by Donna Hosie
“The bairn is crowning,” replied Guinevere. “Sir Gareth, hold the lady’s hands and let her channel her pain into you.”
Gareth looked whiter than flour, but he did what he was told. At least his end wasn’t covered in blood and mucus and...
“Lady Natasha, come down here quickly. The cord is around the neck. I need you to free it while I turn the shoulders,” said Guinevere urgently.
“GET IT OUT OF ME.”
My head was spinning. I was going to faint or puke, but I could see the thick, pulsing umbilical cord, wrapped like a rope around a little purple neck. I slid my fingers under it and loosened the knot. It was slippery and warm and beyond disgusting, but I continued to gently tug it away until the loop was big enough to be slipped over the waxy head.
“The shoulders are coming, the worst is over,” said Guinevere encouragingly. “One more push now, all the way to the bottom.”
There was a squelch and a little cry as the rest of the baby shot out of Slurpy. Guinevere scooped up the baby into the fabric of her dress and asked for a knife.
“Would you like to cut the bond?” she asked.
No, I did not. I was shaking uncontrollably. Guinevere took my horrified silence for acquiescence, and guided my hands as the knife sliced through the umbilical cord.
“Your baby, m’lady,” said Guinevere, handing the naked little thing to Slurpy. “You have a beautiful girl.”
“A girl?” Slurpy’s harsh Welsh accent was softer than I had ever heard it. “He said it was going to be a boy.”
“What do men know about these things,” replied Guinevere. “Sir Gareth, the lady requires a tonic while we finish up here.”
Gareth couldn’t get up quick enough.
“I’ll go with him.”
“No, Lady Natasha, I need you here. Now, gently push down on her belly and rub it while I pull on the rest of the cord,” said Guinevere. “There may be a little more pain.”
Moments later, a large slab of purple meat slipped out of Slurpy and fell into Guinevere’s hands.
“Gross...gross...way too gross...”
“We will cook this with some thyme and rosemary,” said Guinevere. “It is plentiful nourishment for the mother.”
Slurpy clearly hadn’t heard she was going to be served up placenta for her dinner. She was too besotted with the baby girl now nestling in her arms. I inched forward for a look. The baby was going to inherit height from its mother and father, because it was the longest baby I had ever seen in my life. It must have been scrunched up inside Slurpy because it was wrinkled like a peach stone. It also had the bluest eyes, framed by delicate blonde lashes.
“I’ll go find my brother. He’s probably finished kicking Mordred’s ass by now.”
The world was running at half-pace. I looked over to the battle and saw Bedivere and his half-brother Lucan, side by side, arms swinging in slow motion. They looked like ballet dancers, so graceful and muscular.
Tristram and David were back on horses, leading a slow charge towards a group of kilt-wearing men with big bushy beards and long straggly hair. I could see Talan running after two Gorians, who were slowly lobbing small balls of blue fire at him. Even the sound of the battle was playing at half-speed. Everything was distorted.
Then I saw Arthur walking towards us. He didn’t even register everything else that was going on around him. Blood was dripping down his face, inching towards his neck.
“Is Sammy alright?” His voice was stretched and slow.
I nodded. “I think so.”
“What did she have?”
“A baby.”
That wasn’t what he meant, you idiot.
But my brain wasn’t working properly. Was this another vision from Nimue? Had I really just helped my brother’s girlfriend give birth? What was going to happen now? Arthur would want to stay with Slurpy, but what if she wanted to return home? She was going to end up taking my brother away one way or another.
Don’t forget Nimue. Never forget Nimue.
“Titch. TITCH.”
Arthur was yelling at me. His voice was back to normal, as was the world around us. Men were still fighting; the fallen were still crying; the dead were silent.
“What?”
“Sammy – the baby. Where is she?”
I pointed to the haystack. Merlin’s long black robes were flapping around the edge. I could see Slurpy’s laced boots sticking out. Arthur started running towards them.
“Lady Natasha, what news of the king’s heir?” shouted Lucan.
“It’s a girl,” I yelled back.
Lucan punched the man he was fighting in the face, sending him sprawling backwards. He grabbed Bedivere.
“Camelot has a princess. The line of Logres is secured.”
Word started to spread among the knights that Arthur was a father, but as it did, the world started to speed up and spin, mixing colours and noises into one circular blur. The ground was like water, and my legs like jelly. Nothing was solid anymore. Faster and faster, the world continued to spin, until my body gave up trying to hold on and I fell to the ground with a thump.
Starlight in the darkness.
“She’s coming around.”
I followed the light: a sparkling earring, reflecting back the candles that lined the tent.
“What happened?”
“You swooned, Lady Natasha,” replied Guinevere. She was sat near my head, and was dabbing a cold wet cloth against my forehead.
“I’ve never swooned in my life.”
“Are you in any discomfort, my love?” asked Bedivere. He was sat at my side, holding my hand beneath his bloodied and bruised fingers.
“I feel a bit sick, but apart from that...” I trailed off, thinking back to the battle.
“Our losses were slight,” said Bedivere, sensing my worry. “Our brethren remain as one.”
“What happened to Mordred? Please tell me Arthur didn’t kill him.”
“Sir Mordred is the king’s prisoner. My brother leads the guard that will accompany him back to Camelot, where he will be tried for his treachery.”
“And the Gorians?”
“Dead or scattered.”
As Bedivere stroked my hair, I tried to ignore the burning that was once more throbbing through the cut on my arm, where Mordred had seared in the blood oath. It was just hurting because it hadn’t been treated properly, I thought. Some painkillers and several stitches and it would heal like the wound to my stomach. It wasn’t anything to worry about, not really.
Was it?
“Well, I will leave you two alone,” said Guinevere, standing up. She gave me a dirty grin and jerked her head towards Bedivere. “I need to attend to Lady Samantha and the bairn. I wonder if she has stopped crying yet.”
“I doubt it. All babies do is cry,” I said.
“I wasn’t talking about the baby; such a sweet little creature. Hard to believe she came out of someone so...”
“Please advise the king that his lady sister is awake,” interrupted Bedivere. His green eyes had tiny dancing flames in them. They looked so pretty.
“Would you like me to tell the king anything else?” asked Guinevere, and her face suddenly looked mischievous. What was she up to?
“Not yet, fair Guinevere.” Bedivere was blushing.
“What’s going on?”
Guinevere cackled out a really dirty laugh, which reminded me of her brother. “Can I stay and watch?”
“Your leave, Guinevere.” Bedivere was turning redder than a tomato.
“What are you two up to?”
“Don’t take too long, Sir Bedivere,” said Guinevere. Her long blonde hair was swishing in time with her hips as she danced out of the tent. “A double celebration is called for after such harsh times.”
Bedivere buried his face into his hands. I had the sudden urge to start running.
“What is she talking about, Bedivere?”
“I...I...there was...perchance would you...”
Bedivere
was shaking.
“What I meant was...could you...would you...”
Bedivere stood up and then sat down again.
“Lady Natasha...”
I started giggling.
“You haven’t called me that for a long time.”
“Why is this more painful than I ever imagined?”
“Why is what more painful?”
“I have thought of nothing else since the moment we saw the unicorn. It is what has stopped me from dying of heartache in the moments we have been apart, and every day since, when I watch you sleep or hear you laugh. When I witness your bravery, and feel the love you have for others. I need you, Natasha. I would have lived through the darkness while I had you by my side, as equals in the court of Camelot, and equals in life.”
Bedivere went down on both knees and the world started spinning again.
“Wed me, Natasha.”
Chapter Thirty-One
Guinevere
“You are hopeless.”
“It wasn’t my fault. I’ve had to deal with quite a lot since we came back, including seeing bits of your girlfriend that will give me nightmares for the rest of my life.”
“But you threw up over his feet, Titch.”
“No I did not. I threw up next to his feet. No sick actually went on him.”
“You’re still hopeless.”
“Is he very upset with me?”
Arthur shook his head; he was smirking. We were alone in his tent. Slurpy was sleeping, and the baby had been taken away by some of the women of the court. Guinevere had mentioned a wet nurse, which I assumed meant the baby was getting a bath, or something. Bedivere was with the other knights preparing the feast and celebrations for Arthur’s victory, and, of course, the arrival of the heir. Merlin was sulking because the heir had turned out to be a girl and not a boy, and I was trying to climb down from the high of embarrassment after Bedivere’s proposal.
I hadn’t said no, but I hadn’t said yes, either.
You were sick over him.
I puked next to him. Big difference. One is way less gross than the other.
I bet Lady Fleur never puked over him.
“Go away,” I hissed quietly.
“Hey, this is my tent,” replied Arthur.
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
Arthur gave me a pitying look. He knew about my inner voice. He didn’t like it, but he kind of understood. At least he never called me names, and he always stuck up for me when he heard others call me a freak.
But in many ways now, I was.
“So, are you going to say yes?”
“I don’t know. I love him and I want to stay with him, but marriage is a bit full on.”
“Sammy wants to get married,” said Arthur. “What with the baby and all. She thinks her parents are less likely to go mad if she has a ring on her finger.”
“Then give her a ring. You’re a king. They must have plenty around here you could have. You don’t have to marry her.”
“I feel crappy not doing the right thing, though.”
“And what the hell is the right thing? Look at our mum and dad – they’re hardly the best advert for a happy marriage, are they? If getting married means I turn into that, then I’m saying no to Bedivere right now.”
“What are we going to do, Titch? Long term, I mean. I love Logres, and I have this deep sense that I belong here, but Sammy wants to go home. What if we can’t find our way back again? And where are you going to live? Bedivere can’t exist in our time. He wouldn’t last a week.”
A single thread was dangling from the sleeve of my red tunic. I started to pull on it, unravelling my life in my head as quickly as the cloth. Arthur was right. We had a huge decision to make. I could definitely live here in this time, with Bedivere and his mates and Guinevere who was now my friend, but what was Arthur going to do? Getting his girlfriend away from this time was definitely the right thing to do, especially if her magical powers returned, but would Nimue let him go that easily? She would follow him into our world, and that would put everyone there in danger too. I didn’t want to go back to mum and dad, but I didn’t want anything bad to happen to them either.
I continued to pull on the tunic, but it was changing colour. It became blue. Not a deep blue like the Mediterranean Sea. It was pale, like shimmering ice. And it was cold against my skin, so very cold.
I had seen this before.
Once more I was lying down in a cave of ice, which cracked and shuddered with every movement I made. I knew I had to stay still, that fire and water were coming for me once more.
“Stay very still, Natasha,” called a voice. It was Merlin. He was standing in the same place as before, the last time I had seen this vision: high above me on the lip of a craggy rock. His staff was raised above his head, but this time it was spitting fire.
I felt the wetness beneath my cheek.
“Turn off the fire. You’re melting the ice. I’m going to fall through.”
Then Nimue’s sharp laugh pierced through the cave. Ice stalactites started to drop from the roof, shattering all around me. I knew that the ice was going to give way, and so I started to inch across the ground, spreading my body like a four-point star to distribute the weight, but my dress was catching on stalagmites.
I suddenly realised where I had remembered the clothes I had worn during the battle: from the first vision in this ice cave. I had been wearing brown pants and a crimson tunic. Now I was wearing a long white dress.
A wedding dress.
I could hear the thunderous rush of water. It swept me up as Nimue continued to laugh, but it wasn’t that sound that chilled my blood, it was the voice of an old man begging for mercy.
The torrent spat me out into the daylight. Falling with the rocks, I landed feet first into a swollen pool. The cliffs around me were tumbling down, sending boulders the size of cars crashing into the rushing water.
Then everything became calm. I was lying on a riverbank. My wedding dress, now caked in blood and mud, was caught among the bent and broken reeds.
“I will take them all.”
There was a blue haze in the distance. The voice kept repeating the same sentence over and over again.
“I will take them all.”
White swollen bodies were floating in the water. Some were wearing armour; others had their clothes ripped from their bodies. I tried to move from the reeds, but I was trapped.
“Help them,” I cried. “Somebody help them.”
Two more bodies floated past. Unlike the others, they were face up. A man and a woman, bloated and pale.
My mother and father.
“ARTHUR!”
“Titch, I’m here, I’m here.”
I was back in Arthur’s tent. We weren’t alone anymore. Guinevere had joined us.
“Why…does…this…” but I couldn’t continue.
“Merlin believes he can stop the visions,” said Guinevere softly. “I think we should let him try.”
“But he’s in most of them,” I sobbed, “and I saw mum and dad, too. They were dead, Arthur. Everyone was dead.”
Guinevere placed her hand on Arthur’s arm.
“The Lady of the Lake will never let go, Arthur. Not now. You have to stop this.”
“I don’t know how, Guinevere.”
“You are surrounded by knights who will die for you. You have a cunning sorcerer at your side who desires revenge, and you have the wit of Lady Natasha who can see what is to come before it passes. Use them.”
“But using your brother got him killed.”
“My brother knew what his role was. And now he will be buried with honour. Sir Tristram and Sir David have already ridden to reclaim Byron. We will honour him and the other fallen. We will rejoice at the birth of new life, and we will declare Camelot’s intent to rid this land of the malevolence of Nimue, once and for all.”
“You’re pretty awesome, Guinevere,” said Arthur, smiling.
“I do not understand, sire.”
>
“It means he thinks you’re wonderful,” I said. “And he’s right. You’re so strong.”
“It is easy to be strong when you are surrounded by strength,” replied Guinevere. “My brother and I fought like wildcats, and yet we were always there for one another. I see that mirrored in you both. Lady Natasha has ridden into the depths of hell for you, sire. The Lady of the Lake tortures Lady Natasha with visions, and yet her concern remains for those she loves. These are the qualities that men – and women – will follow, even if it means going to their deaths for the greater good.”
The flap to the tent was pulled back, and Tristram walked in. His curly hair was soaked in sweat, and his face was puffy and red.
“We have failed in our quest, fair Guinevere,” said Tristram, and he fell onto his bended knee. “Sir David and I rode to the burial place of Byron, but he was not there.”
“Then you must have tarried in the wrong part of the wood,” she replied with a gasp.
“We did not,” exclaimed David, and he threw a filthy look at Tristram as he stormed into the tent. “We came across the burial site. I had marked it with a cross. I swear by my knightly honour that it was one and the same.”
“Then where is my brother?” cried Guinevere. “If the Gorians have despoiled his body then…”
“I do not believe that is what has occurred,” said David hurriedly. Tristram made to quieten him, but the youngest knight stepped around him.
“What is it, David?” asked Arthur.
“There were footprints – faint – but footprints nonetheless, leading away from the burial site. And the stones had been moved with care,” said David. “I followed the prints, but they ceased to exist, some twenty paces away from the disturbed earth. It was as if something had plucked the person from the ground and borne him away.”
“Someone just took Byron’s body into the sky?”
“I do not believe that is what happened, Lady Natasha,” replied David. “There was only one set of prints, and they were small, like a child’s.”
“My brother’s?” cried Guinevere.
“Sir Tristram does not concur, but I believe that is so,” replied David. “Yet I do not understand how it could be. Byron passed over in my arms. He had no life left in him. Sir Tristram and Lady Natasha will concur Byron had passed over. I swear my senses were not veiled, and we buried him under heavy stones so wild animals could not claim him.”