Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  I felt simpleminded in the wake of such a logical explanation. “You know this from experience, I suspect?” I turned, not realizing until it was too late that I was now trapped in the cage of his arms.

  Lancelot’s face was only inches from mine. “I have spent quite a bit of time in the wild.” He backed up, turning away. “Some of it with you,” he added with a small laugh.

  I sat next to the fire and traced random patterns in the dirt to distract myself from his nearness, his smell, and the heat beginning to course through my veins. He wasn’t ready yet, I told myself. He still needed time to heal.

  Lancelot sat down opposite me, the small orange flames between us. For a while, we simply listened to the storm. Eventually he pulled off his wet shirt and discarded it next to my soaked cloak.

  He said my name between booms of thunder. “Can I tell you something?”

  I had to move closer to hear him. “Anything.”

  “Sometimes—” He swallowed and tried again. “Sometimes I feel like I will be forever haunted by a memory I do not have. Of the Black Knight who almost stole my life.”

  I gazed at him, unused to a man being so open about his feelings. Perhaps it was his Breton ancestry that made him be so candid with me. I gave him a small half smile. “I understand, in a way. I too was haunted—but by what I did remember. If Avalon taught me one thing, it is that until you admit what you’ve experienced, you cannot move on.”

  Lancelot stoked the fire and added more wood until it was a respectable size. “But how can I if I cannot remember it?”

  “I can help you.”

  “How?”

  “We have a ritual of remembrance in Avalon. I went through it myself before I returned to Camelot. All you have to do is trust me.” I stood.

  He took my hands. “I have pledged my life to you. Say the word, and it is done.”

  I plucked a handful of herbs from the clusters above. Sage and wild lettuce. They were dusty and bone dry, but they would do. I rearranged the stones so that, when placed on top of them, the herbs would smoke but not be consumed by the flames until they had given off their full fragrance.

  “Do you have a water skin?”

  Lancelot unhooked it from his belt. We each took a drink, then I poured a generous amount on the fire. I inhaled deeply. It was hickory wood. This was a good start.

  I cast the herbs into the steam and fire. “Move over.”

  He moved against one wall so I could sit in front of him, water skin in my lap.

  “Now breathe deeply.”

  We both inhaled.

  “Close your eyes. Listen the rhythm of the rain.” Once his breathing slowed, I took his hand and placed it on my chest. His breath caught, but I ignored it. “Now concentrate on matching your heartbeat to mine.”

  I poured another handful of water over the stones, and they hissed, sending hot white smoke into the air.

  “Open your eyes and look into the steam. Tell me what you see.”

  His heartbeat increased along with his breathing. “The Black Knight is coming at me, swinging his terrible axe. I am defending myself but only just. He slams into me, knocking me to the ground. But that is not enough for him. He bangs my head into the ground, punching me about the face and chest while I am immobile. But I rally, pushing him off, struggling to my feet. I slash out with my sword, getting in a few good blows before he is on me again. I force him back, knocking off his helmet, and he stares at me with those crazed black eyes.” Lancelot’s voice caught.

  His body trembled against my back. I poured more water onto the rocks.

  “Then what? What happens next?” I prompted.

  “He wraps his hands around my neck, trying to suffocate me. I’m choking, but then I get a grip on his hair and yank his head back. Turning my head, I bite his fingers, forcing him to release me. We come at each other again, breathing heavily. He swings his axe, catching me in the side. I am down, done for. But my companions are not. They rush the knight and finally bring him down as I fade in and out of consciousness. They help me up and put a sword in my hand, holding down the dying knight.

  “‘Take your honor for this victory is yours,’ they say to me. Suddenly, I am full of strength. I know what I must do. I raise the blade and bring it down through the flesh and corded muscle of his neck, through the bone and nerves, until it rolls to the side in a river of blood and he is no more.”

  “Good, now there is one more thing you must do so this new knowledge does not haunt you.” I patiently recounted the steps of closing one’s mind to a memory, the very same steps Viviane had taught me so many years before when I first arrived in Avalon.

  Silence descended on us, comforting as a blanket. We sat in it until a peal of thunder startled us out of our reverie. I glanced over my shoulder at Lancelot. His skin was covered in sweat, face pale as chalk, eyes still haunted. I started to get up, but he held me fast.

  “Thank you.” His voice was husky, as though he’d just awoken from a deep sleep. “You truly are a goddess.”

  I ducked my head, embarrassed, and plucked at my tunic, which was clinging to my skin in the heat from the rainwater, fire, and steam. “I am not. I am a priestess, and it is my sworn duty to use what I know to give relief to those who are suffering whenever I can.”

  Lancelot brushed a piece of hair from my cheek. “There is something else, something I haven’t told you.” He shifted so I could face him. “After the battle, when I was unconscious, I saw the place where the Grail is kept. I was allowed to venture inside but only so far. When I tried to move forward, it was as though an invisible barrier held me back. But I could see beyond. There, on a pedestal, was the Grail. But it was veiled. Nearby was a beautiful woman with eyes like leaves after the rain and ink-black hair. She had your face.”

  I gasped.

  Lancelot put a finger to my lips. “I heard her voice, or rather your voice, in my head. ‘Son of the Lake, your soul is torn. You cannot serve the Grail and the queen, for she is Sovereignty, singularly demanding of your attention. You must make a choice.’”

  He leaned into me, his breath warm on my lips. “I chose you. I will never behold the Grail in its true form because of that, but I am at peace. I have been yours from the moment I set eyes on you at the tournament.”

  I learned in and kissed him, my fingers tangling in his black curls, tightening, pulling, wanting. Needing. Our tongues touched, seeking the deepest recesses of one another.

  I gently pushed him onto his back, mindful of his still-mending wounds, and pulled off my tunic, baring my breasts in the firelight. Leaning over him, I ran my tongue over his chest and stomach, stopping only when his trousers got in the way. Running my fingers slowly up his thighs, I groaned when I felt his arousal. He lifted his hips, and I peeled off his trousers. I’d intended to take him into my mouth, but he guided my hips over his. I closed my eyes and brought him into me.

  I raised my arms and brought the energy of the storm into my body, every nerve tingling as I moved against him, grinding my hips in time with the vibration of the thunder all around us.

  Lancelot sat up and lowered his head to my breasts, tongue flicking, tantalizing, teasing. I arched my back, crying out as pleasure built in my limbs. I moved my hips faster, seeking release. He moaned and kissed my neck, gripping my shoulders as his breathing grew ragged. I closed my eyes and grasped his shoulder blades. Waves of pleasure washed through me, and I dug my nails into his back and tossed my head back with a primal scream. Moments later, Lancelot groaned, and a spasm shook him as a surge of warmth filled my loins.

  We collapsed in a heap next to the fire, panting, slowly returning to our senses.

  I gazed at him, amazed at how happy I felt. This man was once again my lover, and I had no shame in it. For what felt like hours, we lay in each other’s arms, caught up in our own thoughts, his fingertips tracing lazy circles on my upper a
rms.

  “We should probably go,” Lancelot finally murmured. “The worst of the storm has ended, and the others will be wondering what happened to us.”

  “Mmm. . . hmm,” I replied but made no move to get up. Then I remembered Mordred and my duty to him.

  After hastily donning our clothes, we stepped out into the rain. It was still coming down hard, but I relished it, letting it wash the sweat and smell of desire off of me.

  Lot and Grainne were waiting beneath the canopy of an ash tree when we reached the place Mordred had departed the morning before.

  “We were caught in the storm. Found a hunter’s hut,” I explained before anyone could ask.

  “We were too,” Lot said, holding up his dripping sleeve as proof. “But we were not so lucky. This is the best cover we could find.”

  “It helps to know these woods.” I rubbed my hands together. “Any sign of Mordred?”

  “Not yet.”

  The rain slowly dissipated, then the sun broke through, giving the remaining drops an Otherworldly quality, like golden showers of faerie dust. I laughed and ducked out from beneath the leaves, spinning in the rain like a giddy young girl. It wasn’t long before Grainne joined me. We held hands and skipped in circles, reveling in the joy of the moment.

  “Look!” Lancelot cried, pointing toward the west.

  At first I thought he was directing our attention to the vivid rainbow stretching across the sky, but then a figure caught my eye. Mordred stood at the edge of the wood, scratched and bloody, a large boar slung over his shoulders. He flung his burden to the ground and flashed a triumphant grin.

  Lot was the first to reach him. “Congratulations, son. You are now a man of the tribe.”

  Mordred wrenched a tusk from the boar and used it to slit open the beast’s belly. I painted Mordred’s face and chest with the blood, confirming the veracity of his kill.

  Then, while Lancelot and Lot spoke words of welcome into the tribe of men, Grainne and I removed the beast’s entrails, seeking to divine Mordred’s future in them. I plunged my hands into the hot, steaming mess, and my sight clouded over. Mordred was before me, fully grown. His face was painted in wild symbols with woad and chalk, hair limed for battle. Behind him was a vast army of Picts, Irish, and Saxons, and next to him stood Elga in all her ferocious glory. I could not see whom he opposed, but whoever it was stood little chance of victory over this army.

  I came back to myself with a start and looked at the proud boy being kindly harassed by Lot and Lancelot. What was to come to turn him into such a hardened warrior? I shook my head, seeking to clear it, and washed my hands and arms clean.

  “The gods have foretold you will be a great warrior,” I told Mordred, keeping the particulars to myself. There was no need to burden him at such a young age with knowledge that may or may not come to pass. “Receive the blessing of Sovereignty.” I kissed his forehead, lips, and heart.

  Grainne took up his spear and sling along with a sword specially commissioned by Arthur for this occasion. “Be armed by the Goddess and live to uphold her ways.”

  Lancelot and Lot cheered, lifting Mordred onto their shoulders.

  “Now, son. . .” Lot chuckled. “Let’s find you a woman and finish making you man!”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Winter 515

  The Grail party was secreted into the castle under cover of darkness and heavy guard. We couldn’t let everyone know they had found the Grail until we knew for certain. It wasn’t that I didn’t believe what I had seen or that the mysterious object really was the Grail, but if word leaked out uncontrolled or, the gods forbid it, if we were duped, there would be chaos in Camelot. We could not afford to take that chance.

  The next morning, in the silent moments before dawn, the Combrogi gathered in the secret labyrinth at the center of the castle. No one spoke or even shuffled their feet. We were all waiting, holding our breath for what was to come. In the shadows and bushes around us, crickets sang their hymns to the dawn, and a warm, briny breeze blew in off the ocean.

  Arthur arranged us carefully in the center of the labyrinth around the apple tree from Avalon. He was at the northernmost point with Galahad. Morgan and I were on either side of them, then Marius next to Morgan, Peredur next to me, and the rest of the questing knights around the circle. Lancelot chose the southern point, opposite Arthur, and Elaine stood behind Galahad, beaming. The Grail women stood on either side of our circle, the ones with the intimidating scythes guarding the only door against uninvited guests.

  As golden dawn crested the horizon, Arthur spoke. “We are here to witness an event not only of our generation but of an epoch. This treasure has been hidden from human eyes for over five hundred years save to a chosen trained few.” He nodded to the Grail guardians, who inclined their heads as one in acknowledgement. “For the first time, secular eyes will fall upon a sacred vessel some believe was an ancient gift from the gods, others the cup touched by Christ Himself before His death. Whatever the truth, we know it is a holy relic deserving of our respect and veneration.” He let his words sink in then stepped aside, allowing me to take his place at the fore. “As the representative of Sovereignty herself, our queen has the honor of unveiling it to you.”

  To my left, Bishop Marius cleared his throat loudly. We’d had quite a row the night before over who would oversee the Grail ritual. He believed that as a consecrated representative of Christ on earth, he should be the one to preside. I’d reminded Marius that I too was consecrated, which he refused to acknowledge as valid. The argument grew heated, the entire Grail party taking sides and no one knowing for certain how to settle the argument. Peredur and Galahad were firmly in Marius’s camp, while the Grail women sided with me. To my astonishment, Morgan made no move to assert her own authority and actually sided with me.

  Finally, it was put to the Grail Maiden to decide for she was the only one among us who knew the true nature of the vessel. She took my hands and read the lines on my palms before doing the same with Marius, who was loathe to hold still for such a pagan practice.

  She looked up and made her proclamation. “Ours is the final generation in which men and women will seek the Grail with equality. It will pass through the hearts, minds, and hands of many men in years to come. Therefore, it is only right that Sovereignty herself reveal it to the world. This has been our queen’s destiny from the moment she was born. The dreams she had as a child are realized in this very moment.”

  I stepped forward, quite unsure how to begin. There was no precedence for this, no well-taught ritual of Avalon. But as the fates would have it, the Grail guardians knew what to do, or at the very least, they were excellent at making up pageantry on the spot.

  The Grail Maiden stood in front of me, her back to the crowd. She held the Grail out to me, and I took it with shaking hands. She reached up and removed her veil. I gasped, recognizing Mona’s deep black eyes immediately. Her hair was gray now, but there was no mistaking her face. So her dreams, though they were of the ancient past, had led her to the Grail too.

  She touched my forehead, lips, and heart, in effect transferring her power to me. We bowed to each other, then she slid the veil from her shoulders and placed it over my hair. Immediately, silver light and comforting warmth filled me as they had the day I chose my champion. I was no longer the queen but the Goddess.

  Mona backed away, melting into the throng of maidens, while a blonde-haired woman glided toward me with the thurible. She walked sunwise around me and my precious charge three times, enveloping us in haze of sweet smoke that reminded me of honeysuckle. She then circled the knights, purifying all present.

  Rowena approached and poured ice-cold water over my hands. She then dipped an evergreen sprig into the pitcher and used it to shower all present. She waved her hand over the water, and it shimmered, changing before my eyes. Stepping to one side, she motioned for me to remove the golden cloth from
over the Grail.

  I took a deep breath, remembering the many forms it had taken in my dreams. Slowly, I drew the cloth away.

  A gasp went up from the crowd, but no one spoke.

  I looked down. In my hands was a bronze cauldron about the size of a large winter squash. It was decorated with intricate scrollwork, much like the pattern on the robes worn by the Lady of the Lake. As I gazed at it, I found I could read it, but it shifted as soon as I understood its meaning. It was not something I would ever be able to put into words, for it was the wisdom of the ages, meant to be held only in the soul, not transmitted through human senses.

  On the sides of the vessel were four golden seals, each representing one of the elements. I turned it in my hands so I could see each in turn. Nearest to me was the seal of earth, depicting mountains, trees, and a pointed buck. As I looked at it, I was enveloped by the scent of pine and freshly turned earth. The next was air, an ethereal design that brought to mind clouds and invisible summer breezes. As I watched, it ruffled the edge of my veil. Next was the seal of fire, which glowed a rose-colored hue and was hot to the touch. Finally, a seal depicting waves and streams. It was cold, like melting snow, and smelled of briny seas.

  Rowena poured water from her vessel into the Grail. She then took my free hand and one of Marius’s and joined them together over the Grail. Even in my altered state, my stomach clenched at his touch. He scowled at me as we each silently blessed the vessel and its contents in our own way before releasing our grasp.

  An inner voice told me to drink, so I did. A sweet honeyed mead filled my mouth, more pleasant than anything I had ever tasted. It had to have been the drink of the gods, the potion of Ceridwen that gave new life to the dead. It coursed through my veins, warming and healing every part of me. My once-broken fingers reset without pain and old battle wounds mended, though their scars remained. Even my womb glowed with warmth, and I knew that had I consumed this drink when I was younger, I could have borne children again. But alas, I was growing too old for such things.