“How was King Reince evil?” I asked.
The others laughed, knowing the story. But none supplied the answer out of turn. Lavena drank from her mug, then said, “He was such a bad man that his cloak was trimmed with the beards of eleven other kings!”
I shuddered.
“King Reince attacked King Leodegrance and took his castle from him. Leodegrance escaped with his family and so, avoided having his beard removed! Well, when good King Arthur heard his loyal vassal was in trouble, he raised his army and attacked Cameliard. King Reince taunted our king, saying he wanted to add King Arthur’s beard to his cloak, but it was too scanty—him being so young!”
“Ho!” laughed several of the servants. “Boo!” others called out.
“King Arthur met Reince on the battlefield and ran him through with Excalibur. So that was the end o’ him and his nasty cloak,” Lavena said with a nod. “King Leodegrance was very pleased to have his castle back and offered his pretty daughter, Guinevere, as wife for the young king. Now, it’s said Lord Merlin was very much for this, as Wales wasn’t yet part o’ King Arthur’s kingdom. Also, old Leodegrance had the keeping of King Uther’s table.”
“Why should he care about a table?” I asked.
The others laughed and laughed at my ignorance.
“Here now,” Lavena quieted the servants. “Anya ain’t from here. She don’t know.” She turned to me. “You know that big table in the Great Hall?”
“The Round Table?”
“The very one,” Levana said.
“Oh!” I said, finally understanding.
Lavena nodded. “It used to belong to King Uther—King Arthur’s father. Merlin sets great store by it. Leodegrance returned it as part o’ the dowry price. And so, King Arthur planned to wed the daughter o’ King Leodegrance. But then the Saxons invaded Noviomagus, and King Arthur had to take his men to battle. He left Sir Lancelot behind to ride with his intended and the great table to the new castle o’ Camelot.”
“Ah,” I said, glad we were finally getting to the core of the tale.
“They were a fortnight riding here,” Lavena said. “And in that time, it rained and rained. The queen-to-be was very homesick and frightened of wedding a stranger-king from so far away. The weather just made it worse. Sir Lancelot thought up word games and songs and stories to keep her entertained.”
Lavena finished off her ale and belched. “My nephew was taking care o’ the horses on that trip. He told me Lancelot and Guinevere started out as polite strangers, but by the end o’ the journey they were madly in love. Everyone in their retinue could see it! But she was pledged to the king, and so, just after Pentecost, Guinevere and King Arthur were wed.
“But ever Sir Lancelot is nearby. He’s even called ‘the Queen’s champion’ and wears her white glove on his helm during jousting matches. So,” Lavena said, “there you have it: the sad tale o’ Lancelot and Guinevere—the lovers who cannot be!”
“Thank you, Lavena. That explains much.” I felt sorry for the pair and wondered how, or even if, the king knew. “But, is not Sir Lancelot married?”
The kitchen staff chuckled knowingly.
“Oh, aye. To Lady Elaine.” Lavena signaled for Varden to refill her mug. “She’s the daughter o’ Sir Pelleas. His place is called Castle Corbenic o’ the Adventures, in which many strange things seem to happen.”
“For instance?”
Lavena grinned. “One day, Sir Lancelot was returning from some business o’ the king’s. He heard there was a beautiful young girl stuck in a cauldron o’ constantly boiling water, and only the bravest knight in the land could free her.”
“That is passing strange,” I allowed with a laugh.
“Always up for a challenge, is our Sir Lancelot, and so he goes to see what he can do. He upends the great cauldron—fire, water, and girl—and the lady was freed! She was o’ course mighty glad of it and asked him to stay for a few days. He did, much to the delight of King Pelleas, who wished favor with King Arthur.
“Well, Elaine fell madly in love with Sir Lancelot, but he cared only for the queen. Elaine went to bed crying that night, and Brisane, her governess—a cousin o’ mine—decided to help the young couple.
“Two days later, Brisane lets slip in front o’ Sir Lancelot that the queen’d arrived—alone and lightly attended—at Case Castle, only a few leagues away. Eager to see her, Sir Lancelot rode off, but didn’t reach the castle until evening. He was told the queen had gone to bed early. Thinking to have his lady to himself, finally, Lancelot went to her chamber and made love to her.”
“But it wasn’t the queen,” I guessed.
“No, indeed!” Lavena said with a laugh. “It was Elaine! And being the good Christian knight he was, in the morning when he discovered how he’d been tricked, he arranged to marry her immediately. They had a son named Galahad by the next spring!”
“That must have upset the queen!”
“To be sure,” agreed Lavena. “One o’ the serving wenches told me Queen Guinevere screamed and cried for a solid month when she heard the news! And she didn’t talk to Sir Lancelot until he won a big tournament and laid down the helms o’ thirty defeated knights at her feet. He hardly goes back to his home, Joyous Gard, and rarely sees his wife.”
“Goodness,” I said, shaking my head and climbing the stairs back to my room. “It’s a wonder anyone can keep up with all the stories in this place!”
Some weeks later, I heard a disturbance in the great hall after the midday meal. I asked Lavena what the cause of the noise was. “Sir Safer returned from the fighting. Says the king took a great wound to his thigh and is laid low. My grandson, who’s Safer’s page, says there’s talk our good king may die. Lord Merlin’s there with him, as is the king’s physic, Pwyll. They can’t bring him home yet, as the wound weeps every time the king moves.”
I was at once beside myself with worry. I had seen what that fool Pwyll did with a mild hurt. There was no telling how badly he had botched the king’s injury. I wished I could take a horse and ride, but I knew it would not be allowed, even if I knew where I was going.
I tried to use the Sight to see how things were going but only got a jumble of unrelated images.
Queen Guinevere was said to have taken to her bed, she was so terrified for her husband. I would have gone to her to offer a calming brew, but I knew what the queen thought of me and so did not.
I waited and worried along with the rest.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Near Samhain, Sir Cai had word they were bringing the king home in a wagon. The procession was going slowly, so as not to jar him. King Arthur fared no better, but insisted he wanted to be home. A few days after we heard about the king’s approach, the retinue was spotted on its way to the castle.
I was in my room distilling a cure, when a young page, fresh from the road, burst in. “You are to ready your healing arts!” he said between gasps. “You’re to attend the king!”
I stood there with my mouth hanging open. I probably looked very stupid to the boy.
“Did you hear me?” the page demanded.
“Yes. I will gather my things.” Given Pwyll’s disdain for me, I hadn’t expected to be called. But once asked for, I could not refuse to come. I started to select the material I was likely to need and put it into my plant basket.
I looked out the slit window above me. The waning Blood Moon shining brightly in the gathering dusk seemed an omen of doom. Could I help the king, or would I merely preside over his death? Would they kill me if I failed? Was Pwyll using me to shield himself from an ugly fate if things went poorly?
I shook my head, realizing that Morgaine’s betrayal colored my every thought.
“You’re taking too long!” the boy said.
“They will need time to get the king settled. Go down to the kitchen and see if Lavena will give you a bannock cake. Tell her I asked if she could spare it. Once you are through, I shall probably be ready.”
“Probably!” he mutter
ed, before heading for the kitchen.
I had just finished putting everything in baskets and bags when both the boy and Merlin’s man, Eoghann, arrived at my door at the same time. Eoghann said, “Lord Merlin asks you to come to the king’s bedroom at once!”
I was glad it was Merlin who called for me and not Pwyll. That put matters in a slightly better light.
I handed each young man a basket. They led me to the king’s room. The place was stuffed to overflowing with every lord and lady in the castle.
Queen Guinevere was holding her husband’s hand and crying. Sir Lancelot looked as if he had aged ten years. Lines of worry etched his brow. Pwyll fussed about at the end of the bed. His assistant was arranging the king’s bedclothes. Sir Cai looked as pained as if it were he who suffered the wound. Thin-faced Father Paulius stood nearby reading from a great book a boy held up for him. There were others I was not as familiar with crowding around.
Merlin stood to the side, looking grave. When he saw me, he waved the boys and me over to the bedside and asked people to move aside.
The king’s face was gray, and there was no color in his lips. His broad forehead was furrowed and sweaty. Bloodshot, dark blue-gray eyes moved restlessly back and forth between all the faces that loomed above him. He had lost much weight since I saw him last. The smell of sick man and bitter herbs clung about him. King Arthur’s lifeglow had dimmed to a pale fire that in places was gray, darkening to black at the edges. His breathing was ragged. I could see that he was suffering both pain and upset with all the people around him.
The queen gasped when she saw me. “Make that specter of death go away!”
I removed my hood, knowing it did not improve her opinion. She thought the whip-scar upon my left cheek was some judgement from her vengeful God, instead of a mark from the time I was attacked by the mad Saxon who brought me to this country.
Merlin said, “I asked Anya to come. She’s very skilled. It’s time she was allowed to help the king.”
“I’ve done all I could,” Pwyll objected.
I held out my hand. “It does the king no good, all this crowding and fussing. If you do not need to be here, please leave the room. If you must stay, please say no more unpleasant things.”
Several people looked angry at my words, but between Merlin and Lancelot, the room was cleared out quickly.
I turned and discovered the two boys were still with me. To the first one I said, “You, what is your name?”
“Weylyn.”
“Go to Lavena and tell her I need two tankards of mead. Bring also several very clean sheets.” He put my basket at my feet and ran off.
“Eoghann, go also to Lavena and tell her I need two large bowls. Those spare ones she only uses on feast days will do well. Bring a ewer of warm water. You will need help bringing all that back, I expect.” He, too, hastened off after leaving a basket beside me.
“You,” I said to Pwyll’s tired-looking assistant.
“Llyr,” the young man replied.
“I will need your help shortly. Pwyll, you may stay and assist or go,” I said. I did not have time to argue with his vanity. He would either comply or go away. Either way, I would have what I needed.
Looking as if he was chewing on some of his own bitter herbs, Pwyll says, “How may I be of use?” There were puffy gray bags under his eyes. I wondered if he might drop on to the bed in fatigue.
I looked around. “Is there a table I can put out my things? If you and Llyr will please bring it to the bedside, this will help.”
They did as I asked. I began taking out the herbs, salves, potions, and other healing tools.
I heard Queen Guinevere whisper to Merlin and Lancelot, “Are you sure she knows what she’s doing?”
“I promise you, things will go well now that Anya can help the king. She is the most powerful healer I have ever heard of,” Merlin said.
I set Llyr to splitting the gut for stitches into very fine threads. I had a piece left over from another wound I treated some days beforehand, so he could compare. “That’s far thinner than I usually prepare,” he said.
I patted his shoulder and left him to it. Just then, Weylyn came in with the mead and sheets. He was moving so quickly, the tankards were a bit awash, but I took them gratefully. “Please step out of the room. But stay nearby in case you are wanted again.”
I set about mixing some herbs in the mead. The smell was intoxicating in itself. “Step back a bit, else you, too, will get sleepy.” The others did as I asked.
I leaned over the sick man. The king looked at me warily. It was likely that he didn’t recognize me in his state. I said in my priestess-trained voice, “King Arthur, you are home and safe. Your good queen is here; your fine warriors guard you. All wish you well. Allow me to assist you.”
“Yes,” he replied in a raspy voice.
“Pwyll, if you will get the king to sit up a little,” He did as I asked. The king rose with a groan of pain. I helped the king take the mead. The virtue of the herb was that, once sipped, the person wanted more. And so, he drank the whole tankard down. “Let him lie back.”
Already, the king’s eyes were drooping. Then he fell asleep.
Eoghann and another boy came in with the bowls and two pitchers of warm water. I had them leave as soon as they put their burdens down.
I turned down the sleeping rug and pulled his robe aside. The king’s right thigh was wrapped up in a thick bandage badly stained with blood, pus, and green matter—Pwyll’s healing herbs.
Queen Guinevere looked as if she might swoon.
I said, “My Queen, this will be ugly, sick-making work. If you wish to stay, would it not be better if you at least had a seat?”
The color was draining out of her already pale complexion. “Perhaps I’ll go to the chapel and pray.”
“I shall go with you,” Lancelot said. Father Paulius and his boy went out with them.
I cut away the bandage and carefully removed it. There was a great sword wound starting inside the upper thigh and ending at the top of the leg. King Arthur had just missed being emasculated by the Saxon’s blade. The stench from the wound rose in a wave: rotten meat and purifying plants. The skin around the gash was streaked red and very swollen. The stitches were thick and few, looking as if they might tear the flesh of the healthy thigh. I cut through the rough thread and plucked the strands out. The pus-and-rotted-plant-matter-filled wound gaped open.
Without a doubt, it was the worst thing I had ever seen.
But I betrayed none of my thoughts.
Carefully, I cleaned out the wound. Llyr brought a candle closer so I might inspect the walls of the gash. It was as I feared: the flesh was purple and looked puckered. “I shall need to re-cut the wound to give us healthy flesh to work with.”
Pwyll gasped but said nothing.
“Merlin, can you wake the king and get him to drink some more mead?” I asked.
He nodded. Pwyll raised the king’s head. While they did that, I sharpened my favorite knife one more time and doused it with my strongest solution. When Merlin finished giving the king the sleeping potion, I sat back down.
Before I began, I said, “I ask you each to pray to whatever deity you believe in. The king will need all the help he can get and so shall I.”
Goddess, guide my hand. Make me more skilled than I am.
A sense of peace fell upon me. I knew the Goddess was with me and I would heal the king.
“This will require strong magick.” I removed the healer’s drum from my bag. Handing it to Merlin, I told him what to do. When I nodded, he held the tambour up perpendicular to his lips, tapped it twice and intoned a deep “Aw,” across the drum’s face. The sound reverberated. It was as if the very walls and ceiling beams sang with him.
I began the healer’s song in time to the beats and started to cut thin strips from each wall of the gash.
A very long time later, I finished sewing the stitches. I applied the healing salve and wrapped the leg in a bandage. “It i
s done.”
Merlin stopped singing and blinked dazedly at me.
“I’ve never seen such a thing,” Pwyll said. “When will we know if it’s working?”
I heard Merlin’s words from another time in my mind: The day will happen when Pwyll will concede you are the master and he the student. “We should know on the morrow if the sickness continues. The swelling will go down.”
“Lady Anya, I’ll watch him this night,” Pwyll said.
I noted his use of the honorific and suppressed a smile. “No. Although I am tired, you and Llyr have labored long days and nights caring for the king. I will watch over him. You both should get some rest. You may care for him in the day.”
Pwyll bowed to me and took Llyr out with him.
“Now we wait,” I said to Merlin.
“It is as I said: a most powerful, knowledgeable priestess and healer,” he said as he kissed the top of my head. “I shall be back shortly.”
The spot he kissed on my scalp tingled.
And so began the long slow path to wellness for the king.
Chapter Twenty-Six
The first night was easy, as King Arthur slumbered with the drugs. Only once did he wake, and I sang a healing song until he slipped back off into dreams.
I spent much time contemplating his quarters for lack of anything else to do. Where the queen’s room was full of soft things and rich decorations, the king’s bedroom was curiously spare, as if only a temporary abode. The walls were bare rock with arms and shields mounted here and there. The stone floor was covered with rushes. There was a large bed, some trunks, a table, and some benches.
The only ornament in the whole room was a tapestry above the fireplace. It depicted the king and queen, Sir Lancelot, and Merlin standing around that self-same table. Of all the glorious treasures King Arthur had, this was the only ornament he allowed himself. It interested me greatly.
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