Mistress of Legend

Chapter 10-1

Chapter Ten

Autumn 520

Anna chose to cede control of Lothian to Gawain, so after Lot’s funerary rites, she and I set off for Din Eidyn, riding through hills and mountains resplendent with autumn color. All around us, fiery oaks competed for attention with rust-colored rowan, while elders offered their juicy purple berries as a final harvest before winter. Birches provided a splash of sunlight even on days of driving rain, especially when set against emerald pine and green alders that refused to give up their summer foliage. On the banks of mountain streams, willows and birch gilt the water’s course with showers of golden leaves, and in the mountains, fields of fragrant heather defiantly bloomed pink, even as the mornings took on a slight chill.

Only a few days remained until Samhain when we arrived, and lines of travelers clogged the roads into the fortress both overland and leading up from the harbor. Anna explained that it was tradition that those who sought employment or married into other lands return to their tribal capital to honor their dead on Samhain.

As Arthur’s sister, she would commend him, Lot, and her sons to the Votadini tribal gods during the Samhain rituals. After, she would become part of my household as an advisor and lady’s maid. Having given Lothian to Gawain, Anna wanted nothing of power or war, only to live out her days in peace. In that, as in so many things, she and I were a good match.

We pushed through packed streets thundering with the guttural tongues of many tribes. Imprinted on the forearms of men and shoulder blades of women were tribal markings declaring the birth tribe of each person: the Votadini horse, the Selgovae raven, and even a few Novantae stags. Noticeably sparse was the Damnonii wolf. Above the din, blacksmiths’ hammers rang as they mended wheels for those transporting goods from the countryside and sharpened swords for the Votad’s army, and merchants hawked their wares, tables heavy with apples, nuts, and meat freshly slaughtered for the coming winter. With the boisterous exchange of goods for what currency remained, Din Eidyn was thriving despite the chaos looming to the south.

Compared to Camelot, the castle itself was small, cramped, and dark, but from the outside, it presented a formidable façade, blending the intimidating strength of a fortress and the opulence of a castle into the black mountainside. Inside, men and women jockeyed for position in the great hall, eager to present themselves and their needs to their rulers. Anna had explained that here, they only held pleadings four times a year—for the three days before, during, and after the full moon nearest the major feast days—so their subjects were even more desperate for attention than ours had been. On top of that, there was no orderly system of presentation such as we had had; petitioners were seen in the order they could rush forward and fall to their knees before the throne.

Anna stood to my left, whispering advice and commentary to help me understand the rules and players at this court. On my right and to my back stood strangers covered in woolen tunics and fur coats reeking of sweat, eyes attentive to an opportunity to move forward. My line of sight, however, was blocked by the fur cloak in front of me. Not for the first time, I cursed my short stature. Because Anna could see over most of the crowd, we agreed that if she saw an opening, she would shove me forward so I could plead my case and she would follow immediately after.

Being on the other side of the throne, praying to be noticed instead of being the one to listen and dispense solutions, was humbling, a stark reminder of all I had lost and that I was once again dependent on someone else for my welfare. A choking insecurity bore into my chest at the thought that the Votad and Votadess, Mynyddog Mwynfawr and his wife, Evina, held the power to grant my request and secure my future or cast me out into the mud to fend for myself. With the hindsight of age, I wished I had had this perspective before taking my own throne; it would have made me a more sympathetic and patient ruler.

After several hours, my feet tingled and my muscles were locking in place, but at least the Votad was clearly in my line of sight now. As the crowd shifted, preparing to spit out its next supplicant, I turned my shoulders to the side and stepped forward, determined to push between the human barrel in front of me and the gaunt woman next to him. As I took a breath to wedge myself between them, hands grasped my shoulders and pushed. I fell forward, knocking the couple to either side. My right knee hit the stone floor with an impact that rattled my teeth, and I narrowly missed scraping my chin on the paver in front of me. Gracefully or not, I had made it before the throne.

Cheeks flaming with embarrassment, I dared to look at the Votadess. She so closely resembled my mother that, for a moment, I could not speak. Her hair was a bit lighter, closer to brown than the black I’d inherited, but her glittering green eyes and the pout of her lips were nearly the same. Even now, years after my mother died, it took my breath away.

“Surely this is one of your kin, eh, Evina? She could be your double,” the Votad said, his voice holding more than a hint of amazement.

“Indeed,” was all she said as her eyes roamed my face, skipping over the scars that marred its left side and taking in every unblemished feature. Her cool tone did not match the openness with which she regarded me. Was it merely surprise that dampened her welcome, or did she not relish having one of her blood appear at her court? Perhaps both.

Unlike his wife, the Votad was delighted by this turn of events. “Tell us your name and purpose here, kinswoman.”

As was tradition, I recited my ancestry, which was the best form of identification a man or woman could produce. “My lord and lady, I am Guinevere, born in Northgallis, but Votadini by blood through my mother, Corinna, whose father was Cunedda, who defended Britain against the Irish and established a safe haven for our people in Gwynedd. He then arranged for my mother to marry Leodgrance of Gwynedd, thus securing an alliance of peace for both tribes. You may have known me as High Queen of Britain, but I am now only one of your humble subjects. I have come to ask for the inheritance which is my right by blood, the lands belonging to my mother north of Stirling.”

The petitioners murmured sounds of surprise and disbelief. In the front of the room, the small crowd of men surrounding the royal couple stirred, and an older man with a graying blond beard whispered something in the Votad’s ear. He nodded and signaled to one of his men, who quickly departed to fulfil his master’s command.

“How do we know you are whom you claim to be? Have you anyone to speak for you?” Evina asked, though she didn’t sound suspicious, just rightly wary.

As Arthur had discovered when I was taken by Malegant, frauds and pretendants to the throne were many, and some of them were convincing. The Votad and Votadess could not be too careful, especially with lands as strategically important as Stirling at stake.

“I will.” Anna stepped out of the crowd before bowing to both rulers. “I am Anna of Lothian, sister to the former High King of Britain, Arthur Pendragon, and wife of the recently deceased King Lot. Surely you remember me and will take my word that what she says is true.”

Mynyddog nodded to Anna. “We do. Please allow me to offer my condolences on the deaths of your husband and sons.” The regret in his voice was sincere.

Anna bowed her head again. “Thank you, Votad. I wish you to know that it was my husband’s intention to accompany me on this journey and pledge his sword in your service. But the gods did not allow it. I pray that you will treat my son, Gawain, with the same esteem as his father, as he is now ruler of Lothian and wishes to be brought under your protection.”

“Of course,” Mynyddog responded. “I will send one of my sons to Traprain Law within the week to welcome him as a member of the Votadini tribe and confer his blessing. He has been marked, has he not?”

“Yes, sire. My husband marked each of his sons when they came of age. Though he followed Arthur, he always considered himself a Votadini at heart and bore both the horse and dragon—symbols of your tribe and his—on his arm.”

Evina had been chewing her lower lip as she listened, as though mulling over thoughts heavy with meaning. She sat forward and addressed me. “If you are whom you claim to be, you will also be marked. If you will, please show us.”

I swallowed hard and shook my head. “I do not have a mark, Votadess. I was away in Avalon when my mother died, and there has been no one since to mark me.”

Evina threw her husband a suspicious glance. “Is that so?”

“It is. She speaks the truth,” came a silky French accent from the back of the room.

All heads turned. Waves of shock and soaring joy threatened to overwhelm me when I recognized Lancelot. I had to grab Anna’s arm to steady myself. Lancelot was here. He was safe. Thanks be to the gods. But why? How? What a silly question. Finally, one thing in my life had turned out for the good; the details didn’t matter.

The crowd parted to allow Lancelot to approach the throne, and it took all of my willpower not to run to him and throw my arms around him. As he approached, the silver in his black hair caught the light, as did a new scar on his left cheek. Two years and a war had taken their toll on him, but he was handsome as ever.

“I have served Guinevere for the better part of my life,” he said when he reached my side. “She is my queen, and I am her champion. She is also my beloved. Please accept my words on pain of honor as they are the truth.”

Evina gave him a dazzling smile and raised him from his bow by the hand as though asking him to dance. “Of course, Angus. If you say she is true, then she is true.”

The years of war had not dampened Lancelot’s natural charisma, for Evina was as taken with him as every other woman. But why had she called him Angus?

Evina’s gaze slipped to me, her smile fading a bit. “We will still need to have you marked. You cannot rule in our lands without being fully brought into our tribe.” She thought for a moment. “If Corinna was your mother, then I am your cousin, so it falls to me. Three days hence at dawn, you will officially become a Votadini woman.

“As for your claim to the lands north of Stirling, I will have to consult with our records keepers, but I believe it is legitimate. The only complication is that Rohan, cousin to Morcant, leader of the Damnonii and conqueror of Bernicia, currently rules those lands, so to oust him will cause tension between our tribes.”

“You mean it will increase tension between our tribes,” her husband corrected dryly. “There has been tension between us for generations. Rohan will take some convincing.”

“With respect, you misunderstand me,” I said before Evina could reply. “I have no desire to rule another kingdom. All I ask is to take possession of my lands and be given the freedom to live on them. Nothing more. I have no wish to upset the current way of things.”

Evina arched an eyebrow at me as though she could not fathom why anyone would wish for such an arrangement. She and Mynyddog exchanged a look that said they were unsure if I was a fool or simply insane. “If that is what you will, then it will be done.”

In the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow detach itself from the wall and slip out. A spy, no doubt, on his or her way to inform Rohan of the new claimant to his lands in Stirling.