Camelot's Queen (Guinevere's Tale Book 2), page 28
“Nothing we can say will change your mind, will it?” I said, finally understanding the strategy of Marius’s visit. He meant to take over as Arthur’s advisor. The man was brilliant—evil but brilliant.
“I am afraid not.”
Father Dafydd bowed his head humbly. “When do I depart, Your Excellency?”
“I think it best for the transition to happen quickly. You will have tomorrow to say your good-byes.”
I looked at Father Dafydd, unable to believe this kind man would soon be gone forever, likely to be replaced by Bishop Marius. Tears filled my eyes, and I blinked them back, determined not to let that vile man see how deeply he had affected me.
“Would that all men had your grace, your tolerance, and your fortitude,” I said to Father Dafydd quietly as I escorted him from the room.
“But if they did, there would be no need for people like you and me,” he answered with a soft smile. “Every wife has a duty to guide her husband to the side of right. I am afraid you are doubly pressed in this regard as a priestess and as a queen living amid religious turmoil. Promise me one thing.”
“Anything.”
“Do not allow Bishop Marius to gain control of the king. Remember that you are as powerful as he, and do not let him intimidate either of you. I must listen to him, but you are under no such obligation.”
I nodded. “I swear I will do everything in my power to do as you have asked.” I paused, trying to decide whether or not to ask the question weighing on my mind. “Are you frightened of your new assignment?”
Father Dafydd smiled once more, lit from within. “‘The Lord is my shepherd, and so I shall not fear.’ When I became a priest, I made a vow to do whatever God willed of me, just as you did when you became a priestess. We may not always like what they say to us, but we must follow where they lead.” He placed a hand on my shoulder. “May your gods bless you and give you strength.”
I bowed my head to hide the tears seeping from my eyes. “The same to you.”
He squeezed my hand once and disappeared around the corner.
I never saw him again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Spring 514
Arthur shook me awake. “Guinevere!”
“What?” I mumbled, refusing to open my eyes or shift from my comfortable position.
“I have had the most incredible dream! Wake up! I must tell you about it.”
“Go tell Morgan about it. She’s your favorite wife, is she not?” I grumbled.
“You don’t understand. Please, just listen.”
Arthur’s voice was so animated I couldn’t ignore it, as much as I wanted to. I rolled onto my back and opened my eyes. It was still dark, probably a few hours before dawn. The room around us was quiet save for Arthur’s ragged breathing. I said a silent prayer of gratitude, invoking the goddess Arianrhod, who watched over all couples engaged in lusty affairs, that this was one of the rare nights Lancelot wasn’t with me.
I turned toward Arthur. His eyes were more alive than I’d seen them in ages, sparkling in the moonlight like faceted jewels. I couldn’t resist teasing him. “What? Did you dream that Marius allowed you to keep us both?”
If he heard me, he didn’t react. “I have seen her, Guinevere!”
“Who?” I propped my head on one arm so I could regard him closely.
“The Blessed Virgin. She came to me in a dream.” His eyes unfocused as he recalled the vision he had seen. “She wishes me to undertake a quest.”
I wrinkled my forehead, suspicious of his dream. “What kind of quest?”
Arthur drew me upright, palms on both of my shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. “She wishes me to find the Holy Grail, the cup which touched the holy lips of Jesus Christ and held His Precious Blood.” Arthur’s whole expression was alight with fervor. “This is why I came to you first. You, too, have dreamed of it.”
I tried to keep my face neutral, though I had little doubt Arthur’s fertile imagination had something to do with this. He had spent too much time with Bishop Marius lately, who, with Merlin and Father Dafydd gone, had become his advisor in all things. “Arthur, slow down. Tell me exactly what you dreamed.”
His eyes took on that dreamy expression again. “The Virgin Mary appeared to me. She was dressed all in blue, like the robes I’ve seen you wear. Her long brown hair was loose and uncovered, spilling over her shoulders, and she was suffused with light. It should have blinded me, but it did not. Behind her, the world was split in two, ringed in a circle, onto which her crucified Son was bound. In the top half of the circle, there was happiness and light. Camelot prospered, and the land was fertile. She touched the circle, and it spun so that Our Lord was crushed beneath it. There below, storm clouds raged and lightning flashed. Sickness, death, and decay were everywhere. Camelot lay in ruins at the hands of our enemies.”
I recognized the image Arthur described. She was not the Virgin Mary but the goddess Fortuna with her wheel of fate. She directed all things, positive and negative, and her whims determined whether we prospered or fell to ruin. But now was not the time to contradict him. “Go on.”
“The Blessed Mother held out a cup—at least I think it was a cup. It could have been a bowl or cauldron too. The light coming from it was so bright it was difficult to gaze upon it for too long or look directly at it. Above the cup was a shining white host, the symbol of our Lord here on earth.”
Host or full moon? The Grail—holy to Christians and Druids alike—was, for my faith, the repository of all inspiration as well as the tool the goddess Ceridwen used to bestow rebirth upon those destined to live again. Its shifting appearance was no surprise to me for, as Arthur accurately recalled, I had seen it in my dreams since I was a child. Once it was a golden chalice. Then a drinking horn. The next time an iron or bronze cauldron. Once, it was even a stone. We could argue all day over the identity of the woman, but one thing was for certain—Arthur had indeed seen the Grail.
“Did the woman say anything to you?”
He nodded. “Once I had taken in the scene, she regarded me placidly and said, ‘My son, you have served me well, but now I have a greater request of you. You are to seek out this holy object, not for yourself or for a select few but for all. It is a gift for all my people and a sign of my heavenly blessing. With it, you shall know peace and everlasting contentment. But take care not to betray the promises you have made to me, for doing so will cause this gift to vanish and your reign of peace to come to an end.’ Then she held the cup to my lips, and I drank of it. It was at once the sweetest and most bitter liquid I have ever tasted. It was as though blood and starlight had combined.”
I knew the taste well. Once imbibed, it could never be forgotten. The night in Avalon when I found out about Mona’s dreams and Morgan’s lack of lineage, I had dreamed I drank from the Grail. The shock of bitterness awoke me, and from that moment on, my life changed. I wondered if the same would now be true for Arthur.
“When she drew the cup away, I felt an acute sense of loss, like some vital part of me went with it. I knew in my heart I would not be at peace until the Grail is found. She left me with these parting words, ‘Go now, son of the high dragon, and do as I have commanded. I am with you always.’
Arthur grasped my shoulders, his blazing blue eyes locked on mine. “Do you see, Guinevere? This is my destiny. All the battles and trials that have come before, even my conversion, were preparation to make me ready for this heavenly quest. Turning away the Saxons may have been the first step on the road to peace, but finding the Grail will cement it for all time. My legacy to this land, our legacy to this land, is to retrieve the Grail and preserve the peace in Camelot forever.” He fell silent then, most likely contemplating his dream once again.
I blinked, trying to comprehend this sudden obsession that had overtaken my husband. Was he drunk or ill? He had been sober when I retired for the night, and it was not like him to drink once supper was ended unless there was a great feast. I felt his forehead. Though his cheeks were rosy with excitement, he showed no signs of fever. Maybe he was in his right mind. If Fortuna had truly come to him, I was not one to stand in her way.
“Grainne recently returned from Avalon with rumors that the Grail Maidens have abandoned their post beneath the Tor and moved their holy treasure somewhere in our land. I didn’t think anything of it when she told me because Avalon is full of such whisperings, born of moon madness or too many nights of fasting, but what you say confirms her report.”
He embraced me. “You believe me?”
“I cannot confirm if it is your destiny, but yes, I believe you are under divine orders to find the Grail.” I was so grateful he had come to me first rather than Morgan or that damned bishop, either of whom might have manipulated his experience to suit their own needs.
Arthur kissed me deeply. “Then you will support me as I raise the quest?”
I shifted my position so I was sitting in his lap, legs wrapped around him. “I will do you one better—I will help you. We ride together, side by side, just as we swore to one another we would be in all things.”
Arthur sent for the Combrogi before dawn colored the eastern sky, and soon Camelot was abuzz with rumors of the unprecedented voyage to come. The kitchens were set to full staff to prepare rations for the men. Only the stables, forges, and armory buzzed with more activity as horses were shod and groomed and men prepared for unknown battles by mending shields and armor and sharpening blades. I spent most of my time in the armory, directing the flow of weapons and men, while Lancelot held sway in the stables. As my champion, he normally would not have left my side, but Arthur had agreed to allow him to join them on the quest since he was the most widely traveled and might be of assistance.
Mordred, newly returned from his five-year fostership with Lot, had been asking every day for the last week to accompany his father, little dismayed even though Arthur always forbade it. Mordred was not quite seventeen, the age at which he would qualify, but I doubted Arthur would have let him go—and put his only heir in danger—at any age.
Morgan, Grainne, and I were preparing poultices, draughts, and other herbal remedies the men may need on their quest when Arthur burst in.
He grabbed my hands. “The Combrogi are nearly all here. I need to know where to begin looking. My dream told me nothing. The Grail could be in the north country or Brittany or just around the bend for all I know.”
I looked at him, wondering what he wanted from me, as I kept one eye on the bubbling brownish-green concoction simmering at my side.
Arthur huffed, impatience rising along with the color in his face. “You have the sight. Isn’t there anything you can tell me?”
I snorted, slightly offended. “Arthur, I’m not your personal oracle. Besides, I cannot foretell the future. I can only see what is happening at this very moment. If you want the future, ask your other wife.”
Morgan looked up then. “What does he want?”
I regarded her over my shoulder. “For us to tell him where to find the Grail.”
Morgan went back to the herbs she was grinding with her pestle. “I’d suggest starting in Avalon.”
Arthur threw up his hands and stomped out of the room, muttering something about women being no help. Morgan and I laughed in a rare moment of camaraderie that reminded me of our better days in Avalon.
“You know,” Grainne said, “I think there is something we can do to help the Combrogi.”
I strained the simmering liquid into a vial and set it on a shelf to cool. “What is that?”
“Tomorrow is the time of equal day and night. If the three of us join forces, I am willing to bet the gods will enlighten us. Our gifts may be different, but if this truly is Fortuna’s command, she cannot ignore our invocations.”
“Yes,” Morgan said. “I like this idea very much.”
I stared at her, weighing Grainne’s idea. “But you are Christian now. Isn’t such a thing against your faith?”
“Normally, yes, but it is the Grail we seek, holy to both faiths. I’m sure God wouldn’t mind me breaking one little rule in this special circumstance.”
“Even so, we do not know the exact time of balance. We would need that information to tap into the magic of the day,” I said.
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.
