Queen of Camelot

“I have heard you. Sit down,” Arthur commanded, his face pinched with anger. Maelgon sat.

  Arthur looked toward Lancelot and bade him rise. “Lancelot, I have heard your account of these events today from your own lips. I do not ask to hear it repeated now. But I charge you to answer three questions, upon your oath and before God. Have you ever conspired to dishonor me or my wife, Guinevere?”

  Lancelot faced his friend and met his eyes. “No, my lord.”

  “Have you been negligent in your care of my Queen?”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Last,” Arthur said, a trace of warmth creeping back into his voice, “did you risk your life, and that of your companions, to save Guinevere from the Druids’ fire?”

  “Yes, my lord,” Lancelot replied woodenly, staring hard at Arthur. Clearly, they had come to some agreement—how Arthur had managed it I could not guess—but Lancelot said nothing beyond the barest truth; in exchange for what? What was Arthur’s part in the bargain, that would restore Lancelot’s honor in his own eyes?

  “Sit down,” Arthur commanded. Lancelot obeyed. “My lord Fion, you accompanied King Maelgon to Mona’s Isle. Tell me how you found my lady Queen. Of the charge of negligence you can tell us nothing, but address, if you will, the charge of betrayal.”

  Fion rose, standing at ease, and spoke in a conversational manner. His beautiful voice, melodic as a bard’s, captured every ear. “Well, my lord, we found your Companions trapped at the head of a tiny valley. The Druids were approaching with drawn knives, knowing they had no escape. The Queen had been taken to a cave to give her rest and revive her. She had been drugged, as I understand it, to enable her to undergo the burning without shame.” At this Anet clapped a hand to her mouth, and Alyse began to mumble under her breath about reaping what one sows, looking straight at Maelgon. Arthur’s face was stone. Fion went on as easily as if he had been talking about the weather. “She spent the night in a drugged sleep, guarded by both Lancelot and Gereint, and awoke to hear the Druids chanting. There was no need for silence, my lord. They chanted to let Lancelot know his fate approached him.”

  I looked up and met Lancelot’s eyes. In that moment we both relived the terror of that dark morning. I began to tremble. Beneath the table, Arthur took my hand.

  “When my lord King Maelgon and I fought our way through them and reached the cave, we found Lancelot and the Queen together, as Maelgon says, in an embrace. But they were at the cave mouth, my lord, not hidden in the dark recesses. The Queen tells me they were saying farewell, knowing death to be but a knife throw away. I believed her then, and I can see no reason to doubt her now. Lancelot, when challenged, surrendered his sword to me as a token of his faith.” Fion reached behind him and brought forth the sword, placing it on the table in front of the King. It lay sheathed in its old, plain leather scabbard, the cross of rubies on the hilt winking balefully in the mist. “Indeed,” Fion continued, “he stepped unarmed into my swordpoint, drawing blood, to signal his innocence.”

  Maelgon snorted rudely but Arthur’s eyes were warm as he thanked Fion and bade him take his seat.

  But Fion hesitated. “My lord King, as we speak I am fighting for my kingdom’s life at home. I have left my wife in the care of trusted lieutenants. It is easy enough for me to imagine myself in your place, and I would tell you this: If ever my wife were made to face the trial your Queen has faced, I would bestow my everlasting blessings upon the man who saved her from it. It would not matter to me what else he had done.”

  A smile touched the corners of Arthur’s mouth. “Thank you, Fion.” Lancelot looked away in despair. Gently Arthur loosed my hand and bade me rise. “Guinevere, you have heard the charges made against Lancelot. What answer do you make?”

  I faced him. “My dear lord, the charge of betrayal is false. No man loves you more than Lancelot. And as for negligence—” I lowered my eyes and took a deep breath. “My lord, there is no one at this table who does not love you, or who would knowingly do you a disservice. I am sure”—and I raised my head to look at Maelgon—“that if we had it to do again, each one of us would act differently. I, for one, would not ask Lancelot to ride out with me when vengeance of some kind was expected from the Druids. And Lancelot would not dismiss the escort, that we might have private conversation. And I feel certain, my lord, that Maelgon would not call in all his scouts from the forest to ring the castle so tightly, thus leaving the beaches unpatrolled. And even you, my lord,” I said quickly, as Maelgon drew breath in anger, “you would not go to Rheged. You probably would not allow me beyond King’s Gate.”

  Arthur listened unmoving, watching Maelgon.

  “What happened was an accident of fate. We were all at fault. We were none of us at fault.” I turned directly toward Lancelot. “But since my friend Lancelot stands accused, let me remind everyone of this. It was Lancelot and no other who cut me from the Druid’s stake when they had already lit the fire. I owe him my life. Should you find him deserving of punishment, I beg you will allow me to share it with him, in repayment of the debt.” Lancelot leaned forward and buried his head in his arms to hide his face. As he moved, the ring fell free from his tunic and swung forward on its thong into the light. Arthur stared at it, speechless. “And—and if it were not for the quick action and bravery of King Maelgon and King Fion—Oh, my lord,” I pleaded, laying a hand on Arthur’s arm, seeing the grief on his face, “do not be deceived by appearances. All is not as it seems. These are Lancelot’s kin, his wife’s family. He honors Gwynedd, he would not bring shame upon it.”

  “I quite agree.” Alyse spoke firmly, rising. “My son is new to kingship, my lord Arthur, and has not yet attained Pellinore’s wisdom. There is truly no cause for discord between him and Lancelot. They are brothers. Listen to your lady Queen, my lord. I know her words to be truth.”

  Maelgon sat open-mouthed in anger, then leaped to his feet. “What nonsense is this? My lord, my mother has retired from life these nine months past. Disregard this unseemly advice—”

  “Unseemly advice?” Arthur cut in coldly. “She told me to listen to my wife, your cousin.”

  “I will not bear any part of this shame!” Maelgon cried, his face red. “Your lady wife was abducted, and it is Lancelot’s fault! I demand your Judgment upon him!”

  Arthur rose and drew himself to his full height, facing Maelgon.

  “My Judgment he shall have,” the King said slowly. Maelgon exhaled, appeased, and sat down. “But I have not yet heard from Queen Anet. I would like to know her counsel.”

  Maelgon stared, and Anet flushed.

  “My lord,” she quavered, rising to face him. “I am the last person to wish shame upon Gwynedd, or blame upon one of your Companions. My lord Maelgon may be new to kingship, but he is wise and able, and cares as deeply about the honor of Gwynedd and the glory of Britain as my lady Queen Alyse or his father the great King Pellinore.” She stopped uncertainly; both Maelgon and Alyse were staring at her in amazement.

  “I am sure you are right,” Arthur said kindly. “Have you any counsel to give me about the charges?”

  She clasped her hands together tightly and did not take her eyes from his face, drawing strength from his very presence. “I know nothing about them, my lord. But I cannot imagine that any insult was intended, to you, to Gwynedd or to Britain. As to what the Queen has endured, I did not know a woman could possess such courage. To my mind, honor is due not only to the Queen, but to Lancelot and Maelgon and Fion for saving her life, which was twice in jeopardy. I wish—my lord, I wish we could celebrate her safe return and disregard how she came to be taken from us!”

  Arthur smiled. “That is my wish, as well, Lady Anet. Maelgon is lucky to have such an intelligent woman at his side.” Maelgon, who had jumped up to protest, stood sputtering aimlessly at this compliment, proud that his wife should receive such commendation from the High King, at the same time angry that she dared to voice an opinion different from his own.

  While these three were standing the doors f
lew open and a group of soldiers pushed into the room, shouting and cursing, calling for Maelgon’s attention. Lancelot shot to his feet, and Fion beside him. Between them the soldiers hauled forward a man in a Druid’s robe, with blood streaming from his nose and one eye swollen shut in a bruised and battered face, and a slim youth with black hair, bound by the wrists. The mist seemed to thicken with their entrance, and I leaned forward to see them better.

  “Arthur!” I whispered, clutching at his sleeve. “Oh, stop them! It’s Mordred!” He drew breath in slowly and went still, watching Maelgon.

  “My lord Maelgon!” the soldiers cried. “We found them in the Queen’s garden, my lord! This is a Druid from Mona’s Isle, he confesses it!”

  Maelgon stepped forward, and Anet behind him.

  “Arthur!” I whispered. “Do something! They have bound him!”

  “Be still a moment,” he said softly. “He is not hurt. Let me see what Maelgon does.”

  “You again!” Maelgon sneered at Mordred. “You cannot stay away from the vermin, can you? Want to be one yourself someday, is that it? You filthy pagan, stand aside.” He turned his back on Mordred, leaving him bound, and turned to Kevin. “What are you doing in my precincts? How dare you set foot in Gwynedd without my leave! I will have you horsewhipped, you pagan snake!” And he raised his fist to strike that beaten face yet once again.

  “No.” The word fell into the pause like a rock into a still pool. Anet, trembling visibly, stepped forward. “No,” she repeated. “Do not strike him. He is here with my permission, Maelgon. He has my protection.”

  Every eye in the room turned full upon her. Maelgon’s fist was still raised, arrested, above his head. The color drained from his face. “What?” he whispered, incredulous. “What did you say?”

  “He is here with my permission,” Anet repeated, her small voice gaining strength. “He came ashore the morning of the sacrifice, having done what he could to save the Queen on Mona, and begged for my protection. He wants to speak to the High King.”

  As she spoke, Maelgon regained his color and, with it, his temper. “Protection be damned!” he shouted. “You have no right to disobey me! I am king!” He shook his fist wildly in the air, grinding his teeth, his spittle frothing upon his lips. Anet, shaking, stood her ground.

  “Nonsense,” Alyse said coolly, rising. “Every queen has the right to grant protection. It does not depend upon the king’s desire. To deny her this right is to dishonor Gwynedd, and Strathclyde, as well. You have given no order, Maelgon. She has not disobeyed you. She has shown sense and calm and tolerance. She is to be commended.”

  Maelgon slammed his fist down on the table. “Tolerance!” he shouted. “Not to Druids! This is a Christian land!”

  “I hope,” Alyse retorted, “you are not going to question her devotion to her faith.”

  Maelgon looked at his convent wife and scowled. “No, no, of course not. That is not what I meant. But—”

  “This man performed a service to the High Queen, and thereby to the High King. He has been granted protection in order that he might speak with Arthur. I suggest you let him do that, if your men have not already beaten him beyond the power of speech.”

  “I will hear him myself first!” Maelgon snarled, trapped between his women. “I wish to know what he was doing with this, this unholy miscreant in the garden.”

  I gasped at his reference to Mordred, but Arthur stilled me with a touch upon my hand.

  “You. Druid. Attend me.”

  “His name,” ventured Anet, “is Kevin.”

  Maelgon ignored her. “Druid. What were you doing in my garden?”

  Kevin, stiff with pain, looked him squarely in the face and said nothing. He had about him something of the milky calm I had seen in him before, when he had just come from a ceremony in Nemet. Slowly he turned toward Anet and, raising his bound hands, made a sign before her face.

  “What is he doing?” Maelgon cried. “Stop him! Guard!”

  The soldiers grabbed his shoulders, but Kevin offered no resistance and stood quietly.

  “My lady Queen,” he said thickly, through swollen lips, “the Great Goddess has blessed you with child. You have done me a service and in return I give you this knowledge. At the spring equinox you will be safely delivered of twin children, one male and one female. The son you bear will add his light to the greater glory of Britain, and your daughter shall be beloved of the finest warrior in the realm.” He stopped suddenly and shook himself awake to find the entire company staring at him.

  “My lord Maelgon,” he said in surprise. “I was coming to see you. I must speak in private with the High King Arthur.”

  Maelgon was caught completely off guard. His anger was swallowed up in his confusion. Anet, trembling and blushing, was led away by Alyse to take her seat. Maelgon had been honored, and he knew it. But he could not bring himself to thank the Druid. “What were you doing in my garden?” he repeated dumbly. “Why were you there?”

  Kevin frowned, as if trying to remember. “I was waiting to see the King, my lord, and then he came himself into the garden to speak with me.”

  “You lie,” Maelgon returned. “He has been in this chamber all this while.”

  Kevin looked about, bewildered, and then saw Mordred.

  “Here he is. Ask him yourself.” Then to Mordred: “Tell them, my lord, that you came to me while I waited for you, and that I asked for your mercy toward my people.”

  “What impudence is this?” Maelgon cried. “This is the lad you took for the King?”

  Kevin looked blankly at Maelgon. “Yes, my lord. The High King of Britain.”

  Mordred, his dark eyes wide with terror, looked helplessly toward Arthur. And at last, Arthur stepped forward.

  “Maelgon. Stand back.” Through the misty lamplight they made a path for him, and he stood before Kevin, tall and glowing, making the Druid look small and dark. “Untie his hands. And the boy’s.”

  “But—”

  “Untie them!” Arthur snapped, and the guards obeyed. “They are not armed,” Arthur said evenly to Maelgon. “Your men have seen to that.” Maelgon grunted and Arthur addressed Kevin. “I am Arthur, High King of Britain. It is I you seek. Kevin, leader of Druids, do you know me?”

  Slowly Kevin’s eyes traveled upward from his glittering sword to his face and rested there. A look of puzzlement swept his features.

  “King Arthur. Yes, my lord. I know you. Then who is—” He turned swiftly to Mordred and passed a hand across his eyes. “But I saw the crown. I saw it. The very one you wear, my lord, I saw it upon his head.”

  There was a deathly silence in the hall.

  “Treason!” Maelgon croaked, but he trembled. Mordred froze, his eyes on Arthur’s face.

  “Kevin,” Arthur said slowly, “have you never had the Sight before?”

  Kevin stared in surprise. “The Sight, my lord? Why, no, only Salowen has—had—” He faltered. Arthur took his arm to steady him.

  “It has passed to you,” he said gently. “And his power, as well, if I judge aright. You came to ask my mercy for your people, and your Goddess herself has given your people into your hands. You lead them now, Kevin. From this moment forward.”

  “But I am unready!” Kevin whispered, astounded. “The initiation! The ceremony!”

  “Come south with us when we leave Gwynedd. Niniane, Lady of the Lake, can perform the initiation. You would do well to learn from her. When you return to Mona you will be Archdruid in Salowen’s place.”

  Kevin knelt at his feet and kissed his ring. “You are more than merciful, my lord King. And I am undeserving.”

  “No,” Arthur replied, “for your aid to Guinevere you deserve whatever is in my power to give.”

  Kevin’s glance slid swiftly to Mordred, still standing rooted at his side. “And this youth, my lord? What does this Seeing mean? Will he be of service to you?”

  “Indeed, that is my hope,” the King replied with a quick smile. “He is my nephew, my sister’s
son. He serves me now, and may come to kingship in time, if God is willing.”

  Maelgon stared at Mordred in wonder and at Arthur with growing consternation.

  “Mordred,” Arthur said gently, “what were you doing in the king’s house tonight? Did you come to see this Druid?”

  “Oh, no, my lord,” Mordred replied, licking his dry lips. “I did not know he was there. I came—my lord, I came to see the Queen.” Arthur lifted an eyebrow but did not interrupt him. “All the men were talking about her abduction, my lord, and her terrible ordeal. They wondered if she could withstand it. They thought she might lie gravely ill and the news be kept close. No one had seen her, my lord, and everyone knew you had been all afternoon pacing in a brown study.” A wry smile touched the King’s lips; Lancelot saw it, Mordred did not. “So the captain of my company bade me see what I could discover about the Queen. I came to the garden, my lord, because the Queen is known to walk it of an evening. I did not know she was in Council. The only one there was Kevin, and he addressed me strangely.” Mordred gulped. “He talked about a crown and such. I was about to leave when the soldiers grabbed us.”

  “You see the Queen before you now,” Arthur said. “Does she look ill?”

  Mordred glanced at me shyly and lowered his eyes. “No, my lord. Sad, perhaps, but not ill. And very beautiful.”

  I felt heat slowly rise to my face as Arthur smiled. “She is indeed. Thank you, Mordred. You may take this report back to your captain.”

  Mordred knelt and kissed his ring. Maelgon’s soldiers stood aside to let him leave, but closed again around Kevin. Clearly Maelgon, who was losing his case against Lancelot, was not about to let Kevin escape his grasp. But before he could open his mouth to speak, Arthur turned and faced him.

  “Maelgon, I am ready to give my Judgment, upon Kevin and upon Lancelot.”

  As this was what Maelgon had called him there to do, he dared not object, but he grumbled as he nodded, and signaled his men to keep hold of the Druid. We returned to our places around the council table. Everyone sat but Arthur. In the misty light everything around him looked dim and dark, but Arthur himself shone forth like a beacon, in his white raiment and his bright jewels.