The oars stopped suddenly, and we jolted gently against solid ground. I opened my eyes. Melwas was tying the boat to a wooden platform built out upon the water. The mist was thinning fast as the day advanced, and I saw him clearly. He was a huge man, thickset, dressed in hunting clothes. When he turned and found me awake he looked uncomfortable. I was glad to see it. I hoped he might be frightened at what he had done; but he was a brave man, and his face was set. He extended his hand to me.
“Come, my lady. We have arrived.”
I allowed him to help me onto the platform, where I chafed my hands and arms to restore their use. “Where are we, King Melwas?”
He smiled, and I found his smile revolting. “In my kingdom. Safe from Arthur’s lads. Come and see my house. It is prepared.”
He referred to a small, wooden structure half hidden by willows, which stood on a low rise near the edge of open water. As he took my arm and led me up the rough path, he boasted about the isolation of his hideaway. We were on an island, he said, with marsh grasses all around that screened us from the shore a quarter mile away. No one could see us, he declared, chuckling, and no one could approach us, except by boat. At low water there was a land bridge at the far end of the island, which had tempted would-be thieves from time to time. Should anyone try to come that way to rescue me, they should find the sharp surprise the thieves had found. He laughed wickedly under his breath, as if pleased at some jest he had made. I shivered at the sound, and he turned to me, smiling.
“Don’t worry your pretty head, my lady Queen. No one will come. You are safe with me.”
Safe indeed! I struggled to keep my fear from my face as he handed me up the step and into the crude dwelling. Whatever it had been built for I could not guess, but its present purpose was clear enough. He had furnished it as luxuriously as he knew how, with soft skins and cushions and a low, Roman couch. A hearth stood stacked with logs, and skins of wine hung nearby. There was only one other door.
“Your clothing is damp,” Melwas said nervously. “Please, my lady, change in here.” And he opened the door to reveal a sleeping chamber containing a great bed hung with crimson hangings and piled with furs. “There is a robe ready for you,” he hurried on. “Hand out your clothes to me, and I will dry them before the fire.”
I said nothing but went into the room and closed the door behind me. There was no lock. I heard him moving about in the other room, and went to the window. It was barred and looked out toward the shore across acres of reeds and a stretch of open water. I put my hand to the window and saw how it shook. It looked small and cold and white, a hand that belonged to someone else. It seemed a poor frightened, delicate thing, trembling as it gripped the iron bars. It moved at my command, yet did not feel a part of me. I pulled against the bars with all my strength until I fell back, gasping, on the bed. I could not budge them. But even if I could, what then? I could not swim. I did not know how to handle the boat, supposing I could have got to it unseen. And I did not know where I was, or in what direction help lay.
I stared at the soft bed furs in rising panic. It was all too clear what Melwas wanted. My only chance was to play him fair, fend him off, and wait for rescue. But I did not hold out much hope of it. Even if the King’s men could find me, they would never be in time.
I began to undress but it was slow work. My fingers were cold and stiff with fear and took minutes to manage a single knotted lacing. The robe he had set out was a good one of soft, combed wool, dark blue with a silver border. But it was too big, and there was only one belt. I shrugged. I thought nothing; I felt nothing. I seemed to be somewhere else, watching myself, wondering what I would do, wondering what it was possible to do, wondering if death might not be preferable to what Melwas had in mind, and wondering how I could come by it.
At length Melwas knocked upon the door and bade me come out. I obeyed him. He had a good fire going and two goblets of wine poured. He had not waited for me, but was on his second cup already. His greedy eyes ran over me with eagerness, and I blushed, turning away.
“My lord Melwas,” I protested, surprised to hear my voice sounded natural as I handed him my damp riding clothes.
“Eh?” He looked up, fairly drooling, and it was all I could do to keep revulsion from showing in my face.
“You are a king, sir, and I a queen, and not the kitchen slave.”
He seemed slightly embarrassed and licked his lips nervously. “Aye, madam. But you are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Such hair! Such eyes! Such skin!”
I lowered my eyes and took a seat on a stool by the fire. He hastily laid my garments near the hearth, but clearly he did not care whether or not they dried. “You are twenty, are you not? I have wanted you, Guinevere, since the day you came to Caer Camel at fifteen, and you now so far surpass in beauty that fifteen-year-old girl as a—as a full flower does an unopened bud. I tell you, I have been patient.” He stopped for a gulp of wine.
“I belong to another,” I said quietly. It was a mistake; his face grew dark with anger.
“Don’t taunt me with that young pup! I’ll not have it! For all his high and mighty ways, he’s naught but a bastard of Uther Pendragon, and he’s not master here!”
“No, my lord. Of course not. Pray forgive me. I will not mention him again.”
He looked slightly mollified and poured himself another drink. “That’s better. Where was I? Oh yes. I was patient, and do you know why? Because you are worth the wait, my beauty, and because I knew it would happen.”
I looked up quickly, and he laughed loudly in delight. Clearly he did not worry about being overheard. I fed him his line. “How did you know?”
“The Lady of the Lake saw it in a vision. Not the witch that’s there now. The old one. Nimue. She told Seulte about it years ago. That was why she would not let me marry. We were waiting for you.”
I gasped and then tried to let my breath out slowly. “Your lady sister connived at this abduction?”
Melwas snorted rudely and then smiled. “I suppose it strikes you as abduction. I am only taking what I was meant to have. Your precious husband is finished with you. All the world knows that. You are to be mine. It is in the stars.”
I was afraid if I shed tears he would try to comfort me, and the terror of it stopped their flow. Somehow I must try to keep him civilized until Lancelot—dearest Lancelot—he would leave no stone unturned! I glanced out the window. I could see the open waters of Lake Avalon and, in the far distance, the Tor. The veil of mist had lifted and it was, as I had known it would be, a clear day.
“Take what comes and live without complaint,” I murmured. “Life is a woman’s gift; death is God’s. What will be, will be.”
“What’s that?” Melwas cried. “What are you saying about me?”
“Nothing about you, my lord,” I replied wearily. “It’s an old saying of Merlin’s. And not very comforting.”
“Forget Merlin. I fear him not. Drink up,” he commanded, coming closer.
The cup I held shook horribly. I took a small sip, held hard to my courage, and faced him. “Are we to be married, sir?”
He stopped. Fair speech made him uncomfortable, I noted. I supposed he was well used to truculence.
“In time. Everything will be formalized in time.”
I nodded and did my best to smile. “I knew you were a gentleman, King Melwas. See how you have prepared for all my wants. It shows forethought and consideration.”
He glowed and preened under these shameless compliments like a young boy. He had no subtlety at all. “I am glad my lady is pleased. I promise you, Guinevere, I shall do my best to make you happy.” The odd thing was, I believe he meant it.
“Do you have a book at hand, by chance?”
He gaped. “What for?”
What for, indeed, when he probably could not read! To hide my thought I smiled my sweetest smile. “That I might read to you, my lord, for your entertainment.”
He snorted. “I’ve no use for reading, and as for en
tertainment, I’ve a much better idea—”
I moved quickly away as he came toward me and stood behind the supper couch. “Let me sing to you, then.” I raised my winecup to him. “All things are better, my lord, if, like good wine, they are taken slowly.”
He paused, astonished. I could see his thoughts run through his head. How much easier and more pleasant everything would be if I consented! And why not? He was a handsome enough man in middle years and king of a wide land. Not everyone would want Arthur’s castoff. I could do much worse. As hope is ever the father of belief, no sooner had he thought it than he believed it. Complacently he settled his fat body on the couch and consented to be sung to.
At first, it was all I could do to open my throat, but after a while, my voice began to steady. I wondered if perhaps he was more frightened than he appeared. For all his brave talk, he must know that he had put his future in grave jeopardy. The High King was expected by week’s end, and he did not take kindly to arrogance of any sort. But week’s end would be too late. I would be this pirate’s wife in all but name by then.
I sang him every song I knew, and some I made up on the spot. We had the best bards in Britain at Camelot, and I had learned something from every one of them. By midafternoon my throat was raw, and he was hungry. He brought out a tray of food he had prepared—soldier’s rations with trimmings, little more—jerky, bread with honey, fruit, and pudding. And much more wine. I ate little, but I fed him everything, pretending all the while that I enjoyed thrusting biscuit and raisins into his mouth, and having my fingers kissed by sticky lips.
I made what small talk I could, as I had learned to do with visitors at Arthur’s table. It seemed the old priestess of the shrine, who had made the prophecy about me, had died a year ago. The new Lady of the Lake was a young and powerful woman who disliked him. If she knew of Nimue’s vision, she said nothing about it. Her allegiance, after the Goddess, was to Arthur. He and Seulte had planned secretly for twelve months how to take me; they had planned it all down to the last hair. That he feared and hated Arthur was clear, but I could not discover the reason.
He ate too much, of course, and drank more than most men did in a week. I bade him try the couch again, but he made me sit beside him, and held my hand. He looked at me like some adoring dog, but the greater beast was there, biding its time. Nevertheless, I sang to him, all the old Welsh lullabyes I had learned when I was young, and soon, as the afternoon turned golden and crept toward dusk, he slept. My clothes were dry; more than once I attempted to sneak away, but every time I moved my hand from his, he stirred and threatened to awaken. I dared not hazard a bold dash for the door. To flee or to fight him would only bring upon me the fate I dreaded. My best chance, I thought soberly, was to do as I had been doing, and string him along.
But a hooked fish cannot swim forever. At last he awoke and, grunting, rose and stretched his huge limbs. He lit candles and did not bother to close the shutter. With sinking heart I realized he felt perfectly safe from any detection.
“Come, Guinevere,” he said, towering above me and extending a hand. “It is time.” My hand shook as he took it, and I found that I trembled so hard I could barely stand.
“King Melwas, I—I cannot give you children.”
His great arms encompassed me, and he laughed. “I care not if you are barren. I do not want your children. It is you I want.”
His lips sought mine and, held in his grip, I could not fight, but merely bore it. I dared not look ahead even to the next second.
“But, sir,—” I fumbled, my dazed thoughts running in circles. “—what will happen to your kingdom if you leave no sons behind you?”
He stood back for a moment, his eyes blazing. “Arthur will have it, the bitch’s whelp! He is taking it from me now, what with harbor dues, raised every year, and road taxes. Your fancy boy, Lancelot, filled his head with lies about me, and he has set out to destroy me.”
“Lancelot is not my fancy boy!” I cried hotly, but it was a great mistake to show resistance. His grip tightened, and his eyes filled with greedy lust.
“So,” he said huskily, “that’s how the land lies, does it? He will not find you here, my beauty.” He released my belt and pressed his ugly lips to my neck, my shoulder, and, opening the robe, to my breasts. He made horrid noises, slurping and gurgling, and squeezed me with his big hands until he hurt me. But I would not give him the satisfaction of crying out. I simply wept, quietly and hopelessly. I could not stop the tears, once they started, but let them fall as he fondled me and sucked my flesh. He did not care that I could not respond, he was beyond any thought but the fulfillment of his desire. I looked over his shoulder, numbed, and in the blurred dimness beyond the window, I saw a light. It flickered and went out, then flashed on again.
“A light!” I gasped, pushing uselessly against his massive shoulders. His eager sighs and moans disgusted me, and I shuddered as his motions grew more frantic. “Sir, a light!”
He ignored me completely, and it was not until he straightened to whip off the thong that bound his leggings that he glanced out the window and saw it. He stared dumbly at the light and then broke into a stream of furious invective. I cowered against the wall as he pulled up his leggings and reached for his mantle. He got to the door and turned. I could not believe he was going. I could not imagine what the light meant.
“Don’t bother trying to escape,” he snarled. “I’m taking the only boat. And you’ll never cross the bridge of swords alive.” He paused, staring hungrily at me. “I’ll be back,” he said, and was gone.
I stood there, numbed and shaking and half dressed, while night descended and the fire burned low. I was aware of nothing. I reached for a cloth and began to wipe his slobber off my breasts. I wiped and wiped in a meaningless, steady motion without thought or feeling. I was dirty and feared I would never be clean. I don’t know how long I stood there, dry-eyed and frozen in place, steadily wiping, but at length I heard a low grunt, the sound of gasping, and the hut began to shake. I believe I whimpered like a beast in pain, but I could not move. A loud thud, a cry of pain, an oath bitten off—the bedroom door flew open, and there stood Lancelot, dripping wet, bleeding from the knee and gripping a sword, white-fisted.
“Where is he?”
I stared dumbly at him, still wiping, and although I tried to speak, my lips made no sound. He turned left and right like a questing hound, and strode to the outer door, battering the bolt with his shoulder, kicking it down with his good leg, sword held ready.
“Melwas!” he shouted. He took a deep breath, collecting himself, and looked back at me. “Wait here,” he said gently, as if I could have moved. I heard him outside, searching the little island, challenging Melwas in the King’s name and, when he found the empty dock, calling him every sort of epithet. He returned with lowered sword.
“Is he gone? By boat?” I nodded, and began to shiver violently.
Lancelot came to me and took the cloth from my fingers. With the utmost gentleness he rearranged the robe, covered my nakedness, and tied the belt around my waist. Then he poured wine and held it to my lips and threw a woolen blanket about my shoulders. He gripped me firmly and made me look into his face.
“What happened?” Panic stiffened his face as his beautiful eyes searched mine. “Dear Christ, am I too late?”
I fumbled hopelessly for words. At last my grief and terror found vent, and I burst into sobs, crying with an abandonment I could not help, while he held me tightly and kissed my hair. At last I found my voice. “Oh, Lancelot! Thank God! Thank God!”
“My sweet Guinevere,” he whispered, his lips against my ear. “It doesn’t matter, my dearest love. You are alive, that’s all that matters.”
I buried my face against his shoulder. “Lancelot, he—he—”
“Never mind it, now. It’s over. You are safe.”
“He almost—he started to—but—”
He pulled away and looked down into my face, hope lighting his features. “He did not take you?
”
“No,” I cried with a shudder, “no, but he was five minutes from it. Less. Then he saw the light. On the Tor. I—I don’t know—he just left me—as you found me.”
“Thank God,” he murmured softly. “That makes things easier. But you are safe, that’s what matters. Take heart, my love. Your cruel ordeal is nearly over. You must dress, and quickly, and then I will find some way to get you across the water. Once ashore, we can get you home.”
“We?” I repeated blankly. “Is someone with you?”
He lifted my clothing from the hearth and held it in his hands. “Merlin is with me.”
“Merlin!”
“He found you, Gwen, when we had been all day searching the woods and dragging the river, to no avail.”
“You dragged the river?”
“Guinevere.” He sounded impatient. “I love you. I would give my life for you. I feared you were dead—drowned, perhaps. I did everything I knew how to do in order to find you. When I saw it was beyond me, I sent for Merlin.” I sat down slowly upon the stool and gazed at him unmoving. “He told me where to find you. In a vision he had heard your song.” I gasped, and he reached for the winecup. “You were really singing?”
“Not—not for joy. I had to speak him fair,” I whispered, “to keep him sweet. Every time I—I resisted, he—he—it was a challenge to him. He went mad.” I swallowed hard, and Lancelot limped over to me and took my hand.
“I know the kind of man he is,” he said gravely. “How you forestalled him an entire day I do not know.”
“Lancelot, you are hurt! The blood on your leg!” Aghast, I saw suddenly a great pool of blood upon the floor. “It must be deep!”
“I have bound it. I will have it seen to. Listen, Gwen, we must hurry. I—”
Queen of Camelot Page 26