Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  I bit my lower lip. That was a good question. How did I manage? Oddly, Mordred had never been sore spot for me. Even though he was a reminder of my failing as a wife and mother, I could not bear him any ill will, innocent as he was in the machinations of his parents. In fact, I enjoyed helping to raise him, showering him with all the affection I could never give to my own deceased children. Now, as he grew, he came to me for advice often, which was balm to my heart.

  His mother was a different story. She tolerated my tenderness to her son as long as he followed the rules she laid out and behaved as she taught him, but she made no effort to hide her disdain for me. Because of that, when I first returned from Avalon, I had expected constant discord between us, and there was for a time, but we’d learned to tolerate one another. I had accepted Arthur’s preference for Morgan’s bed over mine, though a small part of me resented her for it.

  Finally, I answered, “I have no idea. Some days I want to kill her just as much as I did in Avalon. We still hate each other, but we’ve developed a sort of truce. I still loathe sharing Arthur with her, but I have no choice.”

  Elaine gave a small, wry laugh. “Neither do I. I see my husband with other women every day. I know he is in love with someone else. I can see it in his whole demeanor. He looks upon others with a softness I will never know.” She choked back hurt and rage-filled tears, clenching her hands at her sides. “I am determined to find out who his mistress is—if for no other reason than to relish the look on her face when I tell her he is already mine.”

  I twisted to face her. In that moment, she looked so much like Lyonesse it was frightening. “Why will you not tell me who he is? I will tell no one. I promise. But at least I could counsel him to be more discreet. Or perhaps I can convince Arthur to send him somewhere on a diplomatic mission. Then you could live here in peace.”

  She shook her head. “I must take that secret to my grave. But mark my words, she will regret crossing me.”

  Without knowing why, I shivered. Something in the tone of Elaine’s threat cut to my very core. I never wanted to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

  I placed gentle hands on her shoulders, looking her squarely in the eye. “You cannot go on like this. If you will not allow me to spirit him away, then we must find something for you to do—something to distract you from him. What makes you happiest?”

  She answered almost instantly. “Drawing and prayer. You know that.”

  I nodded. “Well then, you shall be Galahad and Mordred’s tutor. It will give you a chance to spend more time with your son. You can teach them each day after they go to the stable yard for their lessons. Art lessons will be a nice addition to what they already learn from the Ollamh Arthur employs.”

  “Do you really think they will want to learn art? Aren’t boys more interested in swords and punching each other?”

  I laughed. “Yes, but they are of an age you can convince them to do anything if you put it to them in terms of their future career as knights. I’ll remind them that scouting will be an essential part of their training and tell them the story of Tristan and how his accurate maps won the battle of Caledon Wood for us.”

  Elaine grasped my hand. “Thank you, Guinevere. You’ve always known just what I needed even before I did.”

  I smiled at her, pleased to see her mood lifted. “Well, there is one more thing, something I wasn’t going to mention yet, but I could use your help. You must swear you will keep it secret at least for now.”

  Elaine placed a finger to her lips and leaned in close. “I swear it. Tell me.”

  I took a deep breath. Just because I was not happy with it did not change the facts. “Arthur is thinking of becoming a Christian.”

  Elaine squealed in delight. “Oh, do you know what this means?” She clasped her hands at her breast and looked up to the sky as if in prayer. “A Christian king of Britain. I never thought I’d see the day. God be praised.”

  I lowered her hands to her sides. “Do not get too excited yet. He is just exploring the idea. He says the war changed him, and he’s met with Father Dafydd a few times. But you know how priests are. Arthur could use someone to help him understand what being a Christian really means, how it is lived out in daily affairs.”

  Elaine’s eyes widened like the gibbous moon. “Truly? You wish me to counsel the king?”

  “Given your love for Christ and your Church, I can think of no one better to guide him.”

  Elaine threw her arms around me. “You will never know what a gift you have given me this day.”

  Elaine’s new position tutoring the boys turned out to be a boon for me as well because it gave me a chance to see Lancelot every day when he brought Galahad and Mordred to her chambers. In the aftermath of the war, I had found myself craving his companionship. Arthur was distant, seeking comfort of his own in Morgan’s arms and leaving me to deal with my own trauma all alone.

  As he had promised that night in the inn, Lancelot was there for me no matter when I needed him. At first, he’d merely listened as I confided my fears, holding me when the panic was overwhelming and letting me cry when the guilt surfaced. Sometimes I fell asleep in his arms. When I woke in terror in the dark of night, it was not Arthur I sought but my champion.

  One night, months after we had returned to Camelot, I slipped into Lancelot’s doorway, breathless and sweating, heart still pounding from the vivid nightmare in which Elga had succeeded in killing both of us at Badon. I was so happy we were both alive I didn’t even greet him. I ran over to where he lay drenched in moonlight and kissed him, waking him from a sound sleep. He never tried to push me away, merely smiled into my kiss and drew me to him. Peeling away my sticky shift, I bit his neck, letting him know I no longer wished our relationship to be chaste. He responded by tangling a hand in the hair at the nape of my neck and pulling me on top of him. His face was buried in my breasts as I moved against him, welcoming his touch as though I was starving without him. And maybe I was. It had been ages since Arthur had touched me.

  When we had finally sated our hunger, he laced his fingers in mine and smiled. “I knew you cared for me. Finally, so do you.”

  That was how it had begun, but that certainly wasn’t the last of it. Every day, Lancelot sought me out once the boys were safely in Elaine’s care. Arthur and Morgan, who claimed she wanted to convert with her husband—I didn’t believe that for a moment—were taking their catechism lessons at that time, so we had no fear of being caught, which often made us reckless. Once, he didn’t even pull me into a room—he grabbed my hand as I came around the corner, pushed me up against the wall, and took me right there in the hallway.

  We grew bolder as time wore on, and no one gave indication of suspecting our forbidden trysts. On Beltane, I found him waiting in my chambers after dinner. It wasn’t long before we were intertwined on the bed, gasping as we searched each other’s bodies. Forgetting myself, I cried out under his probing tongue.

  Lancelot clasped a hand over my mouth. “I am flattered, but do you wish all of Camelot to know what we’re up to?”

  I felt my face, already pink from exertion, flush. “Many couples will do the same tonight. Perhaps I was not heard?”

  But Lady Fortuna was not with us. Not long after, Arthur called my name from the other side of the door. “Guinevere, are you unwell?”

  Damn. Of all the people to be nearby. Admonishing Lancelot to hide, I hastened to don my tunic.

  Bracing myself for what may come, I opened the door and placed a hand on my middle back. I prayed my moan could have been mistaken for pain. “There is no need to worry. I simply wrenched my back.”

  Arthur grimaced in sympathy. “Do you need any help?”

  I shook my head. “I will manage. Thank you.”

  “At least allow me to massage your back.”

  Seeing no way around it, I opened the door farther so he could pass through, and I scanned th
e room. Lancelot was nowhere in sight.

  “Where does it pain you?” Arthur asked once I was facedown on the bed.

  I indicated a muscle below my right shoulder blade that had a history of giving me trouble.

  “Ah, that one again.” He kneaded my back with long, soothing motions.

  It wasn’t long before I realized he had intentions beyond relieving my sore muscle. His breathing grew ragged, his arousal evident.

  I could not do this with the possibility of Lancelot somewhere in the same room. Carefully, I turned onto my side. “Arthur, I do not think that is wise. What if we make the muscle worse?”

  “A bit of loosening up may be just what you need.” He kissed my neck, trailing his tongue across my shoulders.

  I pretended to give in, trying desperately to think of ways to resist without offending him.

  There was a knock at the door.

  “Go away,” Arthur muttered but went to answer it anyway.

  It was Lancelot. He must have escaped out the window or crept out while Arthur’s attention was on me. “My lord, I am sorry to call on you at this late hour, but you were seen entering this room, and Morgan is looking for you.”

  “Can’t it wait?” Arthur asked through gritted teeth.

  “I think not.”

  Arthur paused, and I sensed him soften. Thank the gods. Tonight was one night I wanted you to choose Morgan over me.

  “Of course.” Arthur gestured to me over his shoulder. “The queen has injured her back. See she wants for nothing.”

  Lancelot bit back a smile, bowed to Arthur, and stepped into the room.

  “How did you escape?” I asked, incredulous, as soon as the door was closed again.

  He grinned and nodded toward the window. “Magic. Now, where were we?”

  Chapter Twenty

  Summer 507

  A pleasant breeze blew in off the bay as we sat in Camelot’s council chambers. Gawain and Peredur were debating how best to use the Combrogi’s skill in peacetime. Peredur was arguing that since each kingdom was represented on the council by a lord and a knight, they should establish a school to train future members who may not be able to afford to travel to Camelot to serve Arthur directly. Gawain, on the other hand, felt their skills would be best used as a traveling band of soldiers policing the countryside in cooperation with the local kings and lords.

  “We have here two intriguing yet contrasting proposals. What say the rest of you?” Arthur inquired of the group.

  “If we bring Peredur’s vision to life, I would like to travel to each school to ensure they have adequate horsemen to train the cavalry steeds as well as inspect their methods,” Lancelot requested.

  “What about women?” Constantine jested. “We already have one here. Why not recruit more?”

  Sobian faced him down, picking at her fingernails with her dagger. “Afraid I have bigger berries than you? Oh wait, I saw yours just last week.” She made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I’m afraid my twig is longer too.”

  “Enough,” Arthur called. “Gawain, I am intrigued by the potential of your plan to keep the Combrogi going through future generations. But it comes at a large financial cost. How would you recommend paying for it? Am I to ask the kings of each territory to shoulder the burden, which means raising taxes, or do you have another source of funding in mind?”

  “We amassed considerable fortune from the Saxons—” Gawain began.

  But I didn’t hear the rest of what he said for in the courtyard below, a ruckus was brewing. I stood and went over to the window, straining to see what interruption awaited us.

  “Make way,” a young deacon called. “This man of God is here to see the king.”

  Around them, the crowd of people parted, a few dropping to their knees and crossing themselves as a priest blessed them.

  “It is so good to see how the true faith has spread,” the priest mused loudly.

  I shivered. I knew that voice. Father Marius had returned at long last from his sojourn in Rome. This could mean only one thing—trouble was sure to follow.

  I slipped silently around to Arthur’s side and whispered, “We have visitors.”

  Arthur cocked an eyebrow.

  “Father Marius has returned. He and his followers are asking after you.”

  Arthur nodded almost imperceptibly, never taking his eyes from Gawain. “You make a valid point, Gawain,” he said as though I hadn’t spoken.

  A few moments later the priest in question made his entrance. All discussion ceased immediately, and half the room got to its feet, some with weapons drawn to defend us against whoever threatened our peace.

  “My king, I am so pleased to hear about your conversion,” Father Marius said by way of greeting. “The Bishop of Rome sends his blessings.” He extended his arms as though he would embrace Arthur.

  “Father Marius,” Arthur acknowledged coolly.

  “Bishop,” he corrected. “His Holiness saw fit to elevate this humble servant of God.” He held out his hand as though he expected Arthur to show deference.

  To his credit, Arthur didn’t move.

  At least that explained why I hadn’t immediately recognized Marius. Gone was the shoulder-length golden hair shaved in the Celtic style. Instead he wore his hair short and cropped into a circular tonsure that left the top of his head completely bald. He also wore a short hooded mantle over his signature crimson robes.

  “Bishop Marius,” Arthur amended, “I thank you for your kind words. I will gladly speak with you later, once our meeting has adjourned. Will you and your”—he looked the deacon up and down, unsure what to make of him—“boy take some refreshments until then? Kay, will you please escort our guests to the audience chamber and see they are comfortable?”

  Kay obeyed, trying his best to usher the two men out of the room, but Marius would not be swayed. “My lord, I mean no disrespect, but I think it fitting that I stay.”

  His appearance may have changed, but his personality certainly had not.

  Arthur pressed his lips together and took a deep breath before answering, fighting to keep calm in front of his men. “And why is that?”

  Bishop Marius was itching to take a seat. “I bring news from across the Continent that may well influence your decision-making.”

  Constantine spoke up. “We have had a long day and are no closer to reaching a decision, my lord. Perhaps we should break for a while so you can speak with your guests. We can resume tonight after the evening meal if you are in a hurry to decide.”

  I wanted to hit him for speaking up. The last thing I wanted was a private audience with this hateful man who had apparently only prospered as the years passed.

  “You are a wise man. We shall all meet back here after we have supped. You may go,” Arthur dismissed the group.

  Kay and Lancelot lingered behind in their role as our protectors, but once the rest of the Combrogi dispersed, we gathered in the small antechamber off the round meeting room. At an order from Arthur, servants set out goblets of wine and the platters of breads and cheese intended for the Combrogi. Bishop Marius seated himself with royal flair on a stool near the window, a location which guaranteed all eyes would be on him. Arthur and I stood around him, uncertain how to proceed.

  Arthur was not afraid to speak first. “Please tell me, Father—or what should I call you now?”

  “‘Your Excellency’ is the proper term, but as we are no strangers, you may call me Bishop Marius if you like,” he answered with a smug smile while his deacon hurried like a frightened slave to pour him some wine.

  “Your Excellency, what news is so important that you saw fit to interrupt an official gathering of the council?” The slight twitch in Arthur’s jaw as he ground his teeth did not escape my notice.

  “Must we rush our time together?” Bishop Marius said languidly, picking up the goblet a
nd swirling it in lazy circles. “I have not even been introduced to this lad”—he indicated Lancelot—“or had a chance to greet your lovely wife.” His voice was as sweet as nectar, but the way he narrowed his eyes at me left no illusions that his views on me had softened over time.

  “I would say it is wonderful to see you, Your Excellency, but it is a sin to lie to a priest, is it not?”

  Arthur shot me a look that would have chided me to tears had I been a child. But I was not, and I had not forgotten that this man was the main reason why I had been torn away from the love of my life and kicked out of my father’s house, something for which I would never forgive him.

  Father Marius clucked his tongue. “Such temper, my queen. Do you remember what happened when last you loosed your wicked tongue on me?”

  “Do you remember what you said when last we met?” I countered. “You said I was cursed and compared me to Lilith, the mother of all demons, if I remember correctly.”

  “You exaggerate, my dear.” He looked at Arthur. “I was merely trying to explain a possible reason she had not yet borne you an heir.”

  Arthur wasn’t buying his story. “You forget, Your Excellency, that I know what transpired between you and my wife before we met.”

  “Are you certain? Who is to say she is telling you the truth?” Bishop Marius asked before he sipped his wine, his manner as blithe as though we were on a summer outing.

  I opened my mouth to respond, but Arthur was faster. “I trust my wife.”

  “At least one of them,” Marius said disapprovingly.

  Arthur refused to acknowledge the dig. “Guinevere has given me a thousand reasons to believe every word she says. You, however, are relatively unknown to me and have yet to gain my trust. I do not care what rank or title you hold over me in the eyes of the Church. In this world, I am still high king, and you are my subject, so I suggest you remember that.”