Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “And what did she say? Surely they can do something?”

  “She said it could be done, but it must wait. Time must pass. Certain things must happen.”

  He sounded uncomfortable, and I deduced that Niniane had had a vision in his presence. “What did she see?” I asked.

  “Is my mind an open book to you, Gwen?”

  I smiled. “I know you well.”

  “You do indeed. She bade me be patient. ‘All things come to him who waits,’ she told me. One of Merlin’s favorite lines. I wonder if she knew she was stealing . . . well, I will wait and keep the child in mind. She is young to be taken from her mother, even though Morgan is more interested in witchcraft than in childcraft.”

  This was news to me. “Did you have speech with Queen Morgan, my lord?”

  “No. I had no wish to. She has not made Urien’s life a pleasure to him, and he is a good man. She has made him suffer for the honor of being my brother-in-law.”

  I realized there was no reason why Arthur should feel close to his sister. They had been raised apart and never met until he was made High King. Still, it made me shiver to hear him speak of her with coldness.

  In the darkness, he was a shadow darker than the rest. I reached out, and held his hand. “Niniane told me you have sent for the Orkney princes.”

  “Yes.” His voice went flat, and I felt his tension in his grip. “But their mother, I have ordered to stay in exile. She is a witch, Gwen, and her power over men must be seen to be believed. Even men with judgment, who know her to be evil, will do her bidding willingly, and not know why. I do not trust her here in Britain. If I brought her south, I might be forced to take steps I would regret.”

  “You would not kill her!”

  “And bring a blood feud down upon my head? No, by God. I want Lot’s sons to be my soldiers, to fight for me, not against me. I will give Lancelot the training of them. They will hold the north for me when they are grown. If they are Lot’s sons, they will take to it like ducks to water. But I must get them young, or she will warp their minds against me. If she hasn’t already.”

  “And Mordred? Will you single him out, or treat him like the others? What will be his status here?”

  “Ah, I know not, till I have seen the boy. So much depends on him.”

  “When will they get here?”

  “Give it two months at the outside. I wish—it is hard to wait, knowing they are coming. I feel the need to make up for the lost years.”

  “But you said yourself, you could not have had him by you,” I whispered, hearing a father’s love in his voice and feeling again the old, familiar pain. Arthur knew me. He sensed it instantly, and put his arms around me and drew me onto his lap.

  “Gwen,” he said softly, “he is your gift to me. Whatever happens between us when he gets here, whether or not he can bear me as his father or his King, I will always love you dearly for this gift. Without you, I never would have known him.”

  “But for me, you might have known him sooner.” I was trembling, thinking that had he not feared to wound me, had I not been so sensitive, he could have asked me years ago to welcome his son.

  “Never think it. Had my wife borne children, I would never know him at all. He would be lost to me.” His arms tightened about me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Strength and peace flowed from him into me, and set my heart at rest. “Had you been other than you are, Gwen, everything would be so different. My Kingdom would not be whole. I have not yet thanked you for that.”

  “I am not alone responsible,” I told him. “Everyone helped: Bedwyr, Kay, Niniane . . . Lancelot. We made a plan together.”

  “But you had more courage than all of them,” he said quietly. “You disobeyed me to my face and gave me truth I could not swallow when you told me I was no longer your King. I cannot tell you what that did to me.”

  “It was not what turned you, my lord.”

  “No. But it planted the seed. And you alone had the courage to draw the Sword. No one else would have dared. My soldiers think you must have magic power, and I—I don’t know quite what to think.”

  “I acted in ignorance, my lord. I did not know it was such an awful thing to touch the Sword. I merely wished to shock you.”

  I sensed him smiling. “You succeeded. But I was amazed you could hold it, that it stayed in your hand.”

  “It was heavy,” I said, recalling the feel of it, “and hard to carry, for a woman. It trembled like a live thing and sought your grip.”

  He let out a long breath, I thought in satisfaction. “So, you felt its life. I wondered. All soldiers believe that good swords carry the breath of life in the blade. But that one—this is known—that Sword carries the spark of the god. It is no wonder my knights were afraid to touch it. I wonder they let you try.”

  “I put it off as long as I could. But something had to be done.”

  “Yes. God knows, that is true. I forced you to it.”

  He was quiet awhile, and I knew he felt more thanks than he could express. And then suddenly, softly, out of the dark it came.

  “Guinevere, can you bear this—this parting from Lancelot?”

  I froze. I wished heartily I were not sitting upon his lap, where he could feel my trembling and my every intake of breath.

  “My lord,” I whispered. “Don’t.”

  “He told me what he told you. And I deduced that you had forborne to tell him the real reason Elaine was in disgrace.” He waited, but I could not speak. “I gave him permission to wed her and take her away. But I grieved to do it. Not only for his sake, but for yours.”

  “My lord.” I shook as the tears fell, and he hugged me gently.

  “Why did you not tell him, Gwen? It would have kept him here. It would have foiled Elaine. It is a thing a man might wish to know about the woman he intended to marry.”

  I shook my head. “He—he had already lain with her. It was too late. If—if I told him, you know him, Arthur, where his honor is involved. He would never have forgiven himself. The shame would have eaten at him all his life.”

  “Ahhh. That is why I did not tell him myself.” He held me tightly, and gave me a chance to control my tears. “Perhaps it is better this way,” he said at last. “It may turn out well. He will be back . . . The wedding is fixed for next week. He asked me to tell you.”

  “Please,” I whispered, touching his hand, “please, Arthur, don’t make me go. I cannot—it is such a travesty—I cannot watch as he binds himself to Elaine.”

  “You are excused. I will be there. But I shall not enjoy it, either.”

  “Thank you . . . when does he intend to leave?”

  “In a month. Perhaps sooner later. It depends upon Elaine. Do you know, after she schemed for this, she is surprised that he is taking her to Less Britain. Apparently she expected to stay here and be a thorn in your side for the rest of her days. Lancelot says she is angry at having to leave.”

  Had I not been so unhappy, I could have laughed.

  “She counted on his honor to bind him to her. Now she must obey his honor’s demands. All the sons of his house are born in Lanascol. She should have had longer sight. But that is Elaine.”

  He sighed. “So, you know. It was the last thing I had on my mind to tell you. I did not speak of it to Lancelot, but the news has been buzzing about my ears since I rode in. Bedwyr confirms it. She is with child.”

  I bit my lip hard. “I knew it before he did.”

  “Well, then. I see you understand.” The tone of his voice changed, and I felt his lips against my hair. “All I ever wanted in a wife was someone pleasant, kind, and soft-voiced to come home to. When I saw you, I thanked the gods for the gift of beauty, as well. But such sense, such loyalty, and love, these I never counted on. These are your gifts to me.”

  “My lord,” I breathed, blinking back tears, “they are easily given to such a man as you.”

  He pulled me closer and touched his lips to my face. “It is over a month since the solstice,” he said
softly. “So much time I have wasted!”

  Lancelot and Elaine were married with Arthur in attendance. I gave out I was ill and stayed away. It fooled no one. From then on, Elaine sat on his right hand at table. It was her right, and I could not prevent it. She said very little to him, but I could say nothing at all. Alyse and Pellinore stayed in Camelot as the King’s guests until the time of departure. This was put off until mid-October, when the winds were right, but it could not be put off forever, and at last the day arrived. The King had promised me an hour alone with Lancelot before he left, but in the bustle of preparations I feared there would not be time. And Elaine seemed determined to keep me from him; thrice in the last three days I tried to steal a moment of his time, and thrice she thwarted my desire. She followed him everywhere and hung on him shamelessly, looking helplessly up at him with her great blue eyes and never letting him forget his obligation.

  I paced about my chamber in despair as the last morning dawned, my head so full of things to say I feared I should burst if I could not say them. At last a page arrived to say Lancelot awaited me in the King’s library, and I raced from my apartments, eagerness overcoming sense, toward our tryst. When I reached the library I found it empty. But the garden door stood open, and I stepped out into the cool morning sun and called his name. Nearby, the gardeners worked preparing beds for winter; the chief gardener rose and ducked his head.

  “I’m sorry, my lady, but Sir Lancelot is not here.” He sounded apologetic and stared nervously at the ground. “We’ve all been here since sunup and have not seen him. I’ve heard tell he is with the King.”

  “And where, then, is the King?” I demanded crossly, wondering who had sent the page with such a message. He shrugged, and all the men looked sidelong at one another. Was it possible, I asked myself, she had duped me yet again?

  “Never mind, good sir. I beg your pardon for my manners. Thank you kindly for your information; it is not your fault it is not what I would hear. I will find the King myself.”

  I hurried back to my chamber, this time more mindful of my dignity. I had not liked the knowing looks in the gardeners’ eyes.

  “Ailsa!” I called when I reached her doorway. But no one answered. Swiftly I mounted the steps to my chamber and stopped dead upon the threshold. On my terrace, wrapped in a traveling cloak and as cool as she could be, stood Elaine. Her back to me, she looked down upon my garden. I blinked twice and shook my head but she was not an apparition.

  She turned as I entered, reached out a soft-gloved hand and pointed to the bed. “I came to return your gifts.”

  Every single thing I had ever made for her or bought for her or given her lay upon the coverlet. I walked closer, unbelieving. There lay the yellow gown—her favorite—which I had embroidered with stars eight, ten years ago? And the woolen sash I had made with her name stitched at the edges, to keep her warm in the long Welsh winters. The seashell I had found on the beach and polished for her, which spoke with the sea’s voice when she held it to her ear, the leather pouch I dyed and sewed to hold her little treasures, the leggings, the pillow cover, the bracelets, pendants, and trinkets, the cushions and the slippers, all were there. I reached out a trembling hand and took up the comb of horn I had carved myself—how lovingly!—in Northgallis the winter my father had taken ill. I had made it to please my new cousin, whom he said I must befriend. My shaking finger touched the “E” carved at the crest; childish work, perhaps, but heartfelt, with love and hope in every stroke—yet even this she did not want.

  Carefully I replaced the comb on the coverlet. “If you don’t want them, I will keep them. They still mean something to me.”

  “I don’t want them, obviously.” She turned away with a careless shrug and looked once again down at the garden.

  I walked out to her. “Did you send the page to draw me away?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well. You have done what you came to do. Now get out. You are here without my leave.”

  “I care nothing for your leave. You are too full of yourself, Guinevere. I await my husband, who is with Arthur.”

  I followed her glance and saw, at the end of the garden, Lancelot and Arthur. Arthur’s arm was slung around Lancelot’s shoulders, and Lancelot held Arthur by the waist. They walked and talked together in close conference. I would have smiled to see them, if Elaine had not been there.

  “Await him somewhere else.”

  “And let you have speech with him? Indeed, I will not.”

  “Why do you fear it? What are you afraid I will tell him?”

  Slowly she turned and met my eyes. The autumn air, or perhaps her pregnancy, gave her pale skin a glow of health. With golden curls framing her aquiline features, she looked young and very pretty. But there was nothing soft and yielding in her face. Already one could see the woman she would become: hard, cool, and unforgiving.

  “You care too much. You dare not tell him now. I keep him from you merely because you wish to see him.”

  I caught my breath and stepped back. “You never used to be so cruel!”

  “I am as I have always been. It is you who have changed. You have forgotten your beginnings.”

  “And what is amiss with my beginnings?” I bristled.

  She shrugged and smiled again that cold, unfeeling smile.

  “Northgallis is a small, dark, and pagan kingdom. You came from thence into the light and power of Gwynedd, a Christian land. Had you not made that journey Arthur never would have noticed you. Yet you have never given us our due. Once here, you turned your back upon us and forgot our gifts to you.”

  “How can you think so! Why, Pellinore is—”

  “I speak,” she cut in coldly, “not of Pellinore, but of my mother and myself. You have turned the King against me to serve your selfish ends—”

  “I turned the King?”

  “—and your dreams of power. You would have served him better by stepping aside. You have consigned him to a future as barren as your own, and for what? So that you might be Queen!”

  “That is not true! Ask Arthur yourself, if you dare! I—I—I cannot help my fate, but Arthur has chosen his of his own will!”

  This time she smiled in pleasure and stepped closer to me, backing me against the balustrade. “Indeed he has. He has chosen more than he knows. Listen closely. I have something of importance to tell you before I leave. I have an informant on Ynys Witrin—this you knew—who serves the Lady’s shrine when she is not in Melwas’ bed. But for the gold I pay her, she would not stay to serve that insufferable Niniane. However, her information is beyond price. Have you ever heard of the Lady’s Oracle?”

  “Do you mean—in Northgallis we called it the Sacred Speaking, when—”

  “—Every thrice three years when the full moon rises on the night of the equinox, the chief priestess climbs the Tor, sacrifices upon the Black Rock, and holds the sacred crystal to the moon’s face. In it, if she is worthy, she sees a vision of the future.”

  “Yes. I know of it. So was Arthur’s coming foretold.”

  “Well.” She leaned closer until I felt her hot breath upon my cheek. “A month ago Niniane saw a future that she will not tell the King. The whole shrine is alive with whispers. Niniane secludes herself and speaks to no one.”

  I knew Elaine to be capable of every sort of falsehood; I knew her motives and the depth of her dislike; yet this revelation struck like a cold knife in my belly, and I shrank from her. Since the night of Arthur’s return, no one had seen hide nor hair of Niniane.

  Elaine’s voice sank into a singsong whisper. “The wheel is turning and the world will change. Those who are weak shall grow in power, and the mighty shall be cut down. A dark prince from the Otherworld shall arise and slay the Dragon; a great serpent shall wade forth from the sea and swallow the Dragon’s remains. The Dragon himself will be borne across water and buried in glass. Forever.” I covered my ears with my hands to blot out her words. “And all this, Guinevere, is a result of the King’s choice to keep you.
”

  “No! No!”

  “And a son of Lancelot,” she hissed at me, opening her cloak and spreading her hands upon the hard mound of her belly, “shall, with a bloody sword and a righteous fury, renew the Light in Britain before she goes forever down into the dark. You will live to see it all. You will be spared nothing!”

  I staggered back; my knees would not support me. “It cannot be! Dear God, it cannot be! You say it only to wound me—well, wound me, then, and have done. But Arthur—Arthur must be spared!”

  She began to laugh softly. “This is not my vision, fool. Pleading with me changes nothing. I tell you so that you may know what fate you have brought upon him. You should have listened to me when you had the chance.”

  “I don’t believe you! You want him still, and look only for a way to hurt me—why don’t you go and let us all be?”

  “When my husband calls me, then I will go. You will not have speech or comfort of him while I live. And once we are gone, Guinevere, you will never see him again.”

  A shadow darkened the doorway behind her. Arthur stepped ino the room, followed by Lancelot.

  “What’s this?” Arthur asked, glancing swiftly from my face to hers.

  I could not speak, but Elaine turned to him with a guileless expression and made him a pretty curtsy.

  “Cousin Guinevere regrets our departure, my lord. She would prefer us to stay.” Lancelot frowned at her. Elaine smiled knowingly up at the King. “No. We all know the truth, don’t we? She wishes my husband to stay.” She stepped closer to the King and laid a small, gloved hand upon his arm. “It is an old story, my lord. Everyone knows it. She wants no one but herself to bear Lancelot’s son.”

  Both men froze. But Elaine moved quickly. Before I could even draw breath to speak she pressed herself against Arthur, pulled his head down and fastened her mouth on his.