The Priestess of Camelot

by Jacqueline Church Simonds

  Of course, I knew it was true.

  Llyr told us that since Lancelot’s return from his time as a hermit in the forest, his ardor for the queen seemed redoubled. My heart sank. I should have left him and his bunny in that clearing to rot. Droja said she was disappointed to hear the queen and the great knight were not “behaving like good Christians ought.”

  Llyr said he often felt sorry for the king these days.

  Spring came to the land, but not my soul. Planting went well—it was fortunate that Colin from the village came with his family and two others to work Drunemeton’s fields. He had a way with the soil and knew just what to plant, when. The apple grove was a place of glory, filled with apple blossoms and humming bees. The sheep were lambing, the oxen bore their little spindly calves, and the goats had their kids. Sometimes all that renewal made me so very sad I had to hide in my workroom. Even there, it seemed as if the scent of the lilacs demanded I acknowledge spring.

  I am not sure I can go on.

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Midsummer Day dawned, and I awoke strangely hopeful. I put on a blue dress I had not worn since before Merlin died. I tied up my hair with my favorite ribbon. I surprised Droja by asking her to cook a feast. Falcon put on his nicest tunic without being told.

  I knew—and did not—what was to happen that day.

  Falcon took up his favorite perch atop the oak tree in front of the house to watch the road. Late afternoon, he shouted, “He’s coming!”

  I went out to the courtyard just as Arthur rode in. His smile was so warm, I could not help but return it. Fredic hurried to take the horse’s rein and helped the king dismount.

  Arthur strode over to me—I observed he had no limp—took my hands in his and said, “It’s been too long!”

  “Yes.” I could barely breathe. The whole world seemed taken up by those dark gray-blue eyes. Finally, I remembered my manners. “Will you come in?” I led Arthur in to the main hall and had him sit in the great chair by the fireplace.

  Falcon came running in, his cheeks bright pink. He stopped in front of the visitor. “You’re King Arthur!”

  “Yes, I am,” Arthur said. His eyes pored over the boy’s features eagerly.

  “Sire, please allow me to introduce my son, Falcon.”

  “How old are you, Sir Falcon?” Artur asked playfully.

  “I am six winters old!” Falcon announced.

  “All of six?” Arthur asked. He scooped Falcon up and tossed him in the air, then caught and tickled the boy. Falcon whooped and giggled. I had not heard sounds of joy from him in a very long time. Falcon made Arthur repeat the game three times before I called a halt to it. I was fairly sure Falcon would be content to play with Arthur until the end of days.

  Fredic brought tankards of mead for the king and me.

  “Hard work,” Arthur puffed.

  “What brings you to Drunemeton House, Sire?”

  “I had little to do and it was a beautiful day, so I went for a ride. The next thing I knew, there was Drunemeton ahead,” he said.

  I could not tell if that was true, or he planned to come. Around him, my Sight and truthsense had always failed me.

  We talked of mostly inconsequential things. I invited him to sit for evening meal, and Arthur let me convince him to stay. Cedric joined us but said little. Falcon did all the talking, chattering about everything in his little world. Droja’s wonderful roast mutton earned praise from the king. She could have served sand for all that it mattered to me.

  After dinner, Cedric retreated to his room. Lota came to take Falcon to bed, but he did not want to go—and said so, loudly. His temper tantrum was just rising to the point where I would have to discipline him, when Arthur stood up. “I shall have to leave if you carry on in this way, sir.”

  Falcon shouted, “I don’t want to go to bed! I want to stay and play with you!”

  “It’s not playtime, Falcon. It’s bed time,” Arthur said. “But, I’ll make you this offer: I’ll come up and kiss you goodnight if you march off straight to bed right now.”

  Falcon bit his lip as he considered the proposal. Finally he said, “I’ll go to bed, but I won’t like it!” He stomped up the stairs.

  I found myself laughing, something I had thought I lost the ability to do. “A bright midsummer evening and a king in the hall do not a happy bedtime make.”

  He smiled and sat beside me on the bench. “He is very much your son.”

  “And Merlin’s.” The small moment of joy left my heart.

  “And Merlin’s,” he said, taking my hand. “I must have started to ride here a hundred times after we heard he was killed. I wrote dozens of letters to you I couldn’t finish.”

  I felt his sadness and was stunned to discover it was almost as great as my own. “I admit that until this moment, I had not thought about your loss.”

  His eyes closed, and pain washed across his features. “When I was very young, I used to dream he was my father. Now, I think back and realize no man could have had a sire more caring than he. Merlin helped me grow to be a man and a king. It’s hard not to have him nearby.”

  I could only nod sadly. “You should go up and say goodnight to Falcon.”

  He kissed me quickly on the top of my head and went upstairs. I followed more slowly. There was a humming in my mind, and I could not think or concentrate. I walked slowly to my bedroom. Arthur came out of the boy’s room and joined me. I took his hand and led him into my room.

  When the door closed behind us, Arthur took me in his arms and held me tightly for a long while. In the shelter of his strong arms, I felt cared for in a way I had not for so very long. Slowly, he kissed my hair, my ear, my cheek, my mouth. I yielded to him and felt the same sensation as our first night together.

  “Oh, my Anya,” he whispered. Sweeping me up in his arms, he walked over and laid me down on the bed beside him.

  Impatiently, we undressed each other. He had changed in the years that had past. No longer were his muscles so firm and roped with veins. His body had become a little slack from being kept out of battle and long in chambers plotting with his men. The great sword wound was white and waxy-looking, but his thigh was healthy for all that. Gray hairs dotted his chest.

  Slowly, Arthur used his tongue to trace a line from under my chin down to my right breast. As he took my nipple into his mouth, I was ashamed that he saw my once-smooth breasts baby-chewed and sagging a bit from having been great with milk. My stomach was rounder and streaked with stretch marks, and the Great Tree tattoo was not as well-defined as it once was.

  Perhaps he heard these thoughts, because he said, “Just as beautiful as always. No—more, I think. For is it not lovely that you bear the marks of having born Falcon?”

  My heart seemed to melt.

  Arthur was in no hurry and slowly explored me, rediscovering old conquered territory. I traced the lines of his muscles, the battle scars and beginnings of old-age-droop.

  He was amazing to me, and I could not quite believe he was there.

  It felt like a miracle to be back together. Each touch, each trail of the tongue, was like a homecoming. When finally he entered me, I called out in joy and excitement. Arthur laughed and drove himself deeper. On and on, he plunged into me. His eyes flashed blue fire, and he kissed me, sinking deep within my mouth.

  I felt his lust explode within me, his heart leaping with joy. And I threw myself into the whirlwind of desire, rising up into the clouds of excitement with him.

  Then we were spent in each other’s arms. Still touching, still kissing, still somewhat in wonder.

  As night came, Arthur kissed me one last time and left.

  I watched him from my window as he rode off, his horse and he casting shadows on the road in the light of the full Rose Moon.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  I know I am dreaming, but what kind of dream is it? I hear whispering in the dark. What is it saying? I strain to hear. Only a few words come through: “dishonor,” “wanton woman,” “harlot,�
� “betrayer,” “not even cold in his grave.”

  The next morning, I could hardly get out of bed for the sense of shame and self-disgust that weighed upon my heart.

  This is how I honor the memory of my beloved Merlin? By sleeping with Arthur the first chance I get?

  It was as if I had betrayed Merlin yet again.

  As the day wore on, I could hardly lift my head for the anguish and self-loathing I felt. I stopped pretending to work and just sat on the bed in my workroom, my mind filled with black thoughts.

  I disgusted myself.

  I hated myself for each breath I took. Surely such a miserable creature such as I should simply expire!

  And yet, I continued to live.

  I could not go on.

  I must end this.

  Now.

  I ran out of the house, feeling as if the demons in my mind were pursing me. I tripped and staggered across the field to the Sacred Oak Grove. There, just west of the clearing in the center, I spotted the oldest tree. I climbed up it, trailing my cloak. When I reached a branch a good two rods above the ground, I slid out on it. Rolling the cloak into a rope, I tied one end to the branch. I tugged on it to make sure it would take my weight.

  My hands started to shake. They betrayed me. They wished me to live, when all I wanted was to die.

  Poor Falcon. How will it go for him, an orphan?

  But I cannot live with it.

  I cannot walk with this pain.

  “That will not break your neck, and you will slowly strangle. Not a good death, my dear.”

  I jumped and whirled to stare at the speaker. Further down the branch sat Merlin, as if he had never died.

  Have I gone mad?

  Was I wrong? Did the courier lie? Has Merlin been alive all this time, come back… and somehow flown up into the tree without me seeing?

  Even for a magick user, that did not seem likely

  I stared at him. He was wreathed in a white lifeglow. “Is this really you?” I reached for him.

  He shook his head sadly.

  My hand fell to the branch. What cruel joke is the Goddess playing with me?

  And then I began to cry, as I had not been able to these many moons. My tears felt like hot candle wax down my cheeks. I sobbed for a long time under not-Merlin’s calm gaze. As once I did, long ago, in Camelot’s healer’s workroom.

  I finally stopped weeping. There were more tears, but it hurt too much to bring them up.

  As soon as I quieted, he said, “It is passing strange that you, a priestess, accepted your part in the Goddess’s plans, yet you are always trying to run away from your task.”

  “What?” I asked, feeling stung by his cold words.

  “Think you the Goddess does not know what She does?”

  “I think She does not consider the cost.” What manner of talk is this?

  “Of all those who serve Her, She chose you, Anya of the Rus, to be the mother of what She will create. She gave you the son of her servant, Merlin. She has now given you the son of the king.”

  “No!” I put my hand over my womb.

  A tiny life spark said, Yes.

  “Arthur will be killed soon. He will lose all that he once had, bereft of many of his friends, his wife, his son, his kingdom. He sees his doom.”

  Not-Merlin looked less of the world now. I could see the trees through his cloak. He continued, his voice coming from farther away: “The Goddess sees your pain, and his. Take this time you and Arthur have left together. Give each other comfort and even love. It is there for you, Anya. Do not turn away. The path you are on is so very, very long. Your sons will create something the Goddess has in mind for this land. You must listen to Her. You must walk the course She has created.”

  “I miss you so much,” I whispered.

  Not-Merlin was barely there. There was only a Merlin-shaped outline; lines suggesting his face. But his eyes, his piercing gray eyes, still looked deeply, sorrowfully into mine.

  His voice came as a breath on the wind. “You are greatly loved, Anya. Go now and fulfill your destiny.”

  And then, he was gone.

  I cried out in anguish, “Goddess, what would you have me do?”

  Let go your fears, the Goddess replied. We have much work to do, and I cannot reach you when you let your mind be so full of fear and darkness. Be the priestess you were meant to be.

  “I am not sure I can meet this task.”

  You are what I made you. I would not set you an undertaking you cannot perform. Believe in yourself. I believe in you.

  “What have I ever done that would make a Goddess believe in me?”

  You are you. That is enough.

  I was on the verge of collapse. “You have destroyed me. There is nothing left of me to give.”

  A breeze brushed across my face. It lifted my hair back, just as if someone was taking my head in their hands. Then the zephyr went inside me. It blew on the small sputtering flame that was left of my lifeforce.

  I felt the tiny fire strengthen and burn brighter.

  My veins tingled with the magick.

  I created you to be strong. I made you to withstand whatever came your way. Nothing has changed. Only your perception of it.

  No was not an answer the Goddess would ever accept.

  “I hear you and will do my best to obey.”

  Raise your chin and face what comes. Never forget that I have chosen you, Priestess Anya, for My Great Design. I am always with you, even when it seems I am not. Go home now. Do what needs to be done.

  As I walked back to the house, I allowed myself to think of the one impossible thing that was said:

  I carry Arthur’s son!

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  The thin, new crescent of the Blessing Moon seemed to smile in the evening sky as Arthur returned. He brought a small wooden sword and shield for Falcon. The boy thanked him but put it down immediately when Arthur pulled a cleverly made little flute out of his tunic. Falcon ran off to show his whistle to Fredic and Droja’s children.

  Arthur sat next to me. “Here, my dearest.” He handed me a slender box.

  Inside was a simple necklace of gold with a pendant of amber, in which was trapped a perfect little piece of a baby fern. “I had it made for you back when you still lived at Camelot. You left before I could give it to you.”

  “Where I come from, amber is called the ‘Tears of the Love Goddess.’ It is very beautiful. Thank you.” I felt heat rise up my throat, as if I were as young as Falcon.

  He smiled and put it around my neck, then stroked my unscarred cheek. “Do you regret my coming here?”

  Truly, he should have been an adept. “It went hard for me, at first. But we are alive, and he is not. We cannot hurt him, nor he us.” For a moment, I saw Merlin’s shade on the tree branch. I blinked, and it was gone.

  Arthur kissed my fingers quickly, as Falcon ran back in with the other children. We were treated to quite a performance with their singing and dancing. Falcon played the flute and then the harp, while little Cinnia trilled songs of courtly love. The others danced and capered about.

  Later, after Falcon went to bed, we slipped off to my room and made love.

  Afterwards, holding me tightly, he said, “I didn’t know you were with Merlin when I pressed my affections on you. I never would have done so had I but known.”

  “I said nothing. How were you to know?”

  “I’ve long wondered why you didn’t.”

  I sighed. “I have no answer for you, Arthur. My heart belonged to Merlin, but I had not lain with him yet.”

  “Oh, not yet?” he said, clearly relieved.

  “I did not tell you a falsehood when I said I had taken no man before you.” He kissed my fingers and nodded for me to continue. “I did not think about you and me together until you kissed me. Things just happened from there. I could have stopped it. I should have stopped it. And because I could not reconcile my feelings for you with my love for him, I ran away.”

  “The worst
moment of my life was when Merlin told me you carried his son,” he said.

  “Why? Because you had hurt him, or because you wanted it to be your son?”

  I felt the terrible pang of anguish my words caused him. But instead of a rebuke, he kissed my palm. “You’ve always seen straight through me, haven’t you?” His smile was so sad. “Both, I suppose. I loved that old wizard more than I can say. That I had hurt him was terrible. And yet, I was so sure he was wrong and your child was mine. The first day I came here, I expected to find my face in Falcon’s.”

  “I know. I saw how you examined him. But Falcon is certainly Merlin’s. You noted how he chose the whistle over the sword.”

  “Yes,” he said, moving a tendril of my hair to the side and kissing my temple. “He’s every bit Merlin’s son. Although he has your eyes and hair.”

  “And would you still wish a child with such a person as me?” My heart was beating so hard, it was a wonder he had not noticed.

  He kissed me deeply, slowly. “More than life itself.”

  “Then, Sire, permit me to grant your wish.” I placed his hand on my womb. “For this is your own son, got on your last visit.”

  Arthur sat up, placing his other hand on the side of my face. He stared deep into my eyes, looking for a lie, or some reason I might wish to hurt him.

  I wished with all my heart that I could open my mind to him and let him see all of me. But he was not trained that way. All he could tell was if I spoke truly or not. “Is it true?” he whispered.

  “Is it so hard to believe?”

  And then Arthur kissed me a thousand times a thousand until I succumbed to the giggles and tingled. He kissed his way down to my belly. I showed him where the little spark of life dwelt—right at the base of my Tree tattoo. He stroked and kissed the spot. I felt his tears, but he did not weep openly. After a long while, he made his way back up the bed and held me close. “I know little about these things. Is it safe to make love now that you are with child?”