Queen of Camelot

  There was no doubt any longer that he was serious. The weight of such responsibility set me trembling, and I gripped his hands hard, to stop it.

  “If you have such faith in me, my lord, I dare not doubt myself. Tell me—tell me what dispositions you have made around Britain—who is left for defense?”

  Arthur glanced swiftly, triumphantly, at the knights. By my question, it seemed I had confirmed his faith. He sat me in his great chair behind the work desk and began to pace.

  “Drustan sends his sons with me, but stays to hold the east. Old Tydwyl will hold the north for Gawaine. Kay’s son holds Galava, Hapgar’s brother Pertolys holds Strathclyde, Maelgon’s brother Peredur Gwynedd, Coel’s brother Uwain is regent in Rheged.” He ticked off the other kingdoms one by one, all of them held by old men or untried youths. Except for Cornwall. Constantine himself stayed in Cornwall.

  “He has lately had a quarrel with Childebert,” the King said carefully, “and I judged it best to leave him behind. A thousand of his men come with me, the best part of his army. But I have given him the guardianship of the West. It is an honor that I hope will heal his pride.” Then his face softened. “It is thanks to you, Gwen, we can leave Britain so lightly defended. To the east sit the Saxons. Thanks to you, we have treaties with them and must consider them allies, at least at present. And thanks to you, the Irish have kept to their own coasts these twenty years.”

  “No thanks to me, my lord,” I protested, “but to your own wise statesmanship!”

  Arthur laughed. “Nonsense. Fion’s been in love with you since he first set eyes on you. That’s why he keeps peace with us.” I blushed at this, and the men grinned. “Never mind,” the King said in a kind voice. “Whether it is due to you or me or destiny, we have no threats from our neighbors. You will be safe here, Gwen. If I doubted it, I could not leave you.”

  “Thank you, my lord. How long until Mordred’s return? And yours?”

  “Hiberius requires his answer by the first of June. Mordred should be back shortly after. I hope I can be back by the solstice, having sent the Roman on his way. If not, by midsummer, surely. The more men we can muster, the less time it should take. Give me a month to gather the army; three weeks to make the crossings; by June we should be ready for battle.”

  I took a deep breath. “Very good, my lord. I can manage that, I think.” Then I grinned. “But if I am gray when you return, it is your doing!”

  Arthur laughed and raised a toast to me, and the men joined him. I caught Mordred looking at me unawares; he blushed when he caught my eye and turned away.

  Niniane came to dinner, but sat where I could not get speech with her. Afterward, she sought an audience with the King, while Bedwyr, Kay, Mordred, Ferron, and I sat by the library fire and discussed plans. When Arthur joined us, he looked solemn but content, so I judged she had not brought him evil tidings.

  Late that night when I had the King to myself, I asked him what she had said; it was none of my business, but I thought he would tell me. He demurred at first but, when he saw my fear, gave in to comfort me.

  “It is nothing she has seen through her Power,” he assured me. “Just what she calls a feeling in her bones. But, as with Merlin, her bones never lie. These are important matters we are facing; they matter to Britain’s future. She came to see how seriously we took this summons.”

  “Did she predict nothing, then? Victory? Defeat? Stalemate?”

  By starlight I saw his smile. “You should know by now, Gwen, it is ill luck to speak to a commander about defeat or victory on the eve of battle.”

  “This is not the eve of battle, Arthur. You are evading me. What did she say?”

  He reached for me under the bearskins and pulled me close against his body. “Will you not be diverted, even for a moment?”

  “How can I, when I fear for your life?”

  “Do not fear it. What she told me was perhaps the best thing she could have said. She said my fate was in my own hands. It is something every king likes to hear . . . Why do you tremble, Gwen? This is not bad news.”

  “I do not like it when Niniane speaks of fate.”

  He shrugged and touched my hair. “It’s the way enchanters talk. Think nothing of it.”

  “With your permission, Arthur, I will speak to her myself.”

  He laughed. “She warned me you would try to. You worry too much, Gwen. Remember Merlin’s words: Take what comes and—”

  I clapped a hand over his mouth and whispered furiously, “If you say that to me again I will scream aloud and wake the castle! Dear God, how tired I am of that stale advice!”

  He began to laugh in earnest, with true delight, and it was impossible not to laugh with him. He was once again the warrior King of Britain, and the spirit of his youth had returned to him. I gave up my questions and joined him in his joy.

  The truth is, Niniane avoided me. During the month it took to gather Britain’s army at Caer Camel, she flitted between the Lady’s shrine on Ynys Witrin, her husband’s fortress in the River Isles, and Camelot. She saw to it no one ever knew exactly where she was, or when she was expected. In spite of all the preparations, I kept a constant eye out for her. And in spite of the constant planning and changing of plans, she was always there when her advice was needed and always gone by the time I got wind of it.

  There was an immense amount to do. Couriers flew daily in and out of King’s Gate; kings and dukes and earls and lords from every corner of Britain began arriving with their troops, on horses, on ponies, and on foot. Everyone rallied to the High King’s call. He had given them twenty years of peace; now they were eager to fight under his Dragon standard. We did not bother to enlarge the stables; there were too many horses to accommodate them all. They were tethered to horse lines behind the soldiers’ tents. The open meadows inside the fortress walls were soon filled; troops and tents spilled out down the hill itself, and onto the downs below. They gathered around their commanders and were grouped more or less by location; the wary Cornishmen together on this side, the boisterous Lothians on the other; the cheerful warriors from Rheged on the south slopes, the taciturn Northumbrians on the east. The Welsh contingents disgraced themselves in my eyes, for the North Welsh condescended to the South Welsh, and fights broke out. They had to be separated from one another at the end, the men from Guent in one place, from Dyfed in another, the men from Powys yonder, and those from Gwynedd under my own watchful eye.

  I saw my brother Gwarthgydd, older now than my father had been when he died. He was very glad to see me and said I had not changed a hair since my girlhood—this was his favorite refrain, but if he expected me to believe it, he was disappointed. He had left Gwillim to hold Northgallis, and had brought his brothers with him to fight for Arthur.

  This huge army needed food, and water, and boots, and horseshoes and weapons. The street of smiths was busiest of all; they never slept; they worked in shifts; their forges were alight for a solid month. My women spun and wove and sewed: war cloaks, tunics, leggings, robes, and mantles; slippers, stockings, caps, belts, and gloves; and most important, banners with the High King’s emblem, the Red Dragon on a field on gold, for every company wanted one to carry. I made the King a sash to wear across his tunic, a token from his lady of the finest, crimson-dyed silks in the storerooms. In tiny golden stitches I made a dragon, and a castle and a cross, and stitched the initials of his name over the breast—AR, “Arturus Rex.” If Hiberius should meet him face to face, I thought, he would know with whom he had to deal. I worked long and intently on this project—I told myself it was for Arthur, but I knew it was to keep my mind from other things.

  Nearly every evening after hall I went to the chapel and prayed. Some years before, Arthur had built a small chapel on the castle grounds to save me the walk to the church. Bishop Landrum always waited for me at the church, eager to help me in my devotions. He would leer at me and stare lewdly down my gown and sometimes even smack his lips when he came near to speak. He never bathed and smelled worse than t
he compost heap. He had aged unpleasantly, his lust growing with his years, until all my maids were terrified of him. He called himself a servant of God, yet had fathered over twenty bastards by girls in the town. I could tell he believed all the rumors about Lancelot and thought that if he could bring himself to approach me, he might have me. So I had begged Arthur for the chapel, and he built it for me.

  Usually I was alone there and stayed long to enjoy the peace. But one night when I came in, a young soldier was there, head bent, back bowed in prayer. I took my accustomed place, some distance away, and began my prayers for Arthur’s safety and the preservation of all he had built in Britain. At length, when I had finished, I rose from my knees to find the young man beside me, although I had not heard a whisper of his approach. I looked up into the breathtakingly handsome face of Lancelot’s son Galahad. At fourteen, with black hair shadowing his striking features, he was the image of how Lancelot must once have looked. But his sky-blue eyes, bold and merciless, were Elaine’s. There was a light about him; in that setting it seemed like a holy aura, the touch of God.

  “My lady Queen,” he said solemnly, “there is no use praying to God unless your heart is pure.”

  “Good sir, God knows my heart. I hide nothing from Him.”

  He shook his head. “The bishop knows your sins, madam. Renounce my father, Guinevere, and be cleansed.”

  Alone of all the men in Camelot, including Arthur, he dared say this to me! But for Lancelot’s sake, I treated him gently. “The bishop casts stones, my lord, yet he is not without sin.”

  His eyes flashed. “Your prayers will not be answered.”

  “Judge me not, Galahad. Look well into your own heart, before you seek to know mine. Good evening.”

  I left him and walked out with as much dignity as I could summon. He had been the bishop’s favorite since he first came to Camelot. I was always astounded that he revered the man, that he was so very easily fooled about some things and so difficult to fool about others. I hoped fervently that Arthur was planning to take him to Less Britain and was much relieved when Ferron confirmed that this was so. Lancelot would be glad to see him again, at least for a little while, and I did not think I could bear him about much longer. Whenever I went to chapel, after that, he was there.

  Finally, in the last week, Niniane came to Camelot to stay. Pelleas, her lord, was leaving, and she came with him. I sent for her; she sent back to say she was engaged and would speak with me on the morrow. I sent again; the page could not find her. I rode myself to Avalon, to find she had just left. Angrily I went to Arthur, who did not need to be bothered at such a time, and demanded that she grant me an audience. He heard me out with patience and told me she had just left him, saying she would meet me after hall in the orchard. She did not come to dinner, and I suspected another ruse. But when I came to the orchard, she was there. The apple blossoms were just out, dancing like white froth in the April breezes. Niniane sat on a stone bench in a pose of meditation, eyes closed. I signaled my two maids to wait and went forward to see her alone. She did not change her attitude when I came up; I stood before her and waited. At last she sighed and opened her eyes.

  “Greetings, Queen Guinevere. You wish to see me.”

  “I do indeed, Lady Niniane. Why have you been avoiding me?”

  She smiled, ever so slightly. “Perhaps because I do not wish to answer your question.”

  She was straight with me; I gave her that. She had always been so.

  “And why would you not wish to answer it?”

  She sighed again and faced me. There was no expression on her face at all. “I do not see into the future as you look into your bronze, my lady Queen. Great events, those that move history, throw portents ahead, for those who can read them. But most of life is as dark to me as it is to you.”

  I sat, suddenly weak in my knees. “And yet you came here. Unbidden, and on time. You must have seen some such portent. Did you not?”

  The night was soft, and all around us the earth smelled sweet with new growth. But when I looked into Niniane’s eyes, the air grew cold and rank. She looked away and showed me her profile. She drew a deep breath slowly and let it out. “Yes. The world is about to change. There are great events ahead. The wheel of time is turning. Things will not be as they were before.” She stopped and closed her lips tightly.

  “Niniane!” I cried, trying desperately to control my rising panic. “Niniane, tell me what you foresee!”

  “No.” Her voice was flat and empty. “I cannot. It is forbidden. But because you are dear to him, and fear for him, I will answer you one question. Choose it well.”

  I kissed her fingers. There was only one question to ask!

  “Will he return?” I cried, as the tears slid down my face. “Will Arthur return to Britain?”

  She turned to me slowly, and I thought for a fleeting moment she felt relief. “Yes,” she said very softly, “he will return.” Then she rose, made me a graceful reverence, and departed.

  I sat alone for a long while in the spring twilight and let my tears flow unchecked. He would return; that mattered most. But a fear yet nagged at me. She had sat here, dreading something; yet she had not dreaded the answer she had to give. I began to fear that I had asked her the wrong question.

  The night before they left, all the lords gathered for a great feast. The army numbered over twelve thousand men; not even Arthur had expected so many to answer his call. Hoel and Lancelot and even Childebert had sent ships across the Narrow Sea; ten ships lay in the Severn estuary, and a score more in the small harbors along the southern coasts. Even so, they would all make several trips; the crossing would take weeks to accomplish.

  I could not partake of the meal; the wine was rich and unwatered, and the men grew rowdy, as they do on the eve of battle, to cheer themselves and banish fear. I led the women out early and went straight to my quarters. Usually the King stayed late, for the men needed his presence; but there was no battle on the morrow, only leave-taking. They let him go early, for they knew he had his good-byes to make.

  I waited for him in his chamber. I had dismissed Bran and Varric for the evening, saying I would tend the King myself. They had understood. I dressed in his favorite gown of mine, a blue one, and brushed my hair and let it fall unbraided. I was determined not to weep. Niniane had promised he would return.

  I heard him coming; in the antechamber he stopped and spoke to Bran in a low voice, then came up the stairs with a firm step and paused in the doorway. Meeting his eyes was like taking a blow to the chest; my heart began to pound, and tears sprang to my eyes.

  “This is not good-bye, Gwen,” he said gently.

  “I know, my lord. But it is farewell.” He came across to me, and I gripped his arms. “In spite of everything, Arthur, in spite of the great honor you have paid me, in spite of your obvious joy at leading the army again, in spite of the righteousness of the cause, my heart is heavy. I do not want you to go.”

  He wrapped his arms around me and hugged me tightly. “Come, come. We will not be parted for very long. Before you know it, it will be midsummer, and we will be idling around the fountain complaining of the heat.”

  I managed a smile and blinked away the tears. “And when did you ever complain of anything, my lord? You describe the rest of us, perhaps, but not yourself. Sometimes, Arthur, you are too sweet-tempered to bear.”

  “Your praises go to my head,” he said lightly, “but I can be as angry as the next man. You have seen me so.”

  “Sloth and incompetence annoy you,” I replied, “but little else. What a King you are, Arthur! Remember that Britain will not be Britain without you here, but a mere shell of herself, her innards gone. Every minute you are away will seem like days to me!”

  He stood back and looked down into my face. “Why, Gwen, those are sweet words to carry with me. I will remember them.”

  He led me to the bed and sat down beside me. “Listen, now. This is how I regard it. What is the very worst that can happen? What do
you fear most?”

  I swallowed hard and tried to copy his calm speech. “That you will be slain on the battlefield and not return to me.”

  He smiled. “That is your woman’s heart speaking. I can think of worse fates than death. So be it. Now, what is the best thing that can happen? What do you most desire?”

  “That Hiberius should beg your pardon and withdraw before a single sword is drawn!” I whispered fervently.

  He laughed. “Well, we are agreed on that. And now, what is likely? Surely it falls somewhere between the two. I believe Hiberius will test us and give us battle to see our strength. But, united, we will defeat him and come home the victors. How many men return with me depends upon his numbers and his determination. But I will be back, Gwen.”

  I nodded. “So Niniane has told me.”

  “She has?” He looked so startled, I knew he had been speaking more from his heart, to comfort me, than from belief. “Then she has told you more than she told me. Well, then, where is the cause for fear?”

  I sighed and lifted my hand to his face. “I don’t know, my lord, but I do fear for you.” He took my hand and kissed my palm.

  “Put fear away,” he whispered. “Let there be nothing but joy between us tonight.”

  I yielded to him willingly and for a while forgot the darkening future. But later, as we lay spent from pleasure and waiting for sleep, my thoughts turned again to Niniane, and to Arthur, and to Mordred. The world would change, she had said—what could that mean? I thought Arthur was dozing, but then he spoke, in a voice so low I pressed closer to him to hear it.