Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

  She turned so that her back was toward us as she faced the circle of riders. The sun had dipped below the horizon and was losing its battle against the onslaught of night, bleeding into the sky in vivid streaks of burgundy, burnt umber, and ocher. Against such a backdrop Evina resembled a goddess herself, one who represented retribution and rage.

  “You, my beloved ones, have been specially chosen to act in her stead this night. Go now! Go forth and trace the borders of our kingdom, sealing them by Rhiannon’s power to keep our enemies at bay and protect our land. May she speed you on your journey.”

  With a collective whoop, they scattered to the four winds, torches like beacons in the night.

  When the riders were no longer visible, Evina turned back to her subjects. “You, my people, have been false.” She wagged a finger at the crowd like a remonstrative mother. “You have laid aside your vows to me to raise up a false queen. And why? Have I been so terrible to you? Have I ignored or abused you? Tell me now, why have you turned against me?” She signaled to the guards ringing the pen. “Bring them out.”

  The four guards nearest to the door of the pen stepped aside. Two disappeared inside, only to emerge holding the arms of two bound captives. I didn’t know either face, but I was willing to wager they were Sobian’s contacts, the leaders of the insurrection in my name.

  The strong hands of my guard shoved me forward and I tripped, the ground rising fast. My hands hit the grass, and searing pain erupted in my knee as it met the hard earth. Before I could catch my breath, I was lifted, face to sky, on the hands of the priestesses, who cooed oddly soothing words in my ears as they raised me to the platform.

  Once I was standing next to Rohan, Evina put her hands on her hips. “Well? Tell us why. Why did you back this usurper?”

  The two captives stood erect as statues, impassive and empty expressions on their bruised faces. She would have no answer from them. Likewise, I could give no explanation that would satisfy her. I hadn’t sought the throne, nor did I believe she had proof that I was in any way involved. But it was my name they proclaimed, and that was crime enough.

  “Does it matter?” Rohan asked. “In our eyes, you were unfit to rule. Or at best not the most worthy of the throne. We proclaimed the one who was. So has it been since our ancestors first divided into tribes and so shall it be into our children’s children’s time. It is the way of things.”

  “You do not have the right to give testimony before me, traitor,” Evina spat. “You have committed the worst crime of all. Moving against me is one thing, but to move against your country, your tribe, and your people is inexcusable.” She looked around, taking in the mass of people. “Those who ally with the enemy have moved beyond the bounds of justice, beyond our codicils of fines and laws. There is but one punishment for traitors.” Evina unsheathed her sword and held it up. There was no mistaking her meaning.

  My heart sank to my feet, and I struggled to swallow the oversized lump in my throat as my earlier fear was confirmed.

  Evina stalked around Rohan at arm’s length like a wolf circling prey. “But do not fear,” she said with a cold laugh. “You will not die alone.”

  I expected her manic gaze to fall upon me, but instead, she faced the pen again. One guard whistled, and two lines of people—men, women, and a few boys just barely of marrying age—stepped out, blinking at the torches like moles in the sunlight.

  “These are your people, those who rose with you, are they not?” Evina asked the man and woman. Without waiting for an answer, she shoved them off the platform toward the lines of prisoners. “Let this be a lesson to all of you. Those who incite others against their rulers die alongside them.” To the soldiers, she added, “Take them away.”

  While the lines were herded back inside the pen, a few men and young boys shoving against their captors in a futile bid to escape, Evina stood in front of me, staring into my eyes. So much of my mother was there, but this woman lacked her warmth. After tonight, I believed she lacked a heart—and possibly a soul—as well. I swallowed and willed my shaking knees and hands to be still. Keeping the image of my mother before my eyes, I held Evina’s gaze, queen to queen, one granddaughter of Cunedda’s line to another. This madwoman would not see how much she frightened me.

  Finally she turned away from me, swinging her sword in a showy arc, before kneeling at her husband’s feet and presenting the blade to him with bowed head. He took it and approached us, the determined, stoic expression of a warrior writ across his features. He raised his blade, and I closed my eyes, steeling myself for pain. Rohan grunted next to me, and a whoosh of cool air rushed over me. I opened my eyes. His headless body had collapsed next to me, a patch of blood already forming at my feet. I exhaled loudly and stumbled backward, shock and relief warring in my veins.

  A slow grin spread across Evina’s face. “No. Not you. Not now. I have other plans for you.”

  As Rohan’s blood stained the boards and seeped between the cracks to the earth below, Mynyddog squatted and drew his fingers through spreading pool. He rose and painted his wife’s face in streaks of crimson so that she appeared ready for battle.

  “The traitor is dead. But the scales remain unbalanced. Just as a mother punishes a child who goes beyond the bounds of her law, so as your Votadess am I honor bound to give correction to my people. Unfortunately, the offense committed here goes beyond fines and the making of outlaws. I will not tolerate insubordination.” She raised her arms to the sky, face turned toward the starry heavens. “As I am strengthened by the blood of my enemies, may the goddess Epona accept the sacrifice we offer this night. May our land be protected and forever blessed.”

  Before I could comprehend what was happening, the guards surrounding the pen wound thick lengths of chain around it and secured the door with a padlock before resuming their places. From the inside came a few shouts and whines of protest. Below us, the crowd stirred in response, shifting uneasily from foot to foot, heads turned toward neighbors in question.

  “This is the summer solstice, the longest night. We celebrate the power of the sun and beg it not to leave us behind for its winter home, encouraging its potency through fire and flame.” Evina nodded toward the pen. “For ages, our people have lit a bonfire representing the spirit of the Votadini people and kept watch over it through the night. Usually the honor of starting the fire belongs to my husband or me.” She turned to me. “However, since you so desperately wanted to become Votadess, I will allow you to light the fire.”

  Shock reverberated through me as though I had been struck by lightning. This was no ordinary ceremony, and she was no ordinary woman. The Votadess was asking me to be responsible for the deaths of dozens of her people, my people, whose only crime had been trusting me. I squeezed my eyes shut. This went against everything I had ever been taught or thought I stood for. I had taken lives before, but those were lives lost to war and the gods understood that. This was far different, the murder of innocents to assuage one insecure woman’s overblown sense of justice. I could not, would not comply, come what may.

  I opened my eyes. Evina and Mynyddog were staring at me.

  “You are a priestess, are you not?” Evina gestured toward the pen. “Light the flame.”

  I looked for a proffered torch, but none was being held out to me. Everyone around me stood in silent expectation. Then I understood. Evina was asking me to use my skills as a priestess to execute those she had deemed guilty. No. No. I cannot! This goes against every single precept of Avalon, every rule governing the use of my skills. I cannot. I will not!

  “Unless you wish to join them, you’d better make it look as though you are trying to comply,” an authoritative female voice threaded its way into my mind.

  I turned my head, trying to find the source of the sound. Most were still waiting for me to do something, but Calliac caught my eye and shook her head almost imperceptibly, silently commanding me not to let my face reflect
what was happening.

  I narrowed my eyes and focused on the pen. I had to make it look as though I was willing the fire from the guards’ torches to fly to the thatched roof.

  Calliac glided toward me, stopping at my side. “My lady,” she addressed Evina. “Fear blunts our abilities. No doubt you have frightened this woman with your awesome display of justice and authority. Perhaps you will allow me to aid her power?”

  Evina considered this. “Do you mean like adding more spark to the kindling?”

  Calliac nodded. “Just so.”

  “Proceed.”

  Calliac took my hand. Again her voice rang in my head. “You need do nothing. I will start the fire so your conscience may remain clear.” She squeezed my hand. Smoke wound skyward from the roof. “My form of magic is different from yours,” she silently explained. “Though the taking of a life in ritual is usually frowned upon, it is permitted in certain circumstances, so I am doing nothing against my own faith. You bear no guilt upon your soul for what is about to happen.”

  With a pop, the roof ignited, followed shortly thereafter by one of the walls. Soon the whole structure was aflame.

  Around me, the crowd dispersed, some fleeing the heat and horror, others throwing themselves against the guards, seeking to save the people inside, while a handful ran to the well and tried to organize a bucket line to staunch the flames. But all their efforts were in vain, for no mortal could be faster than the wind that whipped up from the west, spreading the conflagration with elemental speed.

  For the rest of my life, the screams and cries of those trapped and dying souls would ring in my ears. I would wake from dreams reliving this night, imagined blood on my hands and very real blame on my soul. With each beat of my heart, I would see their shades in the shadows and hear their accusing voices. But at the moment, all I could do was stand in mute horror, tears pouring down my face as their bodies blackened and charred like so much overcooked meat, paralyzed, unable to defend or to rescue them. For all my wealth, my powers, and my wisdom, I was helpless in the face of such tragedy.

  With her immediate enemies vanquished and me publicly brought to heel, Evina resumed her duties as though nothing unusual had happened. She even allowed me to take a room in the main castle and for Lancelot and Sobian to be housed nearby. Our accommodations were nothing grand, but anything beat the sweltering gaol. I should have been grateful for her generosity—the fact that all of us still had our lives was nothing short of a miracle—but I couldn’t help being suspicious of Evina’s motives.

  My fear of her revenge made every waking moment torture. There was no way Evina was ready to call my punishment complete, so I expected her vengeance around every corner. Sleep came in short, fitful bursts, just enough to keep me from getting ill or losing my mind, but not nearly enough to allay my constant state of alert anticipation and humming nerves. Each meal was torture, since I suspected each cup or bowl set in front of me was laced with poison. Sobian grudgingly began sampling a spoonful or sip of each part of my meal so that I wouldn’t starve to death. Anytime we left the safety of our rooms, I insisted Lancelot walk before me and Sobian guard my back. Evina said nothing but watched me with shrewd eyes that were constantly plotting, calculating, feeding my troubled mind a steady diet of fear and doubt.

  A fortnight after the solstice, Evina summoned Lancelot, Sobian, and me to her private chambers, and my stomach dipped in agitated anticipation. This was the moment I had been dreading, the reckoning I had been waiting for.

  Evina and Mynyddog sat in throne-like chairs, surrounded by assorted sycophants and friends. Mynyddog slouched in his seat, relaxed, drinking ale and laughing. Slave women weaved between guests, bearing trays of meat and cheeses, fruit and delicacies, as though serving at a feast for close friends. Did they always dine this way? Or had we interrupted something?

  As soon as Evina saw us, she snapped her fingers and everyone stopped what they were doing and departed. When we were alone, she did not offer us seats but required us to stand before her.

  She toyed with the rim of her leather cup, looking at us through her eyelashes. “I have a proposal for you, one that you may refuse, but know that the other option is death.”

  I eyed Lancelot. So much for free will.

  “You are too valuable for me to kill, which I suppose you have surmised by now. You have skill and experience that cannot be replicated. It pains me to need you, but each of you are necessary to the future of this kingdom. Lancelot, we need your skill with the sword and your ability with horses. Sobian, you are a master of intrigue with a network that rivals my own. Guinevere, your knowledge of strategy and of the hearts of the players on Britain’s field of battle are second to none. Plus, you wield the power of Avalon. All of these skills combined will position us to be supreme rulers of the four ancient tribes. So I am asking you…” She cocked an eyebrow and gave us an all-knowing twist of her lips, her eyes gleaming menacingly. “No, I’m telling you, that you will remain by my side as my advisors in the coming war. And it will come to that, have no doubt.”

  I did not doubt it, even for a moment.

  Evina stood, coming to rest before Lancelot. She placed a hand on his shoulder, a gesture that seemed to encircle him far more than her physical connection with him would allow. “To ensure your loyalty, Guinevere, I will take Lancelot’s life as my own. Know that if you disobey me, even in one small matter, he will pay the price.”

  I swallowed hard, understanding the severity of the situation, for it was nearly an identical position to the one Lot had found himself in after his own failed coup against Arthur. Would that I had learned from him; perhaps then we’d all still be living in peace in Stirling. But that was not the case, and I had to deal with the here and now, not what could have been.

  I bowed to Evina, so low that my head nearly brushed the floor. “As you say, Votadess. I am yours to command.”

  “As am I,” Lancelot and Sobian echoed.

  She smiled. “Good. Now we can get down to business.”

  Evina finally invited us to sit. When we were settled, she continued. “You likely have noticed that thanks to the Saxon war, Morcant’s relocation to Stirling, and the Pictish threat, my army now has three fronts to patrol, which means fewer and fewer men in each regiment. I can afford to stretch my northern army thin, but I certainly don’t wish to underestimate Morcant’s ambition—if he senses weakness, he could rebel as well—nor can I afford to skimp on troops guarding the border to Bernicia.” She pinched her mouth with her thumb and forefinger and pulled downward, as if doing so would relieve the strain such words placed upon her. “Therefore, I feel that the only way forward is to conscript soldiers from the people, which I know that they will hate, especially since harvest time is nearly upon us and all hands are needed in the fields.”

  I shook my head before she’d even finished speaking. “No. That is not the strategy you should pursue. Unless further rebellion is what you desire, then by all means, continue.”

  “What do you recommend as an alternative?” Mynyddog asked, speaking for the first time since we answered his wife’s summons.

  Lancelot looked at me as well, as though curious as to where I would take this line of thinking.

  “After the battle of Badon, when the Saxons were quelled and the Holy Grail had granted us peace, we needed something to do with the soldiers and brigands who usually occupied their time fighting for the king. Several suggestions were put forth by the Combrogi. One man thought we should establish a school to train future members who may not be able to afford to travel to Camelot to serve Arthur directly. Another thought their skills would be best used as a traveling band of soldiers policing the countryside in cooperation with the local kings and lords. I think the best solution for our present situation might be a combination of the two.”

  I rose, standing directly before them to better impart my point. “I believe we should bring the rema
ining Combrogi to Din Eidyn to help train the young and encourage people to volunteer so it doesn’t come to conscription. They are well-known, and their names alone will attract people to your cause.”

  Mynyddog leaned forward, interest plain upon his face. “Tell me more.”

  “Well, we have lost many of our greatest knights, but you have the two best here in this room. Put it about that Lancelot will offer personal lessons in horsemanship and blade work, and you will attract a certain contingent of young men.” I turned to Sobian. “This lady here has a storied past that will no doubt attract women to your cause. Add to that Gawain, whom I am sure could be persuaded to lend his skills in exchange for a fortifying army at Traprain Law, and I know I can convince Bedivere and maybe even Kay to travel north.” I turned to Sobian. “You can track them down, yes?”

  She looked up as though I had interrupted more important thoughts. “Of course.”

  Evina sat up straighter. “And you? Will you teach your magic to our people?”

  “No. That I cannot do. I can only train those who have a genuine calling to priestesshood and even then my skills are limited. But I can work with Kiara to help the others in training.”

  Evina nodded. “Yes, I like this plan. Let us see how many people volunteer for our army before Lughnasa.” She looked at Mynyddog. “Have it put forth that we are reconvening Arthur’s Combrogi in order to defend against the Saxon hordes. Let us see who shows up before we resort to conscription.” Evina stood, towering over me. “Guinevere, I hereby charge you, Lancelot, and Sobian with building the greatest army the Votadini have ever seen. You will report to us when the tribes are gathered for Lughnasa.”

  Lughnasa was only six weeks away. To get the word out in that time would require a spectacular feat of communication, the like of which this isle had never seen. I looked at Sobian, who grinned at me, clearly up for the challenge in spite of having lost two of her best informants to Evina’s revenge on the summer solstice. Not to mention we needed a place to house the influx of troops and a plan to condense years of study and practice into weeks, even days, to meet Evina’s timeline.