Camelot's Queen

CHAPTER 4-2

“A short time later, a messenger from the king arrived, instructing me not to return to court for at least six months, and even then I could not return without a wife.” He c****d his head at me. “It seems your husband wanted to neutralize any threat I may be to his new marriage.”

I glowered at him, silently willing him to get to the point.

“Once the snows cleared, I’d had enough of battle and decided to visit the court of my uncle Uriens. Aunt Morgan says hello, by the way.” He raised his glass to me mockingly.

I gave him a derisive smile. He was clearly enjoying himself.

“I walked into a hornet’s nest there, but it all turned out well.” He swung his feet up onto a footstool, set his glass down, and laced his hands together on his abdomen, waiting.

He clearly wanted me to ask him to continue, but I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Moments passed as we stared at one another, neither willing to budge. I considered the appropriateness of labeling anywhere Morgan was a hornet’s nest. She would have been their queen bee.

Finally, I gave in with a heavy sigh. “And what was so interesting in Rheged?”

For the first time since he’d arrived, Aggrivane smiled. “My wife.”

I thought I was going to vomit, and it had nothing to do with my pregnancy.

“I will wager you did not know Uriens had a daughter, did you? Well, she is adopted. Her parents died in a fire when she was a child. She still has scars on her hands. She spent some time in a convent, but with no family to provide for her expenses, they could not let her stay. So Uriens took her in. It is a shame the nuns could not keep her; she would have made a great nun, wanted nothing more in the world.

“Anyway, she was caretaker to Accolon’s sons and Morgan’s new baby when I arrived. She was content too, but Uriens insisted she marry. He said without a husband, she was a drain on the family’s resources.”

“So she married you,” I concluded, happy to have his drawn-out tale finished.

Aggrivane wagged a finger at me. “Eventually yes, but not yet. Let me finish the story.”

“I wish you would.”

“You see, Camille is a Christian.” He waited for me to blanch, but I carefully kept my face neutral. “She believed she belonged to Christ just as much as if she had taken vows in the convent. She refused to marry and, in an act of rebellion, cut off all her hair.”

My mouth dropped open. “But the only women who wear their hair shorn are slaves. It is sign of bondage.”

“Yes, it is. For Camille, it was a sign of bondage to Christ. She was his slave, so she made certain no man would want to marry her.”

“But you did.”

Aggrivane dropped his eyes to his cup again. “When I arrived, Uriens was threatening to sell her into a brothel or let her starve on the streets. I couldn’t let that happen.”

Don’t act as if this was all charity on your part. I almost said it, but something in his expression stopped me.

“But you also saw a solution to Arthur’s provision,” I reminded him.

“Yes, it worked out well for us both.”

My browed furrowed. “How did you convince someone so bonded to Christ to give up her virginity to you? That is still a condition of marriage in her faith, isn’t it?”

A small rumble echoed in Aggrivane’s throat. “Religion be damned. The marriage was not consummated, so it is not valid in that way, but it is still legally binding. However, if you tell anyone what I have shared with you, Camille and I are ruined.”

I briefly considered shouting it from the rooftops. Slowly, I understood that his risky admission was Aggrivane’s way of apologizing. If I wanted to ruin him and have him removed from court—and Arthur’s good graces—I could. He’d willingly given me the key.

Aggrivane rose and slowly advanced on me. “I allow Camille to live as a spouse of Christ, and she enables me to be here. Once Arthur has met her, she will return to Rheged and help raise Uriens’ children and grandchildren. Do you understand? We live a lie because it suits us. She is there, and I am here. I am here because I—”

He was interrupted by a light rapping on the door.

“Enter,” I said, thinking it was one of the guards calling me to the stables.

The door swung open, and a young woman with dark hair and eyes entered. Her face lit up at the sight of Aggrivane, but she immediately dropped into a curtsy when she noticed me. Her short, uneven hair prevented her veil from lying flat on her head, and she wore thin gloves. This was obviously Camille.

“Your Grace, they told me I might find my husband here. I am—”

Her voice was as placid as her eyes, but in spite of Aggrivane’s confession, I couldn’t stop jealousy from surging through me. I cut her off. “I know who you are. Your husband was just telling me all about you.”

The threat was meant for Aggrivane, but Camille’s frightened expression said she’d perceived its meaning as well.

They both bowed as I swept from the room.

The sun was shining merrily, birds were chirping, and people were joyfully calling to one another as they readied for the midsummer festivities beginning at sundown. After my encounter with Aggrivane, I was in a foul temper, and the last thing I wanted to do was stand around with the Combrogi and watch some boy charm horses, no matter how attractive he was.

As Arthur approached the stables with Lancelot, his arm slung around the Breton in friendship and their heads close together in conference, I reconsidered my assumptions. Maybe it wasn’t fair to call Lancelot a boy. He had to be near my age, perhaps a few years younger, but he had a face so open, an expression so innocent, I doubted even the most evil spirit would dare assault his virtue. Not that I was under any illusion he was as unsullied as he appeared; enough wandering warriors has passed through Northgallis and Corbenic for me to know better. In his years on the road, chances were good Lancelot had warmed the fur-lined beds of queens and lain down in flea-ridden brothels—and chances were equally good he was at home in either place.

The Combrogi, a few of their wives, and a smattering of servants, stable hands, grooms, blacksmiths, and the like were gathered round as Kay led one of the more troublesome young horses out into the courtyard beyond the stalls.

“Ho there, handsome. Let us see you work your magic,” a woman called to Lancelot from deep within the crowd.

Lancelot did not respond, only smiled self-consciously.

Arthur bid him to begin. “Her name is Danu,” Arthur told him of the horse.

Lancelot stood still for a long moment, watching the animal, noting her every move from the flick of her ears and the twitch of her tail to the way she pawed the ground and how her muscles rippled as she took in his scent. It reminded me of the way he had sized up his opponents in the tournament.

Slowly, Lancelot raised one arm, holding his hand out to the horse as though asking her to dance. The filly snorted and pawed the dirt again, but Lancelot moved forward, never taking his eyes from the animal’s. He approached at an angle so as not to frighten the beast, pausing if the horse backed away, and when he was nearly in front of her, Lancelot crooned to the animal in his native tongue.

“Aw, isn’t that sweet? He’s whispering sweet nothings in her ear.” Malegant laughed derisively while someone else made kissing noises.

Arthur shushed Malegant and his friends with a warning glare, but Lancelot didn’t notice. He was stroking the mane and muzzle of the filly. Several men muttered amongst themselves in disbelief at how quickly the two were taking to each other.

“The only misunderstanding that ever comes between horse and rider is born from spoken language,” Lancelot spoke to us. “Believe me, they understand your intention, know your every move before you do. Nothing is lost on them, but we fail to have a way to clearly communicate our desire through words.

“Your king tells me many of you resort to violence to make your wishes known.” He shook his head reprovingly. “How many of you would beat your wives if they did not understand you?”

A ripple passed through the crowd.

“Ah, perhaps that is the wrong question to ask here. Let me put it to you another way. How many of you would harm a child who was only learning to speak?”

The crowd was silent. Lancelot had their attention now.

“Horses are much like children,” he explained, not bothering to look at us as he stroked the horse. “Though I have known several who surpass men in their intellectual capacity”—he glanced at the pair who had made fun of him and fixed them with an unfriendly stare—“we must approach them as we would a child. Because as with our young, we cannot simply tell horses what we wish them to do. We must show them, earn their trust, and they will learn from us.”

Lancelot motioned for Kay to hand him the saddle. Lancelot opened his palm to the horse, who greedily snuffled something out of it, and I swore she looked at Lancelot with appreciation. “You are all experienced riders. Certainly you know a treat will put your horse at ease just as a sweet pacifies an ill-tempered child.”

Lancelot held up the saddle in front of the horse, showing it to her and motioning his intention to heave the burden onto her back. The horse snorted and her nostrils flared, but she only stamped in place. Lancelot whispered to her again, and the animal steadied. Slowly, with all the care of a mother dressing her child, Lancelot secured the saddle on the filly’s back, giving her another handful of oats to reward her good behavior.

Lancelot stepped back. “It is not the stirrup they fear but you. A saddle is a saddle, but because of the way you introduced it, they associate it—and you—with pain and humiliation. I tell you this—if you continue in this way, your horses will rebel and you will lose your cavalry completely.”

“Arrogant arse. Thinks we do not know our own horses,” Malegant muttered.

“I think he makes some good points,” Gawain replied.

I rolled my eyes. I had told them the exact same things only weeks before. But would they listen to a mere woman? No. But a foreigner whom they barely know? Of course. He had proved himself worthy of attention by besting them all at the tournament. Plus, it was clear he had Arthur’s backing, something I could not manage.

After another few words of encouragement, Lancelot slipped his boot into the stirrup, mounted the horse, and led her in a tight circle.

“Bollocks!” Malegant cried, still firmly on the side of flogging.

Lancelot raised an eyebrow at him. “Indeed? You have not seen enough? Would you like to try, or shall I show you again?”

Malegant only crossed his arms and grimaced.

The horse shied and bucked slightly when Lancelot urged her forward, and Lancelot was smart enough to know when it was time to give the animal a break.

“I will see to her myself,” he said to the grooms. “Continuing the flattery into routine grooming is very important. It lets her know you are there for her in all things, both unusual and mundane.” He smiled. “Somewhat like a romance.”

Several of the women giggled, and a blush warmed my own face. Try as I may to dismiss his charms, I was smitten. Lancelot began to lead the horse inside, ignoring the tittering onlookers.

Arthur called after him. “Lancelot, wait. A moment of your time, please.”

“Wait for me inside,” Lancelot instructed the grooms who led the horse away.

Arthur clapped Lancelot on the shoulder. “What you have done here today is nothing short of miraculous. You have accomplished more in mere moments than we have in months, all with no harm to anyone. Will you do me the great service of staying on at Camelot as my master of the horse? My men will learn much from you.”

Behind Arthur, I made a face. If he had listened to me, we’d have had no need for this new prodigy and would be well on our way to having the horses trained by now.