Guinevere's Tale

by Nicole Evelina

“I do,” she answered in a tremulous voice.

  “Then he should rest here with Peredur, who was, after all, his master.”

  Mona took from her belt the silver scythe that all Grail maidens carried and held it out to Aggrivane, who wiped his eyes and took it. As he hacked a small hole into the ground at the base of Peredur’s memorial stone, I realized that Aggrivane was also grieving the loss of two of his fellow soldiers, members of the Combrogi with whom he had fought in battle and with whom he’d celebrated in times of peace. My stomach clenched. I had been so selfish, I had not been able to see his pain.

  I took his hand. “Aggrivane, I am so sorry. I was so wrapped up in my own grief that I failed to recognize yours. Please forgive me.”

  He squeezed my hand. “There is nothing to forgive. I prefer to pay my respects in private anyway.”

  Mona joined her hand with mine, and together we knelt to bury Bricriu.

  “Thank you, Peredur, for such a special gift. At an age far before reason, you followed the prompting of the gods to bestow this gift upon us. Throughout your life, you continued to follow that same divine urging, which ultimately led you to the Grail and to this place. Your life was one of love and service, to your king and to your god. Please know you are loved and your sacrifice does not go unremembered,” I said.

  After a few moments of silence, Mona stood. “You have come for the Grail, yes? I will accompany it and you back to Avalon.” Seeing my astonishment, she tapped the faded crescent between her brows. “I knew you were coming.”

  Inside the Grail Castle, all was quiet and still, seemingly undisturbed by the violence that beat at its walls and had taken so many lives. I had to stop and hold on to one of the stone pillars to catch my balance because the sense of repeating this moment was so strong. Only the last time I was there, I had been in pursuit of Bishop Maris, who intended to steal the Grail and sell it to the highest bidder in Brittany. Now, we were about to return it to its home in Avalon.

  Mona approached the pedestal with great reverence. Kneeling, she touched her right thumb to her forehead, lips, and heart. Then she prostrated herself completely before her sacred charge. Feeling the solemnity of the moment, I knelt, bowing my head. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aggrivane do the same.

  Mona whispered a few words of quiet prayer not meant for my ears. What must it be like for her, knowing her time as Grail Maiden was coming to an end, that she had fulfilled her vocation? It must be mixture of joy at a job well done, grief for mistakes made that could not be undone, fear of the unknown, and excitement at the anticipation of what was yet to come. I understood because it was exactly what I was feeling. Just as we had been scared initiates together, we were facing the culmination of our duties as priestesses together as well. Thank you, God and Goddess, for giving me a lifelong companion to experience such things alongside.

  When I opened my eyes, Mona was holding the Grail. In one hand, she held the same shimmering golden cloth in which it had been veiled when I first saw it.

  “Just as we were among the first, we are the last three mortals to behold the Grail outside of the sacred isle of Avalon. Though the people of this realm served it well and faithfully for many years, they have proven themselves unworthy to have such a treasure in its midst. Thus, as its guardian, I remove it from the land of men and return it to its hallowed resting place until such time as it is again called forth by the will of the gods.”

  Having thus spoken, she broke two cruets over it, one of clear liquid—water from the holy springs of Avalon—and one of crimson. “This is the blood of every Grail Maiden who has ever served this holy relic. Blessed and purified, may it be purged of any defilement brought about by the hearts and minds of men, and sanctified for whatever role the gods decree for it next.” She drank the contents of the cup and placed its golden veil over it.

  After one more bow to the former altar, she joined us. “Let us go from here. There is only one thing remaining to do.”

  We stood on the shore, facing the Grail Castle. To anyone watching from above, we were simply three onlookers curious about the strange fortified island, but this moment was so much more.

  “Many people attempted to steal the Grail in the dark days after Camlann,” Mona said. “I watched from the shadows as man and woman alike—rich, poor, Christian, Druid, Saxon, and Briton—attempted to take the cup. But it refused to budge from its place of veneration. Just as it knew our hearts when we drank from it and assumed the most appropriate shape for us to understand, so too did it know the hearts of those who came to it. That is why only I was able to remove it. I suspect the two of you would have been able as well, in my absence. So that no trace of the Grail remains except in the memories of this generation, there is one last thing we must do.”

  Mona reverently placed the Grail in Aggrivane’s hands. “I ask you, as one who studied with Merlin and has conducted his life with honor, to please guard this while we work.”

  Aggrivane looked at her with astonishment. Except for during two ceremonies with Arthur, the only people to have the privilege of holding the Grail were Galahad, Peredur, Mona, and Bishop Marius. He fell to one knee and bowed his head. “I would be honored, my lady.”

  Mona took my hand. “I have the power to do this myself, but I would much like you to join me. In this action, may you find peace and closure for all the many things you have suffered and those you have lost.”

  We each took a deep breath and closed our eyes. I sent my consciousness downward, searching until I felt the faint thrum of the Tor, a heartbeat I could always hear if I listened, no matter how far my body was from its source.

  Mona chanted in the ancient language that predated Avalon, her voice high and clear. When she squeezed my hand, I added my voice to hers, the words bubbling from my lips of their own accord, with no conscious thought on my part. My vision filled with images of angry seas, of waves growing higher and higher until they engulfed a city I did not recognize. This was the predecessor to Mona, to Avalon, the isle that had been lost beneath the waves many ages before. Then my eyes snapped open, and I beheld the sea churning, the tide lapping at the tops of the outer walls of the Grail Castle.

  As we continued to chant, the wind howled, whipping up the caps of the waves until they spilled over the walls and into the castle. Rain poured down in sheets, raising the water levels even higher, until the whole castle groaned and collapsed in on itself, swallowed up by the waves in a matter of heartbeats.

  Mona squeezed my hand again, and I fell silent. The chant ended on a sharp note, whose finality was unmistakable. As the echo of her voice faded away, the winds calmed, the sky cleared, and the seas settled. Within moments, our clothes were dry, as was the ground around us, as though nothing had ever happened.

  I gazed out over the sea at where the Grail Castle had stood on its island. There was no sign it had ever existed. Somehow, I knew that upon the next change of tide, the causeway would be gone as well, to live on only in the astonished memories of those who would recall the strange storm and tell tales to their grandchildren of the fortress that had once guarded the holiest of treasures.

  I turned away, another chapter of my life having come to a close. As we walked away from the coastline and the city, my heart lifted and I smiled. The gnawing grief that had held me in its sway was gone, as was the anger I felt toward Evina and Elga, all of the penned-up pain of my life since Mordred had caught Lancelot and I saying our farewells. It was as though years’ worth of healing had taken place in the space of an hour. Somehow, in a way I would never be able to explain, the Grail had worked its magic to heal me one last time.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  When the mists parted, Ailis, Viviane’s daughter and the current Lady of Avalon, was waiting for us, along with Helene, who had stayed in Avalon after Camlann and was now a second-degree acolyte clothed in green. For a moment, she reminded me so much of Morgan when I first came to Avalon tha
t it seemed time had rewound itself.

  But then Ailis took my hands and I was brought back to the present. I ran to her, embracing her as though she were my own mother. Aggrivane genuflected, touching his thumb to his forehead, lips, and heart.

  “Welcome, beloved daughters,” she said to Mona and me. “And to our brother in peace.”

  Mona bowed to her and removed the Grail from the sack she carried. “Holy Mother, it is done. I return to Avalon the gift the Goddess so graciously gave to us so many years before.”

  The Lady nodded. “You have served your calling well, my daughter. Return it to the hidden temple from which it came, that it may slumber there until it is again called forth in another age.” She brushed Mona’s cheek softly, lovingly. “Then take your place among your sisters and live out your days in peace, secure in the knowledge you have done all she asked and more.”

  With a small curtsy, Mona turned and headed toward the Tor, Helene trailing at her heels, ready to serve.

  “Morgan must be so proud,” I said wistfully.

  Ailis smiled. “Helene will be Lady of the Lake after me. I have seen it.”

  The Lady took our hands in hers. “I know what you have suffered. There is no recompense I can give, but I can promise you the protection of Avalon for as long as you shall desire it.”

  “Thank you, Lady.”

  “You must be tired from your journey. Come, let us take some refreshment. There is much you should know.”

  She led us to a small patio outside her quarters, overlooking the orchard. As we drank water from the springs and nibbled on fresh bread, I watched the priestesses at their work. Some tended the gardens, others taught at the center of clusters of students, while many of the older women turned spinning wheels or tended looms on patios similar to ours. There was one bright patch of hair I kept expecting to see among them but could not find anywhere.

  “You seek your sister, Morgan, do you not?” asked the Lady, who had been watching me.

  “I do. The last I knew, she lay dying within a fort far from here. I hoped someone had saved her, brought her here to be healed. Was my hope in vain?”

  “No. She is here. But you look in the wrong place. Morgan was true to her word and stayed with Arthur until the very end. He is buried here, you know.”

  I choked back a sob. I had not expected to find him buried here, especially since he was a Christian. “I did not know.”

  “You may visit him, if you like.”

  I glanced at Aggrivane, unsure how he would feel. He nodded.

  “Please.”

  I took a step to follow her but paused when Aggrivane whispered in my ear, “I would like to pay my respects, unless you would like a private moment.”

  In answer, I took his arm and led us both in the Lady’s wake.

  She spoke to us over her shoulder as we walked. “Arthur was unconscious when Morgan arrived here with him. Despite our best ministrations, he never again woke.”

  We walked on and on, through the plains and over rugged land that led into the mountains. I had never been this close to the edge of the mists before. The Tor was still visible behind us, but it looked much smaller than it did up close. Still imposing in its shocking grandeur against the surrounding lake and plains, it seemed more like a small hill than a mighty monument. When I stepped over the crest of a ridge of rocks, a shiver coursed down my spine.

  The Lady noticed. “We have passed beyond the veil of Avalon. This land belongs to the Christian priests, for Morgan desired to honor Arthur’s wishes to be buried on Christian soil.”

  From out of the mists, a small wattle-and-dub building emerged, its roof crudely made of sticks that were hardly adequate to keep out the rain. In the center, where the branches ended at the chimney hole, a carved wooden cross was fastened with twine to the sticks around it. On both sides were flowering hawthorn trees taller than the building.

  So it was real. Legends I had heard all my life said that this was the building Joseph of Arimathea had constructed after he brought the Grail to Avalon’s shores from Jesus’s desert homeland in the east. Christians believed the hawthorn trees grew from where Joseph sank his staff into the ground and that their miraculous bloom in the middle of winter occurred to honor the birth of Christ.

  The hide flap covering the doorway fluttered, and from inside emerged a stooped man dressed in a coarse, gray wool tunic, his bald pate and long beard marking him as a follower of Joseph. His smile warmed my heart. “Blessings, my brother and sisters.”

  The Lady returned his greeting with a small bow. “As to you, Father Edgar.” She gestured toward us. “These are friends of our departed High King. They wish to pay their respects.”

  Father Edgar stepped forward and took Aggrivane’s hands, saying something to him I could not hear. Then he was in front of me, taking my hands like a long-lost friend. I curtsied to show my respect for his faith and his position.

  He beamed, revealing naked gums. “I may be old and my eyes rheumy, but I know the face of my queen. It is I who should bow to you. Welcome to the chapel of St. Joseph, my lady. If I may be of assistance, simply call. In the meantime, I will let you conduct your business in peace.” He gingerly settled himself into a rickety chair next to the door and turned his eyes to the mountains, muttering Latin prayers to himself.

  The Lady pointed at a clearing between two yew trees. Protruding from its base was a black stone cross. Beyond it was a mound of earth, most certainly Arthur’s grave.

  “When Arthur breathed his last, for a long time, Morgan refused to believe he was dead, insisting he slept still. It was only when he was buried that she accepted the truth. She grieved hard for him, but her grief was not protracted, for she soon felt a longing to return to the world.” She watched me carefully, as though anticipating my every reaction. “We never thought we would see her again. Then several weeks ago, she returned to us, suffering from grave complications in the wake of a nasty wound to the abdomen she appeared to have bound up herself. She said she wished to make amends with Avalon so that she could die in the peace of both our faith and that of the Christians.”

  As we approached the clearing, I found that the cross had markings inscribed upon it. I narrowed my eyes, but it took me a few moments to recognize them as Latin letters inscribed in the tall block Roman style. As I struggled to make them out, Aggrivane chuckled.

  “She got the last word after all,” he said, admiration clear in his voice.

  I furrowed my brow at him, but he pointed back at the cross. Only when I finally translated the words did Aggrivane’s reaction make sense.

  Here lies the great King Arthur, with his first wife.

  “His first wife? Am I reading that correctly?” I turned to the Lady. “There must be some mistake. I was his first wife.”

  She shook her head. “No, not according to the laws of Avalon. Arthur laid with Morgan in the Sacred Marriage. That made her his wife in spirit long before he wed you in law.”

  I opened my mouth, but no words would come forth, only copious tears. After so long, our battle was over. Morgan had died in the winning and now, thanks to this inscription, everyone would know he had loved her long before I became his queen. She would lie beside Arthur forever, gaining in death what she had so longed for in life.

  Aggrivane slipped an arm around me. “Do you know what this means?” He kissed the top of my head.

  I shook my head.

  He placed his hands on my hips, turning me to face him. “It means by the laws of Avalon, I was your first husband.”

  I looked into his eyes, my tears slowing then ceasing. He was right. We had been joined all along by a bond more immovable than the mountains.

  “The Goddess puts all things to rights in the end,” the Lady said, stepping back so we could absorb the meaning of this in private.

  “Do you think we might one day be buried together
?” he asked, his deep brown eyes aflame with hope.

  I gazed at him, his smile melting my heart and easing my lingering doubt and pain by degrees, just as the dawn chases away the fog. So many events separated us from our first embrace on this isle. In the years between, I had won and lost his love, become queen, taken a lover and been betrayed by him, as well as my husband and the boy I considered a son, won and lost my ancestral tribe, faced down and forgiven the greatest of my enemies, only to find Aggrivane once again. Through it all, one constant remained—the soft voice of the Goddess whispering her will in my heart. Now she was telling me the time for grief and strife was over, that I could finally embrace this man without fear and without guilt and love the one I had known all along belonged to me.

  In answer, I slipped my hand into his. “I do.”

  I rested my head on his shoulder, overwhelmed by a sense of rightness and completion. It would take time to know him anew, to let my broken heart heal and let my love for Lancelot fade enough so that I could give Aggrivane a permanent place in my heart once again. But even now, the chambers of my heart shifted to make room for him as the small, secret place I had kept for only him unlocked like a long-neglected tomb. Someday, when the sunlight and breezes of Avalon had finally chased away the cobwebs of grief, it would swell to embrace him wholly.

  For once, time was not a barrier. After all, we had the rest of our lives.

  Before You Go . . .

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