The next morning was truly her wedding day, and there was nothing Guinevere could do but acquiesce. She had never seen as many candles in a church as those burning in Camelot's lime-whitened chapel, and there was enough incense for the investiture of a bishop. She held her breath to keep from choking. A choir of priests sang, but the saints painted on the walls seemed to frown at the couple, or perhaps just at her. The wedding was a pageant of bright robes and jewels. Guinevere's white gown sewn with pearls gave her little satisfaction, and neither did her gold-embroidered mantle. The incense made her dizzy. She trembled as she said her vows, and Arthur, dressed in a white tunic and cloak embroidered with gold dragons, said his.
As they departed and walked into sunlight that was even more dazzling than the chapel, Guinevere heard a robin sing for an instant before cheers drowned out the sound. The song seemed to mock her. Even birds might choose their own mates, but she could not.
After the wedding and more feasting came the bedding. A number of the higher-ranking ladies escorted Guinevere to her room, undressed her, and helped her put on her new white linen bedgown. They were strangers, so she held off from them.
Claudia, wife to Arthur's man Peredur, teased her. "Now you'll learn what all women know, that men are just boys who want one thing only, and are pleased once they have it."
Claudia's hair was gray – she must know all about marriage.
"Don't worry," said smiling, brown-haired Lionors, who was married to Bors. "It doesn't hurt much. And it's a hurt you'll be glad to have. After the first time, it hurts not at all."
Guinevere felt only rising nausea as the ladies tucked her into the bed. She thought it might be easier to be like these women, calmly accepting men, but she was certain that she never could. Even when she was broken for riding, she would never be truly tame, she was sure.
Arthur was escorted into the room by some of his warriors and a few lesser kings, who did not refrain from jests.
"Well, Arthur, are you strong enough to please this pretty lady?" one man said.
"Don't stay in bed so long that you leave the land without a king," another jested.
Guinevere tried not to hear them, or even see the men's faces, though she knew which ones must be there. She must bear the humiliation of having them see her in the bed, waiting. Thus it seemed as if they, too, were having their way with her.
Arthur was wearing a kind of long tunic, and sat on the curtained bed beside her. Then he waved everyone off, and the men and ladies drifted out of the door. Someone shut it behind them.
"Now you are married to Britain," Arthur said, putting his arm around her.
Those words stunned Guinevere. She felt that he did not mean simply that she was queen and would rule beside him, but that he embodied Britain and she must see his body as the nation.
He stroked Guinevere, and she gritted her teeth. He had bathed, of course, but his breath smelled too strongly of wine. His touches were not ungentle, but she did not want them. He seemed practiced at these matters. Trying not to think of Morgan or Valeria, Guinevere opened her legs when he reached between them.
This was Britain lying on her, and the weight was heavy, but she must think of the good of the nation and bear it.
Guinevere pretended that nothing hurt, although her blood on the sheets said that it had. It didn't hurt terribly much. She only wanted it all to end.
Arthur smiled at the stain and said, "You were a good maiden and you'll be a good wife. It will be much better after the first time, I promise you."
She was sure that it would not. The minor physical pain mattered much less than the fact that she did not want him at all.
She became convinced that the delicately twisted Irish band on her finger was a living creature, a golden leech, eating into her flesh and leaving nothing but bone.
Arthur left the queen's bedchamber and retired to his own room to dress for the new day.
She was beautiful, but cold, even for a maiden. He had little faith that he could warm her. No other virgin he had been with had showed so little enthusiasm. Purity was all very well, but there should be limits to it.
He was pledged to her, and would make the best of it. She was as intelligent as he had hoped, and would do him credit.
If only Morgan could be beside him. He let a groan escape his lips, then stifled it with the morning ale his body servant brought him. Even if Morgan truly had cursed him not to know love, he must continue in his course. He did not have her, but he had Britain. That was what mattered most – to bring peace to his land. And to be the one whose name might live forever.
How could he let that name be tarnished by rumors about his sister? Besides, it was likely that she loved power as much as he did, and therefore could be dangerous. No, it was best for power to reside in one man. Guinevere would complement him, he was sure, not challenge him.
But the memory of Morgan's embraces made his ale bitter. Perhaps he could have kept her near him if she had married one of his men, but he could not bear the thought of that, and she had probably been too angry at him to have done it even if he had asked.
8 Guinevere the Wife
Guinevere longed to speak with other women. She thought she might befriend some of the ladies. Perhaps there were none like her friend Valeria, but surely one or two would be congenial.
Dark-haired Cornelia's bright eyes had some spirit. Guinevere tried to catch her glance at one of the endless suppers. Cornelia gave her a brief nod, but Guinevere noticed that the lady was looking past her, at Arthur. She was actually trying to attract Arthur's attention, right in front of his wife, and Guinevere saw that she gained it. He smiled briefly at Cornelia, but his glance lingered.
When Arthur did not come to her room that night, Guinevere guessed that he was with Cornelia, and hoped that he would visit the lady often. She slept better than she had since her marriage.
He returned the next night, and Guinevere resigned herself. She was a new bride, and he would not leave her alone for long. A few nights later, Guinevere was alone again, and she slept well.
Arthur returned to her bed, sporadically, and of course she had to greet him as if she wanted him. Her life was, of necessity, a series of lies. She grimaced when she remembered that as a girl she had thought she couldn't tolerate a husband's infidelity. Now she wondered how many women were pleased that their husbands had mistresses.
Sometimes when Arthur began to caress Guinevere, she let her mind travel back to her father's caer. She imagined that she was walking from room to room, revisiting everything, not where she was, in Arthur's arms. She did not dare to think of what it might be like to be in the arms of someone she wanted.
But all of life was not to be lived in bed – she was glad of that. Guinevere found pleasures where she could. Food pleased her. Cai saw to it that the finest of fish, meat, fruits, and sweet things were on the table, and she thanked him for his efforts. She particularly liked breads and cakes, but she had to be careful because Arthur might not mind a rather plump queen but would not be pleased with a fat one. So she ate of the honey cakes enthusiastically but sparingly.
The food and the music were even finer than at her father's caer. The greater use of herbs was no doubt due to Cai's influence.
When the harpers played and sang of love, Guinevere at times was able to shut out the sound of the warriors' voices and imagine that she was free to love a woman. The songs resounded with the cries of women dying for love or suffering a lover's death, but they filled Guinevere with a wild longing. She feared that she would never know what it was to love and be loved. Oh, let love come, no matter how it wounded her. She felt sure it never would.
She had thought that love was foolish, far inferior to kingcraft, but now she yearned, like the giggling girls she had disdained, for passion. The thought that no lips but Arthur's ever would touch hers made her want to beat her fists against the walls, but she kept her face serene and gave the harpers furs and arm rings.
In the hall one rainy evening whe
n Guinevere was wishing for someone to talk to, Gawaine asked her whether she would like to play gwyddbwyll.
She nodded and smiled at him, for she liked exercising her wits. She was good at board games.
As they set up the board, Gawaine picked up one of the pieces. "This side is fighting because it believes that only bread made with wheat can be sanctified," he said, "and the other side fights because they believe the heresy that oat cakes also can."
Guinevere laughed, surprised that she still could. Good, here was someone else who was not overly pious. "They are both wrong. Only barley bread can be holy," she said.
"This side believes that one god is three," Gawaine went on, rubbing his red beard, "while the heretics believe that three gods are one."
"Let me take the heretical side. You clearly should take the orthodox," Guinevere said, relaxing as she seldom did now.
"I was baptized not two years ago, because Arthur wanted all his men to be, so pardon me if I make mistakes about Christianity," he told her. He rolled his merry blue eyes as if to say that he had not been converted at all.
So men, too, had to obey Arthur's wishes, she thought with sympathy. She found that she enjoyed the game, and defeated him handily, for he seemed to care more about his jests than about the moves in the game.
He shook his head and gave her an exaggerated frown that clearly was not serious. "The heretics have won, so their doctrines now become the one truth. You play very well, Lady Guinevere, as well as the king does. I should warn you that he hates to lose, especially to a woman. His sister often defeated him, and it made him angry. Arthur is genial, but it is best to avoid angering him."
Arthur walked up to them. "Did you do well, my dear? Shall we play a little?"
"Oh, no, Lord Arthur, I have heard that you are much too good for me," Guinevere replied. She determined that she would never play with him, rather than lose deliberately. But perhaps it was better not to let the king know that she could play at least as well as he could.
She decided that she liked Gawaine the best of Arthur's men, even better than Bors, who always spoke to her reverently, as if she were an abbess.
But it was Bors she chose to accompany her on her rides. Her fear that Arthur wanted her to ride only with an armed escort proved correct. She longed to explore the new countryside, though the forests seemed less beautiful to her than those in Powys because they had fewer hills. A day when she could ride her mare was a fine day, but she found that a queen was expected to abide mostly at the caer, with a thousand matters needing her attention.
At least Arthur had concern about his people — for that was how he saw them, as his — and had a brain in his head. She could have been married to a man who was far worse. He wasn't bad-looking, or bad-tempered, but was always pleasant as long as people did things as he wished, which they cheerfully did.
All in all, her life was commonplace, much like other wives', with a bit more luxury and plotting. And Arthur, too, though a man among men, was commonplace, with breath that sometimes was better, sometimes worse, like her own.
Perhaps she could have some influence over him.
One night he came to her room complaining that the Bishop Dubricious, who ruled the Church from Londinium, had sent a petition demanding a harsher stand on pagans. Arthur groaned as he sank down on her best chair. His brow was furrowed, showing that he would not always look young.
Guinevere immediately exclaimed with sympathy, "How dare that bishop make demands of you? Does he want to make the Christian Church more powerful than the king himself?"
Arthur smiled at her, and said, "Thank you, Guinevere. I like that you are always thinking of me."
"I want to be of service to you," she said, refraining from saying that she would prefer that service to be out of bed rather than in it. "I worked on my father's accounts. Perhaps I could do the same here?"
He leaned back in his chair, touched his chin where a hint of stubble had grown since morning, and looked at her thoughtfully. "Cai is nearly buried in a mound of vellum, and I have far too much to read myself. The Romans had an army of administrators, but I do not. Would you like to help Cai in reading the reports from our magistrates and tax collectors? He has several assistants, but it would be good to have someone else who can read as carefully as he for hints that men are not entirely loyal to me, or that tax collectors might be keeping too much for them-selves or helping the wealthy to pay much less than they should. Most of the men I have around me have come to fight, and I can't burden them with such tasks. A man like Gawaine won't willingly read anything but reports on troop movements. But you could help Cai. Are you as good with figures as you are at Latin?"
"Surely, my lord," she said. She preferred numbers to spinning. As queen, she could bid any priest to read aloud while she spun, but she would prefer to read for herself, alone, not in the company of bored ladies who would rather talk about men than listen to books.
"I am grateful that you are willing to undertake such tasks, my dear." Arthur inclined his head to her.
Guinevere was somewhat less glad when she discovered the sea of vellum and wax tablets that awaited her, and had to plot her course through it. There were endless pleas from the outposts for more aid, and endless reasons why they could not send more taxes to the king. She tried to guess which of the writers were merely selfish, and who was so self-seeking that he might cheat or even betray. She watched for boastful phrases amidst the pleas of poverty and asked Cai to describe the lords he knew among them.
"People's best natures seldom are revealed when they are paying their taxes," Cai observed with a grin as she worked at a table near his in his office. Though the room was small, it was well lit and had good chairs as well as a rug on the floor. "Are you sure you want to wage this battle with me, Lady Guinevere?"
"Onward," she said, flourishing her stylus as if it were a sword and returning his smile. His perfume smelled better than the warriors' sweat. "Though we wound only their purses, let us make them feel besieged and fear to cheat."
Arthur sometimes asked the opinions of his warriors, some of whom were quite dense, about matters such as how to treat the lesser kings or the Saxons, while Guinevere sat silent. He seldom heeded what the men said, but they were overwhelmed with the honor of being asked.
"Should we sweep the Saxons from our shores, or wait until they next attack us?" Arthur asked each one in turn. The fighting had abated, but everyone knew that it was not over.
"We should sweep them from our shores," exclaimed Sangremore, a warrior with a scar snaking down his cheek.
"Do we have enough men to do that?" asked Gawaine, shaking his head. "The Sea Wolves have been established here for several generations now, curse them. Driving them away wouldn't be so easy."
"Perhaps if we keep building our army we can," Bedwyr suggested.
"My Lord Arthur, I have no idea of the answer. I must leave such strategy to you," Bors said, so humbly that Guinevere wanted to groan.
Unasked, Guinevere spoke later in her room, "I am sure that you are so clever that you won't fight your major battles against the Saxons until you know that you can win decisively."
Arthur chuckled. "You're getting to know me well," he said, embracing her. "I am glad I married you."
At least he valued her opinion, she thought. That was something. Actually, it was a great deal.
Arthur's men talked endlessly about battles, past and future. Guinevere soon learned all about Hannibal and Caesar's wars, and the fighting methods of the Saxons and the Picts. She had to watch the warriors' seemingly endless tests of strength. She sat in the royal stand, with Arthur's red dragon pennant flying, as men fought each other in pretended deadly combat. They rushed at each other with spears outthrust, trying to knock each other from their horses. Then they stood on the ground and fought with swords. The fighting contests continued from dawn to dusk, and she must sit there, applaud, and give prizes to the victors, though she cared little which man fought better than the other.
> They never seemed to tire of fighting. They fought for war, and they also fought for sport. She wondered that more of them did not want to learn to read.
While they risked their lives or at least their limbs for glory on the contest field, she wondered how it would be to be able to hold a sword and fight. She saw herself riding against some proud warrior and unhorsing him, then getting down and battering at his shield, and, when he yielded, taking off her helmet to reveal — Guinevere!
It was a foolish game, this fighting without war, but it was the thing that won the greatest honors, so she half wanted to take part and win. She wished that she could defeat every one of those proud warriors.
Perhaps it was going a little far to imagine that she could defeat someone as tall as Gawaine. If only there could be women warriors, to keep the men from swaggering so much and feeling so infallible in their powers! The futility of her wishes made her head ache.
Often, Arthur held court, and his people came to him with petitions. Guinevere watched how he sat tirelessly in his huge carved chair, listening even to petty disputes as if they interested him. Sometimes he twisted the great amethyst ring with a dragon embossed on it that he wore on his right hand.
She could do this work herself, she thought. It was hard for her to keep still and not offer her opinions about the petitioners. She noticed that all those who came before him were men of property. After one such session, she pulled Cai aside.
"Why do the common people not come to ask the king's aid? And why do I never see women bring petitions?"
She could hardly keep the annoyance out of her voice.
Cai raised his eyebrows. "No doubt they are intimidated."
"They should not be." Guinevere shook her head, as if to say the court was not so grand after all. "See that your serving people go into the town, and into the highways and byways, and tell the people that anyone can bring a petition to the High King."
Lancelot- Her Story Page 11