Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, I dared to look at the Votadess. She so closely resembled my mother that, for a moment, I could not speak. Her hair was a bit lighter, closer to brown than the black I’d inherited, but her glittering green eyes and the pout of her lips were nearly the same. Even now, years after my mother died, it took my breath away.

  “Surely this is one of your kin, eh, Evina? She could be your double,” the Votad said, his voice holding more than a hint of amazement.

  “Indeed,” was all she said as her eyes roamed my face, skipping over the scars that marred its left side and taking in every unblemished feature. Her cool tone did not match the openness with which she regarded me. Was it merely surprise that dampened her welcome, or did she not relish having one of her blood appear at her court? Perhaps both.

  Unlike his wife, the Votad was delighted by this turn of events. “Tell us your name and purpose here, kinswoman.”

  As was tradition, I recited my ancestry, which was the best form of identification a man or woman could produce. “My lord and lady, I am Guinevere, born in Northgallis, but Votadini by blood through my mother, Corinna, whose father was Cunedda, who defended Britain against the Irish and established a safe haven for our people in Gwynedd. He then arranged for my mother to marry Leodgrance of Gwynedd, thus securing an alliance of peace for both tribes. You may have known me as High Queen of Britain, but I am now only one of your humble subjects. I have come to ask for the inheritance which is my right by blood, the lands belonging to my mother north of Stirling.”

  The petitioners murmured sounds of surprise and disbelief. In the front of the room, the small crowd of men surrounding the royal couple stirred, and an older man with a graying blond beard whispered something in the Votad’s ear. He nodded and signaled to one of his men, who quickly departed to fulfil his master’s command.

  “How do we know you are whom you claim to be? Have you anyone to speak for you?” Evina asked, though she didn’t sound suspicious, just rightly wary.

  As Arthur had discovered when I was taken by Malegant, frauds and pretendants to the throne were many, and some of them were convincing. The Votad and Votadess could not be too careful, especially with lands as strategically important as Stirling at stake.

  “I will.” Anna stepped out of the crowd before bowing to both rulers. “I am Anna of Lothian, sister to the former High King of Britain, Arthur Pendragon, and wife of the recently deceased King Lot. Surely you remember me and will take my word that what she says is true.”

  Mynyddog nodded to Anna. “We do. Please allow me to offer my condolences on the deaths of your husband and sons.” The regret in his voice was sincere.

  Anna bowed her head again. “Thank you, Votad. I wish you to know that it was my husband’s intention to accompany me on this journey and pledge his sword in your service. But the gods did not allow it. I pray that you will treat my son, Gawain, with the same esteem as his father, as he is now ruler of Lothian and wishes to be brought under your protection.”

  “Of course,” Mynyddog responded. “I will send one of my sons to Traprain Law within the week to welcome him as a member of the Votadini tribe and confer his blessing. He has been marked, has he not?”

  “Yes, sire. My husband marked each of his sons when they came of age. Though he followed Arthur, he always considered himself a Votadini at heart and bore both the horse and dragon—symbols of your tribe and his—on his arm.”

  Evina had been chewing her lower lip as she listened, as though mulling over thoughts heavy with meaning. She sat forward and addressed me. “If you are whom you claim to be, you will also be marked. If you will, please show us.”

  I swallowed hard and shook my head. “I do not have a mark, Votadess. I was away in Avalon when my mother died, and there has been no one since to mark me.”

  Evina threw her husband a suspicious glance. “Is that so?”

  “It is. She speaks the truth,” came a silky French accent from the back of the room.

  All heads turned. Waves of shock and soaring joy threatened to overwhelm me when I recognized Lancelot. I had to grab Anna’s arm to steady myself. Lancelot was here. He was safe. Thanks be to the gods. But why? How? What a silly question. Finally, one thing in my life had turned out for the good; the details didn’t matter.

  The crowd parted to allow Lancelot to approach the throne, and it took all of my willpower not to run to him and throw my arms around him. As he approached, the silver in his black hair caught the light, as did a new scar on his left cheek. Two years and a war had taken their toll on him, but he was handsome as ever.

  “I have served Guinevere for the better part of my life,” he said when he reached my side. “She is my queen, and I am her champion. She is also my beloved. Please accept my words on pain of honor as they are the truth.”

  Evina gave him a dazzling smile and raised him from his bow by the hand as though asking him to dance. “Of course, Angus. If you say she is true, then she is true.”

  The years of war had not dampened Lancelot’s natural charisma, for Evina was as taken with him as every other woman. But why had she called him Angus?

  Evina’s gaze slipped to me, her smile fading a bit. “We will still need to have you marked. You cannot rule in our lands without being fully brought into our tribe.” She thought for a moment. “If Corinna was your mother, then I am your cousin, so it falls to me. Three days hence at dawn, you will officially become a Votadini woman.

  “As for your claim to the lands north of Stirling, I will have to consult with our records keepers, but I believe it is legitimate. The only complication is that Rohan, cousin to Morcant, leader of the Damnonii and conqueror of Bernicia, currently rules those lands, so to oust him will cause tension between our tribes.”

  “You mean it will increase tension between our tribes,” her husband corrected dryly. “There has been tension between us for generations. Rohan will take some convincing.”

  “With respect, you misunderstand me,” I said before Evina could reply. “I have no desire to rule another kingdom. All I ask is to take possession of my lands and be given the freedom to live on them. Nothing more. I have no wish to upset the current way of things.”

  Evina arched an eyebrow at me as though she could not fathom why anyone would wish for such an arrangement. She and Mynyddog exchanged a look that said they were unsure if I was a fool or simply insane. “If that is what you will, then it will be done.”

  In the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow detach itself from the wall and slip out. A spy, no doubt, on his or her way to inform Rohan of the new claimant to his lands in Stirling.

  Pushing those implications to the back of my mind, I curtsied to Evina. “Many thanks for your generosity, my lady. I do not know what form your court’s oath takes, but please know that I honor and respect your position of authority over me and do swear my loyalty to you. In the names of my ancestors, I pray for a long life for both of you and promise to do all in my power to defend you in word and deed.”

  It was Mynyddog’s turn to raise me from my curtsy. “Your oath is hereby acknowledged, and we bestow upon you our blessing.”

  “Now that the business is concluded, may I see these ladies to a guest room, for I think they have nowhere to stay,” Lancelot said, looking from Anna to me for confirmation.

  “Of course,” Mynyddog said. “You are our most honored guests. Take them to Sorcha. She will know where we have vacant rooms.” He motioned for us to depart.

  Turning from the throne, I let out a deep breath. That had gone much better than I’d expected. Perhaps too well. The Votad and Votadess may have been agreeable, but there may still be repercussions for interrupting the established order of things. This was only the beginning. The people would spread the news of my return across the four tribes. By morning, everyone from Hadrian’s Wall to north of Soloway Firth would know the former queen has returned to her n
ative land.

  It did not surprise me to hear cries of “This will not stand!” and “Rohan will tame her before the next full moon,” before the doors closed behind us. But the most chilling prediction was not proclaimed across the hall, merely whispered as we passed. “Gods be praised. The rightful Votadess has come home.”

  That night, Lancelot and I lay together in the moonlight for the first time since before Mordred’s lies ruined our lives. I had not seen him in any meaningful way since before the Grail’s spell of peace broke and Camelot began to crumble. After that, we were estranged, and once Mordred betrayed us, Arthur’s guards kept us apart.

  Now, two long years later, his arms felt like a heaven I had finally earned. At last there was no more guilt, no more lies and deception shadowing our love. We were free to give fully of ourselves and receive in return. He was no longer Arthur’s knight and I Arthur’s wife; we were one another’s chosen lovers, belonging to no one else.

  I breathed in his scent, so like the heather on the hillside that it made my heart soar. “I haven’t had the chance to thank you.” I burrowed deeper into his arms and nestled my head against his chest, as if the heat of his body could heal me.

  “For what?”

  “For saving me—again. For coming back when everyone else had abandoned me. For not believing what the bishop said and leaving me to die”

  “Do you not remember?” He angled his body so I had to look up at him. “I am sworn to you until my dying breath. I have been yours since I thought you gave me that flower at the tournament. I chose you over the Grail. Why do you think I would abandon you when you need me the most? I love you and I always will.”

  Emotion welled up in me and tears pricked at my eyes, an overwhelming combination of happiness and fear. “Even with this?” I turned my head so he had a clear view of the part of my neck and cheek that would forever be withered.

  He stroked the side of my head, where my permanently ravaged hairline met my face. “Beauty fades. Had the fire not damaged your skin, time would have eventually. You are still beautiful to me, even more so for your scars. You are a warrior woman. You earned your scars just as truly as if you had received them in battle. When I look at you, I see a woman who triumphed over the strongest adversity and lives to glory in her victory. Even more than that, you have your sight, your hearing, and your mobility. You still have a bright future ahead of you.”

  His hand slipped down my neck, tracing my scars to my arm and across my left breast. “Those flames may have marred your skin, but they did no serious damage, and they certainly did not touch your spirit. That is why I really love you. I love your ability to come back from every attempt of your enemies stronger and braver for it. That is what will always make you Sovereignty herself, title or no.”

  I kissed him, letting myself be swept away by the softness of his lips and the warmth of his skin against mine. He followed the line of my scars with his tongue, sending a shiver across my ribs. His hands gripped my hips, and he kissed my navel before continuing downward. As he pleasured me, my hands explored his back and shoulders, finding new ridges and scars where there had previously been only hard muscle and sinew. When his lips next met mine, I wrapped my legs around him, forcing him onto his back and taking my fill of him.

  After, we lay in each other’s arms, listening to the night orchestra of crickets, cicadas, and other insects.

  “Why do they call you Angus?” I asked, turning onto my stomach so I could look up at him.

  He kissed my forehead. “To answer that, I have to mention a man I know you would like to forget.” The concern in his eyes was so deep that it could only be one person.

  I shuddered. “Go on.”

  “Do you recall Malegant mentioning that he had a Votadini wife?”

  I murmured my assent, breathing deeply to ward off the tension that turned my muscles to stone every time I remembered those horrible months of captivity in Malegant’ s hidden island tower. Nearly twenty years had passed, but panic still surged through my veins at his name.

  “As you can imagine, he treated her very poorly,” Lancelot continued. “Her father hired me to put an end to her suffering by killing Malegant. Obviously I failed, but when Malegant tired of her and tried to take her family’s land by force, I was there to defend it. My men and I gave him a beating he nursed for many years.”

  “No wonder he was so angry when you rescued me. You were taking his prey from him for the second time.” A whole new respect for Lancelot blossomed within me. This man who had been a blessing from the gods for me on so many occasions had also been one for many people before I knew him.

  “Not only that, but I had replaced him as your personal guard. He was not going to let me have you again. That was why he was so determined to kill me on that beach. He wanted to end our feud once and for all. But I killed him instead.” Lancelot squeezed his eyes tight then opened them wide, as if trying to rid himself of the memory of Malegant’s body on the shores of the lake. “In return for my service to the Votadini, Evina’s father gave me the land of Angus, a title I still hold. I always thought of it as a failsafe, a place to retreat to if ever I needed a home. As the war in Brittany proved, that was a wise decision. When I could not find you in Camelot, I went there, hoping to hear word of your whereabouts. I did not know you’d come to Din Eidyn. I was only at court today because Evina wished me to evaluate candidates for her weapons master.”

  “It is fortunate you were. I’m not sure if Anna’s endorsement of me would have been enough to sway Evina. I could have spent this night on the dusty floor of an inn had you not arrived when you did.”

  He smiled, wrapping an arm around my neck and pulling me even closer. “It was not luck; you of all people should recognize the hand of the Goddess when you see it. It is she who reunited us.”

  “And she who gave us a home. I cannot wait to spend the rest of my life with you.”

  “And I you. Will you marry me and make me your husband in truth? Now that Arthur is gone and we have secured our future, I see no reason for us not to wed.” His eyes lit with hope, reflecting the youthful enthusiasm he would always possess, no matter how many years passed.

  I pulled away, unable to give him the answer he desired. How could I explain that marriage had become abhorrent to me, that I had no desire to wed again, without hurting him? He had been nothing but loyal to me for decades. He deserved more than my selfish rejection, but to marry him when I felt this way would be unfair to us both.

  I met his eyes and shook my head. “I cannot. Please do not be offended. I love you and wish to spend my remaining days by your side, but I cannot, will not, bind myself to another man ever again. Look where it has gotten me, all it has cost. Surely you of all people can understand.” My last words were both a plea and a question.

  Though he tried to hide it, his face fell. He cleared his throat, swallowing his disappointment. “Of course. What is marriage anyway but a contract, and you and I need no document or witnesses to prove our love true.” He forced a smile. “I believe we did that for all time in the Bloody Lane when you leapt onto my horse’s back.”

  “And will do so again at Stirling. Anyone who sees us will not be able to mistake our fidelity.”

  Three days later, in the bluish-gray pre-dawn light of Samhain, Evina led me down a sloping path to the base of the rocky hill, then out into the heather and across a broad plain edged by low hills on either side. Soon a lone quiot rose ahead, white and stark against the overcast sky. The ancient tomb was formed by three vertical megaliths, a horizontal capstone lying on top. The last was so wide as to form a roof tall enough for a man to stand under without stooping.

  Nearby were three women, all pale, with hair as black as midnight. One of them saw me, and for a moment when her eyes fixed on me, I thought my mother had been raised from the dead. But then she moved, squinting in the bright sunlight, and lines formed around her mout
h and eyes and I could see she only resembled my mother. Another relative.

  Evina linked hands with the others. “For generations, the women of our tribe have gathered to witness their daughters become women. For you, that transition occurred long ago, but without the rite that is your due. As your mother has passed through the veil, Calliac, our high priestess, will be the one to mark you. Yet you will not be without kinswomen in your time of joy. I have called together our closest living relations through your mother’s bloodline. This is my sister, Maracail.”

  Maracail, the one who so closely resembled my mother, stepped toward me. “Greetings, Guinevere. I am your cousin, and these are my daughters, Gavina and Fia.”

  The two younger girls raised their hands in greeting.

  I embraced each in turn. After so long only having one blood relative, my cousin Bran, who was a relation through my father’s line, meeting four in a matter of days was astonishing. “It is an honor to meet all of you.”

  Calliac was the first to pass beneath the dolmen, followed by Evina and then me, as our relatives brought up the rear. Evina’s guards stood sentry at the entrance, ensuring we remained undisturbed. We did not stop in the area beneath the stones but continued into an earthen cave not visible from the surface. Once inside, Calliac struck a flint, and a spark of light glimmered, caught in her torch, and soon was reflected in several lanterns placed around the chamber.

  As my eyes adjusted to the light, images appeared, painted on the rock walls and carved into stones that sealed niches. They were ancient and crude, done by inexperienced hands, but their meaning was clear. In one, a woman danced in a field of heather, surrounded by six children, while the one next to it depicted a warrior with a bloody spear on the field of battle.

  Calliac spread a blanket on the ground, then removed the stone showing a woman presenting her young daughter with a horse. She withdrew a clay beaker, long ago stoppered with wax or some sort of gummy sap, and placed it on the ground at one end of the blanket.