Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  My heart broke at Lot’s selfless gesture. He would have been my father-in-law had I married Aggrivane. I knew he wished that was how things had turned out, but I’d had no idea the depths of his affection for me.

  “Thank you,” was all I had a chance to say as I was led away by Kay and two guards.

  I was imprisoned in one of Camelot’s cellars that had been converted to hold criminals awaiting trial or those considered too dangerous to house in normal rooms. I shivered as I tried to keep my mind off the deliberation going on upstairs and keep some small shred of control over my sanity.

  When the door to my cell opened the next morning, I was certain they had come to lead me to my death. But it was Sobian, not Kay, who greeted me. One look at her horrified face told me something was very, very wrong.

  “What is it? What has happened?”

  She shook her head, unlocking my shackles in silence. “See for yourself.”

  I expected her to lead me back into the castle, but instead we walked across the grounds to the edge of the river, not far from where it emptied into the bay. A small knot of people stood on the bank, their backs toward us.

  “Arthur?” I asked tentatively.

  He turned, holding out an arm as though asking me to pass beside him.

  As I approached, the crowd parted, and I caught sight of a small boat that had been dragged onto shore beneath a willow. When I was close enough to see there was a body within, I dropped to my knees in the sand.

  “Oh, no. No, no, no, no,” I cried, tears choking me.

  Inside lay Elaine, clad in a white dress with a garland of flowers in her hair and her head resting against a small pillow, surrounded by all of her favorite flowers: lilies, daisies, roses, and buttercups. She was pale, and her eyes were open, staring forever at the heaven she’d always longed for.

  The men lifted her ashore, but I already knew it was too late to save her. I had seen enough dead bodies to know when the soul was gone. When they put her in my arms, her skin was ice cold.

  “Oh, Elaine, dear heart, what have you done?” I asked her as I gently closed her eyes.

  “These were in her hands,” Sobian said, holding out a roll of parchment and a spike-shaped flower with clusters of purple bells.

  The flower was comfrey, but it was untouched. It was merely a symbol. She wanted us to know, even before we opened the missive, she had taken her own life. From out of the depths of my memory, I recalled the day she had borrowed the vial of comfrey from the room Lancelot was being treated in. I had told her not to ingest it because it was poisonous. Vaguely, I wondered if that was when she’d first gotten the idea.

  I rocked her in my arms like a baby. “Sweet girl, why?”

  “Guilt,” Arthur said. He handed the small parchment to me.

  I wanted to ask him to read it to me, but I could not speak.

  “Sobian, will you stay with Guinevere while we take Elaine up to the castle? We will lay her out in the council room along with the contents of the boat. If this is how she wanted to die, then this is how she will be buried—and in holy ground. I care not how her life ended. She is still a child of Christ.”

  Numbly, I trudged behind Arthur back to the castle. I couldn’t feel my feet nor even the rest of my body. All I could do was weep and wonder why my oldest friend had chosen to take her life and if Arthur was right. Please, Goddess, do not let this be over me.

  They wouldn’t let me stay with her body, but Sobian was allowed to sit in my cell with me while I read Elaine’s final words.

  I go to meet my Maker without the Sacraments but not without making my final confession. I do so publicly so those involved may know the heaviness of my heart. Maybe because of this they will not judge me for what I have done but let me go in peace.

  They say “I love you” is supposed to be a blessing, but for me, it has been nothing short of a curse. The ones I love the most are the ones who have hurt me the deepest. I, in turn, have done nothing but hurt them.

  Guinevere, I never meant for your life to be in danger when I condemned you in front of Arthur. I simply wished to have revenge for the betrayal I felt. As I cannot have your death on my conscience, I will cause my own, praying that Arthur will consider your wrongs avenged. Our Lord said, “There is no greater love than to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” This I do for you out of deepest love.

  By the time you read this, I will be at peace, and I wish the same for you.

  Pray for my tormented soul.

  Elaine of Corbenic,

  Daughter of Pellinor and Lyonesse, wife of Lancelot du Lac, mother of Galahad—chosen one of the Grail

  I handed the note to Sobian without a word and motioned for her to leave me.

  “Arthur said he will take another night to consider your case in light of Elaine’s death,” Sobian said.

  I nodded, but I didn’t really hear her. I was too numb, too broken to care about my own fate.

  With nowhere to sit but on the earthen floor, I picked a corner and hunched my knees up in front of me. A single thought chased itself around my mind—I was indirectly responsible for Elaine’s death.

  Images of her flashed through my mind, like the portraits she’d so loved to draw. Elaine as a young girl, picking daisies under the summer sun; covered in mud when we returned from exploring the moors; her joy upon hearing one of Isolde’s fanciful Irish stories— dear, long-departed Isolde, who had also taken her own life, I recalled with deep sadness—Elaine’s love-struck expression when she first saw Galen; the single tear dripping down her cheek when Arthur proposed to me; her face shining with pride over Galahad; and finally, her stricken expression when Marius suggested I should die for my crimes.

  The dam within me broke, and I wept for my friend. Somewhere in midst of the pain, a thought struck me—depending on Arthur’s decision, our separation might be brief.

  Once I had cried myself dry and the shock of Elaine’s suicide started to wear off, I was once again acutely aware of my own situation.

  Arthur is merciful. You’ve seen him judge hundreds of people. He is nothing if not reasonable. He won’t harm you. You have nothing to fear. That was what I told myself. But the more I tried to pray and remain calm, the more panic shot through my veins.

  You are going to die. You have betrayed your king and country. Your affair caused your best friend to die. You will meet the Goddess on the morn, and she will not be merciful. Those thoughts were much louder than my feeble attempts to calm myself.

  My breathing grew shallow and short until I was hyperventilating. In this state, I understood Nimue’s insane rantings in a whole new light. I understood why she’d rocked back and forth because I was doing the same. This was ten times worse than the fear I had felt in the cave with Lancelot or even while in the grip of Malegant’s torture. At least in those situations, I’d had some small means of fighting back. Now I was completely helpless. My fate was in the hands of someone whom I had hurt badly.

  I bit my knuckles to keep from screaming.

  That was how Aggrivane found me, weeping on the floor like a child and making small whimpering noises around my fist. At first, I didn’t even recognize him. Of all things, it was his scent, clean like the woods after a rain, that brought me back to my senses.

  He was sitting next to me and holding my head against his chest, which spasmed occasionally. I realized he was crying. No, not crying—bawling. I touched a hesitant finger to his neck and found rivers of tears.

  “Aggrivane?”

  “I never wanted it to be this way, Guinevere.” He hiccupped. “I never thought it would come to this. Oh, what have I done?”

  My tears answered his in silence. Neither of us spoke until he had regained control over himself.

  “When Mordred told me what he suspected, I was irate. More than anything, I wanted to prove him wrong. Then when the signs began to s
uggest he was right, all I wanted was to get back at you for choosing Lancelot over me. It should have been me. That is all. Not this. Never this.”

  I took a deep breath, somehow, even after all these years, still finding my center in him. “Even if you had refused to help, told Mordred and Elaine they were mad, they would have found a way. This is not your fault.” I wiped my eyes. “Elaine wanted revenge on any other woman Lancelot loved. As for Mordred, when Arthur and I ruled against him on the rape accusation, he promised revenge—and now he’s taken it.”

  Aggrivane kissed the top of my head. “No matter what happens, I will stay with you. I will be with you to the very end.”

  I snuggled into his chest, finding enough peace there to sleep. I only knew I slept because I dreamed. I was in the Grail castle, but it was as though I could see everywhere at once. Arthur knelt before the Grail, praying so fervently sweat ran down his face. In a nearby room, Bishop Marius blessed the sacramental bread and wine. He added a drop of water from a cruet and a drop of something else from a small vial.

  After muttering a few more prayers, Marius interrupted Arthur by placing the host on his tongue with the words, “Corpus Christi.” Then he gave him the chalice to drink from with the words, “Sangue Christi,” to which Arthur responded, “Amen.”

  “Go back to the castle and get some sleep, my son. I am sure the Holy Ghost will illumine your dreams with wisdom,” Marius urged.

  Arthur did as he was bid.

  While Marius busied himself cleaning the chalice Arthur had used, a hooded woman approached him from behind.

  “Father,” her voice was tinged with a familiar lilt, “I trust all went well.”

  Marius turned, passing something into the woman’s waiting hand. He folded his hands before him in an attitude of prayer. “God’s will be done.” He chuckled darkly.

  The woman turned, and I caught a glimpse of her face. It was Morgan.

  Before I could see more, the door to my cell squeaked open, and I was jolted awake. I scrambled to my feet.

  Mordred stepped in first, trailed by Bishop Marius. Mordred saw Aggrivane and grimaced. “Why am I not surprised to find you here?”

  Only then did Marius realize who Mordred was speaking to. “Ah, together again. It ends how it began. Poetic, isn’t it?”

  “Ends?” I asked, scarcely able to breathe.

  Marius looked at me as though it was obvious. “Why yes, our king has made his decision.”

  Two women entered, carrying one of my gowns and my cloak along with a few pieces of my jewelry. They helped me put on all of it.

  When they were done, Marius simply commanded, “Follow me.”

  I looked at Aggrivane, confused. Did this mean I was free or not?

  “But what is my sentence?” I yelled after Marius.

  He said nothing, only motioned for me to come along.

  I started to follow, but Aggrivane grabbed my arm. “Please. Tell me one last thing. Do you forgive me?”

  “Yes. And part of me has never stopped loving you. Whether I meet freedom or death outside these doors, I can be at peace knowing you know.”

  I thought I heard him whisper his love to me as I stepped into the blinding light of morning, but I couldn’t be sure.

  Death had come for me.

  But she was not an old woman as I had always imagined but a young man, barely more than a boy, sent to accompany me on my final walk.

  When my eyes adjusted to the light, he was waiting for me with Bishop Marius. The bishop could hardly contain his glee as he said, “The high king asks me to pass his sentence on to you. On the charge of high treason, you are sentenced to death at the stake. His Majesty asks your forgiveness.”

  The world tipped, but the boy caught me before I fell. My stomach cramped, and my bowels threatened to empty right there in the street. Terror, more pure than anything I have ever felt, filled me from head to toe. I shook so violently my teeth clicked together.

  “I forgive him,” I managed to say amid waves of nausea.

  They led me to the mouth of the street known as the bloody lane because it was a popular location for duels, revenge killings, and the occasional public execution. My final destination was within sight. Where the road opened to a square, a pyre stacked high with wood was the focal point. Never had a short road seemed so long.

  Somehow, word had gotten out already about what was to happen. The street was so packed with spectators that a burly man had to be recruited from the crowd to push the gawkers out of our path. But first, Marius removed my jewelry—save for the sapphire ring Arthur had given me that I managed to hide—and tossed it into the crowd, who fought over it like starving dogs. Punches were thrown and blood spilt, and that was before one of the guards tore my cloak from my shoulders and hurled it at them too. Finally, it came time for my dress, which I opted to remove myself. I would go to my death with no possessions, clad only in a shift for modesty.

  As I walked the gauntlet, stumbling and unsteady in my panic, the people shouted all sorts of taunts, curses, and filthy words at me. The same people I had vowed to give my life to protect were now gladly cheering on my death. Garbage and all manner of rotten things were hurled at me. Just when I thought the indignity couldn’t get any worse, from somewhere above, someone emptied a bucket of water on me. Well, I’d thought it was water. It turned out to have been a chamber pot.

  We finally reached the scaffold. The boy had to help me mount the stairs because I was paralyzed with fear.

  “Where is my lord? Where is the king?” I asked as they lashed my wrists to the pole. “Is he not supposed to witness such an act?”

  “He was detained. But that is why I am here in his stead, to make sure the job is done.” Marius inspected my bindings. “Have you any last words, priestess?”

  Priestess. The word was like a trigger in my brain reminding me who I was. I was not some helpless whore but a woman dedicated to the gods. This was not how I would meet my end, not at least without a fight. With that, the panic subsided, and my mind became full of clarity.

  “Yes. You can go to hell. And all your kin with you.” I spat in his face.

  He took the burning torch and touched it to the kindling at my feet. “You first.”

  The kindling caught in a whoosh of smoke and heat. If I was to have any chance of escape, I had to act fast. Coughing and spluttering, I tried to find a grip for my feet on the uneven, splintery wood. It was not easy, but I soon found a position I could hold for some time.

  While the crowd jeered and cried around me, I closed my eyes and concentrated on sending my consciousness down into the earth and forming a shield around me, just as I had done during my priestess trials in Avalon. I imagined the flames staying at least an arm’s length away from me, and I pushed back the heat and smoke with every exhalation.

  It was not long before the sight took over. I could see through the flames, into Arthur’s bedchamber, where he’d woken just moments ago, desperate to get to me and commute my sentence. He tried the doors, but they were locked. Weak, unsteady, and retching, he fell to the floor. Still determined to stop this madness, he crawled to the windowsill, body partially paralyzed by that wicked drop in his communion wine.

  He called my name, but over the crowd, no one could hear him. He continued crying, “Stop! Stop! This must stop. I am the king!” until his throat was raw.

  When I came back to myself, I was still struggling with my bindings. My strength was beginning to wane. The heat crept closer as my shield slipped. Just as the blackness was about to take over, I heard the familiar clanging of swords and whinnying of horses. I raised my head and forced my eyes open. Riders—Bedivere, Sobian, and Gawain among them—were deep within the crowd, fighting to reach me.

  Then the bonds around my hands slackened. I turned to find Mordred hacking away at the ropes. His clothes were drenched to stave off the flames, and h
e had a cloth over his nose and mouth so he could breathe.

  “Promise me you will not seek the throne while I live,” he said.

  Astounded, I could barely respond. “Yes. I swear.”

  “Then go. Lancelot waits for you. Go and live.”

  I looked to where he indicated just in time to see Lancelot ride toward the pyre at full gallop on a massive black horse, trampling people underfoot. Mordred ducked as Lancelot reached through the fire to swing me up onto his horse. My hair and clothing caught as I vaulted through the flames, skin blistering, but I barely felt the pain.

  I clung to Lancelot with the last of my remaining strength, coughing out smoke as the horse’s hooves beat a steady rhythm on the hard ground. Only once did I chance a glance back over my burned shoulder. We were not being followed. Sobian and our allies were doing their jobs.

  We rode until Camelot was a mere speck on the horizon. Smoke from the pyre was still visible, but the dwindling thread at its center indicated the fire had been doused.

  Lancelot turned to me and examined my arms, face, and the burned crisp that used to be my hair. “You are injured. We must find you treatment, or you will grow ill. I did not rescue you only to have you die of your wounds.”

  I nodded, still numb to the pain, but I knew that when it came, it would be excruciating. I needed a safe place to recuperate. “We cannot stay on the open road long. No matter how long Kay and the others hold off the chase, they are sure to send more soldiers after us.”

  “Where do you wish to go?”

  That was a good question. I was free. I could go anywhere. But I was no longer queen, no longer Arthur’s wife. What did that mean for me? Where would I be safe? I could not be guaranteed anyone, even my own kin, would not betray me. Avalon was too far away. I knew of only one place where we could be safe, at least for the time it would take me to heal and reevaluate my life without Arthur.