Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  “Guinevere, if the fates are cruel and part us forever, I would have you know this: In all my life I have loved no one more than you. Were we permitted to live our lives over, I would take you again to wife, and none other. I have been given many blessings, but the dearest one to me is you.”

  “Oh, Arthur,” I whispered through tears, “this sounds like good-bye.” He would not let me speak, but kissed me and held me close in his arms until the dawn.

  They left at midmorning. The King rode out resplendent in a cloak of purple, with a circlet of gold on the brow of his helmet and the crimson sash across his chest. Above him flew the Red Dragon of Britain. On his belt hung his great Sword. His gray stallion was excited by the press of horses and soldiers and danced all the way to King’s Gate, where a great shout was raised by the gathered armies beyond the walls. The stallion reared; laughing, Arthur brought him down and gave the command to march. Within an hour, all we could see of him was the dust he raised on the plains below.

  46 THE QUEEN’S DILEMMA

  God bless Arthur, he sent me a courier every day, and when he got to Less Britain, sent me one every week, to let me know how he fared. His crossing was easy; he made Kerrec in good time and was heartily welcomed there by Lancelot and Hoel. They met with King Childebert to plan their strategy and wait for the rest of the British forces to land.

  Meanwhile, our little household at Camelot ran smoothly. We had only a hundred men left in the barracks, but Ferron drilled them daily. Niniane returned to Avalon and kept watch over King Melwas’ young cousin, who held his fortress for him. We posted scouts along the Saxon borders, but Cerdic kept his word and gave us no cause for fear. It truly seemed that Britain lay quiet in peaceful slumber, hardly knowing her lord was away.

  And then one night a courier arrived. Kay, white-faced, brought him to me as we sat in hall. He had not come from Arthur, which I guessed from the freshness of his clothing; he had come from Niniane. The message was short and to the point. Duke Constantine was lately come north from Cornwall with an army of four hundred men. She bade me take care, for he meant to take Caer Camel. I blanched as I heard this, then asked the messenger tell it again to all the knights who sat at table. To a man, they were furious and shouted out their protests. What did he think he was about, defying Arthur’s orders the moment he was gone?

  I thanked the courier for his speed and bade him sup with us. He gave me what little news there was: The last of the King’s ships had left the estuary, and the Summer Country was quiet. But they kept good lookouts, I observed, to get news of Constantine so soon. The courier dropped his eyes. Melwas’ cousin had not thought to post lookouts; the lady Niniane had seen it in the fire.

  At that I rose and excused myself from the company, bidding the eight knights who formed the Council to meet me in the King’s library after the meal. I went there immediately, to have a moment to think. Clearly, Constantine meant mutiny. As guardian of the west, he could move his troops through Cornwall, through Dumnonia and, skirting the Summer Country, even through Wales. But to approach Caer Camel defied Arthur’s orders. And why patrol with four hundred men? No, he meant to take Arthur’s fortress, whether to wrest it from him or to hold it for him made no difference. He was dealing with a woman now and saw his path to power clear.

  Could we prevent him? That was the question. Could we hold Caer Camel, outnumbered four to one? And if we could, for how long? Six months? Three months? One? We were now halfway through May; this was not the time to send for Arthur, nor for Mordred, who was meeting for the first time the ally kings with whom he would one day have to deal. Could we hold out against the duke, or must we give him battle? Four to one were not odds I liked.

  The knights hurried in a short time later, led by Ferron, all muttering their outrage and voicing threats. I got them settled and asked for their advice. They assured me, and Kay confirmed this, that the fortress could be held by a handful of trained men against an army of thousands. The walls could not be breached, King’s Gate could not be forced; the battlements could be held by the archers forever. But the thought of a siege filled me with horror. Worse than the loss of freedom was the fear of leaving the rest of Britain on its own, with Camelot, its heart and soul, cut off by Cornish troops. I voiced my fear, and to a man, they were willing to fly out King’s Gate and do battle, four to one. I shook my head.

  “My lords,” I said, “I will not be responsible for such slaughter. We cannot allow ourselves to be drawn into a battle. If he means us ill, that is to play into his hands. But we must be sure of his intentions. Until he declares himself our enemy, Constantine is Arthur’s ally. If he knocks upon King’s Gate and begs entrance of me, I must let him in.”

  I could see by their faces they thought me naive, or witless. Two of the younger men, Dynas and Clegis, scowled darkly.

  “But, my lady!” Dynas objected. “You cannot let them in, not in such numbers! Once inside King’s Gate, they will take us!”

  “The man’s a fox,” Villers growled. “He’s been waiting for the chance to get Mordred out of the country. He will give out that he comes to offer you support. He will say anything to get inside.”

  They all voiced their agreement; no one doubted that Constantine was our enemy, and a devious one at that.

  “Then, my lords, we must devise a strategy. We cannot fight him; nor can we wait, cut off from Britain, for the High King to return. Once Constantine surrounds us, he will be High King in all but name.”

  They all looked at one another, nervous and unhappy, but no one spoke.

  I glanced toward Ferron, who was frowning. “My lord, can you not think of some way to stall them?”

  He cleared his throat. “Not with so few men, my lady. One hundred against four hundred are poor odds.”

  “Not fight them, Sir Ferron. Stall them. Slow them down.”

  Silence blanketed the room. Clegis and Dynas stared sullenly at the floor. I guessed that this was not the kind of talk the men were used to. Fighting was something they understood: good, clean fighting out in the open air. Not one of them, I was willing to wager, had ever tried to outwit his opponent. To a man, they lacked Arthur’s patience for planning, talking, and waiting for the slow unfolding of events. I began to appreciate the skill it took to rule such men.

  “Would my lords feel easier if I sent to Wales for troops to come up behind him?”

  In relief they voiced their assent. But Sir Gryfflet shook his head. “Don’t send to Gwynedd for troops, my lady. Maelgon’s brother Peredur is lord there now, and Maelgon holds a grudge against you for banishing his sister to Less Britain. Where she died.”

  I stared open-mouthed at this nonsense. Before I could speak, Sir Clegis confirmed it. “Maelgon is loyal to the High King, my lady, but I would not count upon his loyalty to you.”

  “Banish his sister!” I cried. “This is fools’ chatter! Her husband took her to Less Britain—the husband she alone chose out of all men—to bear his son, which she conceived of her own will. God knows—God knows I would have kept them both in Britain and unwed! I should have liked to send her back to Wales and her precious brother!” The men looked quickly at one another and shifted in their seats. I gripped the edge of Arthur’s table and fought for calm. What these men had heard were only rumors. If Maelgon had indeed turned against me, it was because I had publicly opposed him in Gwynedd, when he accused Lancelot and I defended him. He was too much a coward to admit it openly. And these men, I wondered, could the same be said of them? Did their loyalty to Arthur extend to his person only, and not to me?

  Just then the door behind them opened; they all looked round. Anna, a plain maiden of nineteen and the only one of my attendants with any sense, poked her head in.

  “Not now, woman!” someone grumbled. “We’re in Council!”

  She looked straight at me, her brow puckered with worry. “My lady, I beg pardon for the interruption, but—”

  “Unless it’s a courier it can wait,” Dynas cried. “Be gone, maiden!�
��

  I raised my hand for silence. Since Linet had gone home to York, Anna was the only woman besides Ailsa I could talk to, and I relied upon her. “What is it, Anna?”

  “It’s Ailsa, my lady. She has fallen down and can’t rise. Or speak, or move. I have sent for a physician but I judged you would want to know.”

  “Ailsa!”

  “For pity’s sake,” Clegis murmured, “the King’s Council interrupted for an old woman’s fall!”

  “You judged rightly, Anna.” My voice shook, but whether with rage or sorrow I hardly knew. “I will come at once.”

  The men turned. “But, my lady!” It was Dynas and Clegis together. “What about Constantine?”

  I paused at the door. “Fortify yourselves with wine and mead, send for the scribe, and await me. I will return directly.”

  I reached for Anna’s arm, and we went out together.

  “How they resent your power!” she whispered. “What fools men are!”

  Kay’s calm voice floated clearly down the corridor. “My lords, do as Arthur does and put your faith in the Queen. She will not disappoint you.”

  I squeezed Anna’s arm as we hurried away. “Not all men, Anna. Thank God, not all men.”

  They had put Ailsa to bed. When I went in, the physician was bending over her, prying open her eyes, and shaking his head. He bowed to me and backed away. A sob welled in my throat as I looked down upon her face, so thin and old and gray, and so suddenly! I sat upon her coverlet and took her hand in mine. How soft and slack the wrinkled skin, how light the bones! I bent and kissed her pallid cheek. She slept, breathing noiselessly, but it was a deeper sleep than she was used to; neither sound nor touch awakened her.

  “Ailsa,” I whispered. “Dear Ailsa!” I pushed a lock of thin hair from her brow. “When did this happen? Where did she fall?”

  “In your chamber, my lady,” Anna said with a hand upon my shoulder. “She was folding a gown just come from the fuller’s. I heard a noise—she did not call out—and ran up to find her lying on the floor. Her eyes were open then. She knew me, I’m sure of it, but she could not move or speak.”

  I turned to the physician, who bowed again. “What do you make of it, sir? Come, tell me the truth. I can see by your face how grave it is.”

  “I fear, my lady Queen, there is little that can be done. It’s the sleeping sickness. If she awakens from it, she may live awhile longer. But she will not regain the use of her right arm. See the way her face is slackened. That is a sure sign of the sickness. And if she does not awaken, then death will follow.”

  I fought down the sob. “How long?”

  He shrugged. “Two days. A week. It is hard to tell.”

  “And until then?”

  “We will keep her warm with hot bricks at her feet and rub her chest with salve. If her breath stays quiet, she may recover. It is not unknown.”

  That slim hope was all that he could give me. I sat with her, holding her hand, until the bricks and hot water arrived. Then, as I was in the way of the physician’s ministrations, I went out with Anna.

  “Oh, Anna, I do not like the look of her. All the life is gone from her so suddenly! Only this morning she was chiding me about the state of my hair . . . she always took such pains with it . . . she always took such care . . .”

  I faltered; Anna held me tightly and, unable to bear it any longer, I wept in her arms. Ailsa was the only mother I had ever known, and no mother could ever, anywhere, love a child more than my dearest Ailsa had loved me. When I said I wished to arrange a pallet by Ailsa’s bed and sleep by her through the night, Anna assured me she would see that it was done.

  There was nothing else I could do. I wiped my eyes and returned to the library with Anna, hand in hand. We entered abruptly and found the men in heated argument. Kay, Ferron, Berys, and Lyonel were defending me to Dynas, Clegis, and Villers. Gryfflet stood between them, listening. They broke off of a sudden when they saw me, and some of their faces went red. Dynas and Clegis were young men, too young to have fought with Arthur in the Saxon wars, but Villers was an old friend—I looked at him in surprise, and he had the grace to color and look away. He had lately become a Christian; it crossed my mind that Bishop Landrum might have been busy with his tongue.

  “Gentlemen.” They were staring at the tear tracks on my cheeks. “My lords all, hear what I have decided. I will send first to Northgallis. Gwillim my kinsman will come to my aid. His wife is the King of Dyfed’s daughter; between the two kingdoms, he can command a hundred men or so. And I will send to Drustan of Elmet. Since Arthur’s generous recompense for Lamorak’s murder, he has been a staunch supporter of the King. He might even come himself. Will that do?”

  Relieved, they assured me that a hundred men on either side of Constantine’s army could give him a battle he might not wish to chance.

  “But,” Gryfflet ventured, still sitting on the fence, “can they come in time? Even with swift couriers, and allowing time to muster what men are left”—he counted upon his fingers—“it will be a fortnight, at least, my lady. Constantine will be here long before that.”

  “Not,” I said quietly, “if we can slow him down.” They looked at one another and again went silent. “If you will, my lords, leave that part of it to me.”

  They agreed to this without much argument; no one asked me what I proposed to do. Kay got them settled drinking mead before the fire. I sat at Arthur’s desk and beckoned to the scribe. He drew out his parchments and quills and mixed his ink, while from the pouch at my waist I took the regent’s seal. With Ferron standing by, I dictated the letter to Gwillim, and below the scribe’s neat Latin hand, I wrote it myself in Welsh, for I did not know if Gwillim kept a Latin scribe. My father certainly had not, but even Wales had grown more civilized since then. I sent the same message to Drustan. When the ink dried the scribe sealed the scrolls with wax. Carefully I impressed the wax with the regent’s seal. Ferron summoned couriers, and they went off at once, taking the northern road through Aquae Sulis to stay out of Constantine’s way.

  The scribe began to collect his things, but I bade him stay. “I have another message, good Julius. Bide a moment while I consider what to say.”

  Ferron looked at me hopefully, but said nothing. Any move of Constantine’s was important. But this was treachery—Niniane had seen it through her Sight, so it was true—and clearly Arthur needed to be told. I did not wish to alarm him, for it might come to naught. I dared not ask for Mordred, or one of his top commanders, and yet he had to know the threat was real.

  “Address this to Arthur, High King of Britain,” I said slowly, and Ferron sighed in audible relief. I smiled up at him. “What did you fear, my lord? Did you think I would keep this from him and try to be King myself?”

  “By the Light!” he swore softly. “It is not unknown!”

  “Well, by the grace of God, I am not Pendragon and have not that ambition. I am his servant. How shall I tell him of this threat, without calling half his army back?”

  In the end, we simply stated the facts as we knew them. I asked for a company of men on good horses to come as swiftly as they might, to help take Constantine from the rear in case he sat down in front of Caer Camel to besiege us. The message was sealed, and the courier sent.

  I rose and turned to Ferron. “Thank you, Ferron, for your aid and for your defense of me. I know some of the younger men, especially the Christians, think it unseemly for a woman to govern men.”

  Ferron smiled. “Fools come in many colors, my lady. Pay them no mind. They have yet to learn that leadership wears different cloaks.”

  “Why, Ferron, I thank you for those words.”

  He bowed. “You raised the Sword of Britain, my lady. You are not like any other woman these men have known. Give them time to get better acquainted. They probably think”—and his eyes narrowed in laughter—“that you’ve done little else but weave Arthur his war cloaks. They will learn, my lady Queen, the lesson we all have learned. Give them time.”

 
; I said nothing, but made him a reverence to the floor. Once my foolish arrogance had endangered Ferron’s future; now his forgiveness, so generous, so undeserved, touched my heart.

  When we reached the women’s quarters, I pulled Anna aside. “Anna, I must ask a service of you. It will require courage.”

  She straightened and dipped a quick curtsy. “Queen Guinevere, I am your servant. Command me.”

  “You must take a message to Niniane. To Avalon. Tonight.”

  I heard her indrawn breath, and her eyes widened, but she did not shrink from me. She was a brave girl. To every Christian woman, except perhaps to me, Avalon was a forbidden and frightening haunt of dark rites and pagan spirits. Girls her age could not remember, as I did, the days when the Good Goddess was worshipped throughout the land. Anna feared what dwelt behind the whitewashed pavilions of the Lady’s shrine; but I recalled with fondness the clean, sweet-scented cells, the cool calm of the House of Healing, and the still beauty of the tended orchards encircled by the Lake. The only thing to fear at Avalon was Niniane herself, aloof and powerful as she was. She had served Arthur well these many years—would she now serve me?

  “My lady, I will do it,” Anna said firmly.

  “Bless you, Anna. You will come to no harm, I promise you. I will give you a token to show the guards at the gates. You must ride alone—not secretly, but silently—I do not want the Council to know.”

  At once her interest quickened, and she nodded eagerly. She was nineteen and still unmarried; no one had yet offered for her, though she was a better woman than all of my pretty girls put together. Naturally enough, this had engendered in her a contempt for men’s opinions; she was always eager to prove that she could do without a warrior’s help.

  “Say to Niniane—herself, mind you, no other—say to Niniane the High Queen begs her assistance—yes, begs—for the Kingdom’s sake. Tell her we have sent for reinforcements, thanks to her warning, but we need a fortnight. For Arthur’s sake, if not for mine, I beg she will call upon her powers and bring wind, storm, flood, or mists, or whatever catastrophe she can devise to bar Cornwall’s way. Once he crosses the Camel, once he comes to the plain of Camlann, we are besieged and the heart is cut out of Britain! Then are we held captive, trapped and powerless, at the Duke of Cornwall’s whim.”