Queen of Camelot

  “We must do something about Maelgon. He is on the verge of doing Gwynedd irreparable harm.”

  “How so?”

  She shifted uncomfortably. “Have you not heard, then? I thought Anet must have told you. He has concocted some wild story about you and Lancelot together in the woods—I am ashamed of it, Gwen, and pray you will forgive him for it. He does not care that he disgraces his poor sister, and thereby his mother, with the tale. He gives out the man attacked you—forgive me, my dear, but it is best that you know this beforehand. He wants to call a Council and bring a formal charge against Lancelot—Lancelot, of all people!—thinking, the half-wit, that this will somehow please the High King and gain him a place at his side! I told him he had been out in the sun too long. There is no one closer to Arthur than Lancelot, and if he thinks to please the King by telling him this sordid tale, then he deserves what Arthur will do to him! But I do not deserve it, Guinevere, I do not! The King is expected at sundown. Somehow we must keep Maelgon silent. Clearly, you owe him nothing. In your place, I would probably let Arthur destroy him. But he is my son, and Pellinore’s, and Elaine’s brother—if you ever loved us, Guinevere, will you not help us now? Speak to Maelgon! Warn him of his danger.”

  I believe I stared at her. I know that I was speechless.

  “What a fool he will look when Lancelot denies it! There is no point to it! He is embarked upon a course that can only bring him ruin! He thinks, because he has destroyed the Druids, he is a great power in Britain that Arthur must reckon with! The pig-headed child!” She paused, plucking at her skirts in anger, and I cleared my throat and found my voice.

  “What if Lancelot does not deny it?”

  “What do you mean? Why shouldn’t he?”

  “He was responsible for me, when the Druids took me.”

  “You were set upon by twelve men! What kind of odds are those?”

  “But it was his doing that the odds were twelve to one. Besides, he has done something—else that Arthur would not like and is feeling guilty about it now. You know his sense of honor, Alyse. If he feels he deserves chastisement, he will take it in any form it is offered.”

  She looked at me sharply. “What do you mean by that? That he would accept punishment for an offense he had not committed?”

  “That is exactly what I mean. He has done it before.”

  She snorted in disgust. “Well, Elaine told me he could be insufferable. Don’t misunderstand me”—this as I flushed scarlet and moved to protest—“I am not unhappy with the match. He is a good husband to her; he has given her a kingdom and sons every year. Two healthy boys she has now, and another on the way. She has no cause for complaint. If there is no love between them, well, God knows that is common enough. And she only has to tolerate him in the winters. That is little enough to bear, it seems to me . . . Guinevere, you are shaking. Have a seat, my child. What is amiss? Are you ill?” She drew me down onto the bench beside her and pressed a hand to my brow. “Surely, this is nonsense about desiring punishment for anything because one is guilty of something. It is foolishness, pure and simple. You are an old friend of Lancelot’s. Can you not make him see sense?”

  I wanted to laugh, but my throat was so tight I could make no sound at all.

  “I bade Anet speak to you about it, because we agree that Maelgon is cutting his own throat, but she told me today to let sleeping dogs lie. So I came myself.”

  “It was good advice, Aunt Alyse.”

  “Maelgon is my son. I cannot sit idle and watch him destroy his future—” She broke off and rose unsteadily. A great silence filled the garden. The looms had stopped. Alyse bent her stiff knees in a curtsy, and I looked up. A tall man stood at the end of the path in the shadow of the gate. Around us the world held its breath.

  “Arthur,” I whispered, rising slowly as Alyse sank to the ground and bowed her head. In a dozen long strides he was with me, had his arms around me, held me so tightly I could barely breathe, and hid his face in my hair. And I did not know until he embraced me how I had longed for his embrace! His strength and his joy gave me the peace I had been seeking; he was my rock, my rest, my certainty.

  “Arthur!” My tears flowed freely down my cheeks and soaked his tunic. I hardly knew if they were tears of joy or pain. “Oh, Arthur, Arthur, at last!”

  “You are alive!” he breathed. “Alive! Nothing matters beside that!”

  He kissed my tears and kissed my lips with a desperate joy that stirred me to my soul. Nothing mattered, nothing mattered beside this.

  He held me a long time. Alyse had gone, the weaving room was empty—the day stood still and time silent, all for us.

  “When I heard—what Cathbad told me—Guinevere, the light went dark.”

  “Yes,” I whispered, remembering the approach of the abyss. “The light went dark.”

  “What a fool I was to go! When Niniane twice warned me—”

  “Don’t,” I begged, putting a finger to his lips to stop him. “Don’t, Arthur. You, of all people, are not to blame.”

  “I left you.”

  “But for foolishness, I would have been safe enough. When did you hear of it?”

  “Cathbad told me of the sacrifice. Not willingly, you may be sure. We caught him trying to escape one night in Rheged; I suspected him and had him watched. In fear of his life, he told me their plans.” He stopped. “I nearly killed him. Had Ferron and Bellangere not dragged me off him, I would have. I lost my wits, I think.” He pulled my head to his breast and kissed my hair. “I put all my faith in Lancelot.”

  “He saved me, Arthur, at the last moment. But he was not alone. Merlin was there. And one of the Druids helped me. They—they thought I was Elaine.”

  “Salowen may have thought so. But Cathbad knew the truth. And he let the plans go forward.” I shivered at the cold in his voice.

  “Salowen is dead.”

  “Yes.”

  “You knew?”

  “Fion met me on the road two hours hence with a small party. He said they had been out hunting and seen our dust.”

  “Did he? Bless the man! He is a true friend.”

  He pulled away and looked down into my face. “Did he come to me at your request?”

  “Yes, Arthur.”

  “Ahhhh. To blunt the force of Maelgon’s accusation, no doubt.”

  “You have spoken to Maelgon?”

  “He met us at the outer gate. He would not stand aside until he had voiced his grievance. I had to command him to move out of the way, so I could come to you.” He kissed me again, slowly and with love. In his arms, I found the courage to face my fears.

  “Arthur, have you spoken to Lancelot?”

  “Not yet.”

  “He has taken it all upon himself.”

  “Well,” he said slowly, “he is responsible.”

  “Not alone. I—I share the blame, Arthur.”

  He took the blow with barely a tremor; still, his eyes were kind. “He saved you from the flame. For that, I will forgive him anything.”

  “Don’t let Maelgon bring a formal charge. Please.”

  “I cannot prevent that, Gwen. He has done so already. We meet tonight.”

  “Tonight?”

  “It is his right. I must hear him. But I will make short work of it, I promise you. It is easy to see what he is after. I want the women there—will you be ready? Are you recovered enough?”

  With a lie I could postpone it, but I could not lie to Arthur. “Yes.”

  “Don’t distress yourself so. You can’t believe I would bring judgment against Lancelot.”

  I held him tight and fought back tears. “You have not seen him yet.”

  With a firm hand he lifted my chin and looked long and searchingly into my eyes. What he saw there brought him pain and bitter joy. At length he dropped his hand and said sadly, “What you have done has scarred your soul. That is punishment enough, I think.”

  “Lancelot will die if you forgive him.”

  He shrugged. “I can deal
with Lancelot. It is you, Guinevere, whom I must heal.”

  I stared, stunned to hear Fion’s words so soon repeated. Arthur turned. Maelgon and Anet, Fion and his companions, Ferron, Gereint, and Bellangere awaited us at the gate.

  “Duty beckons,” Arthur said gently, offering me his arm. “You who faced the Druids with such courage, you must be brave yet awhile longer.”

  Maelgon called the Council an hour past dinner. Ailsa laid my gown out on the bed while I paced the room in distraction. How had things come to such a pass? Why could not this embarrassment be avoided? Why, oh why, should everything I did reflect shame upon Arthur? That I was the root of all this sorrow was plain enough. The King had spent all afternoon with Lancelot and afterward had paced the garden alone, his hands clasped behind his back, looking solemn. I had seen him from my window, when I could bear to look.

  “Come, my lady, it is time to prepare.”

  She had laid out my finest gown, my best jewels, and had the sapphire netting ready for my hair.

  “Oh, Ailsa. Put them away. I cannot wear them.”

  “But—my lady—”

  “I will not go dressed for a celebration, when I am the source of such distress! Dear Lord, save me from hubris! Find me something plain. Dull. Ugly.”

  “But where—”

  “Send to Cissa. There is an old trunk in Alyse’s room, I think. I remember a gray gown. If they have not given it away, I will wear it.”

  “But, Gwen! You cannot—”

  “Very well, I will go myself!” I cried impatiently.

  Scowling, Ailsa dipped me a curtsy and hurried to the door. But there she turned. “If I were you, I should worry about pleasing the King.”

  “Oh, God!” I wailed. “If only that were all that mattered!”

  She returned some time later with a dove-gray gown. I made her remove the lace trimming from bodice and sleeves and declined the jeweled belt Cissa had sent.

  “One would almost think,” Ailsa said sourly as she bent over her task, “that you wish to be a prisoner yourself.”

  I stopped pacing to face her. “That is precisely what I wish! Maelgon may treat me as a victim, but I am one with the accused. And I want Maelgon to know it. It is the only thing I can do to help save Lancelot.”

  Her eyebrows lifted. “Lancelot! You cannot think he is in real danger, my lady. The High King would never condemn his closest friend.”

  “Oh, Ailsa, it is not that simple. In council friendship cannot be considered. Arthur must pass a Judgment the council will accept. Maelgon counts on Alyse and Anet to side with him. And they might, to protect the honor of Gwynedd. I have done my best with Anet, but he is her husband, after all. That leaves me, Fion, Lancelot, and Arthur. Fion will be diplomatic of necessity, and I know already what Lancelot will say. What can Arthur do? If he gives a Judgment that contradicts the council, Maelgon will contest it, and we shall have war. That is what Arthur came here to prevent. His very fairness will tie his hands. I must do whatever I can to make Maelgon think twice.” I lifted the soft, dull fabric in my hand. “Arthur will not like this, but I think he will forgive me the gesture.”

  The gown fit snugly and without its laces was plain and self-effacing. I wore no jewels, no earrings, no adornments of any kind. At my command and against her will, Ailsa pulled my hair back from my face and bound it with a thong. If I did not look like a prisoner myself, at least I looked like a penitent. Not even Maelgon could mistake the signal.

  The page arrived to fetch me, and I turned to Ailsa. “Well? What do you think? Am I plain enough?”

  She smiled in her motherly way and made me a reverence. “You have done your best, my lady, and a valiant effort it is. But the effect would surprise you.”

  “Whatever do you mean?”

  “The color of the gown sets off the perfection of your skin. You have a matchless neck and shoulders. I do not worry any longer about the King.”

  “Ailsa!” I cried in panic. “What are you saying? You think to humor me, that is all!”

  She smiled again. “Of course, of course. The page is waiting, my lady. You must go.” And she pushed me out the door.

  When I entered the council chamber everyone but Arthur was already there. Thank God it was a small council, with only the six of us and no advisors, no lieutenants, no servants. Only four men guarded the door, two of Arthur’s and two of Maelgon’s. I recognized Gereint and Bellangere, trusted friends both and men who could keep their mouths closed. Predictably, Maelgon wore all his finery, even his crown. Anet was in her new gown, and her hair was dressed in the way Ailsa had taught her servant. She looked almost pretty, but the change in her went deeper. She was calm and self-possessed, even though she was excited. She was a woman who had found a joy in power. I did not think she could go back now to what she had been before.

  Alyse, stiff and formal, sat beside her. She looked at me with dismay and disapproval, but said nothing. By her words that afternoon she had placed herself in my debt, and she dared not speak against me now. Fion, on the other hand, was astonished. When he rose to hand me to my seat I saw the question in his eyes.

  “What can I do to serve you?” he whispered as he bent over my hand.

  “Defend Lancelot,” I murmured.

  “Aye, that I could guess myself. But how far?”

  I looked up into his brilliant eyes. “Keep this foremost in your thoughts: Where would I be now without him?” He squeezed my hand in answer.

  Lancelot himself I could barely look at. He was dressed as plainly as I and sat straight in the chair opposite Arthur’s empty seat. Around his neck he wore a leather thong, half hidden by the tunic. I knew with certainty that it held my ring, and wondered what on earth had possessed him to wear it here. He was furious with me, as well. His black brows came down over his eyes when he saw me, and he scowled at me across the table. At least, I thought in grim amusement, we did not look like lovers.

  The night was warm and damp, with sea fog cloaking the shore and clinging to valleys. A thick mist crept in through the narrow windows and haloed the torches with light. There we sat, we six, watching one another in silence and waiting for Arthur. Time passed. Maelgon began to frown, and sent a page to discover if aught was amiss with the High King. It was unlike Arthur to keep anyone waiting. The page reported that the King was coming. But still we waited. Lancelot began to worry; Alyse looked pointedly at me; I shrugged. Anet cast a nervous glance at Maelgon, who was slowly growing angry. And Fion, his eyes dancing, looked amused.

  At last we heard his steps. The soldiers snapped to attention. The High King paused in the doorway, gathering everyone’s eye, and entered. It was worth the wait. He was plainly dressed in white, cool and majestic, the crown of Britain shining in the torchlight against his dark hair. Around his waist he wore his jeweled swordbelt, and at his side hung wonderful Excalibur, the great emerald blazing from the hilt. He shed light all about him, and as he moved the mist seemed visibly to part and let him through. We all rose. Maelgon, already sweating in his heavy, colored velvets, bowed as he passed. I made my reverence to the floor. After a long hesitation, Arthur raised me. His eyes ran over the gown and met mine. I could not read his face. There was a gravity about him that I feared.

  He signaled the guards to close the door, then stood and looked slowly around the council table, searching every face. The air was so still I could hear voices far off in the outer courtyard, but in that chamber I did not hear so much as a breath. At last the King spoke.

  “Let God be my witness, I will have the truth spoken. King Maelgon of Gwynedd, bring your complaint.”

  Maelgon rose, looking hot and uncomfortable, knowing he had not Arthur’s air of command, and resenting it.

  “My lord King Arthur,” he began. “We of Gwynedd beg your Judgment upon Lancelot. As king, I am responsible for all that happens on our soil, but a tragedy has occurred, my lord, for which I will not accept the blame. A grave injustice has been done to your lady wife, my cousin Queen Guinevere,
while you were in Rheged. As my lord knows, she was abducted by Druids and taken against her will to Mona’s Isle. This travesty took place on my lands, and I will not bear that shame without redress. My lord, it was not through my doing she was taken. She was in the company of Lancelot, and of no other.” He licked his lips. “He may be a loyal and faithful knight, he may be first among the King’s Companions, but he has failed you, my lord, in his protection of the Queen.” He stopped and looked nervously about. No doubt the humility he saw on Lancelot’s face gave him courage, for he straightened and drew breath. “I formally charge Lancelot with negligence in his care of the Queen.” Maelgon’s eyes flitted to each face around the table. No one moved. “Indeed, my lord, I charge him with more than that. When my lord Fion and I came to his rescue, we found him alone with the Queen. We found them—” He hesitated and dropped his gaze, unable to withstand Arthur’s steady glare. “We found them in an embrace. My lord, I believe he was alone with her all night.”

  Silence fell on the small company. My eyes were in my lap. I could not look up. When Arthur spoke, his voice was ice. “Which of them do you accuse? What is the charge?”

  “Oh, no,” Maelgon sputtered, hastily retreating, “my lord mistakes me. I lay no charge against the Queen, my cousin. After her ordeal, no one could blame her for clinging to any one of my lord’s soldiers for support. It is Lancelot who is guilty of taking advantage of her state, of seeking that from the Queen which he had no right to ask. I accuse him of—of—of,” Maelgon stammered, seeing Arthur’s face, seeing his future go up in smoke before him, “of conspiring to betray the King,” he finished, sweating.