“Of course, my lady. Thou hast passed here some nineteen winters, by all accounts. Thou dost not recall?”
“Not a sausage”
Kate shivered at her mistress’s evident ignorance, though she had no idea of what a ‘sossage’ meant.
“By Our Lady, this is serious. Thy fever has had a result without precedent.”
“Unprecedented is an understatement! You don’t know the half of it – I’ve been catapulted back over a thousand years in time. Maybe I’m dreaming…” Gwen wondered aloud.
Merlyn stretched across and held Gwen’s hand. He squeezed the finger that was swollen.
“Ouch! I’m not dreaming. Your bloody wolfhound did that!”
“My Lady Gwendolyn, at least thou dost remember something. But what is this with thy strange tongue? Methinks it is some Saxon or Danish corruption? How come this sudden change?”
“Not easy to explain! But you tell me: this…this Lady Gwendolyn – I look the same? I mean – is that who you take me for?”
Kate was distraught. “My lady, thou art my own dear mistress. Thou hast lain here for days unconscious with a fever such would burn the forests down. I have done my duty and cared for thee, bathed thy temple, combed thy hair and prayed that you would recover. Now thou art awake and as fair and lovely as ever…but there is some devil inside of thee that frightens me to my very soul.” She put her face in her hands and wept. “My lady, what has happened to you…come back to me…”
Merlyn nodded sombrely. “There is some undoubted strange demon inside of thee, Lady Gwendolyn.”
Gwen looked at the two of them. “Bugger!” she said quietly. Kate sobbed loudly as if stung.
“Have faith, my dear Kate,” said Merlyn. “There is still some magic of my own that I can apply. We will get your mistress back to you, never fear!”
Gwen looked at the scene in front of her and shook her head in wonderment. I just hope he’s got some really powerful magic up his sleeve somewhere, she thought. These two may be upset at the woman they’ve lost. That’s nothing. I’ve lost a whole bloody world!
“I need to get up, Kate. Nothing achieved by staying here. It’s been days and days already and nothing’s sorted out yet. We’ll see if I can return to normality…” (That’s a forlorn hope, thought Gwen. I’ve no idea what is normal here in Camelot!)
Kate nodded and busied about as before in dressing her mistress as Merlyn, again, diplomatically retired. Then Gwen took a deep breath and sallied forth. What should she do and where should she go? If she had truly travelled back to the time of Camelot, unbelievable as it still seemed to her, then she had to come out of her bed and confront it. Not a little courage was called for. She looked nervously at Merlyn, waiting in the passageway outside.
“God, it’s bloody cold, dark and draughty in here. Take me downstairs, Merlyn. And let’s meet whoever I should…”
Merlyn got the message. A frightened young woman who had lost her memory needed to return to people and places that might help her recover.
“Fear not, milady. Kate and I will help thee all the way. See – here is the way down to the main banqueting hall where thee fell bedazed a while ago.”
A wide stone stairway led to a great hall, dominated at the far end by a long, oaken high table in front of a massive fireplace. The floor of the hall was now crowded with a large number of knights and their ladies, squires, attendants and various servants. Drinks were flowing and an air of celebration was evident.
“What’s going on?” asked Gwen nervously as they reached the foot of the stairs.
“They are all awaiting the arrival of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere,” replied Merlyn. “It’s a celebration of the outcome of a successful royal hunt. Dost thou recognise anything or anyone here?”
“Yes,” said Gwen, with surprise. “I recognise that fireplace, although this room is very different now. As for everything else: nothing…but…but maybe that big man over there looks familiar in some way.” She picked out a tall, heavy-set man with a broken nose.
The large man called out.
“Ho there! Here comes Merlyn with the prettiest picture in all of Camelot. Thou hast worked thy magic again, you sorcerer!”
“Come, milady. Let me introduce thee to this knight, his squire and others gathered here,” he whispered, urging Gwen forward. Kate dutifully followed behind.
The men nearby all stood back as Gwen approached and, nervous as she was, she noted they all bowed respectfully to her. That helped her confidence.
“The Lady Gwendolyn, is stronger, as you can see noble sire, but I regret that she is not yet fully recovered. Her mind is still confused with fever.” Merlyn stopped and looked at Gwen. “Milady, let me present Sir Gareth and with him, Brangwyn, his squire, and attendants…”
Gwen looked at the knight. “I think…I think…I recognise him…” she whispered to her companion. Her eyes met those of the large man who immediately sank down on one knee before her.
“Thou favours me with a glance, fair lady. I am thus honoured.”
Gwen grinned. She could quite get to like this – big men falling all over her.
“Haven’t I seen you before someplace?” she asked.
“If thou hast noticed me before I am twice honoured,” he replied
The knight remained kneeling, his head bowed, averting his eyes. Three others who had been conversing with him all retreated respectfully a couple of paces back from this conversation.
“Oh, do get up and let me have a good look at you. I gotta be sure,” she said. The knight duly stood up, his face somewhat bewildered. Gwen sensed Merlyn stiffening beside her, clearly disapproving of her blunt remark, but Sod it! Gwen thought, I can’t pretend to be someone I’m not.
With the knight standing immense in front of her, Gwen could have a closer look at his features – blank and expressionless as they were at the moment.
“Bloody hell,” she couldn’t stop herself from exclaiming. “It’s Gareth the ugly rugby player!”
“Noble knight,” Merlyn quickly interjected. “I warned thee that the Lady Gwendolyn is still afflicted by the fever…”
Sir Gareth nodded, bowing to Gwen. “The lady’s comments indeed fall unkindly to my ears. I wish her a full and speedy recovery.” He returned to gaze at Gwen, looking her up and down.
Gwen had seen that look before – interested men, giving her the once-over – many times in the last few years and it evoked in her the same reaction as always.
She pouted: “I may have been ill, sunshine, but I’m still more than a match for men like you, so don’t get any bright ideas!”
Sir Gareth looked utterly bemused. He clearly had no idea what this outburst meant but the tone of this reply directed at him was unmistakeable. He stepped back. “With thy lady’s permission…” He bowed once more, and stepped away, waving his squire and attendants back as he withdrew.
Merlyn was annoyed. “Poorly done, milady! Such a courteous advance should not be so ill-treated by one such as thee. Look at yon noble knight. He is fair confused at such savage treatment from one he thought so gentle and refined.”
“He’ll feel a lot more confused next time he treats me like some soft pushover with marshmallow for brains!”
“Forgive me, my lady, but truly thou dost possess brains of the softness of which thou speaks. Where dost thee think thou resides? With barbarians, or hordes from the East? Or at Camelot? If it is in this fair citadel then thou should understand the ways of gentlefolk here. Yon noble knight is horrified now but should thee repeat the comportment thou hast just displayed then in time he will become convinced that there is witches’ blood within thee.”
Gwen was losing patience with this. “Don’t be ridiculous!” she snorted. “The Gwendolyn you knew might have been accustomed to men bowing and scraping in front of her, but I’ll choose the man I want to talk to, thank you very much. Speaking of which – who’s that hunk over there? That’s more like it. Now he can stick his sword in me any time he like
s! What a dish!” She was looking at a knight at the head of a number of others, waiting above beside the high table.
Kate had been listening to all that had been going on, standing close to her mistress but now she could remain silent no longer. She burst into tears. “My lady. No! There is an evil darkness within thee yet…” She fell back into the throng behind, her face aghast.
Merlyn spoke severely. “Thy illness still casts a long shadow o’er thy mind, Lady Gwendolyn. Thou art still a maiden yet speak of Sir Lancelot like women of a common courtyard. Clearly thy memory is much clouded still. Thou knowest not of the danger thy invokes with such language…”
“What are you on about, Merlyn? If that is Lancelot over there, then I’m only saying he’s a nice piece of work. That knight can share a night with me any time he wants!”
“Hast thou truly forgotten everything here? Milady: thou art the queen’s most trusted lady-in-waiting and must know that all the court is abuzz with rumours about Lancelot and how he is moonstruck by the queen. His behaviour threatens the very fabric of Camelot. Any hint of infidelity on the part of the queen will bring down the walls of this city. The code of chivalry that all knights and ladies are pledged to uphold will be broken. In such a delicate situation, sentiments such as thine – seemingly encouraging forbidden liaisons – thus become subversive, dangerous, even treasonable. It threatens not only thine own life, but of that of others too…”
“Bloody hell, Merlyn! Can’t I say anything without you shrinking in horror? I gotta say what I think, haven’t I? I’ve never been some feeble female that can’t say boo to a goose…”
“Milady, think on these things: There are many here that are not so forgiving as I for such behaviour as thine. Before you swooned away you were the fairest, most gentle maiden in Camelot and now have awoken as some fiery harridan from the depths of hell. If thou dost not moderate thy language it will not be long before Sir Gareth, for example, becomes convinced that thy once fair soul has been consumed by devils, demons, or dragons. And he is sworn to fight and defeat such evil. He will have no choice but to run thee through with his sword. Or slice thy head from thy shoulders. I do not jest. All other knights will praise him for such resolution.”
It was Gwen’s turn to look horrified. She stared at the serious face of her guide and knew he was in deadly earnest.
“But that is barbaric!”
“Nay, milady. He will be saving Camelot from evil. And if nothing else, think also of poor Kate, thy maid”
“What do you mean?”
“Thy most loyal and trusted servant is sworn to thee. She has pledged her very life to thee. She would place herself in front of any sword that threatens you. She knows, of course, that if thou art condemned to death then so, too, is she and thus would gladly sacrifice her own life before thine was taken from thee.”
“Oh shit, shit, shit!” Gwen sank to the floor in agony, feeling as if knives were already sticking in her. How in heaven’s name was she ever going to survive in this place?
Chapter 3
CAMELOT
There was a blare of trumpets outside the banqueting hall. Everyone’s attention in the gathering was directed to the entrance and Gwen had no option other than to rise to her feet, her faithful maid Kate returning to her side as she did so.
Two heralds entered the hall and sounded their trumpets once more. Then, in strode the king and queen – Gwen realised it could be none other, given the deference of everyone gathered about her. The queen came first, moving graciously, holding her head high and she appeared to be some ten to fifteen years Gwen’s senior. The king waited back for his wife to reach the high table where she stood, turned and waited. Then in he came, carrying himself with an air of absolute authority, dignified, bearded, kindly of expression and some five to ten years older than the queen. As the entire audience bobbed and weaved in their presence, Gwen became aware that her head and shoulders rose above everyone else’s. Rather belatedly, she realised she ought to bow down herself…but not before someone had noticed her standing there, her head proud of the others.
“The Lady Gwendolyn, back amongst us!” cried Queen Guinevere. “Do approach us, fair lady!”
The queen clapped in pleasure at seeing her friend amongst the gathering and at once everyone awaiting the royal couple took up this lead and a general applause echoed around the hall. Knights and all their attendants drew back like biblical waters and a path opened up in front of Gwen from the rear of the hall up to the high table. Gwen looked in desperation for Merlyn and Kate to accompany her.
“Go on,” urged Merlyn quietly. “Fear not, we shall be with thee.”
“What the fuck do I say to a king and queen? I’ve never done this before?” Gwen was terrified of losing her head. The only thing she could think of was what transpired in Alice in Wonderland.
“The fog tells thee to curtsey prettily, to say little and to agree with whatever they say,” Merlyn advised, misinterpreting Gwen’s foreign vocabulary. “I’ll explain thy difficulty, trouble thee not.”
“And here comes my trusted physician!” cried the king, on seeing their movement down the hall. “What say ye, Merlyn? Has the Lady Gwendolyn now recovered fully from her stupor?”
“Not fully, my king.” Merlyn bowed. “The Lady Gwendolyn has just this moment risen from her bed to greet thy return, but I fear that dark clouds yet confuse her mind.”
Merlyn turned to Gwen and indicated with a flash of his eyes that she should sink down low before their majesties.
“My dearest and most treasured friend,” said the queen, her face showing concern, “art thou still faint? Is there still some evil in the air? What has caused thy most unwelcome seizure?”
Gwen gulped. She kept her eyes on the floor as she bobbed down as far as she could. She tried to mimic Merlyn’s style of speaking: “I know not, my queen,” but she sounded, she thought, like she was some extra in Star Wars.
“Come join us at the table,” commanded King Arthur. “I ask that two of my dear companions sacrifice their place for our chosen guests…” He looked amongst the assembled knights to see who would volunteer. Sir Lancelot and Sir Gareth took the hint. “I thank you, sires for your gracious generosity.” The king nodded his satisfaction.
King and queen took the centre of the high table; Merlyn sat beside Arthur; Gwen – heart in her mouth – sat beside Guinevere. Kate sat on the floor behind her with other attendants. There was a general bustling about the hall now as the assembled company all found their individual places on the long lines of tables that stretched back on either side. Servants who had been waiting for this moment then appeared with goblets of drink and platters of various delicacies to set before the court, starting, as hierarchy dictated, from the centre of the high table and working their way outwards and then down to the low tables. Gwen had enough sense to wait and see what those beside her did first – there were no forks in evidence but she touched neither knife nor food and drink until she saw how the royal couple and Merlyn attacked the fare set before them. She noticed that everyone else did the same. OK. Good start.
The queen took a draught from her goblet and turned to Gwen. “So tell me, dear Gwen, hast Merlyn been good to thee whilst thou hast suffered so?”
Gwen almost choked. She had lifted her own drink to her lips but it was less the strange, fermented honey-flavoured concoction that she tasted, more the queen’s style of address that provoked her reaction. No one had yet called her Gwen before in this new world she was now inhabiting. It was an unexpected familiarity that brought tears to her eyes.
“My…my queen…” she stammered.
“There, there, my dear. Do not take on so. I see in thy face, so pale and drawn, that thou art still unwell. Merlyn – what hast thee been doing to my faithful ward that she is still so ill-disposed?”
“Your Majesty, I and the Lady Gwendolyn’s loyal servant have been at her bedside every hour these last four days, ministering to her. My most efficacious remedies have been app
lied. The lady has thus recovered well enough to insist on returning to thy service…but I fear there is still some malicious influence at work within her blood that has yet to yield to my good offices. If I might dare to advise thee, fair queen, it is that the Lady Gwendolyn should return to her bedchamber as soon as thou sees fit to relieve her of her duties this evening.”
Guinevere nodded. “But of course, Merlyn. I thank thee.” She turned to Gwen again. “You may leave the table, my dear, soonest thou hast supped thy fill. Do not wait for my lord, the king, to dismiss thee.”
Gwen gulped again. She felt all the colour had drained from her face so she didn’t feel the need to act faint at all. “I thank thee,” she repeated. “Too kind, my queen…” She noted as she said this that the queen, probably in her mid-thirties, had teeth discoloured and of an appearance that would not be tolerated in a lady twice her age in modern Monmouthshire…wherever that place now existed, thought Gwen, wistfully.
The meal got underway. Gwen had stabbed at some pieces of fruit – pears and plums that had been delicately cut and presented first – then came a plate piled high with meat, a type of pork that was of a particularly strong flavour, accompanied by green vegetables. No rice nor potatoes, Gwen noted. Where did rice come from? China? And didn’t spuds come over from the Americas, with Sir Walter Raleigh or someone? Wasn’t that some time after King Arthur? Gwen racked her brain trying to remember her history and geography lessons. She wished now she had paid more attention in school.
A type of bread, very nutty and filling, came with the main meal and Gwen couldn’t manage much. Washing it all down with the honey drink, however, began to make her head feel light and dizzy again. But I know that feeling, thought Gwen. This is no fever – just alcohol doing its work! She stopped taking any more. There was no way she wanted to loosen her tongue whilst she still felt in dangerous company.
Queen Guinevere was experiencing some trouble eating. She laid a hand on her husband’s arm and begged that he draw Merlyn’s attention.
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