Arthur led me onward around the room. Another window, a twin of the first, separated Ambrosius from his brother. I looked up into features that bore a distinct resemblance to my husband’s. I knew before Arthur even spoke that this was Uther Pendragon.
Arthur put an arm around me and gently urged me forward. “Father, may I present to you my wife, Guinevere of Northgallis.”
Smiling with a mixture of embarrassment and admiration for my husband, I curtsied before the mute figure. “My lord, I only wish I could have met you in this world.”
As I raised my head, I took in the image next to Uther, the only woman in the group. I recognized her immediately for I had met her only a short time before. This was Queen Iggraine. In her full regal regalia, strong and confident, she stood in stark contrast to the docile nun who had witnessed my marriage and coronation while shrouded in heavy black robes.
Arthur seemed to understand my musings. “My mother was a mighty queen, or so they tell me. She ruled her family’s ancestral kingdom of Dyfnaint with her first husband, Goloris, for several years. When my sister was about seven or eight—I can’t remember now—Uther visited Tintagel. As Ana tells it, Uther was smitten with my mother when he first laid eyes on her. I’m not sure how Ana could have known that at such a young age, but to this day she maintains her certainty.
“Uther called on Goloris and his men to help defend against the Saxons as they were pushing west from the old Regni lands and soon would threaten Dyfnaint. Uther’s army was victorious, but Goloris perished. My mother eventually wed Uther, becoming high queen. This ring was his gift to her, forged from the brooch, as a wedding present.” Arthur took the ring and slipped it onto the largest finger of my right hand. “And now I wish you to have it. You are part of this family and part of its story now.” He kissed both of my hands. Arthur’s gaze turned from me to the image of his mother. “I hadn’t intended to tell you my whole family history today, but there you have it. I hope to come to know yours sometime.”
“You will,” I assured him. My attention was drawn to an empty niche beyond another pair of windows. “What is this for then?”
Arthur looked into the shadows of the alcove. “That place is reserved for my own statue.” He turned to me. “And I hope yours as well.”
My cheeks flushed as I embraced him. “I would be honored.”
“Come.” He tugged on my arm. “I want to show you why I did not bring you here for the wedding.”
We traversed yet more hallways leading deep into the center of the castle. Arthur paused before opening a single door. As we stepped into an enclosed courtyard, a rush of cold air raised my skirts, bringing goose pimples to my legs.
I gasped. Before me was a perfect replica of the labyrinth that coiled around the Tor in Avalon. Borders of stone and bush formed the boundaries of the gravel pathway, which wound inward rather than up as the one on the Tor did. Outside the circle was a carpet of grass bordered on three sides by the castle. A high wall guarded the fourth side, affording complete privacy.
“The garden was just completed. I was waiting for word before bringing you here. I have no doubt it will be prettier during the growing season,” Arthur said by way of excuse for the plants that had long since turned inward to become reedy skeletons during the cold months.
“I think it is wonderful,” I gushed as I pulled him along the path behind me.
“Viviane told me how much walking the labyrinth in Avalon helped you think. I fear that as queen there will be much on your mind, so the least I could do was provide you with a place of sanctuary.”
I stopped, turned, and kissed him.
After some time, he pulled away, grinning, and urged me onward. When we reached the center, I clapped a hand over my mouth. A lone apple tree shivered in the breeze, waving a few stubborn pieces of withered fruit at us in greeting.
“From Avalon’s own orchards,” Arthur proclaimed proudly. He drew up close behind me so I felt his warm breath on my ear.
“Viviane?” I asked.
“And Merlin,” he added.
“Of course.”
Arthur bent forward and embraced me tightly. “I hope you will feel welcome here, Guinevere.”
“I already do.”
Once the Yule celebrations were over and I had met the entire court, as well as half the populous—or so it felt—Arthur and I retreated into the warmth of his study. The small room was located above his bedroom and accessible only by a hidden staircase that led from one room to the other. Here we would not be disturbed.
As the snow fell deep and ice coated the land below, I set about learning all I could about the vast island for which I now had responsibility. On the table, Arthur had spread out a large map depicting each of the kingdoms, their intersections with ancient tribal boundaries, and areas of possible conflict. I traced the carefully drawn lines with my fingertips—green land, blue water, red battle lines—remembering the large tapestry map that hung in my father’s council chamber. The borders had changed little since then, and unfortunately, neither had the conflicts.
“The Saxons have all but given up fighting for the winter,” Arthur explained, “but we do have a small contingent holding out near Badbury Hill. Our men are well supplied at the fort there, so I believe they will make it through the winter with few casualties. But I can’t say the same for the Saxons. They know if they cripple us there, they will have a clear path into the Summer Country and Salisbury Plain. That’s why they are willing to starve. And starve they will.” He growled the last sentence like an irritated bear.
He stabbed a finger at one of the many forts lining Hadrian’s Wall to the northeast of us. “The tribes between the walls appear to be our next concern. My men at Corastopitum report increased activity in the area and believe Chief Caw of the Damnonii is planning something.” He sank back in his chair. “As for our western foes, the Irish are quiet for now, and if King Mark follows my advice, they are likely to remain placated.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. “What advice?”
Arthur’s smile was full of mischief. “I told him it would be wise for him to make alliances—of the marital variety.”
I considered the possibilities. I knew of several unmarried noblewomen Mark could choose from, including the docile Elaine, whose neighboring kingdom of Dyfed could possibly present a united front with Cornwall against the Irish. But even that didn’t suggest a strong enough alliance to keep them at bay. Surely Arthur couldn’t mean Isolde, could he? Mark was handsome, but she would never suffer his arrogance. I imagined the arguments that would surely arise from that union and smiled.
I was still giggling as I readied the board of Holy Stones, a divination tool of the Druids that most people considered merely a game. As I set the two clusters of twenty-one stones in their places, I said a quick prayer of gratitude I had been taught how to use the sight to draw deeper meaning from the game. Even if I didn’t know the politics of the realm as well as Arthur yet, at least I could prove my worth this way.
I arranged the stones to mirror a battle with the Damnonii. The four tribes that made up the area between the Hadrian and Antonine Walls were normally peaceful, allied with us even though they weren’t subject to Arthur. But like anywhere else, it only took one poor decision to plunge them into war. If Arthur thought they were a threat, they likely were.
I stared at the stones, letting the sight take over. Flashes came to me as I moved the pieces, which represented different groups of warriors, trying over and over to find the point of greatest advantage for our troops. Our men were more formally trained than the Damnonii, but the northerners were quick and fiercely determined. They knew if they could get our men off their horses, they evened the fight. Plus, they had been raised on the land, felt it their souls, and could use every hiding place and ambush point to their favor.
“I’ve been thinking,” Arthur said some time later, jolting me out of
my trance.
I blinked, forcing my mind back to him. “About what?”
“We are fools if we don’t learn from our predecessors,” he said, flicking away the latest missive from one of his advisors.
“I agree. But to what end? What are you proposing?”
He rose and came to stand beside me, studying the board. “Claudius just completed his survey of the old Roman forts. He sent a report by messenger. It made me think we are lacking something in our defenses.” His hand hovered over the defending army, and he moved a company of spearmen.
I swatted his hand and moved the pebble back; my plan would be completely derailed if I lost that group of men. “My visions are showing the same.” I gestured to the board. “I’ll show you.”
Arthur leaned forward on his arms, and the table groaned.
“Our horsemen should be our strongest asset.” I indicated a group of blue stones currently clustered around the queen. “They are powerful, fast, and difficult to defend against, so why do we lose so many? From what I can see, they have two main limitations—they are easily unseated and those who are not are often grievously wounded. If we could give them a more secure base from which to fight and strengthen their armor, they could truly be a force to be feared.”
Arthur sat next to me, studying the stones. “I see your point. The Breton boy who won the tournament—what was his name?”
“Lancelot.”
“Yes. Lancelot had some interesting thoughts on modifying saddles that I am curious to test. He pointed out that some of the strongest armies in the world employ a foothold on either side to keep their men from slipping from their steeds. It’s in part how the Scythians and Sarmatians earned their fearsome reputation.”
I shivered at the mental image of the wild horsemen who had many times terrorized Rome and most of the continent, leaving a bloody trail in their wake. If we could learn from them, we stood a better chance of keeping our attackers at bay, perhaps even defeating them for good.
My thoughts turned to Lancelot and how he had shocked everyone at the tournament by turning down the honor of being named Arthur’s second. Arthur had politely accepted his refusal, but it was an embarrassment, so I’d expected Arthur to treat it as an insult. But here he was waxing poetic about Lancelot’s wisdom. I shook my head. I still had a lot to learn about my husband.
Beside me, Arthur rambled on, oblivious to my musings. “Claudius also reports there may be some advantage to returning to the old tribal armor. Have you ever seen it?”
I nodded, remembering the weight of the thick layer of interlocking metal rings on my chest and shoulders as I learned weaponry from my mother. A few tribes still used it, but in general, it had been abandoned because of the expense and time it took to produce.
“We could never afford to outfit every man with it,” Arthur said, “but I think it may be worth trying on our most elite forces even though they will need a little time and training with it. I am certain we still have some metalsmiths left who know the craft.”
I looked at the pieces on the board, seeing men in their place. “Arthur, I think you are on the right track. Look.”
I shuffled pieces across the board, engineering an escape to open land for the mounted army. They fanned out, keeping the queen safe behind their impenetrable line. They swallowed up the contingents of footmen, easily deflecting blows from spears and other missiles, cutting down whole ranks in mere moments. A few perished, but only a few turns later, they had captured the king and were in striking distance of the opposing queen. It was only a matter of time before she was taken.
I looked up at Arthur, proud to have finally found the path to victory. “If this army had the improvements you suggest, they would easily overpower their opponents.”
“And with your strategy, they would be certain to win.” His eyes were alight with hope and satisfaction.
Slowly, I realized he was proud of me, his battle queen and partner, his wife. I had gained some measure of respect, passed a test neither of us had known was looming.
I pushed myself up, standing just enough so I could kiss him gently, tacitly, as I measured his interest. His kisses were warm, but the nails he ran down my arms suggested he was in the mood for something more sporting than our usual soft lovemaking. I nipped his lower lip in answer and moved my hips against his.
Groping blindly behind me, Arthur shoved the contents of the tabletop to the floor, letters falling like autumn leaves in my peripheral vision. He bent me backward until I was half standing and half lying on the table. Before he could even grab my dress, I went for his trousers, peeling them off to expose his swollen manhood. Starting at his knee, I ran my tongue up his inner thigh and took him into my mouth. Arthur grunted his pleasure.
When he could take no more, he stopped me, leaned me back again, and entered me with such force I cried out. My body, more than wakened by the act I’d just performed, accepted him willingly. It wasn’t long before we were both panting and spent, lying in each other’s arms on the floor.
But that didn’t last long. As soon as he recovered, Arthur kissed each of my breasts and rose to his feet, fastening his trousers.
“Where are you going?” I called as he bounded down the stairs to his bedroom.
“To find the Breton boy. We have to get the men and horses trained before anyone else attacks.”
I flopped back down, using my arms as a pillow. So this was the life of a queen, abandoned by my husband for his men and horses. Yet I smiled. I was happy after all.
Chapter Three
Spring 497
By the time the first blossoms appeared on the trees, I was pregnant. I was wary of telling Arthur for I had already lost one child over the winter. I went little more than a month without bleeding then had a harder time of it when it did come. But there were signs any priestess would recognize, and I knew.
I had been using certain herbs to encourage conception, the antithesis of those I had used to prevent it when I was with Aggrivane. It appeared they were working, but I was still frightened this one would not last, so I kept my happy little secret and spent time every night praying to Brigid, the divine midwife and healer, that the child within me would grow strong and live to open his or her eyes to the world.
Finally, I could wait no longer. My breasts had swollen, along with my belly, and it looked as though the child was destined to live. One clear evening near Beltane, Arthur and I stood on one of Camelot’s many terraces, watching the sun settle to its rest in the bosom of the mountains. As I watched him contemplating the peaceful land below, my mind ran through a million ways to tell him, hundreds of phrases, but none of them conveyed the growing sense of hope within me.
I took his hand, and he looked at me, immediately noticing the preoccupation in my eyes. Before he could ask, I put a finger to his lips.
“My love, I am with child,” I said quietly.
A flicker of confusion then the dawn of clarity came into his eyes. A wide smile lit up his face. “Truly?”
I nodded, my eyes filling with tears. “By the end of the year, you will have an heir.”
He picked me up with a whoop of joy and spun me around then set me gently on my feet. He embraced me with a tenderness I would not have expected from a man of his tall, broad stature.
I stood with my head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. This was supposed to be a moment of great joy and anticipation, but I already felt panic dulling the happiness. It coiled around my heart and slithered down my spine, leaving an icy trail in its wake. I grabbed Arthur’s hands and squeezed them.
“I have never been so scared,” I admitted in a small voice.
Arthur leaned back and tipped my face up toward his. “Why?”
I pulled away from him and paced, willing my heart to slow though it seemed determined to beat faster with every step. “My mother bore thirteen children—did I eve
r tell you that? I was the only one to live more than a few years. Most died shortly after birth and some well before. And my mother”—my voice cracked—“she died in childbirth. They tell me she screamed for days before my father finally had the child cut from her body in the hope of saving him, but it was too late. What if the same fate befalls me? The goddess of fertility is not kind to the women in my family, Arthur.”
To his credit, Arthur listened to my rambling patiently and didn’t try to stop me.
My eyes fixated on a puffy pink cloud as the ghost of a memory danced in the back of my mind. “I remember having a brother. I wasn’t much older than he when he succumbed to some sort of illness. The saddest thing is that one day he was prattling at my feet, and the next he was dead. All that life, all of his potential, gone in the blink of an eye.”
Arthur wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on the top of my head. “The same misfortune will not befall you. It is terrible your parents suffered so, but your life is your own. You are young and strong and nothing bad will happen to you. I will not let it. I promise.”
I tipped my head back to look at him. He was beaming with pride. I forced myself to smile, letting the panic ebb away under his touch. “So who do we tell first? Your family or mine?”
He grinned. “We tell the world.”
As the weather warmed and buds began to dot the trees, I set out to get to know my people. I longed to visit the innkeepers, midwives, blacksmiths, carpenters, bakers, tanners, and families of all trades. Just as Pellinor had on Candlemas, I wished to introduce myself personally and hear about their daily needs not important enough to lay before the court in formal petition.
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