Queen of Camelot

  I went to the glazed doors that gave onto my terrace and watched the angry wind beat down my garden plants. I knew what I should find in the morning—apples and pears all over the paving stones, split and bruised, a feast for the late bees. And leaves everywhere, and broken branches—oh, God! What was this heartache? I clasped my hands together at my breast and felt the pounding of my heart within. Something was amiss. I thought suddenly of Agravaine. He was just back from his yearly duty at Swiftwater, and Mordred had informed me that there was a meeting tonight in the room Agravaine and Gaheris shared in the town. I thought the King had been lenient with Agravaine; after dismissing him from service, he had commuted the sentence and agreed to let him return after three years, if he behaved. Such mercy angered me, but Arthur told me the boy had to have a future he valued, or nothing could temper his rashness. He had only one year to wait now, and although he had not killed anyone, which was all Arthur expected by good behavior, he remained an active thorn in Lancelot’s side and a lodestone for every dissatisfied young hothead in the army. Because we had peace, kings and dukes lived to be old men, and their ambitious sons grew restive and eager to snatch power. These were the kind of men Agravaine gathered around him. Gaheris, healed of his dreadful wounds and bearing horrible scars, lived with him, forever banned from the King’s presence and having nothing in his heart but hate. Mordred they no longer trusted, since he had begun to assume power in the King’s absence and had come to better terms with Lancelot. But Mordred was clever and kept a close watch on their movements and their meetings. Gareth was never of their party, for he loved Lancelot more than any man but Arthur, finding in him the father he had never had. Thus far, Mordred assured me, their meetings did no more than give vent to their feelings; they drank and diced and whored and slept it off. But I did not like having such ruffians so close. Was it this that made me nervous? Mordred knew of the meeting; surely his spies would watch the house. All the castle guards were loyal to the King. Lancelot, Mordred, and Gareth were the three best swordsmen in Britain, after the King, so what was to fear?

  I shrugged and drew the soft curtain across the terrace doors. The truth was, I thought with a grim smile, I missed Arthur. I missed his company and the peace of mind his presence brought. And I missed him for another reason. When he was gone, Lancelot and I could not so much as look at one another. But when Arthur was there, when he was with us, we could touch and gaze and find some little relief. How cruel, I often thought, that it should be so. No one, not even Galahad, dared speak about us to the King. Thus did he grant us his protection.

  Suddenly I heard footsteps and whispered voices below my stairs. Trembling, I stood by the fire and tried to compose myself. In a moment, Linet came up and peeked hesitantly into the room.

  “My lady Queen! You are up! A courier has just ridden in, with a message from the King.”

  “Let him come up then.” She beckoned behind her, and a young man, still breathing hard from his exertions, stepped into the room and knelt at my feet. In his hand was a scroll with the High King’s seal.

  “I come from the coast my lady,” he recited quickly. “The King put ashore today at Potter’s Bay. He pushes on with the cavalry without delay; he may be no more than an hour or two behind me. He gave this to me himself and bade me deliver it into no hands but your own.” He ducked his head, his message complete, and withdrew hastily.

  “Stay, Linet,” I bade her, “until I have read this, to see if there is some reply.”

  I broke the seal and saw the neat Latin hand of Arthur’s scribe. It was a short note only, to inform me of his early return and imminent arrival. But the language was urgent and hidden in it was a warning. “Send for Lancelot and Mordred,” it said, “and tell them this news, but do it secretly, that no others may know of my coming, or even guess at it.” After that, it was signed with his love. I looked up at Linet.

  “Three things, Linet. First, see that the courier is housed apart and is allowed to speak with no man until morning. Impress upon him that his mission is secret. No one is to know he comes from the King.”

  “Yes, my lady. He is very full of this knowledge already, my lady. He would not tell us from whom he came, but I would not let him see you without knowing the source of the message.”

  “Who among my women knows his errand?”

  “Only myself and Ailsa.”

  “Good. Next, send a page to Sir Mordred to beg him come to me at once. Do not tell him why, only that it is an emergency. Tell him the Queen commands his presence.”

  “Commands?” Linet asked, startled.

  “Third. Send to Sir Lancelot with the same message. Command him to attend me here. At once.”

  Her eyes widened, and she curtsied low. “Yes, my lady.”

  “Oh, and one thing more. Perhaps most important of all. See that I am well attended. I want six or seven maids below, fully dressed, and you and Ailsa in this chamber. You have ten minutes.”

  She flew downstairs, and I went back to the fire to scan the letter. What was it Arthur feared, that he could not say straight out? Some treachery at home? From whom did he wish to keep his coming secret? I tucked the letter in my pocket and pulled my little stool to the hearth. There was another chair in the corner, which I dragged over, and then I got a third one from the King’s chamber. When all was ready, I inspected myself in the polished bronze. My robe was of cream-colored velvet, with long, close-fitting sleeves and a high throat. Only the toes of my slippers showed beneath it. It was the chastest garment in the entire castle. My hair was braided for the night and held in a net. Satisfied that no one could take me for a siren, I sat on my stool, closed my eyes, and waited.

  Within minutes I heard Lancelot’s voice belowstairs, urging Ailsa to hurry and refusing to ascend before her. Linet came in first, then Ailsa, gray-haired and bent with the pains of age. They took their places at the doorway and curtsied as Lancelot entered. He was fully dressed, but shod in slippers and had come, this time, without his sword.

  “Guinevere! What is it?” he cried, taking my hand and pressing it to his lips. Our eyes met and locked; then carefully, he lowered his and bowed.

  “I have had a message from the King,” I told him. “Let us wait for Mordred.”

  He looked up in surprise. “Did you send for Mordred? He’s not in the castle. I know this, because a half hour since I tried to find him myself and bade his chamberlain send to me when he returned. I have heard nothing yet.”

  My breath caught. “My lord, you came to me alone?”

  Anger and bitterness flashed across his face, instantly suppressed. “No. I am not a fool. Three men attend me beyond the outer door. One of them is Gareth. He was up, unable to sleep. So I brought him.”

  At that moment, one of my maids appeared at the doorway, breathless, to say that Sir Mordred could not be found.

  I nodded. “Very well, Lise, tell them to keep looking. See that he comes to me the instant he is found.” She scurried back down the stairs to her post below, and I bade Lancelot take a chair.

  As he read the King’s letter, I held my hands to the fire to warm them. They trembled uncontrollably. At last, after scanning it a third time, he put the scroll down.

  “Well?” I asked. “What does it mean, my lord?”

  He shook his head. “I do not know. He has had some information is my guess.” He glanced swiftly at Ailsa and Linet. Ailsa had been with me since Northgallis, and Linet was Gareth’s betrothed. He could trust them. “It seems he fears some treachery, but in truth, Gwen, I do not know what it is.”

  “Well,” I whispered, “so long as you and Mordred are free of suspicion, I can bear the waiting. The courier said he might be here within two hours.”

  “Good.” He shut his lips tight on the word, then looked into my eyes with longing. I had to look away to keep from blushing.

  All of a sudden we heard raised voices and the heavy tread of boots. Then a hoarse shout, from the King’s room! Lancelot leaped to his feet and faced the cur
tain. I screamed as a sword thrust through—suddenly the room was full of men, armed and stinking of stale mead—one Liander was foremost, a Welshman. He was drunk. His sword waved before Lancelot’s face. Mellyot from Gwynedd was behind him, and then Agravaine, Gaheris, Collgren, Mador, Lovell, and last, behind them in Arthur’s chamber, I saw Mordred running up. Everything that happened, happened at once, and yet I saw it—I see it still—as if it happened in a different time, slowly unfolding like the petals of a flower.

  “Put up your swords!” Lancelot shouted. “I am naked!” It went against all the rules of knighthood to attack an unarmed man, but their intent was clear from their faces. All their swords were drawn.

  “You are ever naked when you lie with the Queen!” Gaheris screamed, pushing Liander forward. Lancelot ducked the raised sword, grabbed my little stool, and brought it up against Liander’s sword arm, at the same time landing a hard blow across his wrist. The man bellowed in pain as the bone snapped, but in the next instant he lay dead at Mellyot’s feet, run through by his own weapon, which Lancelot now held before him.

  “Cowards!” he cried, enraged. “Swine! Get out!”

  “Traitor!” Gaheris and Agravaine howled together, surging forward. Then the room was alive with clashing swords, and blood sprayed everywhere.

  “Gare-e-e-th!” Linet screamed, backing toward the landing, clutching Ailsa. “Gare-e-eth!”

  I pressed flat against the wall, unable to breathe, watching Lancelot defend himself against them all. His rage was an unholy thing, wild and possessive. He was blind to all else but the pressing blades. He did not see Gareth come bounding up the steps to his aid; he did not hear Mordred shouting to them to stop, in the King’s name. He slew Agravaine with no more thought than he’d waste on a Saxon, he slew Mellyot, and Lovell behind him. Gareth came forward, sword raised in his defense; Lancelot saw the weapon only and ran his blade through Gareth’s breast. He turned to the next foe, while Linet fell screaming over Gareth’s body. When Agravaine fell, Gaheris had turned to me, blood lust in his eyes.

  “Bitch!” he shrieked. “Whore! This is your death day!” I gasped as he leveled his sword and came at me. But Mordred got between us and engaged him. Lancelot whirled and took him in the throat. Gaheris, killer of women, died at my very feet, and his blood soaked my slippers. Mordred looked up to find Lancelot’s sword pointed at his breast. Contempt swept Lancelot’s features; he lunged, and Mordred blocked the blow. I cried out, but he never heard me. Linet was wailing, the women were all screaming, and the King’s guards were thundering up the King’s stairs. Everyone else was dead.

  Mordred was skilled, but no one could match Lancelot man to man; yet Lancelot did not kill him. He had opportunity, more than once, and I saw that even in his fury, for Arthur’s sake, he would preserve his son’s life. Finally, with the guards at the curtain, Lancelot locked his blade and tripped him, wrenching the sword from his hand. Mordred staggered.

  “Coward!” Mordred gasped, reaching for his dagger. In exasperation more than anger, Lancelot ran his sword through Mordred’s shoulder. The dagger dropped; Mordred lunged, slipped, knocked his head against my bedpost, and fell senseless to the floor. Lancelot stood alone in the slaughter, covered in the blood of his attackers, breathing heavily. Slowly his vision cleared, and he saw me.

  “Gwen!” he gasped. “Is that blood yours? Are you hurt?”

  Dazed, I looked down at my spattered robe and stepped out of the pool of Gaheris’ blood. I could not speak, but shook my head. He came to me and took me in his arms, pressing me close. His whole body shuddered violently, and I felt him sob. I was numbed. I felt nothing. I saw, without interest, that even the bed hangings were spattered with blood; my mother’s little stool was broken, the fine needlework slashed beyond repair, the birdcage lay trampled on the bloody carpet, the bird gone. Eight men lay dead, and the King’s son wounded, and all by his hand.

  The guards at the curtain didn’t know what to do. They looked anxiously at me for some sign. Linet wept uncontrollably over Gareth, and Ailsa with her. Finally, Lancelot seemed to notice them. He looked up and shook his head, as if to clear it.

  “What is that? Who has fallen?”

  Then, slowly, feeling flooded back, and with it, terror. I gripped his arms, to keep him by me.

  “It is Gareth.”

  “GARETH?” he cried. In anguish, he tried to free himself from my grip. “Dear God! Gareth! Let me go, Gwen, I must see to him!”

  “No, my lord. Don’t add to her pain. I saw the stroke. He is dead.”

  “I will be revenged for it!” he cried, on a sob. “Who slew him?”

  I did not answer, and Linet looked up then. He saw his answer written on her face. He went still, grew pale and began to tremble.

  “No! No!” he whispered frantically. “No, tell me it was not I! Please, Gwen, if you love me!”

  I wished I could weep, but the tears would not come. My throat ached so that I could hardly speak.

  “You were not yourself, Lancelot,” I whispered hoarsely, “when you killed him.”

  “Ahhhhh!” he cried, and covering his face, sank against the wall.

  Then I beckoned to the captain of the guard. “Take Sir Lancelot to his chambers and guard them well. Let no one in or out save the King’s physician.” To everyone there, it sounded as if I was putting him under house arrest, and they were all amazed. But I was thinking of Arthur, who was due in soon, with Gawaine at his side. The guards were for Lancelot’s protection.

  “Take Sir Mordred to the physicians first and have them see to his wound. He is not mortally hurt, I think, but we must be sure. And after that, clear the bodies from my room.” I shuddered. “Alone of them all, take Sir Gareth to the chapel. His will be a burial with honor. The others—I will instruct you later what to do with them.”

  The captain bowed low, relieved to have definite orders. “It will be done, my lady.”

  “After that, have this room cleaned. Take everything out. I—I cannot bear it!”

  “Yes, my lady,” he said swiftly, afraid of tears. I turned and helped Ailsa pull Linet from Gareth’s body. She was faint with weeping and as limp as a rag. We got her downstairs and put her to bed with hot bricks in her blankets and a cold cloth on her brow. Poor Ailsa was not much better. I made her take some brandy and put her to bed, as well. The six maids who had been below during the slaughter stood huddled by the door. They were frightened out of their wits but could not leave until dismissed. When Ailsa was settled, I dismissed them, all except one, whom I bade stay and keep watch upon the others. Then I went out and stood in my sitting room, alone and dazed. I did not know what to do. Bedwyr! I thought. I must find dear Bedwyr! I rummaged through Ailsa’s trunks until I found a cloak. It hid most of the bloodstains. With this wrapped around me, I hurried through the corridors to the King’s library. The sentries stared at me as I went by, against regulations. As I reached the library door, Kay came around the corner and saw me. His jaw dropped.

  “Queen Guinevere!”

  He ran up and took my arm. I had not realized I was shaking so, until I felt his firm support. “Come, my lady, come in here. I will light the fire.”

  “Bedwyr!” I whispered.

  “Yes, I’ll send for Bedwyr.” He snapped an order over his shoulder to the nearest sentry and gently led me into the room. It was cold and dark, and the fire had long gone out. I was astounded at this; in my mind’s eye I had seen it as I always saw it, warm and bright and comforting. I could not be thinking clearly. Perhaps Kay was right when he put me in the King’s big chair and covered me with blankets.

  He lit the fire himself, good man, and tended me like a servant until the page brought Bedwyr. He was quickly dressed, and still tousled from sleep.

  “What’s up, Kay?” he said, covering a yawn. “The sentries look as if they’ve seen a ghost.”

  “They’ve seen the Queen, which is near enough. Here, boy!” he called out to the page. “We’ll need some warm spiced wine and some
hot bricks. Be quick about it, there’s a lad.”

  “What’s amiss with the Queen?” Bedwyr asked sharply, and then coming to where Kay stood, he saw me in the chair.

  “Gwen!” He took my hand. “She’s cold as ice! What in the name of Mithra has happened? There’s blood in her hair!”

  “Aye.” Kay kept his voice low, although no one else was in the room. “There have been doings aplenty this night. I’ve just come from Sir Mordred and the physicians—he’s been in a swordfight.”

  “Does he live?” Bedwyr cried, paling.

  “Aye, he’s very lucky. Got his shoulder sliced is all. It’s clean. He was awake. He would not say how he got it. He bade me go and rescue the Queen.”

  “Rescue?” Bedwyr whispered, staring at me. “From what?”

  “Krinian made only a brief report. I will tell you what I know. There are eight men dead in the Queen’s bedchamber, and she has locked Lancelot in his room and put guards at his door.”

  Bedwyr whistled slowly and dropped to his knees, holding my hands and looking worriedly into my face. “Is this true?” he asked softly. “Gwen, can you tell us?”

  My teeth began to chatter, and I clenched my jaw to keep them still. Bedwyr rubbed my hands between his own. Arthur’s hound Cabal came up and pushed his head in between us, sniffing, nosing under the blankets. Bedwyr shoved him aside.

  “When the physicians are free, send them here,” Bedwyr said. Kay rose as the door opened, and the wine and warming bricks came in. He arranged silver goblets on a tray nearby and set the wineskin to warm above a flame. Then he went to a shelf behind the King’s work table and took down a silver brandy flask. He poured a little in a cup and held it to my lips.

  “Drink this, my lady. Just a sip will do.” But it smelled foul, and I turned my face away. Bedwyr’s grip on my hands tightened, and he pleaded gently with me.

  “Please, Gwen. Please take some, for my sake. Arthur trusts us to take care of you, and we would not betray that trust.” And because once before I had ignored his ministrations and suffered by it, I obeyed him and swallowed the fiery liquid. It left me gasping, and my eyes grew wet, but still tears would not come. I shivered as the fire burned in my belly, then slowly spread its gentle warmth throughout my body. I felt better, and Bedwyr saw it.