Mistress of Legend

Chapter 4-1

Chapter Four

“I know you asked that Lancelot be pardoned before we try Marius and Morgan,” Arthur said to me one night several weeks later, “but I am beginning to wonder if I will be able to wrest him from his duties in Brittany.”

I turned from watching out the window as the bitter wind drove leaden storm clouds pregnant with snow toward Camelot’s spires to glance at Mordred, who was with us in Arthur’s private study. He was pointedly ignoring our conversation, intent on his book. “Why is that?”

“Lancelot has pledged his service to the house of Dorngwenn. Their king is dead and the four heirs are engaged in civil war with each other and their sister. It is a terrible situation, one I fear becoming too involved in, lest they see my interest as an act of aggression against them. I have not forgotten my promise to you, but circumstances tie my hands.”

I wrinkled my brow. “Did you say Dorngwenn, the family of the White Hands? Is that not Yseult’s family? I thought Lancelot was fighting with his brothers? Why would he be at war with those responsible for Tristan and Isolde’s deaths?”

“The war between the brothers ended shortly after you recovered, then he took up arms against Dorngwenn.” Arthur shrugged. “As for why, that is for him to explain. Sometimes that man is too loyal and virtuous for his own good.”

I glowered at Arthur, wishing he would at least hazard a guess. “Lancelot is nothing if not loyal.” If only he would be as loyal to me. I was surprised by my own bitterness. I wanted Lancelot home, or at very least, to receive word from him. It was time for this farce in Camelot to end. But instead of saying that, I toyed with the open book on my lap. “How will you proceed?”

“I do not know yet. I’ve tried letters and emissaries, but the Bretons are determined to hold on to Lancelot until their war comes to an end.”

“But that could be years!”

“I know. I may be his king in this country, but in Brittany, they are his lords.”

Arthur might be content to bide his time, but I was not. Fortunately, a plan was already forming in my mind. “They do not know you intend to absolve him, correct?”

Arthur raised an eyebrow. “No. Why?”

“They have no doubt heard he deserted his duty to you and escaped imprisonment. You have every right to have him returned to you to face punishment, no matter what other duty he has promised. His first loyalty is to you. If you go to Brittany with a small contingent of the Combrogi, no one can accuse you of inciting a war because you won’t have enough manpower. But you will have enough force to bring him home.”

He hesitated. “Perhaps, but I would like to leave that as a last resort.”

I turned on him, unable to stand his detached manner any longer. “Is this all a game to you? I will go over there myself and fetch him if you will not act. This is my life, my future you are gambling with, and I’ll not have you make a sport of my happiness simply because you no longer have the power you once did.”

Arthur stood, his chair scraping loudly across the stone floor. “Watch your tongue, woman. You may no longer be my wife, but I am still your king. I demand respect from you.”

I rose, refusing to let his attempt at intimidation cow me. “You speak of respect, but the very reason we are here, together, is for me to adjudicate the result of your utter disregard for me. If anyone in this room should be demanding respect, it is I! Forget not that I am here as a favor to you.”

“If that is the way you feel, then leave. I can handle the trial without you.”

I gave a small, mirthless laugh. “Truly you are mad. Blind and mad. There is so much more at play here than your petty little trial, Arthur. If you wished, you could have sentenced Bishop Marius and Morgan without my aid. But no, you came to me because you are too weak to make a decision. People are beginning to sense that.

“Camelot is falling to ruin around you. Just this morning, Sobian returned from the quay with tales from the merchants that two of the Combrogi were injured in putting down a demonstration against you in Cornwall. It seems Constantine is actively speaking against you, seeking to leverage his claim as your heir.” I placed both hands on the table and leaned forward, trying to make Arthur hear me. “Your people are turning against you, yet here you are, fixated on justice for your wife. Open your eyes, Arthur!”

Mordred shut the book he had been reading with great force, as though to remind us of his presence. “Those incidents are becoming more and more common. Yesterday, I heard Kay and Bedivere speaking of a similar event in Carlisle. They claimed the people there want to see you deposed in favor of me and demanded to have the charges against my mother dropped. It seems she has supporters even outside of Camelot.”

“They don’t trust you, Arthur.” I rounded the small table so that I stood in front of him. “You ruined much more than our relationship when you let that priest lead me down the Bloody Lane in shame. You showed yourself to be an unfeeling despot who was willing to shed blood over petty jealousy instead of the wise, temperate ruler they thought they knew. You allowed them to see a future for which they will not stand.”

“I didn’t allow anyone to do anything! That is my whole point. That is what the outcome of this trial will establish. The bishop used me for his own ends.”

“What will that do, Arthur? Yes, justice will be done, but half the people will disagree no matter what ruling I give. It will not solve the bigger problem.”

“I think you underestimate your influence,” Mordred said. “As judge, you are acting in the Goddesses’ stead since you are still sovereignty personified, regardless of whether or not my father wishes to acknowledge you as queen. It is an honor that cannot be reversed by mortal man. Those who follow the old ways know this. That is why some of the people are demanding you for their queen instead of submitting to my father.”

My eyes grew wide and my mouth fell open as I struggled to voice my shock.

Mordred chuckled. “Sobian did not tell you?” He clucked his tongue. “The country is not only divided in allegiance between the High King and his two heirs, one of blood and the other of declaration. No, there are many who back you. You have been their mother-figure for more than two decades and they trust you. This is why the role my father has set for you is so important. It will not only show that the High King follows the same rules he enforces, but it will shore up the people’s flagging faith in Camelot once again.”

Arthur seized on his son’s logic. “He is right, you know. You can turn the people’s thoughts back to loyalty to our cause and end the brewing unrest before it blossoms into something worse.”

I sat back down, stunned at the sharp turn this conversation had taken. I had come to Camelot to heal and do a favor for Arthur, and now the fate of the kingdom rested in my hands. I closed my eyes and inwardly groaned. Long ago, I swore as a priestess of Avalon to enforce the ways of might and right. Then on the day I was crowned queen, Arthur’s subjects became my children, unruly and taciturn though they may be. I owed it to myself and to them to once again shoulder the twin weights of priestesshood and queenship, no matter how distasteful I found them.

But even more than that, Arthur and Mordred needed me. I may have had every right to be angry with Arthur, but he was still the man I’d once loved and my heart tugged me back in his direction. Mordred may have been Morgan’s blood, but I’d acted as a second mother to him, watching him grow from a boy into the man who would be king. Mordred was as much son to me as the twins I had long ago given into the arms of the Goddess. I could not abandon father or son simply because doing so was easier. That was a coward’s response, and I was not one to shirk my duty. The quick escape into a peaceful life with Lancelot I had envisioned would have to wait.

After waiting another three weeks for word from Lancelot, but not enacting my suggested solution, Arthur chose to move forward with the trials. He gathered those concerned in his circular chamber, the one in which I had been tried and found wanting months before. Only this time, it was not I who was to plead for my life; Fortuna’s wheel had turned, and rather than being crushed beneath its weight, I rode it to its apex as judge.

I sat alone at the front of the room in the throne I’d always occupied when we met in council in this room. Unlike previously, Arthur did not sit beside me, choosing instead to stand off to the side where he could pace nervously. On my right and left, Morgan and Marius waited in the chairs previously occupied by Arthur’s most trusted knights. Morgan’s expression was serene, as attentive and composed as though she was going to lead a council session and nothing was amiss. Marius, on the other hand, fiddled with the chains binding his wrists. His uneven beard and wrinkled, dirty tunic indicated he had been plucked straight from Arthur’s dungeon. He may have been gaunt from his travails, but that did nothing to extinguish the fiery loathing he threw my direction with every glance.

The remaining chairs were occupied by the top Combrogi. Others clustered behind them arranged based on allegiance—Accolon leading Gawain, Bors, and the others who supported Morgan and Arthur, while Aggrivane sat at the head of Bedivere, Sobian, and those who favored Mordred and myself. There was little difference from the groups that had formed at my own trial, showing loyalties only slightly shifted in my favor. Those eager to oppose me needed more than attempted murder to change their allegiances.

They shifted nervously, many refusing to meet my eyes. Now that I was the one in control, they knew I might exact revenge and so feared me. The temptation was strong. But my role as judge had its origin in the power of the Goddess herself, and so I tried to keep my pride and personal feelings in check. My role was to be as neutral as possible until the moment I was asked to render a verdict. Still, it would be easier if I could call the Goddess down into me as I had on the day I chose my champion. But this was not a ceremony or ritual; it was a judicial matter among mortals, and as such, I had only my instincts and conscience through which to hear the guidance of the gods.

Thankfully, Arthur had chosen the most secluded area of Camelot to hold this trial. Had we been in the great hall—or really anywhere else in the castle—the buzz and chant of the crowds likely would have been audible during the proceedings. Word had gotten out, and throngs of people waited outside, some of whom were shouting their support for Morgan or the bishop, while others made it clear they were already reserving their seats for an execution.

Arthur approached me and turned to face the assembly. Even though he was the victim as well as a witness, it was his duty as king to open the proceedings since the Archdruid was not here to do so. “As you all know, we are gathered here today to determine what really occurred last autumn when Queen Guinevere was erroneously sentenced to death by fire. She is serving as judge in my stead at my request, and she has intimate knowledge of the events from two perspectives, which she will share. But first, I invoke my right as the wronged party to tell my own tale.”

He paced again, head bowed in concentration and hands clasped behind his back. “After listening to all assembled at Guinevere’s trial, I retreated to the Grail Castle to be alone with my thoughts and pray. When night fell, Bishop Marius suggested I retire and ask God’s guidance in my dreams. I was bone weary, so after taking Holy Communion, I did as he suggested. That night I slept fitfully, waking often to the sensation I had consumed far too much drink, even though I had not had any.