Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  The half-dozen Saxon ships that bobbed offshore, however, raised my suspicions. From my first view of the isle, I’d recognized it as the place in my vision and had been keeping an eye on Rohan, lest he try anything untoward. Now with these ships placed so conveniently close to our battleground, I had to make sure nothing was amiss.

  Most of the boats appeared to have sustained enough damage in yesterday’s skirmishes to keep them from being seaworthy. Climbing aboard one after the other, I checked their hulls and cargo holds for stowaway Saxons. All were empty, save one, where I found Elga ostensibly making repairs but more likely preparing for escape.

  She hissed and cursed at me in her native tongue as I dragged her onto shore by the arm.

  “Oh, stop it,” I spat. “I’m not going to hurt you. But I do wish you to witness the single combat that will bring your reign here to an end.” I pushed her onto the sand and she responded with a hand gesture that was likely some sort of curse.

  Her husband and Owain faced off, each with his brother as second. Osmere struck first, but Owain parried, stepping into a series of complicated blade and footwork moves that even I had trouble keeping up with. He pushed hard on Osmere, never giving him a chance to recover. Osmere, to his credit, fought hard, always on the defensive, pushing Owain’s blade back with little opportunity to strike.

  The battle was over before it had really begun. Owain tore his blade across Osmere’s chest from right shoulder to left hip bone, and Osmere crumpled like a discarded scrap of parchment, trying to hold in his entrails to little avail.

  Back at the fort, cheers erupted from our men as the flag of the house of Rheged was raised. On the beach, Elga screamed, rushing toward her husband and brandishing her sword at anyone foolish enough to get in her way. At the same time, Rohan grabbed Owain by his tunic before he could even register his victory, much less celebrate it, and Theodric turned on Accolon, his blade at our leader’s neck.

  For a long moment, the three couples stood in deadly embrace, each contemplating their varied futures that were dependent on their next actions. As a spectator, there was little I could do but watch. Elga held her husband’s body, rocking much like I had when Arthur fell at Camlann. Rohan twisted Owain’s neck, killing him instantly. Accolon lunged toward his brother, trying to stop Rohan’s traitorous act, but Theodric’s blade held him immobile.

  Suddenly, the beach was red with blood. I ran to Accolon, trying to help him escape, but Theodric slammed his fist into my head, sending me reeling. I fell back upon the sand with a thud that robbed me of breath. While I shook off the sparks of light that littered my vision and struggled to stand, Sobian barreled into Theodric, planting her sword in his thigh and immobilizing him. Like the trained assassin she was, she flipped him over and tied his hands behind his back, her knee digging into his shoulder blades. In the same instant, Lancelot tackled Rohan.

  Only Elga remained free, and she used the chaos to her advantage, seizing Accolon as he moved toward Owain’s lifeless body. She tackled him, slamming his head into the ground and dragging him backward toward the ship I had pulled her out of.

  “Move away, all of you, or he dies!” she commanded, using her sword to punctuate each word as she backed him onto the ship. She motioned for a few of her crew to join her, and soon they were drifting offshore. From the deck, she pointed at Morgan. “You killed my husband, so I will take your lover in exchange.”

  Morgan responded by raising her arms and summoning a storm that threatened to capsize the boat. But Elga’s crew were skilled enough to ride it out, somehow sensing that Morgan’s power didn’t carry as far out to sea as she would have others believe. Morgan howled as her grip on the waves waned. I ran to her side, mingling my power with hers, but still it lasted only a few moments more. Spent, we both collapsed onto the sand, surveying the wreckage around us.

  Owain’s body lay abandoned on the earth beyond the beach, rivulets of blood seeping toward the sea as though his essence sought its maker. Not far off, Sobian knelt atop Theodric’s prone form, frantically signaling her girls to bring a ship around to this side of the isle. Near the trees, Lancelot held Rohan, whispering what I could only guess were graphic threats in his ear.

  When I had recovered, I strode over to Rohan, tears in my eyes for my dead compatriot and friend. “Why, Rohan?” I glanced at the piteous form at my feet. “Why did you turn on him? He trusted you. We all did.”

  Rohan smirked. “What is trust in time of war? My allegiance is with the victors, so when I saw an opportunity to change the outcome, I did.”

  “But we took the island. We were victorious. Shouldn’t your allegiance be with us?”

  Rohan gave a short bark of a laugh. “This skirmish was a pittance compared to what is yet to come. I don’t think in terms of battles; I think about the whole war. We won this tussle, but as Morcant said, what good will it do in the long run? We will just keep defending an outpost we are destined to lose. If not today, someday, and then the Saxons will have free rein into the north. I want to be their ally when that day comes.”

  “So why even fight with us then?” Lancelot asked.

  “I didn’t know which way the outcome would go. If they won, I wanted to be here to celebrate with them. As they did not, I rid them of a powerful enemy. Owain would have died either way. Now that they have Accolon in their possession, the house of Rheged is no longer a threat.”

  “Meaning Evina is their next target,” I said.

  He tipped his head noncommittally. “Perhaps. Her or you. Both of you are obstacles to their goal.”

  “Is that why you wanted to marry me, to rid yourself of an obstacle to greater power?”

  “Yes, and I wanted your lands back. Nothing I have said to you has been untrue.”

  “Yet everything has. You and Elga planned this ahead of time, didn’t you?”

  Rohan smirked. “Of course we did. Why did you think I was in such a hurry for Owain and Osmere to stop their pointless arguing? How do you think I knew right where to lead them? I knew Elga was on that boat, but I have to admit I thought our plans were lost when you dragged her to shore. But the gods were smiling on us after all.”

  My palms itched to punch the self-satisfied smirk off his face, but I restrained myself. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw that two of Sobian’s ships loomed just off the coast. “Well, it won’t be long now until you face justice.”

  We clumsily loaded Theodric and Rohan onto one boat, and Sobian set it on course for the port of Dunbar, just east of Din Eidyn. Since traveling by sea was much faster than by land, we expected to reach our destination by morning. The rest of our army followed in a second ship with Morgan, who was tending the wounded with the aid of the other camp women.

  In the small hours of the night, most of us managed to steal a few hours of rest, but not Sobian. In addition to captaining the boat, she took it upon herself to act as Rohan’s guard. Once he was chained in the back of the boat, she approached him, taunting him. Even though I advised her to keep her own council about the subterfuge of the last several months, her resolve broke as we neared Dunbar.

  She held her hair back from her face in a rough braid. “Do you recognize this face?” She said something in Pictish I could not understand, but from her tone, it translated roughly to “you piece of shite bastard.”

  When Rohan failed to respond, she poured a mug of water over her head, washing out the coal dust to reveal the lingering red in her hair. His eyes widened.

  “Yes, you sorry sod,” she said in the Briton tongue. “I was your ‘lover,’ Eithne. All these months I pretended to be close to you, to care about you, and all I was really trying to do was prove your treason. Yet now you have demonstrated it before a full party of witnesses, Votadini and foreigner alike.” She moved right next to him, her breath stirring the fine hairs on his cheek. “Tell me, was vengeance against Owain worth what Evina will do to you?” She turned her b
ack to him, leaning her shoulders against his like a lover. “I can’t imagine much that would be worth sacrificing my stones for, much less my very life.”

  “I did what needed doing,” he said gravely, turning his face away from her. “I ask mercy from no one.”

  “Good. I doubt you will find much from them.” She pointed toward the port.

  My gaze swung in the direction she indicated. At the mouth of the pier, Evina and Mynyddog waited, arrayed in their finery. Sobian must have sent a messenger ahead to make the Votad and Votadess aware of the prisoners we held on board.

  As soon as we stepped off the boat, guards met us to take Rohan and Theodric into custody. I started to make my way to the second boat to see if Morgan needed any help transferring the wounded, but after a few steps, my path was blocked by two guards. They motioned for me to turn my back and surrender my wrists to them.

  “What? What is this?” I looked to Evina and Mynyddog for an explanation. “Have I not regained the Isle of Winds from our enemies? By what charge do you arrest me?”

  As if he had been waiting for such a cue, one of the guards recited, “Guinevere of the Votadini, late of Stirling and the lands surrounding, you are hereby reprimanded into the mercy of the Votad and Votadess on the charge of high treason. You stand accused of inciting rebellion and causing the people to rise up against their rightful rulers in your name.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Summer 522

  Thick, stale air threatened to choke my waking breath before I could even draw it. Bright sunlight blinded me as I sat up in my tiny cell, its touch causing sweat to pool beneath my skirts and in my armpits. Judging from the position of the sun, it was just past midday. I pulled my linen shift away from sticky skin, seeking some relief from the unbearably hot room. Though the air outside was likely warm and refreshing, I had no such hope in here, for the prison was in the path of runoff heat from the kitchen fires. With so little time between the break of fast and the second meal, even in winter the air did not have time to cool. Perhaps that was by design to torture the prisoners, or maybe the gaol was placed there because no one would live in such conditions voluntarily.

  I must have fallen asleep, something that happened frightfully often since being taken captive some weeks before—I’d lost count of how much time had passed. Between the heat and boredom, a drowsy stupor was my normal state. Little of what went on outside the walls reached my prison cell, only snatches of conversation when the guards conferred at shift change. Early this morning they had whispered about their strange orders for the summer solstice ritual tonight, so something important was afoot.

  The clink of metal on metal at my door interrupted my thoughts. With a grunt, one of Evina’s guards heaved open the heavy wooden door far enough to poke his head in, as though I wasn’t worthy of moving his entire body. “Lady Guinevere, you have been summoned by the Votadess. You are to wear your best gown and bring any personal possessions with you, as you will not be returning to your cell. I will wait outside to escort you.”

  For a few dreadful moments after the door boomed shut behind him, I sat in my bed, shivering despite the heat, certain I was being called to my death. What had I done to warrant Evina’s wrath after she had looked the other way for so many months? Which of my actions on the isle had tipped the balance? Something had to have. According to the guards, my supporters had been lying low since word spread of my containment, but rumblings still rolled across the countryside like seeds of thistle in the summer wind. Until they were silenced, I remained a threat, so perhaps there had been a riot I was unaware of.

  Slowly, as though I was moving underwater, I braided my hair into a rough plat and donned the midnight-blue tunic I had been lent to substitute for my dirt-stained, bloody battle gear. It may not have been a royal gown, but it was a fine enough garment to lose my life in. I tipped water over my hands from an ewer and rubbed my cheeks, invoking the Goddess as though I washed with Beltane dew.

  “Mother, guide me. Give me strength. If this is the day I am to meet you, I am ready. All my life I have followed your voice and tried to do your will. When I breathe my last, may your judgment be swift and merciful.”

  With a deep breath, I rapped on the door, offered my hands to be bound, and followed the guard out to meet my fate.

  I stumbled down the slopes of Din Eidyn into the darkening fields where a great crowd had gathered. They parted like summer barley in the breeze as we approached, revealing a wooden platform on which stood Evina, Mynyddog, and Calliac, the high priestess, surrounded by guards and attendants. Lancelot and Sobian waited nearby, under guard but unfettered, but I didn’t see Morgan anywhere. Unlike the rest of us, she seemed to have escaped Evina’s wrath unscathed.

  To my left, more soldiers ringed a large wooden pen taller than a man, the like of which a farmer might keep cattle or horses in at market, but it was not open to the air. It was covered by a thatched roof like a house. When I tried to peer into the darkness within, the guards crossed their spears to prevent it. On my other side, the crowd laughed and talked, while a few jeered or cheered as I passed. Thankfully, they were much too distracted by the free-flowing ale and the men jumping bonfires or rolling flaming sunwheels down the hill to pay much attention to me.

  When we reached the dais, the guard halted me with a hand to my shoulder. He nodded to Evina, and at her signal, the rhythmic pounding of drums began, followed by the jangle of horse tack as mounted men and women ringed us on every side. What was this? No ritual I had ever witnessed required so many armed men, much less a ring of cavalry. Perhaps the purpose of this gathering was much more dire than it appeared. My heart hammered, fear of the unknown replacing my earlier detachment. I swallowed. Perhaps I would indeed die tonight.

  Calliac stepped forward, bowing her head so all could see the equine skull she wore as a crown over her long silver hair, then she raised and dipped her arms in gestures of supplication and praise, her voice lost in the din. As Calliac turned, she drew nearer, the rough surface of her horsehair cloak catching the light. The brown strands woven into the cloak were not ribbons, as I had thought, but rather the thick hairs from a horse’s mane or tail. She was the embodiment of our tribal goddess, Rhiannon.

  Four priestesses adorned with feathers and antlers stepped forward and bowed before her. She placed a hand on the crown of each one’s head before entrusting her with a pottery bottle and sending her off into the dark. As we watched, the priestesses went from rider to rider, sprinkling them with the contents of the jars and giving them each a torch. The last rider blessed by each priestess took possession of her jar, and when the benediction was done, the four singled out gathered at the crossroads directly behind the dais. The other riders surrounded them in a circle.

  When all had assembled, Calliac raised her staff, topped with the skull of a pony, and cried out in a language I did not know. The Otherworldly sound raised the hairs on my arms and forced a shiver down my spine. Whatever she was doing summoned great power, the like of which I had only seen twice before: in Avalon, and on the night Aine raised the dark spirits in Malegant’s tower. With a scream like a banshee, she struck the earth with her staff and the skull burst into flames. She used it to light the torch of the rider nearest to her, and within moments, the circle was alight.

  Calliac ceded the dais to Evina, who with her hair pulled back in complex braids and soot staining the skin around her eyes, resembled a wraith raised from the dead. Her eyes gleamed with a feverish intensity as she looked over the crowd, silent now in anticipation, and perhaps a little fear.

  “My people,” Evina’s voice carried across the fields, “as you know, our homes are threatened on three fronts. To the north, our old enemies, the Picts, are stirring.”

  A few men in the crowd called curses upon on all sons of the Highlands.

  Evina moved with feral grace, stretching her limbs like a dancer each time she changed direction. “To the wes
t, we keep vigil against treachery from our own people, which some have recently enacted.”

  A loud hooting and booing rose from the crowd when a guard forced Rohan up onto the platform. Like me, he was bound at the wrists, but he wore no finery. His chest was bare, exposing the bruises and gashes of torture. Cries of “traitor” and “kill him” burst forth. If they so easily called for his death, was the same spectacle planned for me?

  Evina gestured for the crowd to quiet, which they did by slow degrees. “And to our south, the Saxons roam our borders, looking for even the smallest crack through which to pass and harry us all.”

  The crowd was shouting, working themselves into a frenzy of bloodlust and hate. Outraged faces circled me on all sides, jostling and shoving. A young woman with shorn red hair pushed between my guard and me, and for one disconnected moment, I thought I was back in the courtyard of Cadbury on the night Malegant abducted me. Panic rose in my throat so fast I thought I would retch. I doubled over, breathing rapidly, a cold sweat weighing me down. I coughed and heaved, but my body produced nothing.

  When I straightened again, Lancelot was beside me, having broken from his guard. I threw my bound hands over his head and hugged him tightly.

  “Praise to the gods that you are here. I don’t know how I would have faced this alone.” I looked around. “Whatever this is.”

  Lancelot ducked out of my grasp and held my shoulders firmly, staring deep into my eyes. “No matter what may come, I am here. Know that they will have to kill me before they harm a hair on your head. So even if you die, I will precede you and clear the way to glory.”

  I made to respond, but Evina’s powerful voice interrupted, forcing our attention back to her.

  “We are not helpless, even in the face of such formidable foes,” Evina declared. “Oh no, far from it. That is why tonight, we invoke the goddess Rhiannon, she who is also called Epona and Macha, patroness of our tribe and of our bloodlines. By the strength of her horses and with their speed, she will protect us and bring us peace.”