Guinevere Evermore

by Sharan Newman

  “Then why should I come?”

  “Because if they come for you in the morning and you are gone, they will say that all the charges about you were true, but it will be over. There will be no trial, no accusations, no chance for anyone to criticize Arthur. He can possibly recover from the shambles your adultery has made of his life and of Britain. And if you had ever done anything for the good of anyone else, you would know this was the best and only way.”

  Her lower lip trembled. “Geraldus?”

  “You belong with us, dear,” he said gently. “You were never meant to stay so long in the mortal world. You’re like me, neither one nor the other. It’s so beautiful here. You’ll soon forget.”

  “Forget! But I can’t forget! I don’t want to! What if I went back to Arthur and swore never to see Lancelot again, ever?”

  “Child, you still don’t understand.”

  “I don’t believe you, Merlin. First of all, no one can condemn me for a treason I haven’t committed. This is Britain, not some lawless waste. But even if they did find me guilty, if I went with you, it wouldn’t be as you said. There would always be talk that Arthur or Lancelot had freed me and that I was still alive somewhere, brewing horrible potions, no doubt, to destroy my enemies. No, I won’t go with you. I’ll stay here, and if the tribunal says I’m guilty, then I’ll die.

  Merlin stood; his look showed his complete disgust. “The one time in your life you make up your own mind and you choose the wrong answer. We can’t force you. I saw in you from your childhood the seed of disaster. I should know better than to try to change what must be. Come, Geraldus.”

  The musician kissed his fingers to her tenderly. “Don’t be afraid, Guinevere dove. He doesn’t know the future. Everything may turn out well. I’m proud of you, dear. But we will miss you here. Listen for us!”

  They were gone. The moon was higher and the rays slid onto the wall, outlining the ancient stones. Guinevere pulled her feet back onto the bed. Her mouth was dry but the water ewer was empty. She wrapped herself up again. What had she done? Those awful men couldn’t mean to kill her, could they? For the first time, she was afraid.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Guinevere’s belief in the kindness and reason of the people of Britain was severely battered during her ‘questioning’ and trial. The first day she sat in the Basilica with the holy men while they set her recitations of dogma and creed. She had been taught well and had read widely, so she was able to answer with no difficulty. Despite the tendency of her questioners to argue the answers among themselves, she felt it went well and began to hope it would soon be over.

  The following day was different.

  They put her behind a fence of iron grillework. St. Caradoc began the morning with a speech of two hours which set the stage for the rest of the trial. Slowly she began to realize that Merlin had been right. No one was going to be able to convince her inquisitors of her innocence, for the saint was using their own sympathy toward her to convict her. With this fear growing in her, she stared at him with the horrid fascination of a rabbit mesmerized by a snake preparing to bite as he shouted and gestured toward her, sending gusts of odor from his unwashed robes.

  “You see her before you. Look at her, my brothers! Look closely. What do you see? A child, almost, just setting out on her adult life; an innocent flower just creeping from the bud. Yes. We look at her and see freshness and sweetness and transcendent beauty. I’ve watched you all when you speak to her. You are kinder, gentler, protective. You can’t believe that this fragile, delicate creature could possibly have evil in her. And last night you went to your rooms and dreamed of her.”

  He sneered at them. Guinevere reeled back coughing as he thrust his finger at her, waving the fetid cloth of his sleeves even closer. From the back of the long Basilica she could hear Gawain start to interrupt and someone shush him. Caradoc went on.

  “From this you should know what this witch can do. She hides behind her beauty; she lures us with smiles and guileless eyes. And just as she plans, just as King Arthur and the unfortunate Sir Lancelot were trapped, so she intends to trap us! But I can see past the flesh into the hideous soul beneath. God has given me the strength to resist her wickedness, and now I exhort each man among you to pray that the temptations she sends to torment you be thrust out! Yes! Even now I see doubt on some faces. Her magics are still at work even in this holy place. But think, my brothers, think of your sisters and wives and mothers. Yes, especially think of your mothers. I see you young men with lust in your eyes. And yet this woman who excites you is older than your mothers. How can that be, without sorcery?”

  He went on and on in his most flamboyant style. Guinevere stopped listening. It made her queasy. In the back, Gawain seethed and longed simply to hit that haggard face as hard as he could. It would be a relief to crush the man’s skull. Cei put a hand on his arm.

  “No one will believe this,” he muttered. “We’ll make them see. It would be easier, though, if she hadn’t been caught with Lancelot.”

  Gawain leaned his head against a pillar and closed his eyes. Modred had to be behind this, he and Aunt Morgause. But how could he convince anyone? And how could he stop them? He wished his mysterious father had thought to give him brains to match his strength.

  In the afternoon, Guinevere was surprised to see the guard who had stood outside her room come forward to speak. His wife had continued to send her small offerings of flowers and bread, and she became hopeful. But when she smiled at him, the guard looked away.

  Caradoc approached. “You are Sevilis, of this town, are you not?”

  “Yes, Sir,” the guard answered. “I was assigned to keep watch over the Queen. I mean, the prisoner.”

  “And you came to me last night with some information. Will you tell it to my brothers, here?”

  Sevilis nodded and turned so that he wouldn’t have to look at Guinevere as he spoke.

  “I have, myself, taken the duty of spending the night watch outside the prisoner’s door. Last night, I overheard her speaking to someone in the room with her.”

  “Had you let anyone in?” Caradoc asked with suppressed excitement.

  Sevilis bridled. "Of course not! I know my duty! I sent for my second-in-command to wait while I went around to the window. It is on the second floor and there is another guard below. He swore no one had entered. I climbed alone to the window and saw the prisoner. She was talking to two ghosts! I swear it!”

  He added this as an outcry arose. Sevilis wiped his brow and went on.

  “They were terrible beings, full of smoke and fire. As I watched, one of them rose and floated toward the window. I am ashamed to confess that in my fear, I lost my grip and fell to the ground.”

  Dubricius came up to him and fixed the guard with a skeptical glance. “Are you quite certain that is what you saw? Two ghosts? How did you know that’s what they were? Perhaps it was only a trick of light on a mirror or a wall hanging. Why should you assume they were spirits of the dead?”

  “I’m not lying, Lord Bishop,” Servilis said earnestly. “I know what I heard. That was why I had to look. Capiam will swear to it also. She called one of the ghosts by name! She called it Merlin!”

  The noise in the church was deafening. The guard passed by Guinevere and paused.

  “Forgive me, my Lady,” he muttered. “But it’s true, you know it is. We can’t have that sort of wizardry anymore in Britain.”

  In the midst of this revelation, old King Meleagant arrived and was helped up to the podium by Caradoc. He leaned heavily against the wood as he told of how Guinevere had charmed his servants and family and even his doddering father during her captivity in their castle.

  “You all know the tale; it’s been sung often enough,” he said bitterly. “Arthur and I made a bet for my allegiance. I captured her and would have kept her for the time we set. My castle has never been breached by honest means. The gate is guarded by spirits and the only other entrance is by a bridge of a fine-honed knife. No man co
uld have crossed it, yet Sir Lancelot did. And then, when he appeared, ragged and bleeding all over my floors, she wasn’t even grateful. She must have had her own plans to spirit herself away. She screamed at him and mocked him and drove the poor man mad. It made me sick to watch it.”

  He gave Guinevere an ugly glance and resumed.

  “And now they say she lured him to her, in spite of her cruelty to him before. What man would let himself be so used? I’d not let a woman, a human woman, do that to me. There’s evil in her!” he cried, waving his hands to ward off her spells. “Don’t set her free to do more harm to innocent men!”

  “No!” Guinevere cried out. “It’s not true! Please!”

  Dubricius stood and addressed her gently.

  “Were you kidnapped by King Meleagant?”

  “Yes, but . . .”

  “And did Sir Lancelot cross the sword bridge to rescue you?”

  “Yes.” More subdued.

  “And what happened then?”

  Guinevere hung her head. “I called him a fool for taking such a risk. It was only a wager! Arthur would have come. That was all! It was not his job to save me. I didn’t know my words would affect him so.”

  Dubricius nodded and sat down again. But Caradoc leaped up.

  “How did you know Arthur would come? Had you provided him with amulets against spirits or charms to cross the sword?”

  “No!”

  “And what about Merlin?” Caradoc probed. “Will you also say the guard was lying? Or will you admit that the wizard Merlin came to you in your cell?”

  “It was Merlin, but he’s not a ghost; he only wanted to help me!” She started to say more, but was silenced by the wall of horror and fear before her. She covered her face. It was no use. She had sealed her own fate.

  Cei was completely frightened by the end of that second day. He had listened to the timid attempts by Dubricius and Father Antonius to defend the Queen and seen how their own words had been turned against them; how her own words were condemning her. The murmurs of the men as they left the Basilica were full of confusion and not a little fear. If they found this woman innocent, might they not be accused the next day of being in her enchantments or, even worse, in collusion with her? And, though she refused to admit to sorcery, by her own words she had seen the greatest magus in Britain, vanished these ten years past, appear to her in a locked, guarded room. It seemed very bleak. Cei went to find out what Modred had learned from the civic leaders who would make up the tribunal.

  Modred was well pleased with the attitude of the townsmen. They were tired of paying taxes for protection from the Saxon and Irish. They didn’t believe there was any more danger from them. Arthur had not expanded Britain’s hegemony on the island since the battle of Mons Badon. He was growing old and his influence was ebbing. The towns had not recovered in the way he predicted.

  “It’s no use your trying to sway me, Sir Modred,” a lean, lantern-jawed merchant insisted. “Maybe she’s the cause of our weakening and maybe she isn’t, but since he married her, Arthur’s done nothing but talk and send us laws and levies. And we don’t think much of a man who does nothing when his wife makes a fool of him. In the oldest days, when the King grew weak they would have said it was time for a sacrifice.”

  “Now, my friend!” Modred exclaimed in mock-horror. “You can’t mean to go back to those barbaric, pagan times! We have the great Roman culture surrounding us now, laws and customs of civilization.”

  “Maybe so,” the merchant shrugged. “But we had rules then, too, and I can’t see that her baths and forums and fine laws did Rome any good. Maybe our great-grandfathers should have kept up the old ways as well as the new. I’ve heard what Meleagant and the holy men have been saying. There’s something wrong at Camelot and she may be the cause. I’ll hear the testimony, but I think, if the priests believe her evil, I’ll agree to whatever they say.”

  Modred repeated the conversation to Cei.

  “They all say the same,” he added. “Arthur has given them peace, but they’ve grown used to it. The prosperity he hoped for isn’t coming to them. It can’t come without the trade that we had in the days of the empire. They need someone to blame and they’ve found her. I’ve done my best, but it looks very bad for Guinevere.”

  As he said this, he was swept by such a feeling of relief and elation that he had to sit down and bury his face in his hands to hide it. Cei patted his back awkwardly and rubbed his own eyes with his knuckles.

  “You’ve tried, Modred. I don’t think you’ve slept three hours straight since we got here. The only thing left to do is get Arthur. He’s the only one who can stop them.”

  “If he does, he may be faced with civil war,” Modred cautioned.

  “Are you saying we should let this rabble have Guinevere? Do you know some of the things people are saying should be done?”

  “Yes, but I may be able to get them to stick to Roman law. In that case, the worst they could do to her would be to brand her with the mark of a sorceress and exile her.”

  “Modred, we’re talking about Guinevere!”

  Modred rose. “And I’m talking about Britain and keeping what my . . . what Arthur has created. Don’t you see? If we can get them to take out their anger on her, she can be sent away someplace and Arthur can get on with making Britain whole again.”

  Cei stared at him.

  “Gawain was right about you, Modred. How can you even think of such a thing? Arthur would never allow his wife to be used like that. You sound as though you believe those slanders.”

  “And you’ve forgotten that Guinevere is not exactly innocent.” Modred was tired and his temper frayed. “She acted the whore with her husband’s best friend in his own bed. Arthur knew about it for years and did nothing. Would you have stood for that? Maybe there is something to the charges!”

  Cei felt icy with doubt and fear. Without another word, he opened the door and left.

  The cooling evening air made the sweat on his forehead clammy as he stumbled back to the room he shared with Gawain. He had to get back to Camelot, to see Arthur, to talk to Lydia, to try and find some sanity again. And there wasn’t time.

  The next morning Guinevere stood outside the Basilica with her chin high and her eyes blank as St. Caradoc announced that the priests and bishops had come to a conclusion.

  Guinevere, Queen of Britain, was to be condemned and excommunicated by the church for the use of sorcery.

  That afternoon, a civil tribunal convicted her of treason.

  Numbly she followed her guards back to her cell. They circled her at spear length and kept their eyes averted. The day had turned cloudy and she shivered in her thin summer gown. All the people of the town were in the street, staring mutely as she passed. She looked into their faces and shrank inside herself as she saw the quick flickering of their fingers to ward off her magic. In the courtyard of her prison, she heard weeping and wondered if it were for her sake. But it couldn’t be that bad. Surely tomorrow they would see reason. Surely in the morning she would awaken at Camelot. Galahad would barge in with a hurt bird he had found and they would nurse it. Then they would play tag in the meadow with the other children and Lancelot would come with Gawain and chase them all with mock-lion roars. She lay down on the narrow bed and closed her eyes. Tomorrow it would all be just a nightmare, fading with the moon.

  • • •

  Gawain looked toward the setting sun and swore loudly.

  “I haven’t much time today, Cei. We’ve got to do something before I fall asleep again!”

  Cei paced the room in sharp, jerky paces. “What do you suggest? Every time I open my mouth, I’m accused of being under her influence. We’re lucky these madmen haven’t locked us up as well!”

  “Then let’s rescue her! They are fools, all of them, and, if we can just get her away from here for a few months then Arthur can show them just how insane this whole thing is!”

  “I don’t know.” Cei sat down wearily but his feet still continued the
ir nervous tapping. “I’ve been lost ever since we got here. Your brother, Modred, nearly has me convinced that the only way Arthur will win is to let Guinevere be punished.”

  “Modred is a conniving weasel!” Gawain stated. “I’m sick of hearing him praised. He never did anything in his life that wasn’t for his own good. They're talking of branding her with hot iron, Cei! I’ve even heard rumors that they’re weaving a wicker basket for her!”

  Cei was puzzled. “Why would they do that?”

  “You were raised in a Roman household or you’d know. It was the old way to pacify the gods. If you won’t help me, I’ll save her myself, or try to. I . . . I . . . ahhhhahh, blast!” He yawned and fell into bed as the last rays of sunlight vanished.

  Cei looked at him for a long minute. With people like Gawain in the world, it was no wonder he was having such trouble convincing anyone that Guinevere was no witch. He knew how Arthur must be chafing at Camelot. He would be more than furious when he found out what had happened. If they did not save Guinevere, Cei felt uncomfortably sure that Arthur would keep his oath and twenty years of patient work would be destroyed. He had sent relay messengers every day. Why was there no response? Had they been waylaid or was Arthur coming himself with his men-at-arms? Cei kicked Gawain’s bed in irritation, but the golden head only burrowed further under the blanket. With a curse, Cei flung on his cloak and stepped out into the growing darkness.

  The town was silent. The forum was empty. All the curious and taunting citizens had gone home. In the Basilica only the eternal flame still burned. Cei tried to approach the house in which they were holding Guinevere, but he was turned away by the guards. Finally, he retraced his steps back to his room and his lonely bed. Sighing, he wished for Lydia again. She would know how to deal with madmen.

  • • •

  In a large room at the last remaining inn in Cirencester, the bishops, saints, merchants, and landholders sat in a wary group and tried to decide what should be done with the Queen.