It was expected that when the right moment came in the wedding ceremony, I would place upon Gwenyfar’s head a circlet of gold – claiming her as King’s Wife.
I had commissioned one myself from a master Goldsmith. It was a very thin one, as I thought that would well suit her delicate beauty. Engraved all around it was an incredible pattern of entwined Dragons. I had always thought the knot work of the Clans to be the most beautiful.
The Handfasting...
Everything was set. The moment had finally arrived. No turning back now. This, then had been inevitable – since I had agreed to become King.
We stood there waiting...
For all the fuss and costly trappings, the actual ceremony was to be relatively simple. This was because of my disgust at the lengthy and heated debate about who would perform the Rites. Who would pray? Who would sacrifice? Who would stand in the center?
You see, every tradition of the peoples amoung us has each their own proscribed customs of Marriage Rites. Since there were no laws here to require any one or another ceremony, I invoked my right as King – as per Gwyddion’s counsel – to use none of them, so as to offend none.
At last, when I had had enough of the pushing and pulling, I said that Gwyddion, my Mother, Princess Rowena, and I would write the ceremony.
It was determined there should be six Holy persons standing in front of Gwenyfar and Me. These would be:
My Mother Igraine, the Lady Vivianne, The Merlin, a Priest of Odin from Hengist’s court, a Christian Monk – who was of the more tolerant sort – and the High Druid from the newly reorganized Druidical University on Ynys Mon.
The companions I had chosen to be my men-at-arms for the wedding – to stand with me – were the ones most beloved by Bedwyr and me. They were: Bedwyr – of course – Fergus Macroich, Branbleidd, Kai, Beddryd, and Ddalon. They were my most trusted companions – we were the original “Seven of Battles.”
Feeling as I did that I was about to walk into a never ending, dark and perilous labyrinth – from which I knew no escape – well, it was good to have them near to remind me that most things in my life would remain the same. After all, I was King! This marriage would change nothing; or at least I prayed it so.
When the ceremony was about to begin, the serene delegation from Igraine’s Tribe walked toward Gwenyfar’s ladies and my men at arms – who were already waiting near to the officiates of the Rite. As they walked, they began to Hum and Drum – in rhythm with their ankle bells – in their hauntingly beautiful and mysterious way.
To the slow and steady, quiet beating of their drums, Gwenyfar and I, hand in hand – hers cold and clammy as the Mists of the Highlands – walked the long way across the Great Hall to where my companions and Gwenyfar’s ladies waited with the Holy Ones. I heard an intake of breath from the onlookers as we came into their sight. I suppose that we were resplendent. That walk, across the Great Hall, seemed to last forever.
Time slowed...
I heard “Voices” again – but not with my fleshly ears – it was as if they were visitors inside my head. Were they really the “Voices of the Stars,” as Merlin and those others with the Sight called them? How could I know? They spoke with such benevolence and compassion; within them I heard the Wisdom of the ages.
“There,” said they, “behold the frightened young girl who walks beside you. She fears a great loss in her life – as do you. Be kind and forgiving toward her, Arthur, for she does not have the strength of character that you possess. Fear not this marriage and remember whichever way the North Winds blow, let it always be said that Arthur was a fair and great King. Treat her with honour. Do nothing ever to besmirch your name. Let there be faith and hope amoung the people. For, one Day you will be gone from this Earth. But, so long as hope lives, men will always await the return of a King such as you and a new Time of peace...”
Then they vanished.
Had we only taken one step while they spoke? My cold heart – as cold as her hands – had been warmed toward Gwenyfar. I turned my head and caught her eye; I squeezed her hand lovingly and smiled at her. I whispered, “Gwenyfar, have no fear of me. I know this is hard for you. It is hard for me as well.”
She looked surprised!
“I promise always to be kind to you and give you your say in matters of your own desires. Always will you have my respect as a Princess, a woman and therefore a representation of the GREAT GODDESS Herself; for it is my belief that any man who worships the Goddess must recognize and honour Her in every woman. I will force nothing upon you.”
Her hand began to warm and did not tremble as it had.
Then we had arrived.
I did not let go of her hand through the short ceremony.
The six celebrant witnesses all spoke in a Chant:
“Hail King Arthur and Princess Gwenyfar! Hail to each God and Goddess. Hail to our Ancestors. Hail to Air, Fire, Water, and Earth. Hail to the four Winds and the four directions. Hail to each of you witnesses who stand in this hall.”
After each statement they paused, allowing a resounding response of the same words from the crowd of onlookers.
Again spoke the celebrants, “May each and all bear witness to the vows exchanged this Day between Arthur, the King and Princess Gwenyfar.”
While holding tight her hand, I began:
“I, Arthur, by my right as Over King, through acceptance of the Clan and Tribal Chieftains and Councils, with the blessing of the Lady of the Lake and Wise Mothers of the ancient Order of the Isle of Apples – as well as by my blood through Lady Igraine, great Seer of the Dark Tribes; and of Uther, called the Pen Dragon, descendant of King Coel of old renown, through Constantine the Great and Macsen Wledig – and by design of the Goddesses Nine and the Great ONE – do offer myself as husband to Gwenyfar, daughter of King Hengist the Saxon, son of Witigislaus, son of Witta, descendant of Woden; and of his wife, Arwyn of the Cymru Clans.”
Now these words I was expected to say, but I went on...
“With this marriage alliance, should she accept it, I also ask Princess Gwenyfar, to accept the crown as my Queen consort.”
A murmur arose, for I was not required to title her Queen. However it was not for goodwill’s sake alone that I extended this offer to her, for I had vowed to myself that this was the only Time I would ever marry, as Gwenyfar lived.
The six, again in one voice, asked:
“Prince Thüringen Red Wolf, this once and last Time, as you stand here in this company, as proxy for King Hengist, Princess Gwenyfar’s and your Father, does he agree to this marriage?’
“He does.”
“Then Princess Gwenyfar, do you agree to be wife to King Arthur, the Pen Dragon?”
In a very quiet and choked voice she said,
“Yes… I do.”
Lady Vivianne stepped forward with a long, thin, braided leather cord, with which to wind our hands together at the wrists. She tied the knot and said, “You are now Handfasted – husband and wife.”
A great and long cheer arose around the Hall.
Bedwyr held the gold circlet out toward me. I faced Gwenyfar and with my free hand, placed it upon her head. Then, unscripted and truly from my heart, I said, “I crown you Queen Gwenyfar... honourary Lady of many lands. As you are High Queen of these Isles, may the comfort offered to you here on this Day grow within you, so that one Day all these Islands will become as home in your heart.”
The six then offered their benediction, “May the blessings of the Great Divine Ones – one voice said ‘Only One’ – be with you always.”
Another raucous noise arose, with much foot stomping and clanging of daggers against shields.
I leaned over toward Gwenyfar and kissed her forehead. She squeezed my hand.
When all was silent again, Lady Vivianne removed the cord, without breaking the knot. She would, as Priestess, keep that cord, for as long as she – or we – lived. This was to remind us of the vows we had made to each other.
That was it!
Another great cheer swelled, followed by the fastest setting up of feasting trestles and benches I could ever have imagined. I watched as the trestles were covered, all at a Time, with long patterned cloths. To me, it seemed as if a dance... Two attendants – one at each end of every table, lifted the billowing fabrics and then pulled them down to smooth them across the surfaces. Then the feasting began.
It was the beginning of the first Harvest and a very rich one at that. Great pits had been dug to roast whole Boars, Sheep, Hare, Swans, and other fowl of many kinds, which were brought to the tables upon great trays of silver and gold. Oysters, Mussels, Cockles, and Eels had been smoked in Lady Igraine’s ovens in quantity to accommodate as many as three hundred guests. In addition to these, there were jellied Eels and pickled Quail’s eggs, Larks’ tongue in aspic and stuffed Dormouse – all seasoned with various exotic spices, such as salt from the lands of the East, Pepper, Cinnamon, Cloves, Nutmeg, Ginger, Cardamom, Coriander, and Mustard. Even were Vegetables served: Rape, Onions, Garlic, Carrots, and Leeks. In addition to these were the Apples, which had been sent by the Lady of the Lake. Igraine’s tables were also graced by woven baskets filled with rare Fruits and nuts, which she had had shipped to Dumnonia from the Continent. Loaves of Manchet and trenchers of Barley and Rye were placed upon silver plates – with which Dux Gorlois had set his Roman tables. And, at every plate cutlery of bronze spoons with carved handles were set. Of course, as was expected, everyone had brought their own daggers. Mead, wine, and ale were drunk in copious amounts, all served from silver goblets, flasks, and cups. Decanters of gold and painted pottery were filled with the different wines that accompanied every course and brought ‘round to all those seated. A group of Musicians, Drummers, and Singers – with beautiful voices all – played and sang sweet melodies of joy and sadness.
A young Cymric Bard sang a saga of the Gods in the First Time – a story of the making of Blodeuedd – the maiden made of flowers and of her betrayal of Lleu – her husband and his uncle Gwyddion… Lleu had been cursed by his Mother Arianrhod – the Moon Goddess – that no woman would have him as her husband and so, Llew’s uncle fashioned a beautiful maiden of flowers and gave her – Blodeuedd – to him as his wife. She had no say in the marriage and Loved him not. This led to much scheming on her part – and as Love cannot be commanded, she found and Loved another. The Spells and machinations of Blodeuedd and her lover eventually caused the Death of Lleu. The Bard’s song was far too long and I far too drunk to remember all of the words, but the refrain of it was “…And all did she for Love.”
“Was this Gwenyfar of whom he sang?” I wondered... “Made of flowers from the body of the Earth Goddess, fragile as petals, but ‘treacherous as the thorns of a Rose?’”
Well, no matter...
I feasted and drank with my Companions. Good intentions aside, I was quite drunk. After a goodly Time of all this, I found myself surrounded by the smiling, mostly sotted faces of men who were demanding my bedding. This was it, then… the hour of reckoning... I laughed at myself! This was not my execution, nor Gwenyfar’s. “So be it then,” I thought as the crowd of men pushed and pulled me up the winding Stone stairwell to the bridal chamber.
Blood on the Sheets...
The women had brought Gwenyfar up to our chamber first. To follow custom, they would have un-plaited her long hair, brushed it to fall across her shoulders and down to her waist, then removed her gown and rubbed oil of Roses onto her throat, wrists, belly, and feet. A white shift of the finest weave – beautiful in its simplicity – is what she was wearing when I entered the Chamber, although it could not be seen, for she lay in our great bed of state, covered up to her chin in pelts and coverlets. She was visibly shaking; her cheeks were tear-stained and her berry-tinted lips were smeared. ‘That is odd,’ I thought, for I knew that she had not eaten or drunk anything.
It had been a hot Day – hot in the Great Hall, too, with all those people. The blessing of it was that, here in my home, high upon the rocky cliff jutting out over the Western Sea, there was always a cooling breeze and sometimes, very strong Winds. In Summer we removed the boards from the window slits to allow in the coolness.
“We should be comfortable here” – said I to myself – “for this chamber faces Westward, toward the Sea.”
I laughed at myself again. At this moment in my life, here I was talking to myself about breezes. An escape, I suppose, from the reality that I dreaded.
The custom was, that with lewd and loud descriptions of what was about to take place in our marriage bed this Night, the men and some of the more fun loving women would taunt us and even try to stay in our chamber. At the very least, a large crowd would wait just outside the door. The more demure women did finally leave, just before I was stripped naked. Others stayed and watched as I climbed into the bed with Gwenyfar. At that point I raised my voice and insisted that we have privacy. The room emptied and most of those who had been standing just outside the chamber door removed to the Great Hall’s festivities. Of course, two or three men would wait a bit down the hallway to guard us. Really, this was all to be sure that we did indeed spend the whole Night together.
When the chamber had emptied I got back out of the bed, latched the door for her comfort and turned off all of the oil lamps but one. When I returned to her, I sat on the bed – above the covers, whilst nonchalantly keeping my manhood from her view.
“Gwenyfar,” quoth I in a kindly voice, “Please do not be afraid of me.”
At that she broke down and cried in great sobs. I tried to hold her in my arms as would a brother. I shuddered at that thought... ‘Oh, my Morgan, are you lost from me forever now?’ Gwenyfar pulled violently away to the head of the bed until she could get no farther away from me.
So this is how it would be, then...
“Gwenyfar, I would not rape you! I would never force myself upon you. I only wanted to comfort you.”
“Thank you, Arthur,” she sobbed.
Was that the first Time she had ever spoken my name?
“It would do us both well if you would trust me...”
To my great surprise she threw herself into my arms. However, she continued to cry. Perhaps this had been building within her for months. When finally she calmed, I said, “Can we try to be friends, Gwenyfar?”
She actually smiled at me, a crooked little smile, between her gasps for breath.
“Gwenyfar, listen to me, there is no rush to make an heir. Sometimes babes do not come for a very long while. Knowing that you have this fear, what kind of a man, or friend, would I be to rush you into this, or to force you? Let us get to know each other well. I have many other friends who are women. We could talk, or ride, or play games together, and with your ladies and companions nearby, as well. Our life, while we are together, could be pleasant. Besides which, I will be gone to battles and other business for much of the year. I have told you that I will make sure you have everything you need and want here. Is Igraine not good to you already?”
“Yes.”
“Well then, can we agree that we will not rush things?”
“Yes, Arthur, but... but what will happen when there is not blood on the sheets this Night? I will be shamed and they will want you to put me away. Then my Father will beat me badly and perhaps banish my Mother and… and…”
I got up again and went to my boots where I keep the short dagger Hengist had sent as my wedding gift. I brought it back to the bed. Her eyes widened. She looked terrified again, but I winked at her, then I threw off the covers, and cut my arm where I could hide the wound, whilst wearing a sleeve. At the middle of the bed I let my blood drip onto the sheets. She looked amazed. She hurried for cloth to hold against the cut.
“You would do this for me?”
“Yes.”
“This is not my own idea – I have heard of this in lore.”
Then I wondered, ironically, how often this ruse had been perpetrated by Princes and Kings in the past...
“But, it is not done yet. Yo
u must cry out.”
She did. We bounced around on the bed. Then I groaned. And to my great surprise, she cried out again, this Time in a much more lusty way. We covered our mouths to hide the sound of our laughter. Then I went to the chamber door with the blooded undercover bunched in my hands and threw it out into the hallway. A small cheer went up from the men awaiting it and then they ran down the winding stairway to bring the evidence into the Great Hall. All the way up here we could hear the ruckus made over this by those feasting.
“Well, Gwenyfar, will you now trust me to sleep on the bed with you – above the covers, of course? For the Stone floor is uneven and very hard...”
Chapter 18
Harvest Festival on the Isle of Apples
Arthur
I could hardly wait for the Festival to begin, not only because it meant that Bedwyr and I would compete in the Games with many mighty and noble opponents, but that I would also see Morgan again. I felt a great need to speak with her. Truthfully, I must add that being away from the pressures of my marriage was a very welcome change.
My situation with Gwenyfar had remained the same. Well, perhaps things were coming closer – albeit slowly – toward the eventual begetting of an heir. I remember thinking ‘At least Gwenyfar does not hate or fear me now.’ I suppose I should have counted lucky all the Stars above me for that.
The Harvest Festival is the one and only Festival held on the Isle of Apples that is open to people of all lands – all other Rites being held as Sacred Secrets. The thought was that all people equally benefit from the Harvest and that it is a good thing when people of many countries come together, and can join with each other in celebration. And the people do come, from far and wide, even from as far away as Rome and Asia Minor!
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