Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “When I came to Gwynedd, I found this land at war, Christian against Druid.” He slowly looked at the faces turned to him around the table. “This is the cause of all our distress. This is why the Queen was taken. If harmony is not restored there will be worse to come. I will root out the source of discord,” Arthur said firmly, looking at Maelgon, “wherever it lies. Anyone who serves me serves my cause.” He turned to Kevin. “Loose him,” the King commanded and the soldiers obeyed. “Kevin, step forward. For the wrongs done your people, for the murder of the priestess and the massacre of worshippers, I grant you Mona’s Isle in perpetuity. And I forgive you the abduction of my Queen.” Kevin sank to his knees as everyone gasped. “Your people shall have my protection for as long as I hold Britain. But because none but you lifted a finger to prevent the sacrifice of what is dearest to me, I will require that your worship be restricted to Mona. Your people are free to come and go in Britain, but not to worship here, not to recruit, proselytize, pray, teach, practice magic, heal, curse, or even sing. Do not thank me. This is a death sentence I pass upon you. But you will have peace.” His hand moved to Excalibur’s hilt. “If you are threatened again, send for me. I will destroy your enemies.”

  Maelgon was livid, but held his tongue. Anet’s hand touched his sleeve, begging restraint. The Druid had changed her life with his words, and she sought to remind her husband of it. Arthur must have read my thoughts; he leaned his hands on the table and said quietly to Maelgon, “This man has given you a great gift, if you but knew it. If you have sense, you will thank him for it.”

  Maelgon scowled but seeing Anet’s face, relented, and signaled his guards to leave the room.

  Kevin bowed to Arthur. “I am unworthy of the honor you do me, my lord. I have not Salowen’s power, but I will serve you any way I can. You have but to command me.”

  “Druid! Disperse this mist!” Arthur commanded.

  Startled, Kevin raised a hand, and a breeze sprang up from nowhere, thinning the mist and blowing the clouds from the stars. Kevin himself gaped in surprise, but Arthur smiled.

  “You will serve me well,” he said.

  Speechless, Kevin withdrew, and the soldiers at the door, all Christians, crossed themselves as he passed by. Then, as silence settled upon us, all eyes turned to Lancelot.

  “Rise, Lancelot, and hear my Judgment.”

  Lancelot stood stiffly, and I found my hands twisting together in my lap. If Arthur forgave him, Lancelot would labor all his life under the burden of that obligation, and Maelgon would not be able to bear the slight. Yet everyone had voiced a plea for mercy, and Arthur had moments before publicly forgiven the Druids. How could he now hold Lancelot to blame?

  The two men faced each other in the clear light.

  “Of the charge of betrayal which Maelgon brings against you,” Arthur said slowly, “you deny it, and there is no other witness but the Queen. I free you of this charge.” I whispered a small prayer of thanksgiving. Lancelot stared steadily at Arthur.

  “But I find you negligent in your care of my Queen,” Arthur said heavily. “In all the years I have known you, this is the only time you have failed me. Because it was you alone who saved her from a fate not even a dog should undergo, I do forgive you as her husband. But as King I cannot forgive it; through your action was her life put in jeopardy; I require of you penance before I see your face again.” He stopped, and Lancelot began to breathe. Life returned to his features, and he knelt gracefully before Arthur.

  “My gracious lord, name what penance you desire. I shall faithfully perform it.”

  “Of that,” Arthur said, warmth returning to his voice, “I have no doubt. You will accompany King Fion back to Ireland with a troop of men of your choosing. Place yourself under his command. You may not return to Britain until his country is at peace and his rule no longer threatened. However long that takes, so long shall you be parted from us.”

  Lancelot looked at Arthur with worship on his face. “My lord,” he said fervently, “it shall be done.”

  “This is your doing, Guinevere,” Maelgon growled. “I will not forget it!”

  “And when you return,” Arthur continued, “you will stop a month in Gwynedd and rebuild on Mona’s Isle all that has been so recently destroyed by Christian troops. And I make you, Lancelot, a Christian king, responsible for keeping the peace between Mona and Gwynedd. You will come yearly to Gwynedd to visit with Kevin and with Maelgon. I am sure that, as you are his sister’s husband and kin to him, King Maelgon will not object.”

  Maelgon, who had half risen in protest, sat down again and fidgeted uncomfortably.

  Arthur straightened and looked about him. “What say you to this, Fion?”

  Fion flashed him a smile. “I bless the day I came to Britain,” he replied. “Everyone honors me here.”

  “Queen Alyse?”

  “Very satisfactory, my lord. Honor is conferred all around.”

  “Queen Anet?”

  “Thank you, my lord, for your mercy.”

  “Guinevere?”

  “My lord has pulled a swan’s egg from a wasp’s nest. It is well done.”

  “King Maelgon? You have heard my Judgment. Do you accept it?”

  Maelgon hesitated, frowning as he worked it out. He had wished to be rid of the Druids. And Arthur had banned them from Britain. But Kevin had been honored, and he dare not attack Mona again. He wished to lay blame upon Lancelot, and Lancelot was being blamed. But Lancelot was being honored, also, and was no less powerful than before. On the other hand, Lancelot’s ties of kinship would be renewed perforce, and Maelgon’s ties to power could only be strengthened thereby. He did not like it; this was not how he would have done it; but he could find no flaw in Arthur’s Judgment.

  “Very well, my lord,” he assented at last. “I will accept it.”

  Gravely Arthur turned to Lancelot and took up his sword from the table.

  “Arise, Lancelot. Take back your sword and commend yourself into Fion’s service. Go now and return to us swiftly. The Queen and I will pray for your safety every day you are gone from us.”

  Lancelot took the sword from his hands and flashed me a look of joy.

  “For the glory of Britain will I go.” And he kissed the King’s ring.

  Arthur walked with me back to my chamber. He dismissed Ailsa and closed the door behind us. He took off his swordbelt and carefully laid the Sword upon the chest in the corner. His crown he removed with his own hands and placed upon the Sword. Then he stood and looked at me. “You are the bravest woman I know.”

  “How did you do it, Arthur? How did you find the right path? You have given him back his dignity, and your friendship is undamaged. I did not think it possible.”

  He came toward me and took my hands. Lightly he rubbed his thumb against my finger where my mother’s ring had always been. “Well,” he said very gently, “there has been damage, but not beyond repair.”

  “Arthur,” I whispered, meeting his eyes and feeling again the tremendous power of his affection, “do not misunderstand it.”

  “I hope I do not.”

  “It was in exchange for what I could not give him. He had done so much for me.”

  “I know.”

  “And—it was a lesson to us both, not to be forgotten.”

  “And what did you learn?”

  I raised both his hands and kissed them, then looked up into his face. “You are the end and the beginning. I love you, Arthur, more than life.”

  He drew a long breath and let it out slowly. “Then I am glad it happened. And I forgive you for it. Now, Guinevere, can you forgive yourself?”

  I stared at him, and suddenly, amazed, I understood. What I had so clearly seen in Lancelot—the guilt, the remorse, the self-recrimination—both Fion and Arthur had seen in me.

  “I—I don’t know. Sometimes it seems that everything I do does you harm.”

  “I am unharmed.” Again he touched the place the ring had been. “Even so, I am unharmed.”

>   “Oh, Arthur, I never meant to hurt you!” I looked quickly away and stilled my trembling. “I thought I should never see you again, and I owed him my life.”

  His hands slid slowly up my arms and cupped my shoulders. His touch was comforting; he steadied me.

  “Gwen, I understand it. Let it go.” I looked up. His warm brown eyes held me, offering solace. “He is my friend, too.”

  I saw he meant it; he was unharmed; in some incomprehensible way we three were closer now than before, and would always be so, bound forever by our love, whose boundaries we had so recently discerned. To me, it was the lifting of a great burden, and for the first time since we came to Gwynedd, I felt lighthearted.

  “Thank you, Arthur. Then I am not afraid any longer.”

  He smiled in relief. “How many times must I tell you, you need never be afraid of me?” He stepped closer. “Indeed, you are the one men would do well to fear. Who brought Alyse back to life? Who put spine into Anet? It is your doing Maelgon was soft clay in my hands, as it will be largely your doing if there is peace in Gwynedd. He is a new man with those two women at his side. I could not have done it, Gwen, without you.”

  I flushed with pleasure at his praise and ruffled his hair. “What a tongue you have in your head, my lord King! I suppose you did nothing at all!”

  He laughed, freeing my hair from the thong and running caressing hands along my shoulders to my neck. “The next time you try to look plain,” he said lightly, “do not choose a simple gown. It only proclaims to all the world that your beauty lies in your bones and your skin, and not in your ornaments. I have wanted nothing the last hour but this.” He bent his lips to my neck and kissed me.

  40 SEEDS OF DISCORD

  The summer Mordred turned seventeen, Arthur knighted him. Both he and Gawaine had become members of the King’s army on their fifteenth birthdays and had enjoyed the honor of entering into official manhood. They had traveled with the King on his journeys around the Kingdom, had sat at the back of many meeting halls, and at the farthest table in even more dining halls. The glamour had rapidly worn off. Mordred was content to watch, and wait, and listen to the councils of his elders, but Gawaine chafed at inactivity. He was forever longing for a good fight.

  Seventeen was young for knighthood, but all the Companions knew Mordred deserved it, rumors about his parentage aside. He was an able fighter and a good swordsman; only Lancelot, Galahantyn, Bedwyr, and the King could best him. But more than that, he had a cool head in a crisis and could always look three steps ahead and judge consequences. He had the makings of a statesman. The only thing he lacked, it seemed, was Arthur’s ability to lead men by inspiring their love. Lancelot said he had no endearing warmth, no inner light, no central reservoir of strength and serenity for men to draw on. He was young for that, I retorted. Arthur had had it in abundance at fourteen, was his reply.

  The second reason Arthur knighted Mordred was to elevate his status, while not yet acknowledging him openly. He no longer had to sleep in the barracks, but was given rooms in the castle. He was one of the High King’s Companions and sat in the Round Hall with the other knights at Council.

  The uneasy tension between Mordred and Gawaine was strained by this elevation, but not to breaking point. Gawaine knew Mordred was the King’s son. But he also knew he would soon be a king in his own right, well before Mordred could ever hope to rule. And he knew the King was not ready to declare Mordred openly his heir.

  It seemed that Lancelot’s judgment had been acute. Christian power had grown in Britain during Arthur’s long reign. Most of the kingdoms were Christian, as were most of the knights who now served him. The only man Bishop Landrum would bend a knee to was the High King himself. On Ynys Witrin, the monastery of Christian monks grew as powerful as the Lady’s shrine. Only the hill folk, and men from the outland kingdoms of Orkney, Lothian, and parts of western Wales, still worshipped old gods. And Mithra, the soldiers’ god, even Mithra was remembered only on his great feast days.

  This was a problem for Arthur, for as Lancelot had predicted, there seemed to be no question of Mordred ever becoming an anointed King. Duke Constantine of Cornwall, who had grown more manifestly devout as Mordred grew in favor, was fond of reminding all who would listen that Britain must have a Christian King. But until Arthur acknowledged to the people of Britain that Mordred was his son, such talk as Constantine’s could be scoffed at, and forgotten. So Arthur kept quiet, and kept the peace, and gave Mordred honor and status in other ways.

  That same summer Agravaine and Gaheris turned fifteen and joined the company of men. They celebrated by getting drunk and tearing up the town in their revels, picking fights with soldiers and accosting every woman they saw. The King made good their damage with gold to all who asked for it and chastised the twins for this behavior. But his words were remembered only until the next chance for rowdiness came along. Gawaine was of their temperament, but his future as heir to Orkney meant much to him. Neither Agravaine nor Gaheris had aught to look forward to but what honor they could gain by killing the King’s enemies—and the country was at peace.

  I stood in the library garden three weeks after the solstice, directing my women as they pruned the roses. Fion had sent me some lovely glass bowls for my anniversary, which he never forgot. These were of many shapes, some deep and some shallow, all etched in the pretty way the Irish have. The bowls turned the light and set it shimmering in the very air. I poured clean water into them and, filling them with roses, set them in the King’s room, in his library, and in Mordred’s room and my own, to please the eye and scent the air. I was teaching the art of pruning to my two newest girls, Claire and Linet, when Claire clumsily dropped her knife and, blushing, tucked a stray wisp of hair into her net. As I opened my mouth to chide her, I saw Mordred coming down the walk toward us, and I smiled.

  He was as tall as Arthur now, although he would never have his father’s shoulders. But he had his face and was a handsome youth, admired by all the girls in Camelot.

  “Queen Guinevere.” He bowed politely.

  “Why, Sir Mordred, how glad I am to see you. I miss the days when we were daily together.”

  “As I do,” he said fervently. “I thank you, my lady.”

  I saw he would talk with me, so I gave some last instructions to the girls, which I doubt they even heard, and led him off deeper into the bower.

  He adjusted his pace to suit mine and kept his voice too low for overhearing. As a courtier, he was skilled. “My lady, I have just come from the King. I was with him when a courier came, and I asked if I might bring you the message. As I see you so seldom nowadays,” he finished, smiling shyly.

  “I am glad of it. Tell me.”

  “The message came from Castle Daure. From King Arres.”

  I glanced at him quickly, but his face was carefully neutral and his eyes were on the ground. “From King Arres?”

  “He begs the King to allow the Queen of Orkney a last visit with her sons.”

  I stopped, and Mordred stopped with me but did not look up.

  “A last visit? Is she ill?”

  “No” came the quiet answer, “but she is on the verge of taking orders and will remove to a nunnery next autumn where men are not admitted.”

  I stared at Mordred. Was it possible Lamorak had told us all the truth? “I was not aware the King had given her leave to go.”

  Mordred looked up at last, his dark eyes unreadable. “Indeed, my lady, he has not. She has not asked him. This is the first he has heard of her plans.”

  “So she has got King Arres to do her bidding? If she is truly Christian, no doubt Arthur will let her go.”

  “I advised him against it.” Mordred drew a deep breath. “Every word from her lips is a lie,” he whispered. “This is some trick she has devised to regain her freedom or renew her hold over Gaheris—I don’t know what she is planning, but I know, I know she lies. She is no more Christian than I am. Arthur should disregard Arres’ request.”

  “He cannot.
On the chance it might be true. He must at least make an effort to find out.”

  He nodded. “I know. But I don’t like it. He tells me that some years ago she enslaved Sir Lamorak, who even bid for her hand in marriage. And that you talked him out of it.”

  I smiled. “He is flattering me, Mordred. Arthur sent him to Brittany to serve King Hoel, to cool his ardor and hope that he would wed a Breton lass. I have not heard what became of him.”

  Mordred looked grim. “I will tell you. He is back now in the King’s service. Sir Gereint passed through Winchester last spring and says that Lamorak is stationed there at the garrison, second-in-command. He still sees her.”

  “Well, he has not renewed his request for her hand in marriage,” I said with a frown.

  Mordred looked uneasy, then shrugged. “He claims he is still betrothed to her and, from what Gereint told me, enjoys all the privileges thereof.”

  I glanced up to see his face and caught a quick blush on his cheek. If Mordred, her cool-headed bastard, felt shame for her behavior, what would her hot-blooded sons think if they knew?

  “This is rumor, surely. If she is preparing to live a life where men are not admitted—”

  “Exactly, my lady! It is all a lie! Not about Lamorak—I’ve no doubt he is her lover. She has never denied herself the indulgence of even her smallest desires. When I was a child”—his voice shook—“I remember a constant stream of men going in and out of her apartments. I used to see my father’s face in every one of them.” He looked away and squared his shoulders. “In any event, Arthur has decided to grant Arres’ request and send us. But he is uneasy about it. He will send Sir Sagramor to the nunnery to find out if she really plans to retire there. And he has decided to ride south and inspect some fortifications not far from Giants’ Dance; it is an excuse to accompany us the first part of the way.”

  I smiled. “That sounds like Arthur.”