Camelot's Queen

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER THREE

Spring 497

By the time the first blossoms appeared on the trees, I was pregnant. I was wary of telling Arthur for I had already lost one child over the winter. I went little more than a month without bleeding then had a harder time of it when it did come. But there were signs any priestess would recognize, and I knew.

I had been using certain herbs to encourage conception, the antithesis of those I had used to prevent it when I was with Aggrivane. It appeared they were working, but I was still frightened this one would not last, so I kept my happy little secret and spent time every night praying to Brigid, the divine midwife and healer, that the child within me would grow strong and live to open his or her eyes to the world.

Finally, I could wait no longer. My breasts had swollen, along with my belly, and it looked as though the child was destined to live. One clear evening near Beltane, Arthur and I stood on one of Camelot’s many terraces, watching the sun settle to its rest in the bosom of the mountains. As I watched him contemplating the peaceful land below, my mind ran through a million ways to tell him, hundreds of phrases, but none of them conveyed the growing sense of hope within me.

I took his hand, and he looked at me, immediately noticing the preoccupation in my eyes. Before he could ask, I put a finger to his lips.

“My love, I am with child,” I said quietly.

A flicker of confusion then the dawn of clarity came into his eyes. A wide smile lit up his face. “Truly?”

I nodded, my eyes filling with tears. “By the end of the year, you will have an heir.”

He picked me up with a whoop of joy and spun me around then set me gently on my feet. He embraced me with a tenderness I would not have expected from a man of his tall, broad stature.

I stood with my head resting on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. This was supposed to be a moment of great joy and anticipation, but I already felt panic dulling the happiness. It coiled around my heart and slithered down my spine, leaving an icy trail in its wake. I grabbed Arthur’s hands and squeezed them.

“I have never been so scared,” I admitted in a small voice.

Arthur leaned back and tipped my face up toward his. “Why?”

I pulled away from him and paced, willing my heart to slow though it seemed determined to beat faster with every step. “My mother bore thirteen children—did I ever tell you that? I was the only one to live more than a few years. Most died shortly after birth and some well before. And my mother”—my voice cracked—“she died in childbirth. They tell me she screamed for days before my father finally had the child cut from her body in the hope of saving him, but it was too late. What if the same fate befalls me? The goddess of fertility is not kind to the women in my family, Arthur.”

To his credit, Arthur listened to my rambling patiently and didn’t try to stop me.

My eyes fixated on a puffy pink cloud as the ghost of a memory danced in the back of my mind. “I remember having a brother. I wasn’t much older than he when he succumbed to some sort of illness. The saddest thing is that one day he was prattling at my feet, and the next he was dead. All that life, all of his potential, gone in the blink of an eye.”

Arthur wrapped his arms around me from behind and rested his chin on the top of my head. “The same misfortune will not befall you. It is terrible your parents suffered so, but your life is your own. You are young and strong and nothing bad will happen to you. I will not let it. I promise.”

I tipped my head back to look at him. He was beaming with pride. I forced myself to smile, letting the panic ebb away under his touch. “So who do we tell first? Your family or mine?”

He grinned. “We tell the world.”

As the weather warmed and buds began to dot the trees, I set out to get to know my people. I longed to visit the innkeepers, midwives, blacksmiths, carpenters, bakers, tanners, and families of all trades. Just as Pellinor had on Candlemas, I wished to introduce myself personally and hear about their daily needs not important enough to lay before the court in formal petition.

Just before I left the fortress for the town, Arthur broke away from a conversation with Kay, Bedivere, and Malegant to catch my arm.

“Since you have not yet named your champion and have no one to guard you, you should take one of my men with you,” he said.

“Why? I can defend myself if need be.”

Arthur looked down, scratching the base of his neck. “Oh, I am well aware. But it’s not just you I am concerned with.” He placed a hand on my belly. “We have enemies all around, my love. I would feel better knowing you had someone watching over you. Plus, you could devote more of your attention to listening to the people if you didn’t need to constantly be on your guard.”

“He makes a valid point,” Kay put in.

“I volunteer to accompany you, my queen,” Malegant interjected with a slight bow and a gracious smile.

“Do you now? And why should I choose you over the other men here?”

“Because I speak three languages and am knowledgeable in trade from the diversity of my own kingdom. Think of me more as an advisor.”

“One with a very sharp sword.” Arthur snickered.

“Indeed. Plus, it will give us the chance to get to know one another better. After all, I too am one of your loyal subjects.” Malegant’s eyes sparkled with mirth.

I laughed despite myself. “That is what I asked for, is it not? Very well.” I eyed Malegant with mock suspicion. “But do not get in my way,” I teased.

It didn’t take Malegant long to prove his worth. By noon, he had already physically turned away one man whom he’d deemed a threat to my safety, discussed the competitive price of shellfish up and down the coast with a fishmonger, and by nightfall had taught a young apprentice how to load amphore without spilling the contents.

“How does the Lord of the Summer Country know such things?” I asked the next day as we wandered through the town again.

Malegant raised a tawny eyebrow at me. “Do you think I’ve spent my years only yelling commands and counting my wealth? I have had many adventures, lived many lives.” He took my forearm and guided me through a particularly crowded lane. “You see, my family has a bit of a turbulent past. When my father was killed, I was forced to flee my tribe and seek fosterage elsewhere. When I came of age, I had the skill but not the power to defeat those who sought my blood. So I worked where I could, learning and gaining respect as I went. Now I know a little about a great many things.”

With his vast knowledge, Malegant became an advisor to the people in addition to my personal guard. We spent many mornings together, seeking to learn the ways of those who lived in the shadow of Camelot.

Once the rains ended and seeds were sown, the market returned, and I spent most of my spare time among the milling crowds, visiting vendors from the surrounding countryside. I quickly learned it was they, not the townspeople, who were the most reliable source of information. Free of Camelot’s walls, they came bearing news from three kingdoms in every direction.

Those glorious, sun-dappled spring mornings, when the harbor breeze carried the scent of lilacs and salt and the world felt full of possibilities, were also perfect for loosening lips as everyone wanted to bask in the sunshine and spread the latest gossip. In one morning, I learned from a woman selling freshly picked greens that Morgan had given birth to a son, a tanner told me of rumors that a new Christian missionary was due in town, and a hunter setting up shop to peddle his pelts relayed that the Saxons were recruiting any mercenaries and outlaws they could find. That was chilling confirmation of what Arthur’s spies had long suspected. Arthur’s attempts at diplomacy had failed; soon there would again be war.

But that was not the only disturbance pricking at my mind. Malegant’s behavior was beginning to concern me. When he’d first taken to defending me from those who would clamor for a piece of their queen––those who rushed at me or if a crowd pressed in too close––I attributed his zeal to overprotection. But as the weeks passed, I noted he was enjoying his role of enforcer a little too much, sometimes shoving and tossing men aside when a polite word would have done.

When I spoke to him of it, he promised to reign in his temper, but I wondered if he could hold to it, especially after the heated argument he had instigated that very morning with another nobleman who offered to take his place at my side.

The memory was still fresh in my mind when a group of young men, chieftains’ sons judging by their finery, called to Malegant to join them in the alehouse.

Malegant waved them off. “I’m afraid that must wait for another time. For today I am the queen’s protector.”

All eyes turned to me. It didn’t take long for one of the boys to kneel, his friends following suit. The first looked familiar, tall and lanky with big brown eyes that made him appear younger than he likely was. Something in his awkward gestures tugged at my memory. Perhaps we had met before.

“Please, my lords, rise. I do not require such gestures every time someone lays eyes on me.”

They stood, and the tallest ambled over to Malegant. “How does Pudicitia Fur become the queen’s guardian?” He elbowed Malegant. “Who did you have to bribe to get that position?”

I turned to Malegant, who had gone rigid, his nostrils flaring. “These are your friends, yet they call you ‘the virtue thief’? Pray tell me how you came by that name.”

“He is known for taking what he wants,” one of the men answered for Malegant, either not catching or ignoring the joke in my voice.

“That’s an understatement,” snorted another. “Liked Fiona so much he stole her right out from under her father’s nose.”

The familiar man tensed. “You speak of my sister. Show some respect,” he said through gritted teeth.

“I could say the same to you,” Malegant stated. “Show your betters their due, Fergus.”

Fergus. It all clicked into place. The familiar man before me was the grown-up version of the Powys boy to whom Lord Evrain had tried to match me nearly two years earlier. Being the youngest son, he was of lower rank than Malegant, who ruled his own kingdom, thus Fergus was expected to demonstrate deference.

“You are no better than I and certainly not worthy of Fiona,” Fergus growled.

“Hey, little pup, don’t get your hackles up over me,” Malegant taunted.

“Gentlemen, that is enough,” I warned them.

Fergus paid me no heed, advancing on Malegant. “And why not? You kidnapped my sister, forced her to marry you, and now you ensure her allegiance through fear. I’ve seen her bruises. I know what you do to her. What you’ve done to them all.”

I didn’t like the way this was going. Soon they would come to blows. I should have just left them to it for it was no business of mine what they did, but Fergus’s words stirred something in the back of my mind. What was it the priestess had said when I first sighted Malegant outside of Avalon all those years ago—that he had sullied more than one priestess and was not to be trusted?

Malegant leaned toward Fergus, so close his breath stirred Fergus’s beard. “Be careful what you say, boy, or I shall be forced to put you in your place.”

“And where is that? At the bottom of a bog with your last wife?”

Malegant’s face turned scarlet. Before I could step between them, he was grappling with Fergus like a wrestler. His friends were no help; rather than helping me break up the fight, they cheered Malegant and Fergus on.

A crowd gathered around us, yelling and placing bets, as I looked for an opening to put an end to this childish behavior. Malegant knocked Fergus to the ground and landed a blow to his gut. Fergus kicked back, and I was able to wedge myself between them, shoving hard at the shoulders of both men.

“That is enough, both of you. You are lords in your own right, not children.” I shouted Fergus and his friends away. “Go on about your business. If you don’t, I will have you imprisoned for endangering my welfare.”

The three of them scampered into the crowd.

I turned to Malegant. “I shall require a new protector, one who can hold his temper. Rest assured Arthur will hear of this. You have proven yourself an embarrassment to the crown.”

Malegant opened his mouth, presumably to defend himself, but I didn’t let him.

“Move,” I commanded the onlookers, who dutifully parted to let me through.

As I stormed back to the castle, I was certain of two things: Arthur would not deal kindly with Malegant’s transgression and Malegant’s anger toward me would take a long time to flare out. He was a proud man, and I had just publicly shamed him. Were I any other woman, I might have feared his wrath, but my position protected me from any revenge he might seek. Or so I chose to believe.