Under Camelot's Banner

by Sarah Zettel

  Daere and her helper moved about the room, tending the fire, folding back the shutter to let the stiff, fresh breeze in. The wind smelled strangely dry and plain to Lynet who was used to the scents of rain and salt. But the sun was warm and felt like springtime and she was gladdened by it.

  Once these tasks were done, Daere set about the business of dressing Lynet in her new finery. The maid was meticulous about her work. Consequently, the straightening and lacing, buckling, arranging and adjusting took long enough that Lynet’s patience strained. Eventually, Daere pronounced Lynet presentable, and she did not protest too much when Lynet insisted she would hang her keys and her purse from her shining, new girdle.

  Daere conducted her through maze of wide corridors that made up the keep of Camelot. Lynet had heard from Laurel that the high king had made a Roman governor’s villa into his great hall, and she had tried to describe the beauty of it. Her words, Lynet now saw, had failed. Each window and entry way was arched and ornamented. The floor was decorated with sparkling mosaics of repeating patterns, or fabulous beasts. Although made of good brown stone, the edifice felt so light and airy, part of her was sure that it must soon float away.

  To Lynet’s surprise, they passed by the great hall. Instead, Daere took Lynet to a smaller door, where she knocked humbly. A waiting lady opened it, a noble woman with rich brown and frankly curious eyes. She curtsied politely to Lynet and stood back so that she might enter what was clearly the queen’s private chamber.

  Lynet had never seen a more beautiful or luxurious room. The carved furniture alone was a fortune of material and skill. She counted five books on the shelf above the writing desk. Carpets that were whole worlds of color softened the floor.

  Queen Guinevere sat before the hearth at an inlaid table spread with a meal whose luxury equaled that of the room. There was cold hare with worrel and hazelnuts, and a roasted chicken scented with something pungent and savory Lynet could not name but which nonetheless set her mouth watering. There were white and brown breads, honied cakes, and cakes of dried fruits soaked in wine.

  Lynet began to kneel, but the queen stopped her, raising her up before she could complete the gesture.

  “Please sit,” Queen Guinevere said, but she no longer spoke the rolling, formal language of this eastern court. Instead, she spoke the Dumonii tongue of Cambryn, and smiled at the surprise that showed plainly on Lynet’s face. As Lynet took the seat that was offered, the queen beckoning to Daere. The maid who came forward at once to pour Lynet both beer and cider.

  “Please, break your fast with me now. Help yourself as you wish.”

  Whatever words must pass between them, Lynet more than willing to let them wait awhile. The food was excellent, savory, filling and elegantly spiced. The queen herself ate lightly, but well, sparing Lynet from any anxiety that she was taking too much.

  As she ate, Lynet could not help watching the queen, although she tried to be circumspect. She was as beautiful as the bards told, with the bright grey eyes they all praised. She held herself straight and proud, a woman who knew she was watched and measured at all times. They spoke in their common language of nothing urgent, remarks on the meal before them, on how the night had remained dry, against all expectations. Everything was arranged to set Lynet at her ease, and indeed she did feel herself relaxing under the gracious influences of comfort and good food. But despite all this, as she regarded the queen from under her properly lowered eyelids, what came back to Lynet again and again was something Laurel had once written to her: the queen is a gracious woman, in all ways and at all times the soul of polity. One might easily see only the hostess and wise woman and overlook how many secrets she guards and how closely.

  When at last Lynet was able to sit back, both hunger and thirst satiated, the queen pushed her own cup aside.

  “I thought we should speak privately, this morning, you and I,” said Queen Guinevere. Lynet could no see she was being watched closely, examined for her reaction.

  And can I blame her? She does not know what she is coming to any more than I did when I set out on the road to this place.

  “I am at your majesty’s service,” Lynet replied, because it was expected.

  “For which I thank you,” replied the queen drily, proving to Lynet that she recognized her statement as an empty form. “But you and I both know that is far from certain.”

  That startled Lynet and for a moment she did not know how to reply. But those keen grey eyes told her that only honesty would do. Slowly she said, “Your Majesty does not trust me.”

  The queen considered this for a moment. “Say rather, I know you do not trust me.” Lynet opened her mouth to attempt to deny this, but Queen Guinevere went on. “I do not blame you for this, but hope to help amend it.” She spread her hands. They were neat and well-kept, which was too be expected, but they were also stained. Some old juice or dye had left its mark there, faintly mottling the white skin. Lynet found herself oddly curious as to what it had been. “You may ask me any question, speak any concern,” the queen was saying. “None here now speak our tongue. Only you and I will know what is said.”

  Lynet sat in silence, her mind racing, trying to find the correct words. The queen urged frankness, but Lynet could not trust this. Her hand instinctively covered the mirror in its purse.

  Queen Guinevere sighed. “Very well.” She clearly had been prepared for this reaction, although it disappointed her. “Here is something you should know. Your father knew this much, and perhaps your brother as well. If it did not come to you … well only God can see so far.”

  Lynet’s hand tightened a little on the mirror, and she forced it away to lie in her lap. But the queen was not watching her. She was staring into her wine cup toward some deep memory.

  “In the early days, while Arthur was struggling to unite the Britons, it was known that keeping the Dumonii loyalty would be one of the greatest challenges. There were many factors; the distance and difficulty of the crossing by sea, and worse by land … not to mention that the Dumonii are so churlish of their independence,” she smiled a little at this. “My marriage to him could only go so far in creating a bond between our people and the rest of the Britons. So, Arthur put all his efforts into cultivating the friendship of King Mark. We had to be careful. Mark labored under the overlordship of the Eire-landers at that time, and they were not disposed to look favorably on any embasage from Arthur. But we needed Tintagel. Not only because the kings of Eire used it as a staging place for their raids up and down the Dumonii coast, but because his lands joined with my own would provide a road inland, should it become necessary.”

  Should the Dumonii rebel, she meant. “All went well for a time. Mark let himself be persuaded. Arthur swore that once the Saxons had been driven back, Mark would have all the help we could give against the Eire-landers. Mark sent treasure in secret after Arthur, and his best men, in ones and twos, however it could be managed without alarming his outland masters. What lies he told and what risks he ran, I do not know, but he was faithful to his promise, and Mark’s wealth and Mark’s men helped win the twelve battles that drove the Saxons into the sea.

  “It was soon after this he sent to us a young man … a stripling boy, really, named Tristan.”

  “King Mark sent you Sir Tristan?” Lynet exclaimed. A memory came to her then, as clear as day. She had been sitting beside Queen Iseult in Tintagel’s plain and empty hall. The sea winds howled loud enough they could be heard through the stones. Sir Tristan had agreed to play for them to while away the winter storm. She had been captivated as always, by the sweetness of the music, and the fairness of the man, but she had, for a moment, perhaps in guilty conscience, glanced toward King Mark. She had seen in him a mix of love and sorrow so profound, she could barely comprehend it. But then, Sir Tristan changed the song to a merry dance tune, and Iseult had taken up King Mark’s hand, urging him to come dance with her. He danced like a bear, lumbering and clumsy, but a fresh gaiety took them all, and the moment was over.


  Queen Guinevere nodded. “He called the Tristan his nephew, but I had my doubts. He looked far more like Mark himself than like his sister, who was dark as one from the West Lands where Mark was fair, almost a Saxon for looks.”

  Lynet had never seen King Mark as anything but a grey old man. She tried to picture him ever resembling the bright Sir Tristan, and failed.

  “It happens sometimes that a nephew takes more after the uncle than the father.”

  “It does,” agreed the queen, but she did not seem convinced or consoled.

  “You think Sir Tristan was King Mark’s son?” said Lynet slowly. A strange realization ran through her mind. Queen Guinevere said King Mark had called Tristan his nephew, but in all her time at Tintagel, Lynet had never heard any mention of a blood relationship between the two.

  Queen Guinevere nodded again. “His son by who I could not say. Perhaps I am afraid to guess,” she added quietly. “For Mark had no wife at that time to give him legitimate heirs, so what could make him he deny the existence of any son who could carry on the line?”

  The implications of this careful statement made Lynet’s stomach turn.

  “But we did not ask too closely then.” The queen drank a little of her wine, swallowing her own memory, tasting the complexity and bitterness of it. “Tristan seemed a good young man. He worked hard at his training so that he was able to keep up with the best of the young men, even Gawain. His talents with harp and song were surprising and delightful, and a respite as an entertainment from Sir Kai’s jibes.” Her smile turned a little sharp at this, but Lynet did not want to break the tale to ask what made it so. “We would have kept him here, given him a cohort to lead, but his only ambition was to return to Mark’s country and serve him. This seemed not only natural, but desirable. With the lands of the Britons as secure as could be made, it was time to honor our promise and aid Mark. What better man to send him than Tristan at the head of a century of Arthur’s finest? It had the added advantage that it would strengthen the ties between Tintagel and Camelot. Mark still had no heir. We needed to take whatever steps we could to make sure his kingdom would not fall into chaos when he died.

  “So, with all due ceremony, Tristan was knighted, and he returned home.

  “Tristan and Mark together took the war to Eire, and as you know they brought back both victory and Queen Iseult. It seemed as if no more could be wished for.

  “Then, Arthur received a message from Tintagel. It said Mark had heard something deeply disturbing from Tristan. It seemed that the chieftains and nobles near Tintagel were uneasy about Mark’s alliance with Camelot. This will not be a new story to you. They were chafing the idea of a new overlordship replacing that of the Eire-landers. Mark asked that we stay away, leave him free rein until he could sound out his own people, find for certain who was in favor of things being as they are and who would be willing to work for change and how far they would go.”

  “This cannot have been true.” The words were out of Lynet before she could stop them.

  The queen paused, not at all angry at being interrupted, only expectant. “Why not?”

  “Because, if it were, Tintagel would have already collapsed. Instead, all the heads of every clan and house have been clinging to one another trying to hold the kingdom together.”

  Queen Guinevere also let this sink in, considering, evaluating, adding it her personal treasure store of knowledge. “I am glad to hear you say this,” she said. “It makes what is to come that much easier, but, you must understand that until this moment, we did not know that much. Our best source of news after Mark, was Steward Kenan.”

  And after what I had done, he could not go openly to Tintagel, not easily, until that last time when they all went together.

  “So, here we have been,” sighed the queen, pushing her cup to one side. Daere moved at once to refill it. “Stifled in our ignorance, waiting to see who would come to us first, if any would come before a war did. We have sent out men in secret, but they have been able to learn little. So few here speak the Dumonii language.” She sighed again, shaking her head, her face gone hard at reality and necessity. “And that, is one reason why I have not returned to my own lands. I would wager you know the other.”

  The queen looked to her, and waited. Lynet did know, but she was reluctant to speak the name. That was a road she did not wish to travel, but Queen Guinevere seemed prepared to wait as long as it took for her to take that step.

  “Morgaine,” said Lynet.

  Queen Guinevere nodded. “Yes. You see, Lynet, I am at heart a coward.”

  This admission startled Lynet so badly she could not find a single word.

  “All know of Morgaine’s hatred for my lord Arthur, but she bears me no love either,” she spoke lightly, but the steel in her grey eyes had found its way to her voice. “She believes that I stole the love of her sister Morgause and that it was my fault that Morgause turned against her in the end. Perhaps it was, a little. I do not know.” Anger made a treacherous current under those last words. Anger at her own ignorance, at her inability to find an answer. “I do know that she purposes my death as well as Arthur’s and while I could face an open fight. I fear Morgaine’s home in the shadows and the unseen country.”

  The word “shadows” made Lynet’s heart hammer and her fingers try to reach the mirror.

  “Now comes your news that she begins to move openly.” Lynet had to work not to shift and shrink under the queen’s new gaze. Queen Guinevere examined her now, looking close to see if the words that had passed between them had worked any change on Lynet. “She must at last feel secure in her following and in her chances for success. Indeed, I would not blame you if you found you must play hostess to her at Cambryn and hear her out. There are few things she desires more than to take the home that was once both mine and hers.”

  Lynet’s mouth went dry in a heartbeat, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “If that were true, Majesty, what would you do?” asked Lynet, her voice suddenly unable to rise above a whisper. If she did not know before, she does now. I’m sorry, Laurel.

  But Queen Guinevere replied evenly. “You are here and have asked for succor and intervention. This we grant freely as your right. All else, done in honesty, will be looked on only as a good, Lynet.”

  She held Lynet’s gaze and Lynet held her peace, considering this.

  “Has Morgaine spoken with you or your sister?” the queen asked.

  “No, Majesty.” Lynet hesitated, afraid to say too much, but at the same time afraid to be seen to hold too much back. “But that does not mean it will not come. We … we believe as you do, that she desires to take possession of Cambryn.” Then, slowly, Lynet began to tell the queen of the sea voyage, and of the morverch.

  Queen Guinevere listened in silence to these revelations, her face utterly still. If she felt alarm, she concealed it thoroughly. When Lynet had finished, the queen let the silence stand unbroken between them for a long time.

  “There are tales that you were begotten not of the land, but of the sea, Lynet. Are they true?”

  She spoke matter-of-factly, but Lynet could not forget the what she had confessed a moment before, that the queen feared the invisible countries. But she had also asked for honesty. This was the test of which was greater. “No, Majesty,” said Lynet. “I am not of the sea. That blessing was my mother’s.”

  Queen Guinevere nodded once more, after only the briefest of pauses, her face still unreadable. “I thank you for telling me these things. We must know as much as we can before we go on.”

  Lynet hesitated, then made herself ask. “You will not change your mind now?”

  In that moment, the queen’s eyes seemed like tempered steel and Lynet hoped to never see such anger turned on her. “Oh, no, Lady Lynet. Do what she will, she will not have Cambryn of me.” She spoke these words to the air, a promise meant to carry to Morgaine herself, wherever she might be. “Now, then Lady Lynet, I have my answers from you. What would you of me this day?”

>   Lynet opened her mouth, and closed it again. What would you of me? There were so many things, all of them unreasonable or impossible. “I would see my men,” she said at last.

  “Of course. Your captain and men-at-arms are hosted in the great hall by the knights. Daere will take you.” She rose, and all her ladies were on their feet at once. Lynet also stood, making a deep curtsey. But something was left unsaid, and should not have been.

  “Thank you, your Majesty,” said Lynet, holding her obeisance. “For all that you have done.”

  The queen took her hand, raising her up. She understood, Lynet saw, how much lay under those few words. Understood, and believed. “You are welcome, Lady Lynet, and know that you have my thanks as well.”

  With that, Lynet let Daere lead her from the room. A strange warmth filled her, and it took Lynet a moment to realize it was hope.

  The great hall of Camelot’s keep was as full, as noisy and as crowded as the new hall at Cambryn would be on any given morning, but was twice again as large, and more magnificent than her home would ever be. Tapestries that were the work of lifetimes ornamented the walls. Innumerable shields, axes and swords hung over the great hearths. Carpets of red and gold softened the floor where it was not strewn with fragrant rushes. The dais was made of snow white marble. Atop it waited Arthur’s gilded throne of audience flanked by two golden dragons that were taken by his father Uther from the foul Vortigern, before Vortigern’s treachery took that king’s life.

  As this time was for breaking the night’s fast and not a formal audience, the high table had been set on the dais’s first broad step. A number of knights and ladies occupied it, but if the king had been there, he was gone now, so it was not necessary for Lynet to pause there first in acknowledgement and greeting. She could go directly to the trestle table beside the hearth where Hale, Lock and the Trevailians sat with a host of scarred and grizzled veterans. She passed open glances of curiosity and stories whispered back and forth. But she heard no malice in the sussuressence of the voices, and the hope remained secure within her.