well, eccentric. If you had that pair as parents, you would be as well. All of that time alone has made her prone to mistake her imaginings for real events—although that could partly be my fault too.” She smiled sheepishly, and her cheeks reddened.

  “What?” I stammered, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

  She ducked her head and stood, pacing to avoid my gaze. “As a good Christian lady, Elaine is not allowed any books other than those the tutor supplies her and the lives of the saints the nuns let her borrow—all rare and valuable resources that must be returned in a timely manner. I noticed when the bards come to entertain, she is enraptured by their tales of romance and adventure, so I started sharing with her the legends of my homeland, the very same stories of tragic love and magical creatures I was told as a child. The difference is that as I grew, I learned what was real and what was not. I don’t think Elaine has the same ability.” She paused, facing me now. Her brow was creased with concern. “I think she believes some of the stories are true. Maybe she has convinced herself she is one or more of the characters, I don’t know. Not long ago, she told me she had seen a vision of her future husband in her mirror.”