“I am no courier, my lady. I have not got it by heart. But the gist of it was this, if you will forgive me.”
“I will forgive anything but falsehood, Kerwas. Tell me.”
“He wrote to say that Sir Mordred had declared himself High King of Britain, without waiting for confirmation of Arthur’s death, and was gathering a new army, loyal to himself alone. The duke predicted that when and if the King returned, he would stand against us. As he did.”
“No,” I said swiftly, “you judge too quickly. He did not. Not for that reason.”
“He did,” Kerwas said harshly. “I was there, and saw it.”
“All right,” I said to soothe him, for his color was not good. “But think back to Brittany, and how you felt then. Would you have opposed him, Kerwas, if Arthur were not with you?”
“If King Arthur were dead, my lady, then Sir Mordred would be King. Of course we would not oppose him.”
I sighed. I had known the men were loyal Britons, all. I had known it. “Thank you, Kerwas. Go on with your tale. What did the King say?”
“Well, he understood it. He knew the message Lancelot had sent. It was to be expected, he told Gawaine. Mordred was only following his instructions. But Gawaine did not like to hear it. The duke wrote that Sir Mordred was meeting with the Saxons, all on his own authority, without even taking counsel.”
“But of course. He had to. If the King was dead, the treaties were void. Cerdic sent for him.”
“So Arthur said, my lady. But Gawaine accused Sir Mordred of rank ambition. I heard him cry that Mordred had not waited even a day to see if the rumors were true.”
“He could not wait, for the Kingdom’s sake,” I protested. “And it wasn’t a rumor. It was a written message from Lancelot. And in any event, waiting a day, even a week, would have gained us nothing.”
Kerwas watched me with interest and with some fear, and I strove to calm myself.
“So the King said,” he agreed. “But Gawaine said otherwise.”
I looked away. My dear Arthur, with Lancelot fighting for life and Gawaine shouting in his ear that his son wished to betray him! Had no one loved him enough to stand by him in his need?
“Always, always the same story,” I whispered. “The cold Orkney blast that destroys whatever he has labored to build! . . . Well, go on, Kerwas. I know Duke Constantine said more. I know his hatred for Mordred. I can even guess his next lie. He no doubt mentioned me.”
That took Kerwas by surprise, and he looked at me intently. “It came last,” he said, “but touched the King nearest, by his voice. The duke claimed that Mordred courted you, consorted with you, and planned to make you his Queen.”
“And? Surely he did not content himself with such vague accusations?”
“All right, my lady, if you will have the truth, I will tell it. He claimed you had consented, and the wedding day was fixed.”
I pressed the cloth to my face. “Oh, Arthur!” I whispered. “My dear husband and my friend! You were alone!”
At last Kerwas closed his eyes and sighed.
“I knew you kept faith,” he said in some relief.
“But did the King know it, Kerwas?”
With an effort, he gripped my hand. “Indeed so, my lady,” he said in a low voice. “It’s my belief he never doubted you. I’m a married man myself, my lady. I’d have known, by his voice.”
We sat silent a little while. Anna had left to fetch the servant. Now he came, bringing water and a blanket. Anna begged me to arise from the soiled and matted straw, offering to take my place herself. But I would not let her. His sickness did not offend me, nor his smell. I wanted only to sit with his head in my lap and hear him talk of Arthur.
“Well, then,” I said, when he was comfortably settled and refreshed, and breathing easy. “Well, then, what happened next? If my lord did not believe the letter, how did he ever come to suspect his son of treachery?”
“You have Gawaine to thank for that—him and Lancelot.”
“Lancelot! Why, they are sworn enemies! Are you going to tell me that they were one in this?”
“Gawaine was like a gadfly, always buzzing about the King, never leaving him in peace. Every word out of his mouth spoke ill for Mordred.”
“I can easily believe it,” I said sadly.
“It was Gawaine who told Lancelot about the letter, as we carried him back home. Most of it he took in silence.” He stopped, and I touched his hand.
“You needn’t tell me. I know well what part of it upset him. He believed it, then?”
“No. He never believed you had consented, my lady. He believed you trapped by circumstance. But he believed that Mordred was ambitious and looked to secure his title by taking you to wife.”
“He always distrusted Mordred.”
“Each of them pressed the King to hurry. When we left Sir Lancelot, he swore he would not be far behind us. But when we came to take ship for home, the winds were against us.”
“So I have heard.”
“And when we at last made land, we were blown off course.”
“Were you shipwrecked, Kerwas? Were the vessels destroyed?”
“Ours was, my lady. Most were heavily damaged and could not put back out to sea. But ours and Sir Bedwyr’s were destroyed.”
“Ah, Bedwyr,” I said, my eyes misting. “I am glad Bedwyr was with him.” Kerwas cleared his throat, and I felt my heart sink within my breast. Was Bedwyr gone, too? “Go on, Kerwas. Finish your tale.”
“It is easily finished. It is all killing. No sooner had we landed than we saw Saxon troops approaching. We were less than two hundred ashore and only twenty horses. Gawaine would not heed the King’s call for patience. He saw we were outnumbered and rallied the forces under the banner. He had a young black-haired devil with him, who cried out for heathen blood.”
I paled. “Galahad?”
“Aye, that’s the name.” He made to spit and then recollected my presence, and cleared his throat instead. “We attacked them and broke them. The King would have asked for parley, for he suspected some mischance. But Gawaine raised the war cry and led the young men forward. We veterans would have waited with the King, but our hand was forced. We broke them, but there Gawaine received his deathblow, and died later on the beach. With his last breath, he begged the King to send for Lancelot, to revenge his death.”
I let out a long breath. “Then at the end, he forgave him. God be thanked for that.”
Kerwas grunted, and I helped him to a more comfortable position.
“Kerwas,” I said suddenly, “did you know you were on the Saxon Shore?”
He tried smiling, but could not bring himself to it. “No, indeed. We thought we were in Britain. Only the High King wondered, but even he was not sure.”
“Ahhhh. That explains why you thought Cynewulf came to fight.”
“Well, didn’t he?”
“No, indeed. Never mind it now. What did Arthur do next? Organize the army and push for home?”
“You know him well, fair lady. That’s exactly what we did. We knew soon enough we were in Saxon lands; we passed many villages, and the people there were sore afraid. But we let them be; King Arthur said they were our allies. He wished to move with speed, before news of the beachfront battle got to Cerdic and was misunderstood.”
Too late, I thought sadly. How the fates had worked against him!
“But we fought several skirmishes along the way, my lady. It seems the news had spread, and though we left them in peace when they did not oppose us, when they gave us fight, we fought them.”
I nodded. “How not? I see how this disaster came about. And I have heard from Galahad’s own lips about the battle against Cerdic.”
Kerwas trembled, and a tear fell from his eye. “Aye, that was a sad day. Until that day, the King had hope his son was not a traitor. But when he saw him, riding abreast of Cerdic, their forces coming upon him together”—he gulped—“he lost his patience. I have been a soldier these twenty years, my lady.
I have never seen a man so angry. He rallied us for attack. ‘Now,’ he said, ‘we will see which side he chooses!’ But when we broke from the woods and came at them—Mordred turned and ran. That was what wounded the King so. He would rather have fought him, man to man, than see him run away.”
“Did he see it thus?” I cried. “Or did you hear this from Galahad? He wanted peace! He had sworn in my presence he would never raise his hand against his father! And he kept that oath, that day. If my lord Arthur would not wait to speak with him, what choice had he?”
“We did not see it that way, my lady. The men didn’t. I don’t know what Arthur thought. He said little. But after we had buried our dead and set fire to the battlefield, we pressed on toward Camelot at double march. The King was heard to say he would be revenged.”
I closed my eyes. Anna came forward and pressed her kerchief to my brow. “Take some water, my lady. Have some refreshment.”
But I shook my head. “Thank you, Anna, but no. We are coming to it now. This brave man was with my lord to the end, it seems. Go on, dear Kerwas. Do not fear to tell me the worst. I have known already these seven days.”
“Is that how long it’s been?” He sighed and paused for breath. “We came to the Camel valley late one evening. We were only a league from home. But between us and Camelot lay Mordred’s army. A lady rode into camp in the early morning, a fine lady upon a fine horse.”
“A chestnut mare? A slender woman with dark hair? An air of authority and power?”
“I see you know her.”
“It was the lady Niniane, Queen of the River Isles and Lady of the Lake. She is the King’s enchantress.”
“She stayed till dawning. When she left, she was fighting tears, and the King looked bitter. But he sent a knight as messenger to Sir Mordred, to request a parley.”
“Thank God!” I breathed. “They spoke then? Face to face?”
“Yes, my lady. Around noon. With the armies all around them. They met in a tent near the river’s edge. They talked for about an hour.”
Even knowing the ending, I felt a great rush of relief. They were cool men, both, and possessed of patience. So they had sat and spoken together, father and son. I would be forever glad of that.
“You don’t happen to know what was said?”
A bitter smile touched his lips. “No, my lady. I was close enough to see, but not to hear. We raised a cheer when they came from the tent, for they came out arm in arm, the King wearing his war helm, with the crown upon the brow. Mordred’s head was bare. We thought—we all thought it was over, and all was well.”
“And why wasn’t it?” I asked softly, stroking the hair from his face. He closed his eyes, weary of talking.
“I don’t know, my lady. Suddenly there was shouting; we looked up and saw soldiers fighting—how it came about, I will never know. But when have two armies faced each other, ready for battle, and not fought? Suddenly we were at war. Someone raised a paean—King Arthur saluted his son and turned back to his troops. Sir Mordred stood there, rooted to the ground, and watched him go. Then my captain called me, and we formed the phalanx. It had begun.”
“He knew,” I whispered, as the tears began flowing, “he knew, and chose the time. What a King he was!”
Kerwas lay still a long time and then at last drew breath. “Near midafternoon I was wounded, run through by a sword. I lay on the turf as the battle was waged around me. I lay unknowing for some of the time, and when I awoke, the sun threw shadows long. I heard someone calling ‘The King has fallen! Look! The Dragon is down!’ When I looked up, I saw Sir Lancelot, with tears on his muddy face. In his arms, he bore the High King Arthur.” Kerwas coughed and spit out bloody froth; I hugged him close and wiped his lips with my sleeve. “He was awake, but groaning. There was blood in his hair, and a great wound—” He stopped. Gently I stroked his head, above his ear.
“It was here,” I whispered.
He struggled to open his eyes but failed. “Yes,” he breathed. “How could you know? It was—dreadful. They took him, I think, to Ynys Witrin, to the shores of Avalon. Lancelot carried him, although he was barely healed. I—I have come to the end, my lady. I know no more. They came with the litter and carried me back. No one speaks of it, except to say he is gone.”
I kissed his forehead; his flesh was cold. “Yes,” I managed, “I know he is gone. Thank you, Kerwas. There is only one thing more. What happened to Mordred?”
His breath came fast and shallow, and I bent low over his lips to hear his speech. “I know not,” he whispered. “I heard nothing of him.” He paused, and his body shuddered. “Now I have told it,” he breathed. “Bless you.” He went limp in my lap, and I hugged him tightly as my tears splashed down on his lifeless face.
“Stay, Kerwas,” I whimpered, “oh, dear God, stay with me!”
It was Anna who drew me away, I think, and put me to bed. Black grief fell upon me when Kerwas died, the grief I had fought off so long, and for days I was senseless to all but pain. I wished for death; I prayed for it fervently—anything to be with my dear Arthur!
Nevermore would he hold me in his arms, or whisper sweetly in my ear in the still of night. I would never hear his voice again, or his laughter, or feel his lips against my hair. Gone forever were those loving eyes and the calm strength that supported me through every woe. He had become part of my own flesh, it seemed, part of my very soul, this man whose outstretched hand I had once feared to take.
Britain would miss him, certainly. But Britain would have other kings. It was I, Guinevere, who would not survive his passing, who would miss him a thousand times an hour in unmeasurable ways. He was more than a king to me, he was my world: my sweet spring, my rich summer, my brilliant winter dawning; he was my sleep, my rest, my peace, my joy, my very life—how could I go on without him? I closed my eyes and prayed to God to join my soul with his. I was unable to look back, dared not look forward, and could not bear the present. What was left for me, but death?
But death did not come.
Cruelly, the black grief passed and left me numbed and exhausted, without even the will for thought. When at last I rose from bed at Anna’s begging, I sat alone in a chair, listening to the wind. The unbearable emptiness that was my future stretched out before me like a dead gray sea, flat, dull, and comfortless, without direction, without end.
“Oh, God,” I whispered. “ ‘How I have wept, day and night, before you . . . How my soul is filled with trouble . . . Lover and friend you have taken from me, and all my acquaintance into darkness!’ ”
Anna, always at my side, took my hand and held it gently. “My lady, hold hard to faith. This is not the end.”
“Without Arthur, it is the end.”
“Ah, but ‘A man’s days are as grass, he flourishes as a flower in the field; the wind passes over and he is gone. But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting.’ ”
Everlasting! It had been Merlin’s promise! I nodded suddenly as my heart lifted. “Yes.”
Anna squeezed my hand, misunderstanding and withdrew.
I walked to the window. The wind, freshening, made the willows toss and dance. Beyond them the sky grew dark with storm. Everlasting! He would live forever, beyond this grief, beyond this life, beyond even my imagining. He was not gone; he would never leave me. He was everlasting, the once and future King.
I lifted my eyes to the wild, oncoming sky and listened to the thud of a horse’s canter on the road outside the monastery walls.
THE END
THE DESCENT OF PENDRAGON
THE HOUSE OF GWYNEDD
MORE PRAISE FOR QUEEN OF CAMELOT
"A lovely story, a wonderfully human retelling of the Arthur and Guinevere legend, one touched with passion and enchantment.”
—Jennifer Blake
"A love story like no other. You will be charmed. . . . Sit back and enjoy, for who of us would not wish to return to Camelot?”
—Elaine Coffman
"Powerful . . . Establishes
Ms. McKenzie as a formidable presence in speculative fiction.”
—Romantic Times
"McKenzie brings immediate freshness to her entertaining reworking of an
often-told story by focusing on the girl destined to be queen.”
—Publishers Weekly
"I couldn’t put it down.”
—Feminist Bookstore News
A Del Rey ® Book
Published by The Ballantine Publishing Group
Copyright © 1994, 1995 by Nancy Affleck McKenzie
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright
Conventions. Published in the United States by The Ballantine Publishing
Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York, and simultaneously
in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto. Originally published by The Ballantine Publishing Group in slightly different form as two works: The Child Queen, published in 1994, and The High Queen in 1995.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 200194620
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eISBN: 978-0-345-45546-8
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