Anger welled inside of me, forcing its way into my chest as if arrows pelted my insides. My mind disengaged from its ability to form words and I swiveled toward the army spread before Camelaird. Aethelwine crouched on my hand, as willing and as unable to take flight as I was. I forced a step toward the warriors that lay siege to my father's fortress.
"Guin, you cannot approach those soldiers," pleaded Elibel.
Finally, I found my voice; it cracked as I spoke. "I cannot leave Father to face a siege alone. Maybe I can reason with this King Melwas."
The leader of knights laughed—a noisy, obnoxious sound that assaulted my ears. Then he continued in a more compelling tone, "King Melwas is not a reasonable man, proven by his army. He seeks to take you to lay claim to the crown and rule in his own accord. You cannot give over to him, My Lady. You are exactly the prize he desires."
I whirled on him; the fire rose in my blood, forcing my words out without thought. "And who are you to tell me what to do?"
"I," he said, tipping his chin down in scant acknowledgment of my status, "am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot."
Chapter 3
"King?" Again my words raced before any ladylike demeanor managed to surface.
I meant to continue with, what rights do you bear to possess the title of King? But Elibel stepped between us with all the grace of a diplomat.
"Indeed, My Lady, King Arthur's countless deeds and victory at Mount Badon have been memorialized by the bards. He is the only Briton to push the Saxon invaders back and bring peace to the land."
Of course I'd heard of King Arthur's exploits, though, admittedly, I didn't pay close attention to the stories, assuming exaggeration. Had I been a bear I would have growled at my cousin. Instead, I mumbled, "I know who King Arthur is," under my breath, to no concealment, apparently, as "King" Arthur replied.
"And yet you did not recognize me, Lady Guinevere. I fear my reputation requires enhancement. Perhaps I shall employ a painter to distribute my likeness."
Whether he meant it as a jest or in truth, I did not know, but his speech possessed all the earmarks of arrogance to me. He leaned over and gave me his hand as an invitation to mount behind him.
"Does your bird bite?" He asked, throwing a cautious glance at Aethelwine.
I stared at him without answering.
"Perhaps he should travel of his own accord. We could tie a message to his leg and send him to your father to let him know we have arrived."
"Aethelwine does not fly."
"No?"
"No."
"How curious."
"Why do you find that peculiar?"
"To keep a creature that serves no function? I cannot fathom your reasoning."
"Ah, I see. Kindness, in order to rescue one in need, escapes you."
He threw back his head and laughed again, his golden curls dancing around his head like a halo lit on fire.
"No, I dare say, My Lady, rescuing those in need seems to be my specialty today."
I rolled my eyes, but he ignored my exaggerated expression and prodded my compliance by waving his arm for me to come to him.
"Where are we going?"
"To get help for your father."
I reasoned, by his words and gesture, he was no threat—unless proximity to his conceit could be construed as harmful to one's personal integrity. Plus his offer to assist my father was my only foreseeable option.
After fighting down the rebellion that threatened another round of ill-advised speech, I conceded, stepping forward and clasping his arm.
He gripped me so tightly I thought my wrist would break as he swung me into motion over the back of his steed. Aethelwine's talons pierced through my gown, poking into my skin with his efforts to hang on. I guided my falcon onto my leather glove, and wished, for all of Camelaird, that Aethelwine would bite.
Glancing back, I caught sight of Elibel. The mysterious knight that I had noted upon King Arthur's arrival dismounted and maneuvered in front my cousin. He wrapped his hands around each side of Elibel's tiny waist, while managing to keep his stallion's reins secured and his beast steady. I found those hands peculiar—broad and strong as if he could crush rocks with his fists, but the way he touched my cousin as if she were a petal from a summer rose made my heartbeat quicken. He lifted her with such gentleness that a pang of jealousy for her position surged, causing my teeth to grind. She glided through the air, guided by the man's strong arms, and onto the back of his stallion. Her emerald and silver skirts flared; she looked like the perfect portrait, stroked from the brush of a master. The knight swung up behind her, securing an arm around her waist as he nudged his mount into a walk. From her side-saddle position, Elibel swiveled her neck far enough around to glance up at him through her black lashes. He acknowledged her with a brief bob of his chin then directed his gaze to the horizon with a dutiful stare as my cousin's cheeks bloomed with a rush of pink.
My jaw tightened as I stared at the two of them, until Arthur broke my concentration.
"You realize, I did not ask to be King." The strength of his voice carried his words to me even though he kept his head forward.
He replaced his headgear, which scrunched and hid his halo of curls, then nudged his warhorse into a trot, taking the lead. His knights fell back into rank behind him. I grudgingly worked my free arm around his waist to keep my seat.
At my feeble grasp, he peered back at me and flashed a smug smile as he continued, "I was awarded the title of King after my victory in Mount Badon."
"You mean your conquest."
"I mean my rescue and subsequent protection of thousands of Britons, who, otherwise, would have lost their lives to murderous Saxon invaders."
I started to reply but King Arthur kicked his mount into a gallop. We surged, and I lurched forward, burrowing into Arthur's back. I loved horses: feeding them ripe carrots and nuzzling the supple fur of their nostrils, but riding them? The ground rushed beneath me. Every rock poked up from the ground, seeming a potential hazard to split my head if I fell. I focused my concentration on staying atop the beast as a wave of terror seized my chest. We bobbled along as my rump slid and bounced over the creature's wide hips. I tightened my grip around Arthur's middle, feeling his hard armor against my clenched arms. Arthur's ribs shook at my grip and I realized he was chuckling at me as we ran across the sloping spring meadows of Camelaird.
Risking a glance backwards, I sighted his retinue speeding along with us. Elibel, cradled within the mysterious knight's hold, resembled a babe rocking in a basket. I reckoned I appeared as a bouncing sack of potatoes with the seams splitting and readying to burst. We must have traveled over a half a league with me struggling to hang on, and nearly fainting from fear, when we crested one last hill. Arthur's steed slowed then pranced in place. My intention had been to continue my argument on King Arthur's "conquest" at Mount Badon as compensation for his laughter at my expense, but my words caught in my throat before they formulated.
Beneath us spread an army of hundreds upon hundreds of men. Banners in red and gold, depicting the cross and dragon flew in all corners of the gathering. A cavalry unit, some hundred or more horses strong, occupied the back quarter of the troops, while tents with sentries crammed the middle. Ten catapults on wheels towered toward the front, while stock piles of arrows, rocks and barrels were crammed atop wagons that were pulled by sturdy shire horses. A menagerie of pack mules and ponies were tethered to carts. Never in my life had I seen so many soldiers assembled in one place. My father's men looked no more than a gathering of villagers in comparison.
And I realized as I surveyed Arthur's massive army beneath me that I would be solely responsible for the blood shed that day.
Chapter 4
Elibel and I had been escorted into one of the tents that squatted in the center of the encampment, then left alone while Arthur made way to rally his troops, and, as he claimed, "liberate" my father. I assumed the tent belonged to our host since it bore two flags, each waving Arthur's emblem at the
entrance, along with guards posted on either side. The insides of our shelter contained a center table strewn with maps. The topmost map revealed the geography of the surrounding area, complete with my father's fortress and outlying villages sketched on the parchment. Black ink marked off Melwas' position around Camelaird. The rest of the tent's contents looked as if they had been thrown in upon arrival as bedding, clothing, and more bulged out of the tops of wooden boxes.
I sat Aethelwine down on the table. At first he refused to leave my hand, but with a gentle prod, he obeyed.
"Elibel, keep an eye on Aethelwine for me, will you?"
"Why? Where are you going?"
A soldier shifted outside, repositioning around the front flap. I placed my forefinger over my lips to quiet Elibel. I knew she wasn't going to like what I was about to say, and I didn't want her raising her voice and drawing attention.
"I'm going to meet with King Melwas—"
"No!—"
I smashed my fingers over Elibel's mouth to hush her squeal. Her eyes widened, giving her that inhuman fey look again as I continued to stifle her speech with the force of my hand mashed up against her lips. She mumbled unintelligibly as I continued.
"I intend to sneak into his camp and discuss this rationally, Elibel."
We sat for moments, staring at one another, until Elibel's garbled protests stopped. Her brows furrowed downward, creating a dark dip above the bridge of her nose. After pressing my hand against her a tad tighter to emphasize "be quiet," I released her.
"That's madness, Guin. You'll get yourself killed. Or worse!"
"You saw how insignificant Melwas' army is in comparison with Arthur's. If a fight ensues, it will be a slaughter. I will not have the heads of slain men on my conscience."
She softened as she considered my reasoning, then asked, "What makes you think King Melwas will even listen?"
"He is King of the Summer Lands, cousin. They have long time respect with the old ways in those parts. I believe he would not risk dishonoring a woman of rank."
"As King Arthur said, his army speaks otherwise."
Her reference to Arthur's reasoning, as if he was the sole authority on the subject, annoyed me, but I persisted, "If I can convince him that he will wield a stronger claim to kingship if I am a willing bride—"
"Guin!"
"Shh—"
Elibel continued in a heated whisper, "You cannot marry him!"
"To save my father? To keep the peace? … If I can convince him that I will speak to my father on his behalf and he will be considered—only considered—as a potential suitor, then perhaps we can have a peaceful resolution to this problem."
My cousin, for once, sat speechless.
I ventured towards the edge of the tent, testing the opening between canvas and earth. Squatting down, I peered underneath. The view before me consisted of a narrow walkway and another tent, but no soldiers.
I pulled my head upright, intending on giving Elibel a final directive to watch my falcon when she blurted, "And you think you can stroll through an army of hundreds without notice—dressed like that?"
Of course she was right. Looking down, I reviewed my attire—an indigo and gold brocade dress, still stained from the pond. A gold belt draped over my waist, while a matching chain adorned with a Christian cross dangled down my front. A heavy underskirt peered from beneath my overdress in matching gold. Each of the layered dresses bore intricate embroidery that publicized my status. I would definitely not go unnoticed.
With a quick scan of the room, I devised a plan. Scrambling to a box stuffed with fabric, I pulled out garment after garment until I found what I needed. I undressed and pulled on what appeared to be Arthur's attire, as the legs of the trousers seeped over my feet like shed snake skin, while the tunic draped well over my thighs. With the help of a belt that I wrapped twice around my middle, and a cape that covered my long hair and gold and sapphire encrusted circlet to prove my identity once I met with Melwas, I was ready.
"How do I look?" I asked.
"Ridiculous."
"Elibel…" I warned.
"No, truly, cousin," she considered my appearance; her lashes swept up and down as she inspected me. She settled on my face, holding my gaze with her colossal eyes. "You look utterly absurd."
"Why, thank you for your support, cousin" I replied.
She sat, staring with unblinking eyes. "How do you even plan on getting back Melwas' camp?"
"I'll take one of those palfrey mules or ponies."
"And ride it?"
"No, Elibel, lead it. Of course I am going to ride it."
"You're not exactly Rhiannon."
"I don't need to be the goddess of horses to ride a pony."
"No, but you need to stay on top, and from the looks of your ride with Arthur, that might present a problem."
Instead of replying, I took a step toward the side of the tent where I would crawl underneath and exit. Except I didn't step. I fell headlong to the ground with a thud. I scrambled around, realizing the culprit; my oversized trousers had fallen around my ankles and with the help of my squirms had turned into a self-imposed knot.
Elibel erupted into laughter as I fumbled around, attempting to pull up and cinch my drawers.
"You could help me." I scowled, hoping to shame her with a glare.
She chuckled even harder.
"Quiet, Elibel," I scolded, growing more irritable as I hobbled around trying to roll up my trouser legs. "You're going to raise suspicion."
"I'm going to raise suspicion?" She asked incredulously as she wrapped her fingers over her lips, trying to hold back her giggles.
Once I had my trousers settled and folded down around my waist, my tunic sleeves yanked up over my elbows, my belt cinched as hard as I could bare and still breathe, I headed back toward my escape route.
Elibel's merriment turned suddenly grave. "Please don't do this, Guinevere," she pleaded.
I crouched, spied underneath the canvas to make sure of a clear escape path, and said, "Please take care of Aethelwine, cousin," then exited King Arthur's tent.
Chapter 5
"Boy!" a soldier's ill-tempered voice yelled out.
I continued to sneak through the rows of tents, directing my way to the shire horses, palfreys and ponies I had seen from the hillside, but a hand gripped my shoulder and twisted me around.
"You boy! You deaf?"
I realized the soldier addressed me and figured from my attire and slight frame that I looked like a serving lad. Since I kept my head tucked downward to conceal my face, my view of the man consisted of a wide middle, cloaked in leather armor with matching breeches and boots, and a sword dangling at his side.
I shook my head in response, while holding air in my lungs, afraid to speak less my high-pitched voice give me away.
"Don't laze while others work! A battle is at hand." The soldier pushed me in the direction of two empty water buckets sitting by a nearby tent.
I lunged at his thrust and scrambled to the buckets, the air knocking from my lungs with relief. I hefted one pail in each hand, and took off at a jog, away from the brute but back on track toward my objective.
"Don't let me catch you loafing again or I'll cuff you by your ears, boy!" The soldier's voice mixed with the clamor of sharpening swords and the rumble of preparations for battle as I continued onward.
Soon, several shire horses appeared, towering over the mélange of warriors. Quickening my pace, I approached. Four of the massive beasts were harnessed to wagons, while two with only bridles were tied up to the backs of the carts. A few finely bred mules and a couple ponies were corralled with ropes next to the massive shires.
If I took a wagon, I wouldn't have to risk riding one of the beasts, but it would be impossible for me to sneak away from Arthur's troops. I knew I'd never be able to climb upon a shire horse, and the possible fall from the height of its back sent a shivers down my spine, so I chose the pony closest to me, figuring the smaller animal would be more cooperati
ve than a mule.
"Ho, boy! What are you doing there?" A man called out, approaching me.
I frantically searched the ground, spotting a bit of twine piled near an empty trough. Grabbing the string, I knotted the two buckets together and threw them across the pony's back, gesturing to the man, the buckets and the empty trough to show him I intended to fetch water. He grunted then strutted away, calling underneath his breathe, "Hurry up about it then. There's a stream a couple hundred paces east."
I nodded, then grabbed the pony's halter and led him from his makeshift corral and headed out. A triumphant grin spread across my face as I cleared sight of Arthur's army—part one of my plan a success. Releasing the buckets from the pony's back, I took a deep breathe, then gripped the beast's mane and threw my leg over him. Since his withers only reached to my ribs, I didn't have far to toss my leg, but as soon as my rump hit the pony's back, he snorted and pinned his ears backwards.
My breathe quickened as his body quivered underneath me and my nerves constricted.
"Settle down, boy," I tried to coo, but my voice choked as the little beast reared. Grappling for his mane, I leaned into him and held on with all my might. His forelegs crashed down and his hind legs kicked up while I squeezed my legs into his flanks, intending to hold on, but instead I signaled the fiend to dart.
We shot across the rolling meadow like an arrow as I yelled, "Whoa!" to no agreement as the miniature monster flew along at a pace I wouldn't have thought his short legs capable. For good measure the creature bucked and kicked every few hundred paces until he sent me flying to the ground and galloped off over the hill.
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