A Connecticut Fashionista In King Arthur's Court

by Mari AKA Marianne Mancusi

  Standing at attention by the outer gate are Andre the giant and his smaller, grouchier friend. I remember my first day at Camelot, when I talked them into letting me leave what I thought at the time was just a theme party. So much has happened since then; so much has changed.

  The guards have been stationed like bouncers at a nightclub or TSA agents. They've been searching everyone who enters to make sure no one sneaks in with a weapon. From the large pile of confiscated swords resting at their feet, I take it this is not merely a formality at Camelot.

  "Hey, guys," I say amicably. Andre glares at me. He's not as nice as he was that first day. Funny how a little thing like Mace in the eyes can ruin a developing friendship. Well, it couldn't be helped then, and I can't be held responsible for what I have to do now. "How's it hanging?"

  "I do not know about any hanging," the grouchy guard says. "But it seems the burning is right on schedule."

  Ooh, good one. "Wow, you definitely ate your clever vitamins this morning," I say with a snort.

  "What brings you to the outer gates?" asks the big guy. "Are you not staying to watch the queen burn?"

  "Nah. I've never really been into the whole Faces of Death thing." I shrug. "Figure it'd be more fun to come hang out here with you guys."

  They scowl at me simultaneously.

  "Hey," I protest in a wounded voice. "Why the mean faces? And here I am trying to do something nice."

  "Nice?" the giant one asks, his curiosity overcoming his unfriendliness.

  "Well, I figured you might be thirsty, being stuck at the gate and all. So I sneaked you out some mead from the concession stand." I produce the cup from behind my back. "I know it's probably not PC to drink on the job, but I won't tell anyone if you won't. The way I figure it, what happens at the outer gate, stays at the outer gate."

  They exchange glances. "Are you trying to trick us?" demands the grouchy one. ""What is in the cup?"

  I put on a hurt face. "Dude, I told you—it's beer. Mead." I place the cup to my lips and fake taking a big gulp, keeping my lips pursed. "Mmmm. Beer," I say in my best Homer Simpson voice after lowering the cup.

  That's all it takes to convince them—typical men. They'll believe anything for free alcohol. The bigger guard takes the cup from me and slurps greedily. The other guard scowls at him for taking more than his share and yanks the cup from his grasp, also sucking it down.

  "Thank you, milady," Andre says, moments before his eyes roll back in his head and he slumps to the ground. The grouchy guard joins him moments later.

  "No, thank you!" I say, kicking them to make sure they're truly unconscious. "And thank Ambien." I didn't think the I'm-afraid-of-flying-so-I-keep-it-in-my-purse sleeping pill would work so fast. But then again, I did crush up about twenty pills into their drink to be on the safe side.

  With the guards indisposed, all we need now are some fireworks. I go back into the crowded courtyard, weaving in and out of the throngs of people. Their eagerness for death makes me almost reconsider finding a nice quiet place to set the bomb.

  But out of respect for Arthur, who seems dearly to love these moron subjects of his, I head to the back of the courtyard where no one stands. Against the stone wall I find a little crumbling niche just big enough to wedge a can of hair spray into. I tie a length of cotton that I've dipped in candle wax around the can and stick it in the slot. I pad the slot with a bit of extra cotton to make sure it burns long enough to ignite the can. Then I roll the length of cotton away from the wall, giving myself a good long wick. I'm so not interested in getting blown up.

  I reach into my purse and pull out the lighter I have stashed there. I don't smoke, but have found it's always good to have one on hand for when a cute guy outside a bar asks if you've got a light. Thank goodness, too, because Guen would be dead by the time I managed to rub two sticks together, me being a Girl Scout dropout and all.

  I look over at the main stage. I've got to get the timing right—not too soon and definitely not too late. Looks like Bishop Mallory has taken center stage.

  "Guenevere of Cameliard, the court has found you guilty of the sin of adultery and therefore treason against the king, your people, and God himself," says the priest, reading the verdict from a long scroll. "The sentence dictated by the court is death by burning. Do you have any last words? Remember, God is listening."

  Guenevere draws her petite frame to its full height, her mouth set in determination. "Arthur, I love you," she says loudly, raising her eyes to the king above. I can see Arthur's face crumple. I'm half convinced he's going to call the whole thing off. Stick to the plan, Arthur. We don't need any spontaneous heroics.

  "Executioner, please begin," the king says finally, his voice cracking with grief. Poor guy. I watch as he turns and walks back to his throne, slumping down on the seat, his face in his hands. The joy of seeing Guenevere rescued will be bittersweet to him. She will live, but he will never see her again. It's all so tragic, I can hardly stand it.

  The executioner lowers his torch until it touches the kindling at the base of the pile. Flames lick at the lower timbers, and I realize the time has come. I flick the lighter and set fire to the end of the cotton wick.

  Then I run.

  Fast as my twenty-first-century legs can carry me I dive into the crowd and push my way through the masses until I reach the other end of the courtyard. .

  Until I hear ...

  Kaboom!

  There’s chaos everywhere as the explosion rocks the ground. I picked just the right unstable spot. The wall crumbles, large boulders crashing down, creating a graveyard of stones and dusty rubble. Everyone's screaming, running.

  "We're under attack!"

  "An army has penetrated Camelot's gates!"

  "Grab your children! Run!"

  I duck into the stables and free Dior and another horse that Arthur had arranged to have saddled. I peek out the door. Is Lancelot here yet? He'd better hurry. This plan is completely dependent on timing.

  I watch as a brown-cloaked monk approaches the pyre with defiant strides. I draw in a breath. What is he doing?

  Lancelot, hurry!

  The monk leaps onto the pyre—pretty agile for a scholar of God—clearing the flames and approaching Guenevere. His hood falls from his head, and I gasp as I realize who it really is.

  Lancelot.

  Pride and love swell in my heart. He hadn't told me about the disguise. Damn, he's good.

  Once freed, the queen collapses in a dead faint into his arms. Lancelot cradles her like a groom carrying a bride over the threshold and runs toward the gates. In all the confusion and dust, no one seems to have comprehended what is happening.

  I leap onto one of the horses, keeping hold of the bridle on the other. Then, digging my heels into the mare's flanks, I urge them out into the courtyard and play dodge-the-frightened-medieval-peasant until I make my way out the gate and to the meeting spot. Already I can hear Mordred's voice above the din.

  "A trick!" he cries. "Lancelot has used the devil's magic to save his harlot from hell. We must go after them! We must stop the sinners and persecute the injustice."

  I reach Lancelot and Guen, exchanging a glance with the knight. His eyes reflect my worry, and I know exactly what he's thinking.

  Not much time.

  He hoists the unconscious queen onto the horse and slides on in back of her. Then he urges his mare onward, and I follow as best I can. The skies open up and rain pours down in buckets as we gallop fast as our horses can go to Stonehenge.

  As we fly down the hill toward the village, I look over at Lancelot's horse and notice that Guenevere seems to have gained consciousness. That's one relief.

  Okay, Kat. Time to cross my fingers, cross my toes, cross myself, and invoke getting-to-Stonehenge-on-time karma.

  We need all the luck we can get if we're going to pull this off.

  ###

  About an hour later Lancelot slows his horse and turns to me. We're deep in the woods now, having taken countless twisting
turns. Luckily he knows where we're going. He comes to a stop by a small stream. The rain has tapered off, at least momentarily.

  "I think we have lost them," he says. "We must rest the horses for a moment, or they will surely drop dead."

  As his horse greedily slurps water, Lance slips to the ground and helps Guenevere off. She looks shaken and weak, sinking to her knees. I dismount and approach her.

  "Are you okay?" I ask, kneeling down in the mud and pulling her into a warm hug. I can feel her body tremble against mine as she wraps her arms around me and holds on tight.

  "Thank you for rescuing me," she murmurs. "I truly thought I would die at that stake."

  "Nah! We wouldn't let that happen to you!" I say with a grin that I hope looks more happy-go-lucky than I feel. Inside, I'm still extremely worried. I'm sure a search party of knights wielding swords is out in full force. If they find us, we're doomed. If they don't, then what? Guen certainly can't go back to Camelot. She could head for her dad's place at Cameliard, but who knows if she'd even be safe there? Mordred and his army could easily take the small kingdom.

  "Guen," I say carefully, not wanting to upset her, "I know a lot has happened. Do you have any idea what you want to do now?"

  "I do not know," she wails, tears slipping down her pale cheeks. "Perhaps 'twould be better if I had died at the stake. I have nowhere to go. When you are gone I will have no one." She wipes her tears away with a dirty hand, the grime streaking across her face. She looks more like a homeless waif than a queen. But still beautiful. Innocent.

  Anger stirs inside me as I think about all that's happened. About how everyone got it all wrong. Throughout history this sweet, vulnerable girl will be known as a slut who fucked over her husband for a dashing knight. I wonder, when and if I get back to the twenty-first century, whether I should write a tell-all book. Disguise it as fiction if I have to—to let people know the true story behind the infamous love triangle that, if you count me, is actually more of a square.

  "What about Avalon?" I suggest. "Won't they take you back? You love it there."

  Guen shakes her head. "My going there would endanger them all. I do not want to introduce violence into their peaceful world." She sighs deeply. "A convent may take me in, but I do not desire to live out my days with those who deny themselves all the pleasures of being a woman. ‘Twould be a living death."

  I try to think, then mentally smack myself upside the head when the most obvious idea in the world comes to me. "Duh!" I say. "I can't believe I didn't think of this. Why don't you come back to the twenty-first century with me?"

  Guen looks at me, her eyes wide. "D'you think ... ?"

  "Yeah, that'd be great!" I exclaim, scrambling to my feet. "I've been wishing you could come back with me anyway, but of course I knew you had a life here and stuff. But now that you don't, there's nothing stopping you."

  Her face falls. "If I come back with you, I will never see Arthur again."

  "That's true, but Guen, chances are you won't anyway." I hate to break it to her, but I'm going the tough-love route here. "And anyway, don't you believe in reincarnation?" I add, remembering Arthur's speech. "That if lovers are joined in one life they will find each other in the next?"

  "Yes, but—"

  "So I bet you have a good chance of running into the twenty-first-century version of your husband. How cool would that be?"

  Her eyes light up, and I know I've sold her on the idea.

  Lancelot finishes tending to the horses and approaches. He motions for us to mount. "We must ride on, or we risk getting caught."

  "Aye," agrees Guenevere, a smile shining through her tears, "Let us be off to Stonehenge."

  Lancelot looks at her, then me. "So Your Majesty still plans to perform the spell to send Kat home?" he asks in a deliberately emotionless voice. It almost sounds as if he's hoping I'll miss the portal.

  "Aye, and myself with her," Guenevere tells him. "I have nothing left to keep me in Camelot. Better I start a new life than have mine end here."

  "I see," Lancelot says quietly.

  The queen scrunches her eyebrows in confusion. "But do you not travel with us, Sir Lancelot? I thought Kat said—"

  "Things have changed," Lancelot interrupts. "I will accompany you to the portal, but that is as far as I go."

  Guenevere glances over at me, confused. I shrug. What can I say? The last thing I want is for her to hear about Nimue's plan and freak out, as Lance did.

  Lance. I look over at the knight as he boosts Guenevere up on his horse and then mounts himself. My heart feels like it's being torn in two, and I literally ache from my head to my toes. I wipe away the tears that are determined to fall. I can't leave like this. Even if we can never be together, I can't let him go through life thinking I used him for personal gain. And now it looks like there's not going to be much of a chance to talk things through.

  Suddenly an idea comes to me—hits me like a ton of bricks, actually.

  I will stay.

  Sure, I'll still go to Stonehenge and let Guen open the portal. But at the last moment I won't jump. I'll let it close forever. And then, maybe then, Lancelot will see that I mean it when I say I love him. That he means more to me than some stupid millennium. And once he forgives me, then he, Guen and I can gallop off into the sunset. Go back to Lancelot's home county of Little Britain or something and live happily ever after. Maybe even get Arthur to come join us so Guen can have her true love back. After all, the chances of him keeping his kingdom at this point are slim to none.

  It's the perfect plan. I only hope it works.

  ###

  The rain picks up. Lightning streaks across the sky, followed by earth-shaking thunder—the kind Gucci likes to hide under my bed from, whimpering. I feel like doing a little whimpering myself, but there's no time. On and on the horses press into the rain-soaked night. The drops bang against my face with such intensity I'm afraid I'll end up bruised. The wind whips my hair into a Medusa-like tangle.

  Summer solstice indeed. More like monsoon solstice, if you ask me.

  "This is it!" Lancelot cries. I can barely hear him over the storm. But I can see his hand, pointing to the top of a hill before us. And I can see the familiar stone structure standing tall and true.

  Stonehenge. The gateway. Home.

  I hear noises behind us and whirl around. In the distance I can see flickering torches. The knights. They've found us!

  "Hurry!" I cry, urging on my horse. "They're almost here." My heart pounds in my chest and blood roars in my ears as we gallop to the top of the hill.

  I slide off my horse and look back. The torches are closer. We've got only a few minutes and they'll be here.

  "Guen, we've got to hurry!"

  The queen dismounts, her eyes wild and wide. "I am not sure if I can—"

  "There is no time for talk," Lancelot interrupts, his eyes not wavering from the approaching army.

  "I understand," Guenevere says. She turns to the Stonehenge and begins her incantation. "Solstice en hirum au callibar..."

  The torches are closer now—so close I can see the men who hold them in their grimy fists. It's an angry mob, determined to kill Lancelot. To kill the queen. Me, too, probably, if I stand in their way. I turn to Guenevere. Her eyes are closed in concentration. Her voice quavers as she speaks the words.

  "... arruliam de tona los garillium ..."

  Lancelot places a hand on my shoulder. "They are here," he says, softly stating the obvious. "She will not have time to finish."

  I turn to him, panicked. This was not at all how I wanted my big sacrifice drama to play out. "But she has to!" I cry.

  Lancelot nods, distracted. Then he squares his shoulders and draws his sword. He looks powerful, breathtaking, wielding the mighty blade. A true hero. "Make sure she keeps her concentration. I will hold them off."

  Wait! I don't mind him looking like a hero, but this is not the time for him to act like one! I grab his arm, a futile attempt to hold him back, as panic engulfs me. "N
o!" I cry. "There's too many of them. You'll die!"

  He turns back to me, his troubled, fierce gaze grabbing my eyes and not letting go. I feel my body tremble into a near faint, my heart banging against my rib cage.

  "There is no other way. Better they kill me, and you two escape."

  "No!" I shake my head, my lips tasting the tears that spill down my cheeks. "You don't understand! I'm not going to leave you. I refuse." I take a deep breath, swallow down my sobs, and continue: "You told me once that no matter what, you would always choose me. Well, I choose you. The time period doesn't matter. Wherever, whenever I am doesn't make any difference. I choose you." I break down, sobbing. "I choose you."

  Lancelot suddenly grabs the back of my neck, fiercely pulling me toward him and planting a hot, rough kiss on my mouth. His lips are demanding, fierce, but I can feel his tears splashing onto my cheeks. For a moment there is nothing else. No past, no future, no time, no place. Just him and me. Together. One. Nothing matters except his touch.

  "Kat," he murmurs. "I am so sorry I doubted you."

  "I'm sorry I didn't tell you the truth," I sob. "I ruined everything."

  "No. 'Tis my stubbornness that caused you this grief," he insists. "I want to be with you above anything."

  "Then I'll stay."

  "No." He shakes his head. "The current situation here is perilous at best. At this point, 'twould be far better to journey to your world."

  I nod slowly. He's right, of course. But before I can answer, an angry voice cuts through the moment.

  "There they are! After them, men!"

  We break apart; looking down the hill I see the mob has found us. They raise their weapons: swords, arrows, clubs. It's like that big battle in Lord of the Rings. We're totally outnumbered. And unfortunately we have no Gandalf the Great or fighting trees to save us.

  "Shit!" I cry. "What are we going to do?"

  "When the portal opens, jump through," Lancelot instructs. "I will join you when I can."