Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  Morgan’s smile was sly. “Ah, but we know someone who can tell us.”

  “Who? Merlin is not here, and Marius is not versed in the stars,” I noted.

  “No, you witless woman. Your beloved, Aggrivane.”

  I glared at her, crossing my arms defensively. “He is not my lover.”

  “Not anymore, but that doesn’t mean he cannot be of use.”

  I mulled over the options in my head, trying to decide how best to approach Aggrivane. We had barely spoken since I returned from Avalon years ago because his son had died from the fever he’d contracted just before Malegant kidnapped me. But on the other hand, when Aggrivane found out the nature of the mission Arthur was sending us on, he would be eager to help. Aggrivane had always dreamed of finding one of the thirteen holy hallows of Britain, and the Grail superseded them all. No doubt his Christian wife would urge him on even more.

  “I will ask him. If you are right, then the Combrogi will leave as soon as Arthur tells them what we’ve found.” I put down the wooden spoon I was using to stir a thick burgundy gooseberry paste. “Grainne, can you take over here? I must be sure to be packed before our ritual.”

  “You need not rush. You will not be going with them,” said Morgan as I removed the apron covering my tunic.

  My head snapped up. “How do you know?”

  She tapped the center of her forehead, indicating she’d seen it with second sight. “Trust me.”

  Her laughter trailed behind me as I ran into the night, intent on finding Aggrivane.

  The appointed day and hour had come.

  Thin shafts of sunlight occasionally pierced through the low, milky clouds as we picked our way through the moss-covered rocks where the earth met the sea far below Camelot. Only a few hours before, high tide had submerged this whole area in shoulder-deep saltwater all the way to the base of the cliff on which the fortress rested. But now it had retreated, leaving behind gleaming tide pools in the pockmarked stone. Waves still lapped at the outer banks, so we stayed farther inland, but we ventured out far enough that the hiss and gurgle of the surf could be easily heard.

  “Here,” Grainne called our small party to a halt. “This is the place.”

  We sat on the soft moss in a loose semicircle, three small pools between us. We joined hands, eyes closed and breathing deeply to attune ourselves to the energy around us. That was more difficult than it seemed in this place of shifting sea and land, both grasping and conceding power with each roll of the waves. Add to that the warring of day and night in the sky above us, and it took us some time to find the place of calm deep within where all acts of magic have their origin.

  “Lady Danu, Lord Lir, rulers of this sacred place, we do you homage. We come in peace to implore your aid. The Lady Fortuna has commanded our king to seek the hallowed Grail, one of the treasures of Avalon. In this time of equilibrium, we ask you to help us, your priestesses, as we seek the location of this sacred vessel so that he may fulfill her holy will.”

  The wind rose in response, whispering in its secret tongue, lifting the sleeves and collars of our blue robes. Along with the sweep of the water and the cries of the gulls, the wind lulled me into a trance. Everything went silent as though the entire world had ceased to exist. For a few splendid moments, all the elements, night and day, summer and winter, were in balance.

  Morgan, Grainne, and I blinked at each other in wonder.

  When a ray of light spilled its glimmering liquid gold onto the pool in front of me, I knew it was time. Squeezing my sisters’ hands, I leaned forward to gaze into the water. A starfish clung to one side, scarcely noticing a small crab scuttling over him to reach the safety of shore. Rings of green algae floated on the surface, and if I stared past them, the stones and shells at the base of the pool became visible.

  But then a white-gray mist clouded the surface, and I lost all sense of the mortal world. I was flying on the brown and white wings of an osprey, viewing a far-off landscape through its masked eyes. Below, a procession of women wound through a narrow valley between two dense thickets of wood, following a thin ribbon of silver water as it sought the faraway sea.

  Their blue crescents marked them as priestesses, and their silver-gray robes and belts of dangling silver charms singled them out as keepers of the Grail. They chanted as they walked, eyes closed, feet effortlessly skirting rocks, fallen branches, and even the delicate buds of lavender snow flowers.

  At the head of the nine women, one carried a thurible of glass and copper that glowed as if with its own light, providing amber illumination and scenting the air with a heady smoke through holes in its spiraling metal finial. Behind her followed two women acting as guards, each carrying a fearsome silver sickle. Next came my childhood friend, Rowena, her long dark hair caught in twin braids that bounced as she walked. She carried a tall silver amphora that I instinctively understood contained waters from the red-and-white spring. Two more guards came after her, then a veiled woman swathed in golden robes. She could be none other than the Grail Maiden. Her sacred charge also was veiled, so I could not see what form the Grail took within her hands. Another pair of guards brought up the rear.

  Magic radiated from them like a shield, preventing me from drawing too near. I cried out, hoping to catch Rowena’s attention, but she paid me no heed. They were following a voice only they could hear and gave no indication of their destination.

  Frustrated, I soared high, trying to use my avian senses to tell me where we might be and in what direction they were headed. The air currents were a tailwind pushing me along. This time of year, they usually came from the south and east. The women were walking against the flow of the river, so that must mean they were traveling north.

  But to where? Banking upward again, I scanned the horizon for some familiar landmark. After following them for what felt like hours, I saw it—a wide circle of tall thin monoliths surrounded by a white chalk ditch. Inside the large circle were two smaller ones. That had to be the ancient Sanctuary of the Stars. I expected them to head toward it and camp there, but they passed it by.

  By then, I was losing my connection with the bird, slowly regaining my human consciousness. I had learned all I was going to know. I opened my eyes to find Morgan and Grainne blinking at me as if they too had just awoken from a dream.

  We thanked the God and Goddess in turn but did not share our experiences. Those were for Arthur alone to know.

  “Shall we tell him?” Morgan asked.

  Grainne and I nodded. “Let’s go then.”

  We found Arthur assembled with the Combrogi in the meeting chamber. He was standing atop the table to be better heard over the clamoring crowd. He must have just told them what the quest was to be for they were cheering and whistling, pagan and Christian alike, as we wound through the throng to his side. Lancelot helped me climb onto the table, where I came face to face with a beaming Bishop Marius.

  Not one to lose the opportunity to pontificate in front of a crowd, Bishop Marius held out his arms as though welcoming the adulation of the crowd until they finally quieted. “My brothers and sisters, we have been blessed by God to not only have a Christian couple to lead our land”—he nodded at Arthur and Morgan, ignoring me completely—“but now our king has been favored by heaven to be the instrument of the greatest miracle of our age. As you embark upon this perilous journey, I beg you to consider the well-being of your souls and shrive yourself of any sins before you depart. Only in that way will any and all of you be worthy to behold such a sight as the Holy Grail. Were it in my power, I would accompany you myself. But as my duties keep me here, go forth with my blessing and that of the Father, Son,”—he made the sign of the cross over the gathered soldiers—“and Holy Ghost.”

  Some of the men crossed themselves while others made the sign of Avalon and a few stared awkwardly at the ground.

  “Thank you, bishop. We go with joy in our hearts knowing we have yo
ur benediction,” Arthur said to Marius with a pleased smile. He turned back to the assembly. “Some of you may have noticed I have yet to mention where we are going. That is because I do not know myself. But I have asked three of our strongest seeresses for their guidance—”

  “I must strenuously object,” Marius interrupted. “It is highly improper to consult pagan oracles when you have been entrusted with a Christian mission.”

  “Jealous they have knowledge you do not?” came a female voice from deep within the crowd. It was one of Sobian’s girls.

  “Yes,” someone else agreed. “Let them speak.”

  Morgan and Grainne looked at me hesitantly before joining us atop the table.

  I cleared my throat. “Know that what we see is not writ in stone but shifts with the actions of men. The most we can do is advise you as best we know.”

  “See?” Marius yelled. “Even they admit their information is fickle at best.”

  I ignored him. “The Grail has indeed left Avalon. I have seen its procession. Earlier today, they passed the Sanctuary of the Stars on the great chalk plain. Head south, and you shall meet them. But beware. They are heavily armed, so if you desire the Grail for yourself or have any ill intent, better you stay behind than face their blades.”

  “Indeed,” Grainne continued, “not all who undertake this journey will return. For some of you, this will be your final task—I have seen your souls march to the Otherworld. But fear not, for all who set out do so under the aegis of the Goddess.”

  Morgan stepped forward. “Of you, only three shall find the vessel. One will prove unworthy and return before glimpsing its glory. But when it is brought to Camelot, all those honored by the great King Arthur shall behold it. So have I seen, and so shall it be.”

  The crowd was silent, stunned as though the threefold Goddess had appeared before them and spoken words of prophecy. Even Marius was speechless, contemplating the implications of our words.

  Arthur was the first to find his voice. “Choose your groups and your destinations. Stay out of Saxon lands for we do not wish to start a war on this mission of peace. Eat, drink, and say your farewells for we leave at dawn.”

  Once the four of us climbed off the table, everyone began talking at once, making it nearly impossible to hear any one person, but Morgan’s voice still found me. “Arthur, be careful. Not just for my sake but for your son’s.”

  “Mordred is nearly a man. He will be fine.”

  Morgan rubbed her belly. “Not Mordred. Your new son.” Her smile was more luminous than I’d ever seen it.

  “You are with child?”

  “I am. You will have another heir by midwinter. Hurry home.” She kissed Arthur softly.

  Arthur hugged her tightly. “This is the best possible news you could have sent me off with. I will return with the Grail for our son—or daughter.”

  “Benedictio Dei,” Marius blessed them with a joyful grin. He apparently approved of this second marriage even more now that it had been graced with new life.

  Arthur caught sight of me, and his expression changed. He was unable to hide the flash of pity that came before his joy transformed into sobriety. Anger, hurt, and jealousy warred within me. After all this time, he still felt pity for me. I had finally accepted I would never bear him another child, but now Morgan was going to publicly prove once and for all that it was I who was barren, not Arthur.

  “This changes everything,” Arthur said.

  I took a deep breath, willing myself to be calm and collected before answering. “Indeed it does. A baby will turn the whole castle upside down.” I forced a smile.

  Arthur’s face clouded over. “No, I mean you cannot accompany me on the quest. Morgan will need a midwife. You must stay here and look after her.”

  “No.” I would not let Morgan take away yet another opportunity. “Grainne is just as qualified as I am. That is no cause for concern.” Every muscle in my body tensed as I fought for control over myself, my voice growing more strained.

  Arthur took my hand and patted it. I was sure he meant the gesture to be comforting, but in my current mood, it was patronizing.

  “I know Grainne is your friend, but after how badly your childbirth ended, I cannot trust her with the life of Morgan and my child. Plus, someone must see to Camelot while I am away. You are my queen—only you”—he looked me deep in the eyes to ensure I understood his double meaning—“have the authority to pass judgment in my absence. You are the only one I trust with this power.”

  I nodded, understanding what he was trying to convey. Morgan may have been his royal wife and mother to his child—soon to be children—but I was queen. That was something Morgan could never take away from me.

  “Camelot will be safe in my keeping. This do I swear to you. Return to me hale and whole, husband.” I kissed him then looked at Morgan, who was reveling in the well wishes of those who had heard her announcement. “For you have more to live for than ever before.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Summer 514

  Arthur wrote to Morgan and me as often as he could, keeping us abreast of their progress and obstacles in finding the Grail. By the time they reached the Sanctuary of the Stars, the Grail maidens had long since moved on, and they were having trouble tracking their movements.

  Arthur wrote, “Despite the setbacks we encounter, I have great faith that the Holy Ghost will direct us to the Grail in the end. As each moment of our lives has led us to this point, each step we take brings us closer to our destined prize. Its acquisition will assure Camelot’s safety and prosperity as well as fix our legacy in the annals of time. Have no fear for me, for my passion for this great quest does not wane with time but rather grows as I see signs of God’s divine hand all around us. I beg you to keep me, the Combrogi, and this divine mission in your prayers. I send my love to both of you and to my son.”

  When I read the letter aloud to Morgan and Mordred, he grumbled, “As his son, I should be by his side, not here with the women.”

  But as much as he complained, Mordred was making good use of his time stuck in Camelot. He’d proclaimed himself Lord of Camelot in his father’s absence and my champion while Lancelot was away. He more than proved himself worthy of the jobs, displaying a subtle cunning he could have learned only from Lot and—despite his age and general attitude of superiority—a wisdom no doubt born of Ana’s influence.

  Elaine was as taken with his progress as though he were her own son, which I supposed was only natural given that Galahad was off with Arthur and his men. Now that the boys were too old for her art lessons, she clung to me like spider silk, and her constant vacillations in mood grated on my nerves. Between Morgan’s gloating over her advancing pregnancy and Elaine’s ever-shifting joy at her son’s good fortune and despair that he would never return, I was surrounded by madwomen. I was liable to lock Elaine in the dungeon if I couldn’t find something useful for her to do.

  One sticky summer afternoon when the clouds hung low in the sky, teasing us with the prospect of a storm, the Irish emissary and I were discussing the finer points of a new treaty with King Illan mac Dúnlainge of Leinster. I was trying to convince him that a proposal of marriage between Mordred and his lord’s daughter was only one option to securing peace in our lands when one of Arthur’s scouts was announced.

  “Forgive me,” I said to the emissary, who, to my great annoyance, appeared relieved to be given leave of my argument. “Send him in.”

  The scout was still breathing hard when he sank to one knee before me. “My lady, I come in advance of a party in need of your help. Lancelot and several others were most grievously wounded in Rheged battling a man who called himself the Grail Sentinel. I beg you make ready for their party.”

  My hand flew to my mouth. For a moment, I could not speak. Fear coursed through me, panic riding in its wake. Lancelot, the man who had saved me countless times, the one whom I c
onsidered invincible, was wounded, and badly enough to be transported here. What of Arthur? Had they been together? My knees shook. But then, just as quickly, my experience on the fields of battle and my training as a priestess overrode my emotions.

  “The king? How many injured? What is the extent of their wounds?” I found myself asking when all I wanted to do was collapse and cry.

  “The king is well, I assure you. He is off in another land, following a lead in pursuit of the holy relic. Eight wounded in all. Most are in need of stitches and bone-setting, but I fear Lancelot suffered the worst. He took a blade in the side, and we cannot fully staunch the bleeding.”

  “How much time before they arrive?”

  The scout thought for a moment. “A day at most.”

  “Thank you for giving us time to prepare.” I asked for Mordred to be sent to me. Once he arrived, I said, “See that our guest is well attended. Also, please find your mother. I have need of her assistance.” I nearly choked on the last sentence.

  Mordred’s face lit up at his new responsibility. “Yes, my lady.” He turned to the scout. “Come, sir. Follow me.”

  I found Elaine in the chapel, on her knees. “Elaine, raise your prayers to God as you work. We must prepare the barracks to receive a number of wounded.”

  By nightfall, we had converted the barracks into an infirmary, just in time for the soldiers to arrive. Morgan set up a station for mixing herbs and dressing wounds while Elaine ensured supplies were at the ready and water was boiling in the cauldron over the fire. Grainne and I prepared a room in the castle, which was warmer and drier, for those requiring our constant attention.

  The carts pulled into the gates of Camelot in the small hours of night, desperate shouts and whinnying of horses breaking the silence of the slumbering castle. Mordred stumbled from the entrance hall and began seeing to the horses without being asked, relieving the men to carry the wounded into the barracks.