Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  Smoke rose rapidly, obscuring any view of the pandemonium we might have glimpsed. For once I was thankful for the loss of sight, both physical and mystical, for I had no desire to know the suffering that must have been taking place below. All I could do was pray that Arthur and our men were safe and that our destruction of this magnificent wood would not be in vain.

  The people housed within Traprain Law had been instructed to stay within the well-guarded walls of the castle, but they quickly clogged the ramparts, climbing on anything they could find to get a better view of the spectacle. Their shouts and exclamations only added to the madness.

  Confusion reigned until the air cooled as dawn approached. I watched the eastern sky for some sign of light and soon realized that though the night was done, no brightness was forthcoming. It was as though the ash had choked out the sun. Then the first cool drops stung my skin, rapidly increasing until they created tiny rivulets in the ashy grime that coated me from head to toe. The sun was not gone, merely masked by clouds. At long last, it was raining.

  Ana and I hugged as the drops became a downpour. The Goddess, and perhaps the priestesses in Avalon, had heard our prayers and deigned to help us dampen the fire. As the clouds continued to pour forth their libation, we all waited to learn the final outcome of the battle—anxiously at first, then with increasing dread as time dragged by. I clung to the damp window, praying with all my heart I would not return to Camelot a widow or spend my remaining days grieving for the Combrogi, certain in the knowledge I had orchestrated their deaths.

  By the time the smoke cleared and sky lightened, most of the fire had been dowsed. The remaining trees, bereft of their leaves, stood in somber silence like tombstones, marking the loss of life for both their kind and ours. The quiet stretched on, interrupted at odd moments by a crack as a charred branch gave way and tumbled to the blackened brush below, a sharp cry as a crow spotted carrion or a confused songbird sought an incinerated nest.

  Slowly the wood stirred as men emerged, some seemingly unharmed, others limping, blackened with soot or stained by dark splotches of blood. They appeared one at time or in pairs, but occasionally a group would stumble into the clearing, carrying a fallen brother or dragging an inert prisoner. At first they were all strangers to me, probably Lot’s men, but then came faces and bodies I recognized. I was somewhat shocked and slightly mortified by the gratitude I felt that I didn’t personally know any of the dead.

  One by one, the Combrogi returned, shaken but relatively unscathed. Peredur was limping, Malegant and Gawain were clutching bleeding wounds, and Tristan held a broken arm, but none appeared to be in danger of death. The worst of the fighting had to be over because more and more men followed, their spirits buoyed by the sight of safety and shelter. They called out to loved ones on the ramparts and swooped them up in joyous embraces at the gates. A few held aloft the remains of their enemies, cursing and taunting the spirits of the dead.

  The knot in my stomach tightened as I scanned the outline of the once-great forest for any sign of Arthur. Every few moments, my gaze swept the mounting crowd below, hoping I had missed him. Where is he? Has he been injured? Or even. . . I couldn’t dare think the word.

  My heart sank as I watched Kay and Bedivere guide an injured Lot through the gates. I rushed down to meet them, Ana close at my heels. She was making an odd choking sound by the time we reached them.

  Lot held up a hand to calm her. “It is all right. I will be fine. It is only a broken leg.”

  “Had a tussle with one of the bogs,” Kay explained in my ear, “fell right in.”

  So much for knowing everything about them. “And Arthur? Where is he?” I couldn’t keep the edge of hysteria out of my voice.

  Kay and Bedivere exchanged a glance I couldn’t read.

  “He’ll be along,” Kay said.

  Ana left me so she could attend Lot, and the two soldiers headed for the barracks for some much-needed rest. I found myself standing alone in the midst of the crowd, uncertain what to do or even what to think. I hugged myself protectively and watched, unseeing, as the jubilant armies of Camelot and Lothian rejoiced at the Damnonii defeat. As more time passed, I fought the urge to sink to my knees in the mud and give in to the terror that threatened to engulf me.

  “The living grieve only for the dead, and I do not think many tears will be shed for him.”

  My head snapped up when I heard the familiar gravelly voice that held just a hint of irony. Astonished, I peered into Arthur’s twinkling eyes, dumbly processing in some part of my mind that he was here, safe and alive. As this awareness dawned, I realized that Caw’s severed head was dangling from Arthur’s raised hand, twisting to and fro like a child’s toy.

  Shoving away Arthur’s burned knuckles and, with them, his trophy, I pulled him to me, caressing his sodden, blistered skin. As the reality of Arthur’s safety and our victory dawned, I felt another very intimate shock. I gasped as the babe in my womb moved, landing a sharp kick beneath my ribs followed quickly by a second further down in my abdomen.

  Arthur bent over me in alarm. “What is it? Are you unwell?”

  In his expression, I read the manifestation of all the anxiety he had put aside to allow me to accompany him here.

  I shook my head, laughing. “Hardly.” I placed his broad palm along the curve of my belly and waited. It wasn’t long before he flinched in surprise as the child moved again, a second flutter following shortly after. “Arthur, I believe we have sired warrior children.”

  “Children?”

  “Yes, I feel two distinct presences. I believe I am carrying twins.”

  Chapter Six

  Autumn 497

  A fiery shower of reddish-orange leaves fluttered from the oak trees surrounding us as I looked out over the assembled men, many of them my friends, all of them my sworn subjects. From their number I had finally chosen my champion, and they were here, in a sacred grove protected by the Druids, to hear his name declared in one of our few rituals that mingled the secular with the sacred.

  It had been my right, or more accurately, my responsibility, to choose a champion from the moment I was crowned queen. Arthur could not serve as both king and champion because doing so would have divided his loyalties between his wife and his realm, so I needed to choose a protector. But a champion was more than a bodyguard; he was in essence an extension of my will, vowed to follow me in all things. I had to trust him with my very life for he was sworn to protect me above all else, even the king. Together with Kay, Arthur’s champion, this man would protect my children as they were fruits of my body. I could have chosen randomly from the strangers I’d met at my coronation, as some queens had done before me, like a child drawing lots for a game. But I didn’t want to make such an important decision before I’d had the chance to get to know the temperaments and proclivities of those from whom I chose.

  Some of them had openly courted me for the position, which had the opposite of the intended effect. I could not entrust my life to a man who desired the position for its status; I had to trust him implicitly, which I could not do with knowledge of his ulterior motives. Even those who’d employed more subtle tactics—I firmly believed that was the reason behind Malegant’s early efforts to accompany me in public—had hurt their chances. With each meeting of the Combrogi, and even some chance personal encounters, the pool of possible contenders had dwindled.

  I’d made my decision that summer. I couldn’t say that a single event had cemented my choice, nor could I tell exactly when it had been made, but one day I looked at him and I knew. Perhaps it was the sum of a string of small moments, a kind word here, a gesture there, but as I thought back over our time together, the answer was clear. He was a dangerous choice, and one that likely would prove unpopular, but my mind was made up.

  One thing still haunted me as I began to chant, letting go of myself and calling the Goddess into me—Merlin’s reaction when I had disclo
sed my choice the day before. He had turned his sapphire gaze on me, and I suddenly felt chilled. His pupils contracted as his gaze retreated inward, and a brief shadow clouded his face. It was a look I knew well—it signaled a flash of the sight.

  Merlin’s eyes had focused on me as he came back to himself, but they lost none of their iciness. “Tell me, how can you be sure you’ve made the right decision?”

  “Are you saying it is not?” I countered with equal steeliness. As much as I cared for and respected him, I could not abide his meddling in my personal affairs. It was my right to choose whom I willed. He was Arthur’s advisor, not mine, and I preferred him to stay out of my business.

  He stood directly in front of me, towering over me. “I am saying all actions have consequences, and I have seen the result of the one you are contemplating. You tread a slippery hillside, Guinevere. If you do not guard yourself well, you may go tumbling down and drag us all into the mire with you.”

  I pulled myself to my feet, no easy task with my protruding belly, and faced him down. Most people wouldn’t have dared challenge the Archdruid, but sometime in the last year, I’d lost the awe that had held me in fear of him. Maybe it was the familiarity of spending so much time with him or the fact that I now held a position of power as well, but I no longer felt compelled to cower in his presence.

  I stepped toward him, forcing him to retreat slightly. “If you have seen something of such great import, Archdruid”—I laced his title with as much contempt as I dared—“tell it to me in plain terms; do not hide behind the vaguery of visions and prophecy.”

  Merlin shook his head. “Alas, I cannot. You know as well as I that the future is fluid, ever changing as the sea. If I name what I have seen, I risk impugning innocent men and women”—his tone made sure I knew he was referring to me—“for trespasses they may never commit. I can only warn you that this reaches well beyond who carries a sword in your name.”

  That was his last word on the subject. Now, with my eyes closed, I could feel him to my left, but I no longer sensed any hostility. He was doing his job as Archdruid, submitting to the will of the gods and no doubt praying they would change mine.

  I made myself forget the past and focus on the present. This was as close as I would ever get to experiencing the power of the Lady of the Lake. Today, I was the Goddess in her role of Sovereignty, she who grants and removes temporal power. I was to invoke her just as fully as during any Avalonian ceremony but without the aid of the sacred drink for I still needed my human faculties. I was to be at once goddess and queen, the supreme symbol of womanhood, both mortal and divine.

  I said a silent prayer for guidance and let my consciousness slip downward in the quiet. At first, nothing happened, then a silver glow, like liquid moonlight, filled me with warmth. I felt her within me, a quiet, gentle, reassuring presence.

  I opened my eyes, and the awe on the assembled faces made me realize I must appear to them every bit the Goddess incarnate. Merlin had dressed me in the pure white gown of the Maiden, which was cinched by a thick black cloth belt, symbolizing the wisdom of the Crone, and covered in the rich crimson cloak of the Mother. That I was nearing the end of my pregnancy only added to the effect.

  I opened my arms wide and addressed them. As I spoke, I wasn’t sure if it was in my own name or that of the Goddess or both. I had the strange sensation of remembering the ritual, rather than reciting it, as though it were as familiar to me as breathing. “I have called you here today for one purpose—the arming of a champion. This role is second only in sacredness to that of kingship. As such, it is a privilege only I can grant, and once sanctified, none may contest.

  “Many of you are worthy, but only one can hold the office. I have searched my own heart and endeavored to know yours. Know the one whom I have chosen is not peerless, nor should he seek to place himself above the rest. I choose him because he is, to me, best suited for the role. It is an honor, yes, but the man who takes on this mantle also shoulders a great burden, so do not be envious of his station.”

  In unison, the assembled men knelt. I regarded each man with new perceptiveness, seeing them with the vision of the Goddess. My eyes passed over Kay and Bedivere, whom I could never choose because they were Arthur’s men through and through and their loyalty would always be to him; to Bors, Malegant, Accolon, and a few others I liked but mistrusted for reasons I could not name; past Aggrivane, with whom my tangled past would forever be a stumbling block; and finally to Owain, Tristan, and many others I knew had greater loyalties to their lords than to me.

  Finally I found the face I sought. “Lancelot du Lac, arise and stand before me.”

  Merlin closed his eyes and bowed his head in disappointment and submission. I gestured Lancelot forward, and the men murmured to one another uneasily. Hesitantly, and slightly self-consciously, Lancelot did as he was bidden.

  “I have chosen you for my champion. Do you accept this office?”

  He smiled and dipped his head humbly. “I do.”

  Before I even had the chance to ask, Aggrivane was on his feet, shouting, “I invoke the right of challenge.”

  His words were greeted by an audible gasp from the crowd, followed by cheers of support. Lancelot hadn’t made many friends since his arrival. Many of the men would have been happy to see him publicly defeated.

  When I’d made up my mind, I foresaw this might happen, but challenge was Aggrivane’s right. At the time of first investiture, any man might challenge the chosen one and the two had to do battle. The winner would be the queen’s champion, but the loser was allowed to renew his petition each year on Lughnasa for seven years. If the challenger was ever successful, the title would pass to him. If not, the title would remain for life with the original winner. I could only hope Aggrivane wouldn’t hold a grudge for long.

  The human part of me was mortified and afraid that Arthur would take Aggrivane’s outburst as a sign of lingering affection for me, but the Goddess within saw the justice. I had no choice but to let them proceed.

  I nodded, speaking the words of the Goddess. “Men have long fought for love of me. Lay on, but draw no blood within this sacred circle.”

  Weapons were not allowed within the sacred grove, so they would have to fight hand-to-hand, a skill I knew Aggrivane possessed. I was unsure of Lancelot as I had only seen him do battle with a sword. Amid cheers from their supporters, they both removed their shirts and shoes and rolled up their trouser legs. The crowd quieted and formed two camps, leaving the combatants in full view of where I stood.

  As they circled each other like wolves, Lancelot taunted Aggrivane. “I have already bested you in front of the king and court once. Do you really wish to have me humiliate you in front of the Combrogi and the Goddess as well?”

  Aggrivane’s answering grin was thick with malevolence. “It will be all the more sweet to avenge that affront before such an audience.”

  Then he lunged at Lancelot and grasped him around the shoulders, seeking to throw him off balance. Their brawl reminded me of two spiders fighting, an indistinguishable tangle of limbs. They struggled not only against one another but against nature herself, unable to find true purchase on the wet, leaf-strewn ground. One moment one seemed to have the upper hand, then fickle Fortuna would smile upon the other and he would rally, flipping his opponent and pinning him but never for long.

  Their grunts and groans were nearly drowned out by the cheering Combrogi, who had forgotten they were still at a ritual rather than a game of sport. Most supported the son of Lothian, but a few were on Lancelot’s side. For my part, I held my breath and tried to abandon my will to the Goddess who floated unperturbed inside me.

  Finally, Lancelot wrestled Aggrivane to the forest floor and held him down. Merlin begrudgingly declared him the victor. Aggrivane snatched up his shirt and returned to his place, growling. I thought it cruel that he now had to watch as another man yet again took his place by my side, b
ut I was powerless to change tradition.

  Brushing leaves, dirt, and acorn shards from his hair and pants, Lancelot dressed and once again took his place in front of me.

  “Lancelot du Lac, so named as the son of the Lady of the Lake in the forest Broceliande, you have declared your willingness to serve as my champion; now swear your allegiance to me.”

  Lancelot knelt and touched his thumb to his forehead, lips, and heart in recognition that his vows were to both queen and Goddess. “My lady and my queen, I thank you for selecting me as your champion and defender. Though I know I am not worthy, I humbly accept this honor and pledge myself to you. I vow to use all that I am, all that I know, and all that I may acquire in your service. Anything you ask of me, I will do. If you are in peril, I will rescue you; if you are reviled, I will defend you; if you are threatened, I will fight for you, even unto death. My life is now forfeit; do with me as you will.”

  Arthur stepped forward and drew his sword, the legendary Caliburn, one of the treasures of Avalon given to him by the Lady of the Lake when he became king. He held it flat, shining blade resting against on his open palm, hilt of intertwined golden dragons in the other. He held it out to Lancelot, saying, “Know that you defend my queen in my name and with my power. Anyone who opposes you opposes me.”

  Lancelot bent his head to receive Arthur’s blessing. As Arthur sheathed his sword, I handed another to Lancelot. It was a specially forged replica of Caliburn, the only difference being that the jewels in the dragons’ eyes were a bright emerald rather than ruby. The similarity was meant to remind Lancelot, and anyone unfortunate enough to face his might, that he fought in defense of the house of Pendragon. As Lancelot accepted the weapon, the sun bounced off the blade, illuminating its inscription: “In Her names and by Her power, I defend this land.” A reminder of these very vows.