Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  I stared past her at the walls of the fortress, where the guards were changing position, some slinking off to sleep or drown their sorrows in drink, while others steeled themselves for a long afternoon of attentiveness. In my mind’s eye, I saw myself with the Votadini and Damnonii children, helping them learn to balance their blunted blades and heft spears. That was one of many things I missed about not raising children of my own. In Camelot, we’d had others to see to the boys’ training. At least here I could do it myself and—as Kiara implied—I would be teaching girls as well as boys, so I could pass on my mother’s knowledge, even it was to those not of my own blood.

  I swallowed a lump in my throat and blinked back unbidden tears. “I accept.”

  Kiara grinned. “Tonight I will tell Rohan of our agreement. If he does not object—and he won’t, I will be sure—you can meet the rest of the youngin’s on the morn.”

  We sat in companionable silence for a while, every so often shouting correction or praise as the boys went over and over their drills. By the end of the hour, Cinon had picked up the whole sequence, including the footwork, and was correcting the technique of the others.

  “He is remarkable,” I said.

  “Cinon? He is. His father was one of our greatest warriors. I only wish he could have seen his son complete his testing. Would you like to bear witness? It is your right twice over as one of royal blood and a warrior yourself.”

  My shoulders relaxed and my heart lightened at the prospect. My palm already itched to hold a sword again. This was what I had been trained to do, not sit on a throne. Plus, Kiara’s offer would give me the chance to see the trial of a Votadini warrior first-hand. My mother had hinted at the arduous test over the years, but because I was never able witness it or complete my own, it captivated me even now. “I would. Thank you.”

  “It will take place at the next full moon.”

  A few weeks later, in pale hours of a crisp, cool morning, I mounted my horse and took off in the direction of the closest village, Galen at my side. The people who had gathered at the castle had helped me to understand that in spite of Rohan being their ruler, most citizens were in need of someone to be attentive to their needs. That was not to say Rohan was a bad king; he collected taxes, judged disputes, and protected the surrounding countryside with his army, but he didn’t seem to understand that was only part of the duties of a ruler. From what they’d told me, despite his charm, he had none of the interpersonal skills that would appeal to the people.

  When I suggested to Galen that perhaps this was because Rohan didn’t have a wife to tend to them, he burst out laughing. “You have the measure of him already, I see. Watch your back, else he aim to put you in that position.” I opened my mouth to protest, but Galen voiced my thoughts first. “Don’t go thinking Lancelot is any bit a deterrent to him. I ken he fancies wooing you away from Lancelot as a challenge.”

  What good would it do Rohan to try to charm me? He was already ruler of the area and had previously lived on my lands. Unless that was it. Perhaps he wanted to formally return my lands into his control through me. But no, that didn’t seem likely enough, even if he was genuinely attracted to me, especially with the prospect of having to best Lancelot for my affections. There had to be a greater plan at play that I wasn’t seeing.

  As we rode through winter-dimmed valleys of moss and dying grasses hugged by rocky, mist-shrouded mountains and forests of deep green pine, I imagined a map of the area, trying to tease out Rohan’s strategy. This was a strategic area connecting the Damnonii to the west, Votadini to the south and east, and holding the Picts at bay to the north. If it were an independent kingdom, I could see the Damnonii and Votadini fighting over it, but it was clearly in Votadini control. Perhaps Rohan was scheming to wrest it from Evina. If he held sway over the border with the Picts, he may be able to use the threat of invasion to bring her to heel.

  The more I thought about it, the more sense it made. Just as Evina harbored ambitions to rule all of the lands north of Hadrian’s Wall, so might Rohan. If that were the case, I was merely a pawn in their scheming—a perilous place to be. I had to learn more—and for that I needed Sobian, wherever she was.

  We slowed our mounts as we approached a village that seemed to have sprung up in the shadow of a Christian church, like violets in the shade of an oak. A few curious faces popped out at the sound of hooves, and I greeted them, inquiring after their welfare.

  A man of middle years emerged from one house, crossed his arms and scowled at me. “Why are you here? Ain’t no one ever cared about us before.” He raised his chin in the direction of Stirling. “All them kind want is taxes and men to bleed in war. Most of them battles don’t affect us none, ’cept in making widows and orphans. Now you ’spect me to think you don’t have no reason for being here other than kindness. What are you—a gruagach?” He chuckled at his joke.

  Inwardly, I groaned at the insult. It was not the first time I had been compared to a benevolent household spirit, especially with my short stature and dark coloring. Now, with my scars, I probably resembled one of the wrinkled fae more than ever. I wanted to hit the man upside the head and yell that I was only trying to help him, but his wariness of outsiders was understandable, especially ones that came bearing gifts and asking nothing in return.

  Instead, I said, “If you wish to think of me that way, then so be it. Regardless, I am here with your welfare in mind.”

  While we were talking, a woman who had slipped out of a small house across the street sidled up to us. “Never mind him. John is still sore about his time in Rohan’s army.” She raised a hand in greeting, as friendly as he was cold. “I’m Gin. I know everything that goes on in this town, so I can probably help you.”

  For the rest of the morning, we followed Gin from house to hut to hovel. Gin’s familiar face eased the introductions. Galen noted needs and made plans to send food and supplies upon our return to the castle, while I offered employment in my household when I could for those willing to relocate, and did my best to heal the sick.

  One household, recently quarantined from the pox, wanted nothing to do with me as a priestess. They were proud Christians, the woman of the house told me, faithfully attending the church we had seen on our approach to the village. Covered in ruptured scabs that indicated she was only recently recovered, she would let me no closer than the door, despite my assurances I could not be infected.

  “I understand. Shall I arrange a visit from the priest? Surely he will bring you comfort,” I asked through the slightly cracked door.

  She snorted. “He never sets foot outside the church. Ain’t no holy man who’s paid us mind since ol’ Ringan told us ’bout Christ and then moved on.” She gestured over her shoulder to her husband and three children who lay, unable to move, on mats on the floor. “As you can see, we can’t go to him.”

  I balled my fists at my side. Yet another Christian priest shirking his duty to his people. Father Dafydd, whom Marius had exiled to this part of the world in a bid for control over Arthur, was not like that. Why couldn’t there be more like him? Combined with Rohan’s inattentiveness, it was no wonder John was wary.

  “I will speak with him.” I glanced at the sickest of the children, whose tiny body was riddled with pustules so close together as to be nearly indistinguishable from one another. He cried, his mouth and tongue so covered that he likely couldn’t eat and had little hope of recovery. I did not wish to raise the possibility with his mother, but they had to be prepared. “May I ask, if the worst happens, do you have sufficient funds to see that your loved ones are properly buried?”

  Her eyes flared with anger. “Look around. Do we look like we kin afford a shovel, much less to have that priest say his fancy words over our dead bodies?” She threw me a look so full of disgust, I involuntarily stepped back. “Begone! Away with you!”

  I hurried back down the lane behind Gin, Galen bringing up the rear. Once we had
put three blocks between us and the sick house, I stopped Gin with a hand to her forearm and held out a small purse of coins. “Will you hold these for me? I would like them to be used in the event anyone from that family dies. If they all recover, have a Mass of thanksgiving said in their honor.”

  Gin looked at the coin purse, then back at me, her eyes full of wonder. “How generous of you, my lady, especially given the way she treated you.”

  She stowed the purse in a pouch beneath her tunic as we headed back toward the church, where the priest assured me he would visit the house, but only once everyone was recovered. I closed my eyes, fighting to remain calm. His timing would be too late to offer them any comfort, which was what they so desperately needed.

  “How were you able to speak with that family?” Gin asked as we departed for the stables. “Even the priest isn’t brave enough to go to them, and he has the power of Christ on his side. Most of us would have given the house a wide berth, yet you gave them food and counsel. Are priestesses unaffected by the pox?”

  I smiled. “No. But there was an outbreak when I was a young girl.”

  Snippets of those dark days flashed in my memory—my mother pressing a cold cloth to my forehead, her face dotted with red marks; my father hacking away at half-frozen ground to bury my little brother; Octavia sacrificing mourning doves to her old Roman gods to keep the worst of the pestilence at bay. We eventually recovered, but some, like Arthur’s kinsman King Mark, were permanently scarred. Hundreds died.

  Gods preserve us from another summer like that one. “From what we were taught in Avalon, a person cannot be afflicted twice. I am blessed that my family only suffered a mild case. Many others were not so fortunate.”

  We stopped in front of the stable. John, the suspicious man we’d encountered at the start of our venture, blocked the way.

  He stood tall and stepped aside as we drew near. “Beg pardon, my lady, but I wanted to say thank you for what you’ve done fer us today. Many of them people is sayin’ you’re the rightful queen o’ the Gododdin, and I ken they’re on ta somethin’. You’ve been more a queen to us today than anyone in a crow’s age. If you ever have need of us, ask an’ it’s yours.”

  The next several weeks passed in a blur of parchment and ink, as I called in every contact I had to try to find Sobian. Lancelot did the same. But the information that made its way to us wasn’t usually about our favorite spy; rather, it carried news of the current political climate, which had slipped my mind since arriving in Din Eidyn. Now, between the two of us, we were getting a pretty good idea of how fractured Britain had become.

  “Accolon says that Mordred’s fellows have disbanded and returned to their own tribes,” Lancelot said.

  I looked up from the letter I was reading. “The Saxons have not. Elga is still intent on ruling as much of the country as she can. Owain reports that she is allying herself with whoever has the most power at the moment and is considering marriage again—no doubt to increase her own standing.”

  “Then she should next fix her gaze on Constantine.” Lancelot flicked a page toward me. “Read this.”

  I picked up the letter. It was from Bran. As I read, my stomach twisted. This was a detailed account of kingdoms falling under the boots of Constantine’s army. First Dyfnaint and the parts of the Midlands not already under Saxon control. He skipped the Summer Country because it was already under Elga’s rule. Cornwall was resisting, and Gwynedd too. But Powys had surrendered. He was even putting it about that Helene was his top choice for a wife, once she grew to marriageable age, an idea Morgan vehemently opposed.

  “He aims to be High King,” I said, shocked at how much progress Constantine had made since we left Traprain Law. The lands we had once roamed so freely were now under the control of a man with great ambition. But then again, that was not much different than what Arthur had done to become king.

  At least on the surface. The more I read, the more troublesome the clash of thrones became. As they pressed north, Constantine’s gigantic army ruined the harvest, descending like a plague of locusts, eating or confiscating bales of wheat, bushels of fruit, and robbing families of livestock they were depending on to see them through the winter. In their footprints lay acres of stubbled fields, naked trees, and bloodied earth from the slaughter of animals—normal sights in autumn to be sure, but now whole towns starved even before the first snowfall and despaired what would become of them in the cold, shadowy days ahead.

  Oblivious to my concerns, Lancelot asked, “Would it be so bad if Constantine prevailed? He has a blood claim through his relation to Iggraine, and Arthur always liked him.”

  “He did. I suppose what is happening is only natural. Are we really getting so old as to begrudge a new generation their successes? I have lost my taste for the intrigues of courtly life.”

  “Then what are we doing here?” Lancelot mused.

  I put his letter aside and picked up another. “This is what really worries me. Morgan and Accolon have made an alliance aimed at holding the north from Constantine’s advances and retaking some of their ancestral lands in Bernicia. For some reason, they are focused on the Isle of Winds. I don’t see why they would be interested in a small island north of Catraeth.”

  “That is a key strategic point for blocking any Pictish attack by water. Whoever holds it controls whether or not the Picts can access Britain via the Firth of Forth.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “My time in Din Eidyn and Angus has taught me a great amount about politics and strategy in this land.”

  I looked back at the letter. “It says here Morcant hired a group of Saxons to patrol the waters.” I shivered. Tragedy had resulted from a similar offer made by Vortigern decades before I was born. The result was the Saxon presence on our eastern shore. “That must be why Owain and Accolon are interested in the area. I would be concerned if I were them.”

  “It certainly makes taking back their lands that much harder.” He shook his head. “One of these days, perhaps your people will learn not to trust those back-stabbing bastards.”

  We lapsed into silence, each studying the map of Britain before us.

  “I wonder if we will ever experience peace again,” I whispered, more to myself than to Lancelot.

  “There is one way to know for sure,” he replied.

  I looked up, intrigued. “What’s that?”

  “Be the one to bring about peace.” Lancelot’s gaze on me was intense. “I know you said you wanted nothing more of politics, but I also know you are not one to sit idly by and let others suffer. If you were, you wouldn’t have ridden through the villages. You would have let them rot under Rohan’s neglect.” He leaned toward me and grasped my hands. “I think you should consider it—making a bid for the throne, I mean. The time is ripe, and the people would willingly rally behind you.”

  I cleared my throat, fighting a sudden constriction. “How can you even ask me that? I have seen enough bloodshed, feuds, and petty fighting to fill three lifetimes. While I was queen, I was kidnapped and almost killed twice. You know the dangers I faced better than anyone.”

  “But the people are crying out for a strong ruler. These letters”—Lancelot tapped his index finger on the pile, as if trying to illustrate his point—“tell us that. They have no love for people who march into their lands with hordes of soldiers and declare themselves rulers, be they Saxon or Briton. You would have no need to do such a thing. You earned their trust long ago.”

  I fled to the open window with its tranquil view of the river. I breathed in deeply, desperate to be physically away from him and the argument he was spinning. He was appealing to my need to protect Britain’s people, the very reason why I’d assented to be queen in the first place. The dutiful part of my mind said I owed them my protection as long as I was strong enough to give it. But I could not, would not take up the mantle of power again. It had cost me too much. Lancelot kn
ew that. Why was he pressing this?

  “Some of them may trust me, but not all. You saw how quickly our friends turned against me during my trial. And what of those who supported Morgan as Arthur’s rightful wife? He divorced me, took away my title as queen. To them, I am not fit to lead. Then there are those who never liked me in the first place. You were not there in the Bloody Lane. You did not witness the jeers and taunts, how they relished degrading me in the broad light of day. I would still have to win over their fickle hearts, which just as likely now would support a Saxon over a woman whose weaknesses have been on display.”

  “Surely they are in the minority. Anyone who seeks the throne will have some enemies.”

  “That may be, but I am no young queen anymore. Plus, all my detractors would have to do is point at my scars. The most ancient laws forbid a maimed person from being king or queen out of fear their imperfection will ruin the land. That’s why Bedivere was doomed to live in Kay’s shadow. He would never be whole, and neither will I.” I sighed then finally looked back at him. “Do you wish to be king? Is that why you are making this argument?”

  Lancelot scowled. “You know it is not. I only wish for you to be sure in your heart, so you do not look back on this time and wonder if there was something else you could have done.”

  “I know my heart, as do you. Do you not remember what we said to one another when we were reunited in Din Eidyn? I wish to live out my days in peace.”

  “I am afraid peace is not something the gods are willing to grant us for a while.”

  “I have to agree.” My gaze drifted to the ships on the river below.

  Was Sobian even now on a ship like those, perhaps somewhere far out at sea? Was that why we couldn’t locate her? But surely the current political instability was rife with opportunity for one with her skills. She had to at least be keeping an eye on the situation.