Every time I walked through the castle, every corner I turned, I expected Lancelot with a mix of fear and anticipation. I did and I did not want to turn and see him there. When I closed my eyes, I saw his face, orange with the firelight, or I heard his voice, soft and close by, as though it was a whisper in my ear, or I felt his lips brush against mine. I did not stop thinking about him. I hoped, when the tourney happened, it would make sense, it would feel resolved, I would feel that I had thanked him enough and I would stop thinking about it.
It felt as though it was an age before the day of Arthur’s tourney came, but it had only been a week since I had given Lancelot my golden sleeve. I woke in the morning early and waited restlessly, looking out of the window down at my little walled garden silver with frost, until Marie and Christine came in to help me get ready. They were chattering together in Breton, even the older woman giddy with excitement for the festivities of the day. Margery came in after them, carrying a lacquered box that she laid, with some ceremony, on the table beside the fire. She looked annoyed that her ceremony was largely ignored, and that Marie and Christine were still chattering in a language that she barely understood, and she bustled out, to check on the rest of my newly expanded band of women.
Marie and Christine had brought up for the occasion a dress made of heavy silk brocade in a dark emerald green, embroidered in gold thread with crosses. The symbol of Arthur’s god. Still, it was a beautiful dress, and I supposed he had a right to think that I had taken his god into my heart when I sat beside him and spoke the same prayers. It took both Marie and Christine to get the heavy dress over my head, but I was glad of its weight because it would be cold sitting to watch the jousts. The dress had a deep, square neck, and I was pleased to see in the pile of clothing, some white fur, flecked with black. The dress fitted close on the bodice, and on the arms down to the wrists where the sleeves finished with gold hemming. Rich, expensive. It suited me well. There were jewels, too. A gold chain that hung off it, dozens of emeralds shaped like raindrops, and a gold-and-emerald net to hold up my braided hair; the jewels I had worn to be married. No, I had not sold those. My circlet was missing, and when I asked for it, Marie gestured to Margery’s box. When I opened it, inside was a circlet of thick gold that looked like two muscular snakes wound together, meeting at the front, their heads nestled side by side, with big, emerald eyes. I lifted it out, lightly and warily, though it looked sturdy and strong. Christine called for Margery, clearly wanting to know about the curious circlet as badly as I did. Margery came up, but not alone. She came with Morgan who took the circlet from me in a businesslike way and settled it on my head. It was a perfect fit. She looked at me, with discerning eyes, grey as Arthur’s own, narrowed in consideration. I did not know why I had taken a dislike to her before. She did not have a pretty face, true, nor open, but it was shrewd and intelligent. She was dressed in mourning black in a dress of thick silk, overlaid with a layer of black lace that covered her to the neck. Through the lace I could see that the skin of her chest, too, was painted with woad. Nestled among the lace, black gemstones gleamed when they caught the light.
“Morgan said she had to see it,” Margery explained apologetically.
“That crown,” Morgan said softly, fixing me with a serious look, “was taken by Arthur from the treasures of Rome. It belonged to the Queen Cleopatra, who was the lover of two Emperors, or... one and a half. She was a fearsome queen, who rode with her people into war. He must have thought it an appropriate gift for you, my lady.”
I reached up and touched the cool metal resting on my head. So there were others like Maev, all round the world.
I thanked Morgan and she slipped from the room, silently, as though she had melted.
“You look magnificent, my lady,” Christine told me, holding up the hammered silver mirror. I squinted at myself. I could see gold, and the deep fiery red of my hair, the ivory pale skin of my face. I could not see magnificence, but I could see I looked well enough for the tourney.
Chapter Fifteen
By the time I arrived and took my place beside Arthur, it was about to begin. He smiled when he saw me, and as I sat beside him leaned over to me to say, “You look every bit the empress, my lady,” and kissed my hand.
“Your sister Morgan told me about the crown.”
He nodded, but he was already looking away, at the lines of knights at each end of the jousting field. I had seen jousts before, as a girl, when French knights from the south had come to my father’s court. I remembered thinking it ridiculous and savage. I did not think I would like this anymore. War was bad enough, without fighting also for fun.
Breath rose in hot clouds from the knights and their horses alike as they waited for their king to begin the proceedings. Arthur and I sat on a raised wooden platform, above the rows of wooden benches that the other noble folk sat on. Across the other side of the field, I could see crowds of the peasant folk standing to watch. I hoped that for them, too, Arthur’s return had meant the return of food to the table.
The first pair ran together, and they met right in front of us, lance splintering on shield. Perhaps I would have been able to enjoy it, if I had been sat a little further from the action, but I could see the whites of the horses’ eyes, wide open in panic, and hear the grunts of pain from the men knocked from their horses. Arthur was enjoying himself heartily, clapping and cheering each round. As I looked at him, he seemed to me once again every bit the eager young boy, hungry for the fight, not the solemn lord of Europe. I knew, too, that he wished to be out there among them.
Perhaps I also did not enjoy it because I could not rest until my champion came into the field. I could feel my heart the whole time skipping nervously within me. When would it be him? I even saw Gareth ride, and be knocked off his horse by his brother Gaheris, barely taking it in, when I knew that a month ago I would have been filled with anxiety for his safety. He took it well, anyway, jumping back up to his feet with a smile, and bowing to Arthur and me.
Then, at the far end of the field, against the grey winter sky I saw the flash of gold. My breath caught within my chest. He was riding against Gawain, first, and knocked him easily from his horse. I felt intensely relieved, more than I should have done. Behind me, I could hear Marie and Christine whispering in Breton about him, though not well enough to make out exactly what they were saying.
He knocked down another, then another. The third man to meet him was Kay. I could tell by the black covering of his horse and the easy, haughty way he sat in his saddle. This was the last round of jousts, and the winner of this would be the winner of the day. Arthur’s excitement was palpable as he sat watching beside me. All I felt was dread. When they came together I felt a shock go through me. I saw both men slide from their saddles and thud to the ground. I did not realise that I had cried out and jumped to my feet until I realised that people around were looking at me. Arthur laughed and took my hand.
“It’s alright, my love,” he soothed. “They’re not hurt.”
But I did not sit down.
Off their horses and both their lances broken, I could not tell which man was which. They were fighting now with swords, blunted for the match, but steel nonetheless, and sparks flew from the platemail as they struck at once another. One man was a lot faster than the other, and was backing him into a corner. The slower man stumbled back over his own fallen lance and his helm fell off his head and rolled away. I could not see from where I was standing who it was, but the other knight pulled off his own helm and threw it aside. It was Lancelot. I still did not sit down, could not relax, but everyone else was on their feet now, straining to look. Lancelot offered Kay his hand and pulled him back to his feet, and they squared up to begin again. Arthur cheered and clapped as they came together, their swords screeching on one another, but it was clearly not an even match and before long, Kay yielded, throwing his sword to the ground and his hands in the air, as Lancelot had him pinned in a corner. The crowd cheered, and the two men on the field grasped each othe
r in a brotherly embrace and kissed each other heartily on both cheeks. Kay’s face radiated delight at a good fight, even though he had lost. Lancelot came towards us, towards me, and bowed before me from below.
“My lady Guinevere,” he said as he bowed. His deep voice reached me through the crowd and I closed my eyes for a long second and let it wash over me. I felt light-headed, far from my own body, from Arthur beside me, from everything apart from Lancelot. But I did not feel better. I did not feel resolved. Seeing him fight for me had not undone the nervous knot I felt at the centre of my stomach, nor stilled my fluttering heart. I was not content that I saw before me nothing more than a man who had saved my life and would serve me as my champion. The knot was tighter, and I knew now that it would not be undone.
Chapter Sixteen
Before the feast Arthur had set for the evening, I made an excuse to go back to my chambers. I pulled the heavy crown of snakes from my head, and set it down on the table, threw off my furs, poured water into my basin and splashed my face with it. Despite the cold my whole body felt hot, and once I was alone and not striving to control myself, my breaths came fast and ragged. I braced myself against the table, closing my eyes and leaning hard against it, trying to slow down my racing heart, to get myself under control.
After a minute, I felt better. I straightened up, pushed my damp hair back from my face and breathed in, deep and slow. I was not in control of how I felt, but I was in control of what I did. I did not know what I wanted to do yet, but no one would make me do anything against my wishes, I was sure of that. I could handle this. I felt more and more sure of it as I said it to myself. Certainly, I would not embarrass myself, throwing myself at a man who did not want me. All I could do was wait, and I was good at waiting. With each breath I felt a little more steady. Just a little.
As I was about to leave my chamber to join the feast, Morgan slithered through the door, and shut it behind herself, backing up onto it, so that I could not get past her to get out.
“Morgan,” I greeted her, mildly surprised, but not greatly. I wondered what she wanted. I wondered, also, what hopes had brought this new widow back to court. She was young, after all, or young enough to bear children, and her old husband had given her a son, so the new husband would know he was getting a fertile woman. “Are you coming down to eat?”
“You’re not wearing the crown.”
“It’s heavy.”
“You should.” No ‘my lady’ when we were alone. I was unsure again whether I trusted her, or liked her. Her keen clever eyes were also beady with a hint of meanness, though I supposed her life must have been cruel. People did not speak often of her father Uther’s kindness, and she had been a child of his new wife, not his own. Sent to a nunnery, some said. Sent to Avalon, said others. To look at her druid’s woad, I don’t know how anyone would have guessed the former.
“I took a lover,” she said, suddenly, as though in answer to a question I had not asked. “Many men do it, some women. We should do as they do, our husbands. That is, just as we please.”
“I do just as I please,” I answered coldly. Morgan would not think I was weak or compliant.
“As does Arthur,” she replied with a grin, and slithered away, just as she had come. When I wrenched the door open to look for her in the corridor, ready to grab her by the hair, or strike her, she was gone.
I felt calmer, having resolved to continue as if nothing were different, and I put Morgan’s words from my mind as best as I could. It was nothing I had not already thought myself. When I entered the hall, it was already full. I saw the space for me. Of course, I should have known that it would be between Arthur and the man who had fought as my champion. But I had resolved to be calm. I was in control. My resolve wavered as I sat in my place and noticed Lancelot deliberately avoiding my eye. Morgan, I noticed, was already seated directly opposite us on the high table. I reached for my cup of wine, and drank deeply.
Arthur leaned towards me, draping an arm across the back of my chair. Already, I could see, he was becoming bleary with wine. They had been celebrating, clearly, before I had arrived.
“You took off your crown.”
“It was heavy.”
“Well, you don’t need it,” he smiled, and kissed me lightly.
They began to bring the food, but my stomach was already tightening; I already was losing my appetite. I could feel the presence of Lancelot beside me, saying nothing, showing nothing. I couldn’t tell if he wanted me or hated me.
Arthur chattered happily away, with the other knights about the war, and with me. I smiled and nodded and tried to join in, but my heart wasn’t in it. I looked deep into my cup of wine, and saw my eyes reflected back, my face wavering as the wine rippled. Someone filled my glass, and I drank again and again. They were all drinking heavily, too. Gawain was the most drunk, shouting and singing, trying to grab at the serving girls as they went by. It made me angry to see it, but I said nothing. Not Morgan. She wasn’t drinking. Even Nimue was, her pale face flushing beneath her white blonde hair. The two of them were always talking, accomplices from the Otherworld. As Kay saw me looking he raised his glass, and winked at me, then drank. So did I. My head was filled already with a pleasant, fuzzy warmth, the knot in my stomach untying. I still had not spoken to Lancelot beside me, but he seemed content enough listening to another of Gawain’s drawn-out stories of Arthur at war. I could not tell if Lancelot was drinking like the rest of us. I began to feel hungry. The partridge – or maybe it was some other game bird, I didn’t know – on the plate before me was sweet, and succulent, glazed with honey and orange or something like that. There were vegetables, roasted with honey and herbs and in the centre of the table, I suddenly noticed, a basket of peaches.
I turned to Lancelot beside me, suddenly feeling brave. As I turned my leg bumped against his under the table. This time I did not feel nervous, I did not feel afraid. I did not blush. I let it rest there, and he did not move. My skin felt as though it was glowing in response to the touch.
“You fought well today,” I told him.
He smiled. I did not think I had seen him smile, not at me, before. It was slight and gentle, but it lit up his face. He looked down quickly. He seemed shy. How could a man who fought as he did be shy?
“Thank you, my lady.”
I wanted to lean in to that voice, but I could not. I could feel Morgan’s dark eyes on the back of my head. He was speaking again, but suddenly I felt dizzy, and sick. Had I eaten too much? Drunk too much? I felt hot, all of a sudden, too hot. The room was spinning around me. I hadn’t drunk that much wine. I gazed across at Morgan who, over her cup of water, eyed me with a wicked smile playing across her face. Arthur was laughing hard at something Kay had said, to which Gawain looked angry and Gareth upset. I didn’t want to know. They were truly a pack of boys.
I pushed myself up from my seat to leave, bracing myself against the table, though Lancelot was still talking softly. I felt as though I was going to be sick. Arthur turned to me and took my hand.
“My love, where are you going?”
“I don’t feel well.”
Arthur groaned in disappointment. “We’re only beginning. Stay, come on.” He pulled me into his lap. “I’m not finished with you for the night.”
Some of the men around us laughed and I flushed red, but it was with anger. It suddenly struck me that he was very rude in the way he treated me. When he had returned from Rome and grabbed me in the courtyard, in front of everyone, and on our wedding night when he had offered me the choice of consenting freely or being taken against my will, and Someone take her back to Britain and now. I pushed him away and stepped back from him. It was all I could do to hold myself back from slapping him across his face. The room still spun and jolted around me, sickeningly.
“If you are looking for a woman who will go to your bed whenever you desire it, my lord, I suggest you send for a whore,” I spat, turning and striding from the room. Behind me as I left, I heard Gawain say,
&nb
sp; “I would strike any woman who spoke to me like that, no matter if she was my queen or not.”
I heard Arthur call my name in appeal, but I knew I had to leave. As soon as I left that hot, smoky, room, and stumbled out into the cool night air I felt better. I slumped back against the door-frame of the great hall, feeling the night air’s cold touch against my face. My head was still spinning, and when I tried to open my eyes and look up, the stars in the clear winter sky span and blurred together. I could feel my back sliding slowly down the wall, and I turned to try and brace myself against the wall with my arms. If I could push myself up, then I could walk back to my chamber and sleep whatever it was off. Maybe it was Morgan, maybe I was ill, maybe I hadn’t eaten enough and had been drinking wine on a nervous, empty stomach. Whatever it was, a sleep would make me well again, I felt sure. But my body felt heavy, my head especially, and I could not find the strength in me to push myself up.
Then, I felt arms around me, lifting me gently to my feet, guiding my arm across strong, broad shoulders and sliding an arm around my waist. I looked up, to see who it was. For a moment my vision was so blurred, all I saw was dark hair and I thought it was Kay, but as I blinked I saw coming into focus the high cheekbones, the deep blue eyes of Lancelot and my breath stopped in my throat. He looked alert, and concerned. Whatever Morgan had put in that cup, he had not drunk it.
THE WARRIOR QUEEN (The Guinevere Trilogy Book 1) Page 12