Queen of Camelot Read online

  Among the gifts we had brought, goblets and carved platters, thick warm blankets woven from good Welsh fleece, and ornaments of beaten silver from the mines near Snowdon, were several silken hangings for the new queen’s chamber. Alyse and her ladies had sewn them and then we all had stitched decorative patterns in different colors of thread. One of these, of white silk with a mare’s head in the center and colts frolicking in fields of green at each corner, caught her attention. She motioned for the servant to hold it up to the light.

  “This one is most unusual,” she said. “The stitching is very fine and the use of color shows an eye for beauty. I thank you, Queen Alyse, I shall use this for my bridal bed.”

  Queen Alyse curtsied low.

  “Thank you, gracious Princess. But I cannot take credit for the workmanship. That silk was done by my ward, Guinevere of Northgallis.”

  Princess Morgan turned to stare at me, and her eyes grew cold. The smile left her lips, but her breeding held. “This is fine work indeed, for so young a maid. Thank you, Guinevere. I shall remember it.”

  Something moved in the darkness behind her stool—I felt eyes on me suddenly, and my flesh crept on my bones. There was a man behind her, come from nowhere it seemed, although I suppose the truth was that I simply had not noticed him before. He was tall and thin, with black hair and beard, skin as ageless as oak bark and much the same color, and black, fathomless eyes that glared at me with intense, unwavering, malignant hatred. I began to tremble violently, trapped like an insect in the web of his gaze; conversation went on around me, it seemed no one noticed. He was wrapped in a black cloak from shoulder to boot and clutched a staff in his left hand. I knew him at once. He was Merlin.

  Elaine took my arm and drew me away, as Pellinore and Alyse moved off. I was shaking so hard I could barely walk and tears stung my eyes.

  “Gwen! What’s wrong? Why are you shaking so?”

  “Why does he hate me, Elaine? What have I done?”

  “Whatever are you talking about? Who hates you?”

  “Merlin.”

  She gasped. “Merlin! How do you know? What makes you think so?”

  “Didn’t you see the way he looked at me?”

  She stopped and stared at me, looking puzzled and a little frightened.

  “Yes, I saw him,” she said finally in a halting voice, “but he wasn’t looking at you. He was just watching us present the gifts. He looked kindly, I thought.”

  Now it was my turn to stare. I thought she was teasing me at first, but then I understood her astonishment was genuine. No one, not Pellinore, Alyse, Cissa, or Leonora, had noticed anything unusual. Was it possible I had imagined it? But I knew I had not.

  I kept my thoughts to myself and did not tell Ailsa. For Merlin was perhaps the most powerful man in all Britain, and an enchanter, as well. It would not do to have him as an enemy, and my dear, superstitious nurse would die a thousand deaths, yes, and clutch her amulets forever, if I shared my fears with her. I composed myself for sleep that night as usual, but sleep did not come. I lay awake, uneasy and full of fear, until the dark time at moonset. Then I seemed to feel a heaviness come upon my spirit, and I sank into sleep. Almost at once I saw Merlin’s face again—not angry this time, but sorrowful. His black eyes bored through me with urgency and feeling, with beseeching, almost, but I knew not for what. I sensed longing, desperation, and then a breath, a cat’s-paw touch of deep love. At last, his quest unsatisfied, he seemed to sigh with a sorrow from the depths of the earth. He nodded kindly, as if in benediction, and turned sadly away. As I drifted into forgetfulness, I knew even in my sleep that it was not a dream; I knew that Merlin’s power had reached me where I lay, that he had seen something in me that had broken his heart and left him desolate.

  In the morning, everything was packed and made ready for departure, but no one could leave until the royal party left first. I was ill with fatigue and fear and would have remained in the tent until all the farewells were said, but the tents were struck early and I had nowhere to hide. Elaine kept near Queen Alyse and Leonora, but I slipped away when no one was looking. It was very busy, with servants and soldiers bustling everywhere, everyone wanting to get an early start. I went to the horse lines and took an apple to Zephyr. She nickered a greeting and daintily took the fruit from my hand. The grooms had already saddled her. I rebraided her mane, crooning to her all the while and keeping well out of sight. But I knew that I could not hide from a magician. Magic was in the air that morning, all about me, the still, awful dread I had known by the spring pool in Northgallis. I was amazed that no one else seemed to notice it. Everyone was bustling about his chores, calling out morning greetings, exchanging bawdy jokes, laughing and grunting, moving and working. Only I, it seemed, was caught in this bright web of stillness, where the very air I breathed was alive with the whisperings of phantoms.

  Quite suddenly, he was beside me. I had not heard a footfall of his approach. He was plainly dressed; only the gold and red enamel Dragon brooch at his shoulder gave a clue to his identity. I believe I gasped as I sank to my curtsy.

  “My lord Merlin.”

  He reached out and took my hands, raising me quickly. To my surprise, his flesh was warm and comforting. He did not let go of my hands, but held them in his own and looked at me with kind, deep eyes. I was shaking, and the air around me positively sang with voices, but he stilled them. I saw him do it. He gave his head a quick shake, and the world went quiet.

  “Do not be afraid,” he said simply.

  I could not speak. Neither could I take my eyes from his face.

  “Your heart’s desire will be granted in six months,” he said. “After that, it is with the gods. You cannot change your fate, my dear, and neither can I.”

  “You—you don’t hate me, my lord?”

  Something flashed in the eyes then, and the corners of his thin mouth moved. “For his sake, I cannot. Glory and greatness are built on love. What will be, will be. Let it be so.”

  He dropped my hands then, as pounding filled my ears, and he actually bowed to me before he left. The last thing I heard as the world went dark was a groom calling out in panic, “The lady Guinevere has fainted!”

  King Pellinore made me ride home in the litter with Elaine, convinced I was ill. Of course I told Elaine all about it, and her eyes went wide with astonishment that Merlin the Enchanter should single me out to speak to.

  “But is that all he said? What does it mean?”

  “I have no idea what it means.”

  “But it was a blessing, wasn’t it, and not a curse?”

  I went cold inside at the thought. “I don’t know, Elaine. Would he have held my hands while he cursed me? Would he have bowed? Why did he come to find me in the midst of the bustle of departure, just to tell me not to be afraid? How could he possibly think I would not be afraid?”

  “But you are brave, Gwen. I’ve seen you—flying through the air with Zephyr. It makes me weak with fear to watch you!”

  “Nonsense. I’m not afraid of Zephyr. I think you have to be afraid in order to be brave. And I am truly afraid of Merlin. Do you believe—a pagan enchanter has power over a Christian?” I was reminded of my conversation with Gwillim, long ago. Did he command real powers, or just my thoughts and dreams? If I did not believe he had power over me—but that was the trouble. Christian or not, I did believe it. I knew it.

  “Ask Father Martin,” Elaine advised. “He will know. He speaks to God.”

  When we were home, and I had convinced Queen Alyse that I had recovered from my faintness, I sought out Father Martin. He was a robust and comely man of about thirty who enjoyed the company of peasants and low folk as much as that of Pellinore’s nobles. He was not a scholar like Iakos, but he was warm and approachable. I found him in his garden, surrounded by a group of dirty, brown-skinned children in ragged clothing. They were listening open-mouthed to the story of Jonah and the Whale. I wondered if any of them were sons of fisher-folk and what would happen when they next went ou
t upon the sea.

  Father Martin rose when he saw me and smiled. The children filed out, eyes downcast, and then we heard them running down to the village, hollering and shouting, and Father Martin laughed.

  “To have such energy! I would I could be young again. Well, my lady Guinevere, to what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

  “I wish to know the answer to a question, Father, and I think only you can answer it.”

  He paused and led me to a stone bench among the pear trees. “I will certainly answer it if I can, my lady.”

  “Do pagan enchanters have powers over spirits, or only God?”

  I don’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t that. He stared a moment and then almost smiled. “Are you referring to any pagan enchanter in particular, my lady?”

  “Yes. To Merlin.”

  He cleared his throat then, and looked away. “Ahhh. Merlin.” He studied the clouds for a while and then turned to me. “May I know what brought this on, my lady? Has something happened that concerns Merlin?”

  “Y—yes, Father. I met him. He spoke to me.”

  “And he frightened you.”

  “He told me not to be afraid. But he—he did frighten me.”

  Father Martin took both my hands, as Merlin had done, but the effect was not the same. There was nothing in them. They were human hands.

  “You know, Guinevere, that the Lord God is the True God. He loves His children, especially the innocent. He protects you, child, He protects you daily. You have nothing to fear from Merlin while God’s Hand is over you.”

  “Then Merlin has no power? Or is it that God’s is stronger?”

  Father Martin looked uncomfortable. “There are many kinds of power, child. There is the kind of power the High King wields against his enemies. There is the kind of power the soothsayers and hill witches have over the minds of simple folk. But the kind of power God grants is greater than all of them. It is the power of love.”

  I did not understand him. “Do you class Merlin with the soothsayers, then? Does he only have power over those who believe in him? Is it so with God, also?”

  Father Martin crossed himself quickly, shocked. “Hush, my sweet child, it’s blasphemy to say such a thing. That God’s holy power could depend on something as frail as the will of a human! No, no, never think it. No matter what you believe, my dear girl, God will love you and protect you. His love is everlasting.”

  “Forgive me, Father. I did not mean to blaspheme. It’s only—I want to know if Merlin has power or not.”

  Father Martin sighed and struggled with his words. “I do not know the man myself,” he said at last. “But I have heard of his many doings. I will not deny that he has power. But they say his power has always been used for the good, for building and making. It is God’s power, though even Merlin may not know it.”

  I wanted to believe him, but I did not. Jesus had never come to me in my sleep the way that Merlin had.

  “What, if I may ask, my lady, did Merlin say to you?”

  Now it was my turn to look away and feel nervous. “He—he spoke of the future, I think, but it was very unclear. I mean, I didn’t understand him. He said what will be, will be. He said glory and greatness are built on love. But he seemed very sorry about it. It was the way he said it. As if he could see my future and it broke his heart.”

  Father Martin looked relieved and a little awed. Merlin’s words, even secondhand, could strike awe into the heart of a Christian priest.

  “He has told you the truth about the power of love,” Father Martin said. “It is a thing a wise man knows. And if Merlin the Enchanter is concerned about your future, Lady Guinevere, it must be a mighty future indeed.”

  I rose. I had learned what I came to learn. Father Martin believed every word out of Merlin’s mouth. He was even staring at me with wonder. I wanted to cry.

  “Thank you for your time, Father Martin,” I managed, gulping. “I must—I must get back. The queen—” I choked on the words and turned away.

  He rose hastily. “Whatever happens, my lady, God will protect you. Do not be afraid.”

  I shook my head as I hurried toward the gate, brushing tears from my eyes.

  Poor Father Martin tried again. “Merlin cannot hurt you, now or ever.”

  I turned as I opened the gate and looked up into his worried face. “Perhaps not. But he will never forgive me, either, for whatever it is I am to do.”

  In bed that night, I told Elaine everything that had passed. It did not surprise her that Father Martin believed in Merlin’s powers. Only a fool would not believe in them, so well known were they. I was the one she found puzzling.

  “But what did you expect, Gwen? You never doubted Merlin’s power. You felt it yourself, you said so. So why do you think Father Martin has let you down? What does God have to do with Merlin?”

  “Can Merlin see the future, Elaine? Truly, do you think he can?”

  “Of course. He sees what he wills to see. If he has seen yours, you may be sure it is important somehow.” She paused. “If your future is important, it must mean you will be a great lady someday. Perhaps you will follow me to the High King’s court. Perhaps you will marry one of the Companions.”

  “Elaine, you must know by now that is not my ambition.”

  Elaine smiled slyly. “What about the other thing he said? What is your heart’s desire, Gwen? To marry a prince?”

  “No, by Mithra. Just to be a woman, like you. The older I get the less I think I ever want to be married.”

  Elaine was scandalized. “You can’t mean you want to be a spinster! And you shouldn’t swear by Mithra now that you’ve been baptized. Gwen, what’s the matter with you? Don’t you want to be a queen someday and have lands of your own?”

  “They won’t be lands of my own. They’ll be my husband’s lands. I’ll be the keeper of his house. He won’t even discuss what’s going on in the world because ‘it’s not a fit subject for young maids.’ Whether I’m happy or not will depend completely upon him, and not at all upon me. I tell you, Elaine, I hate the thought of it.”

  “Well, you don’t have to marry anyone like that. Mother says so. She’s let me refuse all the young men, even when Father is so furious, because she says it’s only right that both husband and wife should want the same thing. And she’ll do the same for you. I’m sure she will.”

  “Oh, Elaine, do you really think she would? Even though Gwarthgydd and Pellinore might want it differently? Would she really require my consent? I tell you now, I don’t think I ever want to go near Caer Camel, or see the King’s Companions. Not if Merlin is nearby.” And I shivered.

  Elaine put her arms around me and hugged me warmly. “You will come with me. I will protect you. You are meant for someone special, that much is clear. One of the Companions, without a doubt, cousin. Perhaps that young knight with the foreign name who trained your horse. Just wait and see. You’ll love it at court.”

  Two weeks later Merlin disappeared. Princess Morgan had married King Urien, the wedding feast had lasted a week, the guests had departed. Merlin stayed on in conference with the aging bridegroom, discussing defense strategy. Lot’s queen, Morgause, Morgan’s half-sister, stayed on waiting for a fair wind to sail back to the Orkney Isles. While her body had grown thick with childbearing, she was still the most beautiful woman at the wedding and far outshone the bride. With her was a red-headed boy of three, Lot’s firstborn son, Gawaine. She had other sons at home in Orkney; one of them, the whispers went, was older than Gawaine, “the dark prince” she had left at home, but I did not believe the talk. Lot, of all people, surely would not allow the Queen to raise her bastard side by side with his own sons. At any rate, on the day Morgause sailed for Orkney, Merlin disappeared. No one could explain it. He was gone, and he left no trace.

  People laughed at first and said the King’s enchanter was up to his old tricks again, but as time went on faces grew sober. Always before when Merlin disappeared in one place, he reappeared somewhere else;
the people always knew the enchanter was there when Arthur wanted him. But this time even Arthur could not find him. The King’s troops scoured the wood where he had vanished, visited his cold hilltop cave in south Wales, hunted around Caer Camel and anywhere else they could think of, but Merlin was not there. Winter winds closed the seas, early snows blanketed the land, covering the woodland tracks, and the search parties were called off. Now King Arthur was alone.

  News came from Caerleon that the young Queen was with child of the royal heir, and bonfires were lit throughout the land in celebration. King Pellinore held a feast on All Hallow’s Eve in honor of the event. Elaine was green with envy, but I told her what a dreary life it would be, married to the High King.

  “You’d only be a broodmare to him,” I said. “That would be your foremost duty. Bear his children as fast as you could and see that they’re all sons. Forget having a companion, he would never be there. Even Alyse only sees Pellinore six months of the year, and he’s a homebody compared to the High King. He must always travel about the Kingdom. You would never really know him. There wouldn’t be time. You would be miserable.” I succeeded only in convincing myself. I never convinced Elaine. She was completely and thoroughly in love with Arthur, and there seemed to be nothing anyone could do about it.

  Then, as the first snows fell, the High Queen began to ail. All Caerleon was thrown into confusion. Priests, physicians, witches, and enchanters passed in a steady stream through the young Queen’s chamber. Arthur promised gold to any who could stay her bleeding and turned no one away who offered help. King Pellinore went to court to see what he could do, but, as he told us later, there was nothing anyone could do. Neither Mithra, nor Christ, nor Bilis, Eroth, Llyr nor Lluden, nor the Great Goddess of Avalon could prevent the horror that followed. Merlin might have saved the child, it was thought, but Merlin was not there. Arthur was beside himself with grief. And that poor girl, only seventeen and still a bride, died on Arthur’s birthday in desperate agony, with the High King weeping at her bedside. When it was over Arthur shut himself away and for three weeks spoke to no one. Finally his officers threatened to beat down his door. Word had reached the Saxons of the King’s grief, and they were massing for an attack along the great river Thames, as far west as Amesbury. This news aroused the King, but he came out from his fastness a changed man. Gone was the gaiety and exuberance of youth; this was a man quick to anger and dangerous to cross. The Saxons retreated before his fury as before a wall of flame.