Guinevere Evermore
Page 32
“Yes. We breathed magic. It was in the very air of Camelot.”
“And dragons . . . someone told me there were no dragons!”
Tears spilled down her face.
“They were wrong. There were always dragons and brave men to challenge them.”
Miniffer grew so excited that he forgot himself and knelt beside her, grasping her hands.
“Thank you, Lady! Thank you! I promise I will make people hear the truth about Arthur.” He added rashly, “I will even write it in a book and leave it where it will be found, even after I have died, so that no man may change it.”
Her smile made him dizzy.
“Then I thank you,” she said. “When you have finished making your tale, will you come back and tell it to me again?”
“Yes, Lady.”
As he backed out of the room, her maid slid off her veil to prepare her hair for the night. His mouth opened in childlike joy. Loops and coils and curls of living gold fell to her feet. It glistened in the candlelight. She turned her head and it rose like a flock of butterflies, floating in the air.
“Oh, yes,” Miniffer breathed. “It’s all true.”
• • •
He spent the winter working on the saga. He left the warmth of Cameliard to test the parts he had finished in the courts and inns. And when spring came again, he knew it was right. But when he came back to sing it for Guinevere, it was too late. She had died quite early one morning, they told him, with the sun full in her eyes.
“We kept a few strands of her hair,” one of the women told him. “If you would like it, you may have one.”
He had a small box of silver, a present from a lord he had sung for. Into this he wound the strand. He muttered thanks and left without saying good-bye.
It was some weeks before he found the monastery he had heard of, where men and women sat day after day, in heal and frost, to copy the holy books. He presented himself as a novice. When they heard that he already knew his letters and some Latin, they put him to work at once.
He was given a life of St. Illtud and materials to copy it. The new brother Miniffer chortled over his lectern. Now he had all he needed; parchment, ink, time. He would put it all down, just the way it really happened, as Guinevere had assured him: brave deeds, great devotion, dragons and wizards. Everything. He picked up his pen and began.
Quandam . . . no, was it Quandum?
Oh, well. He went on. He scratched a few lines more.
Illius . . . no, maybe illiud, or was it . . . ? And what about this . . . draconis metus civitas delebat et—et what? And what about the endings? And anyway, that wasn’t what he wanted to say. He wanted to tell how a dragon, a dire tyrant of a dragon, an appalling apparition, had swept from the dark caverns of the earth like a scorching, engulfing tide and paralyzed the countryside with terror until the mighty soldiers of King Arthur had . . .
Miniffer sighed and wished for his jar of ale. He threw down the pen. Latin! A sterile language, good for nothing but laws and morals, for the dusty miracles of forgotten saints. But for Arthur! How could those stiff conjugations ever express the wonder, the enchantment, the rich, shimmering, heart-breaking perfection of Camelot! No. Only one tongue was great enough for this tale; his own. It could only truly live in the musical language of Rhiannan, of Llyr, of the ancient magic woven into the very earth of Britain. Yes, in the British tongue the matter of Britain would blossom and flourish forever.
He started again. This time his pen moved surely and, as he wrote, he saw it all before him, just as he knew it had been. The Golden Age of Britain; the time of glory that was and was to be again. The time of Arthur.
About the Author
Sharan Newman is a medieval historian and author. She took her Master’s degree in Medieval Literature at Michigan State University did doctoral work at the University of California at Santa Barbara in Medieval Studies, specializing in twelfth-century France. She is a member of the Medieval Academy, the Authors Guild and Mystery Writers of America.
Her seventeen published works of fiction include three novels of historical fantasy about Guinevere, and the acclaimed Catherine Le Vendeur historical mysteries. Her novel, Death Comes as Epiphany won the Macavity Award for Best First Novel in 1994. She has won several other awards for her historical mysteries. She also wrote “The Real History” series exploring the facts and myths about the Da Vinci Code, the Crusades and the End of the World. Her works have been translated into eleven languages.
Her latest books are Death Before Compline, a short story collection, and Defending the City of God, a biography of Queen Melisende who ruled Jerusalem in the mid 12th Century.
She lives in Ashland, Oregon.
For more information, visit www.sharannewman.com
Table of Contents
Books by Sharan Newman
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
The Palace by Moonlight
About the author