Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “What a tongue you have, Fion!”

  “There was only one man for you, Guinevere.”

  “He is the finest man, the strongest, truest, bravest, and most beloved in all the world.”

  “Ahhhhh.” He exhaled with what seemed to be relief and kissed my fingers. “I am glad to hear you say that.”

  “I know you doubted me. And after what has happened, who will not?” I looked unhappily out the window, where the wooded hills lay still and shimmering in the heat of high summer. “And because it is Lancelot,” I said slowly, “I fear that Arthur, too, might doubt.”

  Fion hesitated. “Surely, if anyone can relieve him of that doubt, you are the one.”

  “I pray so. But—but because it is Lancelot—”

  I fell silent and felt Fion’s eyes on my face. At length he spoke. “As the Greek poets tell us, the gods do not give lightly of their gifts. If they shower a man with virtues, they will see he suffers for it, or endures a cruel fate, or is born with some fatal flaw, to insure against hubris.”

  I turned to him, my eyes filled with tears. “Yes,” I whispered.

  He took my hands, and held them. “And yours is Lancelot.”

  I nodded.

  He leaned very close and lowered his voice. “Tell me truth. Are you lovers?”

  “No.” I returned the pressure of his grip and faced him directly. “No. Never. But who will believe it now?”

  Joy returned to his features, and he sat back, relieved. “Who needs to believe it, besides the King?”

  “How can you ask that, and you a king yourself? You would be thought a fool by all your people.”

  He laughed lightly. “I am already. But I take your point . . . How did he ever become husband to Elaine? It is easy to see where his heart lies.”

  “She seduced him,” I said shortly. “By a cruel trick designed to hurt me. But she has hurt everyone by it, not least of all herself. Now she is in Less Britain. It is Lancelot’s home. She will never see Wales again.”

  “Ahhhh.” He smiled lightly. “It seems she and Maelgon have that in common; they act before thinking and take one step farther than their eyes can see.”

  “Indeed.”

  “Well, my lass, if you wish to convince me of your innocence, you have only to declare it. I do believe you. But with Maelgon’s men and Arthur’s, it is another matter.”

  “I know.”

  “Lancelot is not helping matters.”

  I rose in agitation and paced the room, twisting my hands. Fion rose and stood, watching.

  “He believes he is protecting my honor by taking all the blame upon himself. He does not see that all he is doing is proclaiming his guilt—and mine—far and wide. Sometimes I wish—sometimes I wish he had but the smallest splinter of Arthur’s sense!”

  “Or yours.”

  “He cannot be allowed to speak with Arthur. Not alone, and certainly not in public.” I turned toward him and knelt upon the floor. “This is the favor I come to beg of you, Fion. He is your prisoner. You have his sword. Do not allow him speech with the King. For all our sakes.”

  Gravely he came and raised me and held me gently in his arms. “My sweet lass, I do not see how I can prevent it. Maelgon has imprisoned him, not I. To my way of thinking, saving you from the flames forgives him all his other sins. I’d honor him myself, but he refuses to be honored.”

  “But you have his sword. By formal right, he is yours. Speak to Arthur yourself. He knows Lancelot well. He will know what to do. Just don’t let Lancelot open his mouth.”

  “And what,” he said slowly, “would he say? What’s at the bottom of this, Gwen? How did you come to be abducted in the first place?”

  I held him firmly in my arms and looked into his handsome face. “We visited the clearing in yonder woods where we first met. We were alone, but the escort was within call. He held me in his arms, as you are holding me now, and kissed me. That is all. We were attacked by twelve men and subdued before he could draw his sword.”

  “He must,” whispered Fion, “have been besotted.” He bent and kissed me himself, a warm kiss with passion behind it. I pushed him away lightly and saw him smile. “Ahhh, gone are the days when a Celtic king had to share his queen with his allies! Now I am as guilty as Lancelot.”

  “More so,” I returned, “for we were in the open woods, not unattended in his chamber.”

  He loosed me and grinned. “Cleverly managed, my lass. If Arthur can get the better of you, I salute him.”

  I smiled back. “He is not easily deceived. Indeed, few have had the courage to try. He must know the truth, Fion, but not the whole truth. For his own sake, and for Lancelot’s, and for mine. It will hurt him so!”

  “Certainly it will. But are you going to tell me that after all these years with you and Lancelot living daily at his side, he could not bear that hurt? Come, Guinevere. You have sense. He will know it all. Lancelot was right, you know. All it takes is one look at your face.” I covered my face with my hands. “What would you have me do?” he went on gently. “I cannot prevent the High King from talking with his lieutenant when and where he wills. This business of the sword is formality only. The only power I have over Lancelot is what power he grants me. You know this. We are in Maelgon’s house, on Maelgon’s lands. I am Maelgon’s guest. If Maelgon wants to call a formal council and lodge a formal charge and demand the King’s Judgment, I cannot prevent him.”

  “Council!” I cried. “Charge! What charge? He would not dare! Oh, the scoundrel! He thinks he sees a chance to climb to power over Lancelot’s body! The braggart! The bully! The swine!”

  “Surely,” Fion said calmly, “he is not the first.”

  “Oh, Fion, Fion! You must prevent this! Do not let him take charge of the proceedings. He is a coward at heart, I know him. Face him, and he will back down.”

  Fion sat me down and gave me water from the carafe. When I was calmer, he spoke in a friendly, sensible tone. “I’ve enough on my hands at home, lass. I’ll not risk war with Gwynedd, even for you. And for what? To spare Arthur pain he cannot be spared? You say he knows Lancelot well. Then he will know what drives the man and what to do to save him. He is not High King for nothing. I should imagine he could handle Maelgon with one arm tied behind his back. It seems to me the only tough problem Arthur has is you.” I stared at him. Fion looked at me with great kindness. “There is something you are keeping from me. You, who were put to the fire and escaped death by minutes, you have not once mentioned the Druids. All your thoughts are upon something else. I do not ask to know it. But what is a kiss in the woods? You would not be so afraid, for so small a transgression. Will you fear Arthur might discover I kissed you here? No, I thought not. If I can see this, do you really believe Arthur will not?”

  He offered me his kerchief, and I wiped the tears from my cheeks.

  “You are right,” I whispered at length. “I can keep nothing from Arthur. And it is from me he must know it. Oh, Fion, this will be the hardest thing I have ever done.”

  “Harder than facing the fire?”

  “A thousand times harder.”

  He smiled and clasped my hand. “I am glad to hear it. You do love him.”

  I shrugged, unable to see past my tears. “I love them both.”

  Late that night Ailsa scratched at my bedchamber door, to say that Queen Anet was without and wished to see me. I was not yet abed, being too restless for sleep.

  “Let her come in to me, Ailsa. At this time of night, it must be some secret thing, or something urgent. Stay within call.”

  To my surprise, Anet was dressed and cloaked, and so alive with excitement that I hardly knew her.

  “Why, Anet! What means this?”

  “Oh, my lady Queen Guinevere!” She sank to her knees and clasped her thin hands together. “Oh, my lady, I must tell you what I’ve done—what has happened—I pray you will forgive me—but I was following your advice, and Queen Alyse agreed— she has helped me, indeed—I wouldn’t have known what
to do but for her, and for you. Oh, say you will not be angry with me!”

  I suppressed a grin. “I will try not to be angry, Anet, but first you must tell me what it is. How alive you look! You are quite changed.”

  She nodded eagerly. “Indeed, I am! Maelgon says he hardly knows me! Oh, but he does not know what I have done! And he will be so furious with me when he discovers it! Tell me what to do!”

  I drew her up onto the bed beside me and calmed her as best I could. “First tell me what you have done.”

  “I have given sanctuary—protection—to a Druid!” she whispered.

  “Oh, Anet! Under Maelgon’s very roof?” She nodded, her eyes huge. “Where is he, then? He is not in the chapel!”

  “No, no, he stays in Alyse’s rooms during the day, and at night he sleeps in the garden bower. It is not patrolled. I take him out every evening through the weaving room when Maelgon has retired.”

  “How did this happen? What does he want?”

  “He wants to speak to the High King. He came ashore the morning Maelgon and King Fion left for Mona’s Isle. King Fion’s ship had landed at nightfall, and Maelgon met him on the beach with the news of your abduction and Lancelot’s attempt at rescue. They made ready to sail again as soon as they could, but the wind died. Just before dawn they departed, and before the sun was at half height, this Druid came ashore in the smallest boat I’ve ever seen. He came to me, Guinevere, to me!”

  “Well, you are queen, Anet. It is right that he should.”

  “He—he threw himself on my mercy, with tears in his eyes, and said he had dolorous news for King Arthur and must speak with him in person. He had vowed he would do it. So I had no choice, had I? Did I do the right thing in taking him in?”

  I gripped her arm suddenly. “Vowed to whom? Anet, what does he look like! Describe him!”

  “W-Well,” she stammered, taken aback at my eagerness, “he is about Maelgon’s height, and young, with a black beard and white teeth.”

  “His name! Do you know his name?

  “It is Kevin.”

  “Oh!” I cried, “Thank God! He lives! Yes, my dear Anet, you did the right thing! Oh, I bless you for it!” And I kissed her and hugged her and wept upon her shoulder.

  Startled and delighted, she embraced me. “He wanted to see you, my lady, as soon as you were better. He was so happy when you were rescued. And he has been so worried about your illness. But we heard today that you were up and about, so he begged me to ask if you would see him.”

  “News travels fast. I only went to see Fion.”

  She looked at me sideways and dropped her gaze. “If you are not yet well enough, of course, the visit can be postponed.” She had not been spending time with Alyse for nothing, I noted with amusement.

  “I daresay I could manage it, this once,” I replied.

  With Ailsa clucking in distress behind me, I threw on a cloak and followed Anet silently down the back stairs, through the weaving room and out into the moonlit garden. We were not in much danger of observation; the garden stood at the back of the castle and only the women’s rooms looked out upon it. Nevertheless, we strolled slowly arm in arm, feigning leisure, until we reached the bower. It was dark within, but I saw Kevin by the whiteness of his smile.

  “My lady Guinevere! The Goddess spared you! How glad I am to see you safe in Gwynedd!”

  I smiled and clasped his hands. “She sent me Lancelot. And not a moment too soon. Without your help, good Kevin, I should not have withstood the trial that awaited me in Nemet.”

  Anet crossed herself quickly, and Kevin made the sign of peace between us. He begged me to relate what had happened, so I told the story. Anet grew still as I told it, and Kevin bowed his head.

  “So,” he said slowly, when I finished. “Salowen is dead. It is a sad ending for a great man. Of course he was wrong to abduct you, even if you had been Maelgon’s sister, but he was possessed by hate after Maelgon’s attack. The priestess Viviane—you heard what Balyn did to her?”

  “Indeed we did, may God rest her soul.”

  “She was a great and powerful woman. And beautiful, they say, in her youth. They were lovers, when Salowen was young, and she was the Guardian of Nemet. You would find it hard to believe now, but he used to be a man of peace, with great charity toward others, even Christians. That is why I did not believe—even when they told me—what he meant to do to you.”

  “It’s all right, Kevin.”

  “No, my lady, it is not. By his act, Salowen has put our very future in jeopardy. What will the High King do, when he learns of it? We shall be lucky if he does not burn the island from end to end.”

  “That is not Arthur’s way.”

  “No? It is Maelgon’s. And he is our neighbor. Are there any left living on Mona?”

  “Some. But many died, Kevin. I feared you were among them.”

  “I could not take part in the ceremony. But neither could I prevent it. I did what I could. I spent the hours before dawn seeing to it that the brushwood was well watered. It was odd.” He hesitated. “There was a spirit there, black-robed, with an ancient staff and an icy breath. He was new to me, but he was powerful. While he was by me, I worked with the strength of ten and did not tire. At dawn, when we heard them coming, he bade me take a coracle and come across to find King Arthur.”

  “Oh, Kevin! I owe you my life, indeed! You and Merlin! It was your doing the fire would not take! Bless you both! A matter of minutes was all that lay between me and next world, I assure you.”

  “Ah, my lady Queen,” he breathed, and held me in strong hands and kissed me firmly on the lips, while Anet frowned. He released me and fell to one knee. “I beg you will let the High King know I am here and that I wish to plead with him for mercy toward the Druids. We are in his power now, all of us. And Maelgon would destroy us. I place myself under your protection, if you will.”

  “No,” I said slowly, “I think the protection of Queen Anet will suffice. This is her house, not mine. But I will undertake to speak with Arthur, if—if he will hear me.”

  “Thank you. I could not ask for more.”

  When we were back in the weaving room, Anet finally found her tongue.

  “Did they really tie you to a stake and set it afire?” she quavered. “Oh, I did not believe it when Maelgon told us! Queen Alyse said they would never dare!”

  “They did dare.”

  “But Kevin tried to foil their plans? Then he has betrayed them. What will happen to him now? Can we make him a Christian, do you think?”

  “On the contrary. I was thinking he might make a good leader for those who remain. In his heart he worships the Light. With Kevin in charge, perhaps Nemet would not be such a fearful place.”

  “He was bold to kiss you, my lady! Why did you allow it?”

  I sighed and drew her arm through mine. “Druids have not changed in a thousand years, Anet. In the old days, before the Romans came to Britain, customs differed. A Celtic king, like the King Cunedda in your tapestry, took a beautiful woman to wife for a purpose. Her sovereignty was something shared by all his people. If a lord, a priest, or an ally, or even someone lowborn performed a great service to the king, the king was honor bound to grant the man a favor. Nine times out of ten, it was the queen.”

  “No! I never heard such a thing!”

  I smiled down at her. “You were raised in a convent, my dear. I grew up on these tales. Let us thank God we are living in more civilized times.”

  “Is that—is that why you and Lancelot—” She stopped as I froze. “I mean—I didn’t mean to—oh, Guinevere! Forgive me!”

  “Finish your question.”

  “No! I dare not!”

  “Finish.”

  “I have made you angry now, and I never intended to! It’s just that I did not believe it when they said that you—you and Lancelot were—were—lovers in the woods when you were taken.” She gulped and covered her mouth with her hand, shaking.

  “Who told you this?”

&nbs
p; “No one. Everyone.” It was a whisper.

  I turned away, surprised to find myself trembling as violently as Anet. “Arthur is not Cunedda. Arthur is as Roman as he is Celt. You presume too much!”

  “Oh!” She gasped, sinking to the floor. “Please, please forgive me! I am ashamed I spoke!”

  I sighed wearily. I had no cause for anger at poor Anet. And if I could find no answer for her, how on earth would I ever answer Arthur? I raised her from the floor and made her face me.

  “There is both truth and untruth to what you have heard. To understand, you must be willing to set aside your judgment.”

  “You—you would not betray the King!” Anet breathed in terror.

  I held her firmly by the shoulders. “I would not, and I have not.” She nearly swooned in relief, but I shook her and bade her attend me. “Think of Arthur as a great tree, the tree of Britain. I am the flower, the froth, the transient bloom upon the bough. Lancelot is the strong branch that supports me; yet he is nothing without the tree itself, and neither am I. Without Arthur, we die; and without us, he is made less than he is.” I looked into her face, and saw by her sadness that she began to understand. “We try, all of us, to walk the straight path. But we are none of us without flaw.” She began to cry, and I let her go.

  In the dark, still room I sat in the shadow of the ancient loom and gazed out at the midnight garden. We were all held powerless in a sticky web of intrigue, secrets, fears and desires, plotting at cross purposes, caught up in our own petty plans, accomplishing nothing. We awaited Arthur’s coming like the onset of the winter gale: destroying summer’s leavings, sweeping the past away. Only Arthur could do it.

  39 THE JUDGMENT

  Guinevere,” Alyse said firmly, “I must speak with you.” Coming down the length of the garden in the midday sun, she seemed once again the queen of my childhood, a powerful tyrant who brooked no opposition. I was annoyed to find myself trembling and made an effort to stand straight and still as she approached. Behind me in the weaving room Anet watched from the window. I had spent the morning there, trying without success to occupy my mind with threads and patterns. But the constant clacking of the looms gave me a headache, and in irritation I quitted her company to seek peace in the garden. There was no peace to be found. Alyse took my arm and guided me toward the bower. If she could not say what she had to say in public, I did not want to hear it. But lacking the courage to tell her this, I was bound to listen. She came straight to the point.