Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  Now, after fifteen years of vigilance and fighting constant small battles to hold the kingdoms together and give the people peace, Uther was getting old. I thought my father foresaw war coming closer to home and was sending me temporarily to the coastal kingdom of Gwynedd to live under the care of King Pellinore and Queen Alyse, until Northgallis should be safe for me once more.

  It was a sad leave-taking. I adored my father. He had not held my mother’s death against me, and I think he loved me more tenderly because I reminded him of her. He was a good king and a strong one, but he never used his sword unnecessarily, nor took joy in killing. The worst I can say of him is that he spoiled me and knew it. I worshipped him.

  “My little Gwen,” he said, hugging me tightly as the escort made ready to leave early on the first of May. “I will come visit you at summer’s end, the gods willing. You must make a place for yourself in your mother’s family. You have a cousin for company, and they will give you book learning, which I cannot do here. You should know more than I do, my dear, if the witch is to be believed. King Pellinore is a wise man and has a scholar in his house. There are fine horses there, too, my sweet. You will not be without your favorite entertainment. Now dry those pretty eyes and be a brave princess. And always remember,” he said under his breath, “always remember who you are and what you will be.”

  I was used to his references to the hag’s prophecy and nodded obediently. Ever since the fortelling at my birth I was held to be a wonder by the Welsh. On more than one occasion I heard fantastic stories told about me that bore no relation to the truth, but that the people willingly believed. Thanks to Giselda, they expected me to bring them honor. This is a hard thing to live with, even now.

  Thus I left Northgallis, but I never saw his dear face again, for he died when summer came and was buried before the news reached me.

  My cousin Elaine was a gossip, even at seven. She befriended me on sight and made me feel at home from my first moment. She was eager to have a companion near her own age to talk to and play with, as her mother and the nurses were busy with three younger sons. I loved her for this. She was gay and warm-hearted, bold where I was shy, open and loving where I was reserved. I have never forgotten her sweetness to me at that time when it mattered most. For remembrance of this, I have struggled to forgive her cruel betrayal, for without her love and friendship in my childhood, I should not have had the courage to face what the fates have brought me.

  While Ailsa unpacked my trunk and scant belongings in Elaine’s room, Elaine took my arm and gave me a tour of her home. She showed me everything, from basement scullery to the turrets on the western tower, where the sentries kept watch all year for Irish pirates. She never stopped talking. She knew everything: reports of Saxon fighting to the east; which queens were witches, and which kings coveted another’s land; who in the village was engaged to whom, and which of the kitchen slaves had given birth to an illegitimate child. I laughed to hear her tales, told with a gleam in her sky-blue eyes and a light in her happy face. Indeed, within an hour of my arrival, it was possible to forget, at least for a while, the hard two days’ journey and my dear father’s parting kiss.

  When she took me to the sentry tower I had my first sight of the sea. It seemed to stretch on forever, away in the distance, low and gray, empty and immensely sad. Elaine was delighted at my amazement.

  “Have you never seen the sea, then? Why, we ride upon the shore on holidays, or when Iakos gives us the day free. I have even been upon it in a golden ship with silver sails! Well, it was pretty fancy, anyhow. My father sailed to Caer Narfon last September, and he let me come aboard before they departed. It was wonderful—the very floor I stood upon rolled this way and that, like a cradle, almost! I should love to have an adventure at sea!”

  I smiled at her. “I would be afraid to feel the floor beneath me move so,” I said. “But I should love to ride along the shore.”

  “Oh, yes! I have heard how you love horses. Let’s go down to the stable, and I’ll show you my pony. That is”—with a doubtful look at me—“if you’re not too tired. Grannic says I mustn’t tire you. She says we must take special care of you. Are you sickly, or something?”

  “No, of course not. I think she means because I am your mother’s sister’s daughter, and kin to you. That’s all.”

  But Elaine still looked uncertain. “But you’re different from other people, aren’t you?”

  I seemed to feel a cold hand upon my neck. “Whatever do you mean?”

  “Oh, now you’re mad, Gwen. I’m really sorry. It’s just something I overheard once. Nobody told me anything. I don’t know anything about it.”

  “What did you overhear?”

  “Promise that you won’t be angry with me?”

  “Elaine, I will not be angry with you. I promise.”

  “Well, didn’t a witch put a spell on you at birth?” I gasped, but she went on. “Not a bad spell, a good spell. Aren’t you going to marry a great king and rule over all of us someday?”

  A cold shiver ran through me. I found myself furious that the prophecy had followed me even here. I wondered in sudden despair if there was anyone in all of wide Wales who had not heard it.

  “Of course not. You believe in old wives’ tales, and you a Christian? I thought your God frowned on magic.”

  Elaine was undaunted. “But everybody knows there are witches. And wizards, as well. Have you never heard of Merlin the Enchanter? He can see the future in a raindrop and vanish into thin air! All the world knows this.”

  “And many people who have no such power pass themselves off as witches with skill and luck. I am not different, Elaine. As my father is a king, no doubt in time he will marry me off to the finest Welsh lord he can find, but the rest is nonsense. Truly it is. Rule the land, indeed! I shall never rule over you, Elaine. Of that I am quite sure.”

  She grinned in relief. “Good, because I like being first.”

  If I gave her ease, I am glad, but I was frightened. It was the first time I had voiced my own beliefs about the prophecy, and I was stunned to find how vehemently I resented old Giselda’s interference. I was more unhappy to learn that people here knew and believed her words. It occurred to me for the first time, as I stood on the turret beside Elaine, looking out at the strange sea, that I might live under that cloud my whole life. I had insisted I was not different. But if everyone thought that I was, did that not make me so?

  In the stables I forgot my fears. King Pellinore had many fine animals, all the sturdy mountain horses that breed freely in the hills of Wales. And Elaine had a pretty fat pony with a fine, dry face and great, dark eyes.

  “His name is Petros. It means ‘rock.’ Iakos says it is a good name for a princess’ pony. He’s very lazy and does not like to move. This makes him safe to ride!” She laughed gaily at her jest and let me pat his warm neck and stroke the glossy coat. “Mother says you know how to ride already. Did you have your own pony in Northgallis?”

  “Yes, a lovely white one. I found him running wild in the hills, and he let me ride him.”

  Elaine looked put out. “Did you bring him with you?”

  “No, I—before I left, I let him go back into the hills. He belonged there.”

  She brightened again. “Well, Mother said you may take your pick of the next batch they bring in, as long as he gets along with Petros. That’s a rare honor, you know. It’s because she heard you were skilled.”

  I felt my face flush with pleasure. Perhaps having oneself talked about wasn’t such a bad thing, after all. “I must thank her for the offer. And who is Iakos?”

  “Iakos is my tutor—I mean our tutor. He is teaching me Latin and writing and figures, although not too much of that because I hate it. Also music. Leonora, the queen’s woman, will teach us stitchery and weaving, and also housekeeping when we are older. There’s a lot to learn to be a good queen, isn’t there?”

  She cocked her head sideways and looked up at me shrewdly. She seemed to me to be ready for anything
, full of confidence and willing to try whatever came to her hand. I envied her enormously. I was completely untutored in any feminine skills. My childhood had been spent with my doting father and my rough, grown half-brothers. I could run, ride, shoot with bow and arrow, and hawk as well as any youth my age. For my fifth birthday Gwarth had given me a young falcon, fallen from his nest and saved just in time, to raise for my own. He had helped me to train it, and I learned to fashion jesses from worked leather and had made my own glove. But I instinctively kept these accomplishments a secret from Elaine, who I feared might despise them. Of embroidery and the weaving of war cloaks, tasks every woman of even moderate birth must learn in order to marry, I knew nothing.

  And of her religion, the worship of the Christian God, I knew very little. But there was a priest among the household staff, and I knew I would be instructed in the new ways. This had been my father’s only reservation in sending me to my mother’s people. They had been Christians for two generations, ever since an Irish martyr landed upon their coast and with wit and charm persuaded them to turn their backs on the Elder spirits. Whether my father had thought it an inevitable consequence of his plans for me, or whether he recognized that the tide of change was sweeping the land, he had consented to my instruction. So I was brought into the fold of the jealous Christian God, my feet were set upon the True Path, and the little deities of hill and stream, rock and high place, were left behind.

  It was a busy summer. Elaine’s mother, Queen Alyse, kept us to our tasks and allowed us little time for mischief-making. As I was to find, her word was law. To her credit, she believed her daughter deserving of the same education she gave her sons and made no excuses to Iakos on our behalf. I tried my best to please her in everything, but it was not easy to accomplish. She was not unkind, but neither was she warm. Tall and beautifully featured, with the family’s fairness and a majestic bearing, she did not welcome confidences from children. Even Pellinore was half afraid to cross her.

  At our first meeting she looked me over carefully, placing her hand on my chin and turning my face toward the light.

  “So you are Elen’s daughter,” she said thoughtfully, after I had made my speech of thanks for taking me in. “I pray you will be as well behaved. We will teach you manners here, Guinevere, and make a princess of you.” I was tempted to retort that I was a princess already and that my father had taught me manners, but I held my tongue, afraid that to speak would give the lie to my assertion. “You would do well,” she said coolly, “to follow Elaine in everything.” It was advice I learned to take.

  That summer the old High King, Uther Pendragon, who had held the kingdoms of Britain together for nearly fifteen years, began to fail. Messengers rode into the castle every week with news. It was said he could no longer sit a horse, but had to be carried to battle in a litter, like a woman. Some of the men scoffed at the rumor, denying that any soldier of mettle would follow an invalid war leader. But King Pellinore himself believed it, saying that Uther was the best warrior in the kingdoms, afoot, astride, or abed, and only a fool would be too proud to follow him. So the dissenters kept their grumbling quiet, sharpened their spears, polished their swords, and waited.

  The Saxons were massing, they said, clogging the shores in the southeast, and Colgrin their leader was making alliances with the petty kings there, gathering strength for an attack on the High King. But weeks wore on, and no royal messenger came to summon King Pellinore and his men. What came instead were the rains. We had had drought all winter, and now, after a warm, dry spring, the skies opened over all Wales and drowned the fertile valleys. Crops rotted where they stood, the rich soil was scoured from the land by raging rivers, and sheep and horse foundered in the mired pastures. Ailsa muttered charms under her breath against evil spirits; the miller’s boy went mad and threw himself in the sea; the queen’s garden was spoiled, and the cooks complained bitterly; even the priest was seen to cross himself whenever the clouds grew black.

  Every day brought news of some sort: local news of local catastrophes; distant news of discontent, uprisings, invasions, and assaults. A blight lay upon the land. Some said God was displeased that ignorant souls persisted in the worship of Mithra and would give no victories to pagan soldiers. But Elaine and I scoffed at that. Colgrin and his Saxons worshipped gods far more barbarous than Mithra! Some said the land was failing as the High King failed and that we would not recover until we had a new King. This argument was no longer whispered in corners between nervous warriors; it was spoken aloud at the king’s supper table, after the women had left. Elaine and I heard it ourselves.

  Of course, we were not in the hall. We were eavesdropping. Elaine showed me this secret in my first week there. Along the parapet between the east and south turrets was a smallish crack in the stone, and through this crack we could peer down into the smoky hall. This fissure was protected by the guardhouse wall from the east wind, else it would have been discovered when the rain blew in. But if we covered ourselves in our dark, hooded cloaks and crept up past the guardhouse when the sentries were warming themselves by the fire, or standing at their posts at either turret, we could crouch unseen by the crack and learn of the high matters young maids were never allowed to know.

  To do the guards justice, they were good men and loyal to the king, but it never occurred to them that the young princesses were not abed past dark, or would be curious about what rough soldiers said in the drinking hall. But we were always curious and never afraid to listen when we knew a courier had come. Only the very worst weather could keep us away. Ailsa and Grannic, Elaine’s nurse, slept outside our door, it is true. But they were loud snorers and deep sleepers, embarrassingly easy to deceive.

  Thus we learned of the country’s discontent, and the threat of war that loomed on the horizon, a war that would change our lives, whatever the outcome. All of King Pellinore’s men were loyal to the Pendragon banner, and trained almost daily in the courtyard. But as the summer wore on and the crops and animals died, and men went mad from hunger and lack of sun, they were called to their lands to put down unrest among the farmers and oversee the care of their own families, so that the king’s fighting force was scattered. There were barely enough men at court to get up a hunt, and no one cared to hawk when the gloom lay so heavy on the land. Talk at dinner invariably returned to one theme: would not the High King at last recall his only son Arthur from his secret fastness and reveal him to the lords and set him to lead us against the Saxons?

  Everyone in Britain knew this tale. I had been raised on it. Indeed, it was the one tale, in my father’s country, which was better known than mine. When Uther Pendragon was crowned High King of Britain, he had fallen desperately in love with Ygraine, wife of Gorlois, Duke of Cornwall. She was only twenty, and Gorlois a grizzled warrior of fifty. Some said Merlin the Enchanter had put a spell on the King at his coronation feast, so that as soon as he saw her, he had no peace of mind, but planned how he could take her and yet not wreck the Kingdom by so doing. Remembering stories of my dear father’s infatuation for my mother, I did not think that sudden love needed any supernatural explanation, but I believed with the rest of the world, that the famous enchanter had been responsible for the clever plan that brought Uther his heart’s desire. Gorlois removed his wife from the High King’s reach as soon as etiquette permitted and brought her to the impregnable fortress of Tintagel on the Cornwall coast. He and his fighting men repaired to a fine fighting fortress that guarded the route, in case the High King should follow. As soon as the official feasting was over, Uther, and Merlin with him, came with a large army and camped just out of bowshot. It looked like the fragile kingdom would soon be split by war. But Merlin changed the King by magic arts into the very likeness of Gorlois, and thus disguised, he rode along the track to Tintagel and was admitted by the guard, all unknowing. Men believe that the young duchess was also deceived, but no woman I know believes this. It is a known fact that Ygraine was a faithful and loving wife to King Uther, obedient to his every wish to
the end of their days, as if the flame of love never died in her heart. During the night they were together, when Arthur was conceived, Gorlois led his troops in a surprise attack against the High King’s army, which is treason, and the old duke was killed in the fighting. Uther married Ygraine as soon as he decently could, before her pregnancy began to show. But out of guilt for the death of Gorlois, he refused to acknowledge the son that was born, and three nights after his birth handed him to Merlin to safeguard and raise. Since then the boy had been in Merlin’s keeping, but no one knew where. Some said even Uther did not know.

  King Uther and Queen Ygraine had no other sons in all the years of their marriage. And now, with Uther ill and the Saxon power growing in the east, men said it was time for the Prince to be brought forth and for Uther to acknowledge him. Wales would rise for him, that was clear. But there were lands in the east, already menaced by the Saxons, that were less certain. King Lot of Lothian had met with Colgrin, and no one knew if he would support Uther when the time came or try to supplant him. Ambrosius’ fragile kingdom might be split forever, if Prince Arthur did not soon appear.

  Elaine and I were careful never to let slip any comment that would reveal how much we knew about events. But when news came, at midsummer, of my father’s death, and Queen Alyse gave me a new pony of my own as a comfort gift, Elaine and I would ride along the shore, ahead of the escort, and have long conferences. Elaine could talk of little else but Arthur. No one had seen him, no one really knew if he even existed, but Elaine knew all about him. She even knew what he looked like.

  “He’s dark,” she confided. “Black hair and blue eyes, the true Celt. And stronger than any man his age.”

  “Which is all of thirteen,” I pointed out, grinning. We were five and six years younger, but girls could be married off at twelve, while boys had to wait until fifteen to be made warriors. Elaine was undaunted.