Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  Marius appeared not to have heard Arthur’s threat. He smiled. “Well then, perhaps now is the time to begin earning your trust. That news I mentioned? I thought you would be interested to know that Clovis of the Franks is winning his war against the Visigoths in southern Gaul.”

  “What has this to do with us?” I asked.

  “Patience, my queen. Clovis won the support of the Gallo-Romanic aristocracy by virtue of his choice to embrace the Christian faith. It is their money funding his war and their men who are sacrificing their lives to rid the Continent of the savage unbelievers.”

  Arthur was watching Marius with keen interest. “So you are saying my new faith could have political advantages as well?”

  Marius took another swig of wine. “Certainly. The Romans and the Franks—Clovis’s group at least—now consider you a strategic ally, provided of course you don’t make any bold moves against them. I am willing to bet you have quite a few Gallic supporters as well, although they tend to be a quieter lot.”

  I wrinkled my brow. “You are a man of God, so how are you getting your intelligence?” I was trying to ascertain if his words were all lies to gain favor in Arthur’s eyes or if his information was genuine.

  He smiled, apparently guessing my motive. “During my time in Rome, I met many dignitaries. As a result, I now have friends in monasteries and palaces from Byzantium to Gaul. You could do worse than to have someone in my position at your side.”

  “I already have a strategic advisor, Bishop Marius. I have no need for another,” Arthur said, but I could see he was chewing on the idea that damned priest had just fed him.

  “And I do not seek to usurp him. I am simply giving you the benefit of what I know. My greatest concern is and always will be in spiritual matters.”

  “I already have a spiritual advisor as well.”

  “Oh, that is right. I have heard of this young priest. What is his name?” The bishop feigned ignorance.

  “Father Dafydd,” I supplied.

  Marius snapped his fingers. “Yes! His reputation has reached even the ears of Rome.” He turned to his deacon. “Timothy, would you be so kind as to fetch Father Dafydd? I would like to meet him and express my gratitude for all he has done.”

  I stopped listening as Marius and my husband debated some matter of the Christian faith, something about a heretic called Pelagius and whether or not perfection was possible without grace from their god. They held opposing views, which each expressed passionately. They were giving me a headache.

  I was grateful when Timothy returned with Father Dafydd in his wake.

  Arthur greeted Dafydd with a warm smile and a manly embrace. Then he turned to the bishop. “Bishop Marius, may I present to you Father Dafydd of Dyfed, personal confessor to myself and certain members of my court. His humble example is much of what attracted me to Christianity.”

  Father Dafydd bowed, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, as though astonished to have someone of Marius’s rank in his presence.

  Marius bid him to rise. “Word of your excellent care of our king reached me even in Rome. I wish to thank you for carefully shepherding him into the fold.”

  Father Dafydd looked down humbly. “I only answered his questions and guided him as he sought me out. The rest was the work of God.”

  “Ah, but it has found a willing instrument in you.”

  “You are too kind.”

  “Not at all. In fact, I must confess I have an ulterior motive for calling you here. His Holiness has expressed a deep desire to see this land converted.” Bishop Marius looked at me pointedly before returning his attention to Father Dafydd. “You did so well with our king that he wishes to see your work continue in other parts of the isle.”

  “But who will fill my role with the king, Lady Morgan, and Lady Elaine?”

  “I am sure we will find someone.”

  Someone like you?

  “Wait.” Arthur put out a hand to halt the conversation. “You cannot simply replace Father Dafydd. If I wish him to remain, he will do so.”

  “I’m afraid he can. He is my superior, and I am answerable first to him,” Father Dafydd said.

  Arthur spluttered, unused to anyone contradicting his will.

  “Where will you send me?” Father Dafydd asked with more calm than I felt.

  I narrowed my eyes at the bishop. Something wasn’t right with this situation. Marius did nothing without personal gain, so wherever he was assigning our beloved priest would surely benefit him. I hoped he was sincere in his compliments and the younger priest would be rewarded accordingly, but past experience encouraged doubt to gnaw at my stomach. No doubt Bishop Marius was also aware Father Dafydd had not insisted I convert along with my husband and was, therefore, a failure in his eyes.

  Bishop Marius stroked his chin where the shadow of whiskers had begun to appear with the advancing day. “I was thinking you would be perfect to preach to the Highlanders.”

  My mouth fell open. The Highlanders were notorious for their intolerance for missionaries. Sending Father Dafydd into their lands was akin to a death sentence. “Not even you could be so cruel!”

  “Cruel? No, I am giving this man the greatest opportunity a Christian can have—the chance to preach to a pagan people. If he can successfully convert them, it will cement his place in history, like our revered Patrick. If not and he loses his life in the process, he will achieve the crown of martyrdom, which is the ultimate goal of all Christian souls. There is no greater sacrifice than to lay down one’s life for one’s faith.”

  “Nothing we can say will change your mind, will it?” I said, finally understanding the strategy of Marius’s visit. He meant to take over as Arthur’s advisor. The man was brilliant—evil but brilliant.

  “I am afraid not.”

  Father Dafydd bowed his head humbly. “When do I depart, Your Excellency?”

  “I think it best for the transition to happen quickly. You will have tomorrow to say your good-byes.”

  I looked at Father Dafydd, unable to believe this kind man would soon be gone forever, likely to be replaced by Bishop Marius. Tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them back, determined not to let that vile man see how deeply he had affected me.

  “Would that all men had your grace, your tolerance, and your fortitude,” I said to Father Dafydd quietly as I escorted him from the room.

  “But if they did, there would be no need for people like you and me,” he answered with a soft smile. “Every wife has a duty to guide her husband to the side of right. I am afraid you are doubly pressed in this regard as a priestess and as a queen living amid religious turmoil. Promise me one thing.”

  “Anything.”

  “Do not allow Bishop Marius to gain control of the king. Remember that you are as powerful as he, and do not let him intimidate either of you. I must listen to him, but you are under no such obligation.”

  I nodded. “I swear I will do everything in my power to do as you have asked.” I paused, trying to decide whether or not to ask the question weighing on my mind. “Are you frightened of your new assignment?”

  Father Dafydd smiled once more, lit from within. “‘The Lord is my shepherd, and so I shall not fear.’ When I became a priest, I made a vow to do whatever God willed of me, just as you did when you became a priestess. We may not always like what they say to us, but we must follow where they lead.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “May your gods bless you and give you strength.”

  I bowed my head to hide the tears seeping from my eyes. “The same to you.”

  He squeezed my hand once and disappeared around the corner.

  I never saw him again.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Spring 514

  Arthur shook me awake. “Guinevere!”

  “What?” I mumbled, refusing to open my eyes or shift from my comfortable position.

  “I ha
ve had the most incredible dream! Wake up! I must tell you about it.”

  “Go tell Morgan about it. She’s your favorite wife, is she not?” I grumbled.

  “You don’t understand. Please, just listen.”

  Arthur’s voice was so animated I couldn’t ignore it, as much as I wanted to. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. It was still dark, probably a few hours before dawn. The room around us was quiet save for Arthur’s ragged breathing. I said a silent prayer of gratitude, invoking the goddess Arianrhod, who watched over all couples engaged in lusty affairs, that this was one of the rare nights Lancelot wasn’t with me.

  I turned toward Arthur. His eyes were more alive than I’d seen them in ages, sparkling in the moonlight like faceted jewels. I couldn’t resist teasing him. “What? Did you dream that Marius allowed you to keep us both?”

  If he heard me, he didn’t react. “I have seen her, Guinevere!”

  “Who?” I propped my head on one arm so I could regard him closely.

  “The Blessed Virgin. She came to me in a dream.” His eyes unfocused as he recalled the vision he had seen. “She wishes me to undertake a quest.”

  I wrinkled my forehead, suspicious of his dream. “What kind of quest?”

  Arthur drew me upright, palms on both of my shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. “She wishes me to find the Holy Grail, the cup which touched the holy lips of Jesus Christ and held His Precious Blood.” Arthur’s whole expression was alight with fervor. “This is why I came to you first. You, too, have dreamed of it.”

  I tried to keep my face neutral, though I had little doubt Arthur’s fertile imagination had something to do with this. He had spent too much time with Bishop Marius lately, who, with Merlin and Father Dafydd gone, had become his advisor in all things. “Arthur, slow down. Tell me exactly what you dreamed.”

  His eyes took on that dreamy expression again. “The Virgin Mary appeared to me. She was dressed all in blue, like the robes I’ve seen you wear. Her long brown hair was loose and uncovered, spilling over her shoulders, and she was suffused with light. It should have blinded me, but it did not. Behind her, the world was split in two, ringed in a circle, onto which her crucified Son was bound. In the top half of the circle, there was happiness and light. Camelot prospered, and the land was fertile. She touched the circle, and it spun so that Our Lord was crushed beneath it. There below, storm clouds raged and lightning flashed. Sickness, death, and decay were everywhere. Camelot lay in ruins at the hands of our enemies.”

  I recognized the image Arthur described. She was not the Virgin Mary but the goddess Fortuna with her wheel of fate. She directed all things, positive and negative, and her whims determined whether we prospered or fell to ruin. But now was not the time to contradict him. “Go on.”

  “The Blessed Mother held out a cup—at least I think it was a cup. It could have been a bowl or cauldron too. The light coming from it was so bright it was difficult to gaze upon it for too long or look directly at it. Above the cup was a shining white host, the symbol of our Lord here on earth.”

  Host or full moon? The Grail—holy to Christians and Druids alike—was, for my faith, the repository of all inspiration as well as the tool the goddess Ceridwen used to bestow rebirth upon those destined to live again. Its shifting appearance was no surprise to me for, as Arthur accurately recalled, I had seen it in my dreams since I was a child. Once it was a golden chalice. Then a drinking horn. The next time an iron or bronze cauldron. Once, it was even a stone. We could argue all day over the identity of the woman, but one thing was for certain—Arthur had indeed seen the Grail.

  “Did the woman say anything to you?”

  He nodded. “Once I had taken in the scene, she regarded me placidly and said, ‘My son, you have served me well, but now I have a greater request of you. You are to seek out this holy object, not for yourself or for a select few but for all. It is a gift for all my people and a sign of my heavenly blessing. With it, you shall know peace and everlasting contentment. But take care not to betray the promises you have made to me, for doing so will cause this gift to vanish and your reign of peace to come to an end.’ Then she held the cup to my lips, and I drank of it. It was at once the sweetest and most bitter liquid I have ever tasted. It was as though blood and starlight had combined.”

  I knew the taste well. Once imbibed, it could never be forgotten. The night in Avalon when I found out about Mona’s dreams and Morgan’s lack of lineage, I had dreamed I drank from the Grail. The shock of bitterness awoke me, and from that moment on, my life changed. I wondered if the same would now be true for Arthur.

  “When she drew the cup away, I felt an acute sense of loss, like some vital part of me went with it. I knew in my heart I would not be at peace until the Grail is found. She left me with these parting words, ‘Go now, son of the high dragon, and do as I have commanded. I am with you always.’

  Arthur grasped my shoulders, his blazing blue eyes locked on mine. “Do you see, Guinevere? This is my destiny. All the battles and trials that have come before, even my conversion, were preparation to make me ready for this heavenly quest. Turning away the Saxons may have been the first step on the road to peace, but finding the Grail will cement it for all time. My legacy to this land, our legacy to this land, is to retrieve the Grail and preserve the peace in Camelot forever.” He fell silent then, most likely contemplating his dream once again.

  I blinked, trying to comprehend this sudden obsession that had overtaken my husband. Was he drunk or ill? He had been sober when I retired for the night, and it was not like him to drink once supper was ended unless there was a great feast. I felt his forehead. Though his cheeks were rosy with excitement, he showed no signs of fever. Maybe he was in his right mind. If Fortuna had truly come to him, I was not one to stand in her way.

  “Grainne recently returned from Avalon with rumors that the Grail Maidens have abandoned their post beneath the Tor and moved their holy treasure somewhere in our land. I didn’t think anything of it when she told me because Avalon is full of such whisperings, born of moon madness or too many nights of fasting, but what you say confirms her report.”

  He embraced me. “You believe me?”

  “I cannot confirm if it is your destiny, but yes, I believe you are under divine orders to find the Grail.” I was so grateful he had come to me first rather than Morgan or that damned bishop, either of whom might have manipulated his experience to suit their own needs.

  Arthur kissed me deeply. “Then you will support me as I raise the quest?”

  I shifted my position so I was sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around him. “I will do you one better—I will help you. We ride together, side by side, just as we swore to one another we would be in all things.”

  Arthur sent for the Combrogi before dawn colored the eastern sky, and soon Camelot was abuzz with rumors of the unprecedented voyage to come. The kitchens were set to full staff to prepare rations for the men. Only the stables, forges, and armory buzzed with more activity as horses were shod and groomed and men prepared for unknown battles by mending shields and armor and sharpening blades. I spent most of my time in the armory, directing the flow of weapons and men, while Lancelot held sway in the stables. As my champion, he normally would not have left my side, but Arthur had agreed to allow him to join them on the quest since he was the most widely traveled and might be of assistance.

  Mordred, newly returned from his five-year fostership with Lot, had been asking every day for the last week to accompany his father, little dismayed even though Arthur always forbade it. Mordred was not quite seventeen, the age at which he would qualify, but I doubted Arthur would have let him go—and put his only heir in danger—at any age.

  Morgan, Grainne, and I were preparing poultices, draughts, and other herbal remedies the men may need on their quest when Arthur burst in.

  He grabbed my hands. “The Combrogi are nearly all here. I n
eed to know where to begin looking. My dream told me nothing. The Grail could be in the north country or Brittany or just around the bend for all I know.”

  I looked at him, wondering what he wanted from me, as I kept one eye on the bubbling brownish-green concoction simmering at my side.

  Arthur huffed, impatience rising along with the color in his face. “You have the sight. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”

  I snorted, slightly offended. “Arthur, I’m not your personal oracle. Besides, I cannot foretell the future. I can only see what is happening at this very moment. If you want the future, ask your other wife.”

  Morgan looked up then. “What does he want?”

  I regarded her over my shoulder. “For us to tell him where to find the Grail.”

  Morgan went back to the herbs she was grinding with her pestle. “I’d suggest starting in Avalon.”

  Arthur threw up his hands and stomped out of the room, muttering something about women being no help. Morgan and I laughed in a rare moment of camaraderie that reminded me of our better days in Avalon.

  “You know,” Grainne said, “I think there is something we can do to help the Combrogi.”

  I strained the simmering liquid into a vial and set it on a shelf to cool. “What is that?”

  “Tomorrow is the time of equal day and night. If the three of us join forces, I am willing to bet the gods will enlighten us. Our gifts may be different, but if this truly is Fortuna’s command, she cannot ignore our invocations.”

  “Yes,” Morgan said. “I like this idea very much.”

  I stared at her, weighing Grainne’s idea. “But you are Christian now. Isn’t such a thing against your faith?”

  “Normally, yes, but it is the Grail we seek, holy to both faiths. I’m sure God wouldn’t mind me breaking one little rule in this special circumstance.”

  “Even so, we do not know the exact time of balance. We would need that information to tap into the magic of the day,” I said.