Camelot & Vine (11 page)

“Good morning, good morning,” Myrddin doffed
his leather cap again and again, bowing like a showman. All
attention was ours as we rode through the gate, like a famous
client arriving at her trial with her celebrity lawyer.

The path from the entrance rose directly to
the promontory where the hall sat with its cluster of huts. There,
Myrddin dismounted and gave his reins to a groom. I followed his
example, landing with a wobble. The groom bowed to Myrddin,
watching me out of the corner of his eye.

Trotting to keep up, I followed Myrddin
along the back side of the hall, where the fort's wall came within
yards of the main buildings. A few cows stood stamping and blinking
in a sunny pen near the wall. In the shade of the eaves of the
hall, dozens of wild-looking fowl clucked in their pens. Outside a
low building annexed to the larger one, a pack of shaggy dogs
barked at us, standing their ground.

Two young women waited there beneath a
wooden awning. The brunette stared at her hands, which were folded
across her very pregnant belly. The redhead shooed the dogs away
and gave Myrddin a coquettish smile. “The gentleman is required to
wait outside,” she said.

“Of course.” Myrddin made no move to leave.
“Casey. Lynet and Elaine will provide you with a bath in advance of
your audience with the king.”

“Oh! Thank you.” I desperately needed a
bath.

“This way,” said the redhead, leading into
the annex with the light step of a dancer. We followed her into
cool dimness where I collided with an animal carcass that hung from
the ceiling. Bits of the unfortunate creature’s skin stuck to my
sweater between the clumps of mud and dried blood already
there.

“Sorry. I should have warned you,” said the
redhead. “Careful. The floor’s slippery, too.”

We picked our way through a busy kitchen.
The fragrance of spices mixed with the wet-raw smell of fresh meat.
A woman stirred an iron cauldron, laughing with the men who stacked
ceramic jugs atop lidded barrels. Fresh vegetables, the dirt still
on them, lay heaped on wooden countertops by the windows.

Myrddin stopped to talk to a big-boned woman
with red cheeks. “What’s to eat?” he asked her.

With a formidable cleaver, she whacked the
head off a small, skinless creature. The
whump
of the knife
hitting flesh and wood cut off her answer.

I followed my leaders through an archway to
a workroom beyond the kitchen where the temperature was several
degrees warmer, thanks to a fire burning in a pit in the far
corner. The brunette scurried to the pit, skittering around piles
of clothing on the floor. She stared at me from beneath lowered
lids until I caught her eye. She blushed, looking away.

“Elaine thinks you’re going to cast spells
on us,” said the redhead. She, then, would be Lynet. She looked all
of seventeen and Elaine wasn’t much older. Lynet pulled a curly
lock behind a pink ear, jangling the brass bangles on her arm.
“Protection spells are fine but if you’ve any others, please save
them for after the bath.” Her mischievous smile warmed me to her.
“I’ll take your...er...garments.” She extended her dainty pinkies
for me to hang my clothes on, thus allowing as little as possible
of her surface area to come into contact with my odious
apparel.

The women's eyes grew wide as I unzipped my
boots, but neither commented. I set the boots aside. The rear
pockets of my cargo pants dangled by threads. I peeled them off and
hung them on Lynet's pinkie by a belt loop. My tee shirt couldn’t
be saved, but I gave that over, too. The chain mail sweater I’d
thought so apropos was stiff with mud and bloody remnants of the
horrors it had seen, not to mention what some poor deer had seen.
Lynet bundled them all at her feet.

The ragged chafing on my wrists and ankles
had hardened to scabs. “I’ve never seen wounds like yours,” said
Lynet. “Have you, Elaine?”

“Not on a woman I haven’t.” Elaine lumbered
to the iron bath tub near the window, carrying a heavy pot from the
fire. I didn’t think she should lift such things in her condition.
She looked like she’d deliver in a matter of days. She poured the
hot water into the tub, set down the pot and stared, dumbfounded,
at my chest. “What’s that?”

My bra had suffered from the ordeal, but it
was recognizable.

“It’s a bra. For...you know, managing
my...breasts.”

“Ouch,” said Lynet.

“But your breasts don’t require management,”
said Elaine.

Lynet laughed. “We bind with cloth, for
comfort.” She gestured to the tub. “We’ll show you after the
bath.”

Yes. The bath. Inhaling steam, I gripped the
edges of the tub and raised my leg to swing it over and dunk a
grimy toe. The water was just as I like it, on the edge of too
hot.

“Wait.” Lynet drew in a little gasp. “Your
wounds. The water will smart. Give me your foot.”

“Okay.” I balanced on one foot while Lynet
folded her palms around my other ankle. She submerged it slowly,
cushioning my raw skin from the sting.

“That’s got it?”

“Yes. Thanks.” Once both legs were submerged
I lowered myself to sit, marveling at Lynet’s thoughtfulness, and
at the same time, the water’s blessed sting.

Elaine followed Lynet’s example and helped
me submerge my wrists. “Brutes.” She shook her head. But the sting
was past. “Do all Saxon ladies wear toenail paint?” she asked.

“Oh. Uh, some,” I said, going along with her
assumption. Perhaps rumor had it that I was a Saxon lady.

I hadn’t been washed by anyone besides
myself since I was a baby. My dad had relished the opportunity to
teach me about soap, bubbles or whatever was available. My mother
must have washed me at some point, but I found it difficult to
picture her involved in such a maternal task. She wouldn’t have let
me drown, she’d just have forgotten to rinse my hair.

Elaine and Lynet were careful, their touch a
comfort, a mothering. The rough soap they scrubbed me with smelled
vaguely meaty. But the suds it made broke up the grime that had
become caked on my surfaces. I closed my eyes and rested my head
against the side of the tub, allowing myself to relax while the
women scrubbed and chatted.

“Your husband will be here for the birth,
then?” Lynet washed between my toes, which felt divine if she
didn’t squeeze.

“Yes,” said Elaine, careful to pat softly
around the bruise on my forehead while she lathered my hair.
“Beatha says I’ve got a girl.”

“Lance must be disappointed.”

“He’s been sullen since his return from
Poste Perdu. I don’t know why.” Elaine scratched the sides of my
head a little too hard. “But Lancelot will do his duty by me.”

That couldn’t be right. Lancelot was
glamorous. Elaine was artless and simple.

She changed the subject. “Have you seen
Gareth yet?”

“Oh yes.”

I opened my eyes. Lynet blushed and flashed
a bright smile. “Gareth and I are hand-fasted,” she told me.

“What’s that?”

Elaine stopped rubbing. “Don’t Saxons
hand-fast?”

Maybe they did. “Um...no.”

“It’s a marriage vow for a year and a day,”
said Lynet. “It’s taken at the festival of Calan Awst.” She skipped
to the fire to retrieve another pot of water, holding the hot
handle with a cloth. “If it doesn’t suit, you may undo the marriage
the day after next Calan Awst.”

“Unless a child is conceived, then it
stands,” said Elaine. There was my clue.

“And if you don’t undo the hand-fasting,
you’re wed.” Lynet leaned against the tub. “Gareth and I will not
be undoing. He says he’s destined to be tormented by me forever.”
She tested the water’s temperature with her finger. “Ready to
rinse?”

I nodded and closed my eyes. Warm water
splashed the top of my head and flowed over me.

“Maybe you’ll meet someone here, Casey,”
said Lynet. “It’s less than a month ‘til the festival. Or perhaps
you’ve a love at home?”

“I’m not seeing anyone.”

“That’s a funny way to put it,” said Elaine,
handing me a cloth.

I stood to dry off. “It seems there aren’t
many women here.”

“Mostly serving women,” said Elaine. “We’re
not serving women, of course.”

“Of course.”

Lynet offered a carved, bone comb from the
pouch at her belt. “But everyone must work. I sew. Elaine oversees
the washing. We have servants to help us.” Presenting moisturizer
in the form of rosy-smelling oil she said, “Imported from
Italy.”

“Such luxury.”

“Oh, not nearly. At the castle we have all
the finest things.” She sighed. “I miss the coast. Elaine returns
there soon.”

“Really? Why?”

Elaine handed me a splinter and a handful of
leaves. “A war camp is not a place for babies.” She frowned, making
her small nose wrinkle.

“Oh.”

Elaine pointed to the items I held. “That’s
for cleaning your mouth.”

“Oh!” Splinter and leaves; a toothpick and
fresh mint. Gratitude made my nose tingle.

I found binding to be more comfortable than
a bra, though the ladies tied the fabric tight to keep it from
slipping. Next came a linen underdress with a round neckline and
long sleeves. It shielded my skin from the itchy wool tunic that
went over it. Soft, leather shoes, a cross between moccasins and
ballet slippers, replaced my painful boots. The straps were
supposed to tie around my ankles, but for the time being I laced
them up my legs to allow my wounds to heal.

Someone, presumably Lynet, had repaired my
fanny pack with strong stitches where Bedwyr had slashed it, making
it a usable, if not beautiful, belt. My money and credit cards,
worthless at Cadebir, were still inside.

“You need something else.” Elaine untied a
ribbon from her hair and with it, pulled together a lock of mine.
“Keep that,” she said. “You’ll want to use it again.”

Lynet gave me one of her bracelets. “I have
plenty.” She stood back to admire me. “King Arthur will be pleased,
don’t you think, Elaine?”

“I do.”

I smiled, letting gratitude fill me. “Is
there a mirror?”

Lynet laughed. “The queen has a
looking-glass, but I don’t suppose you ought to go into her
chamber.”

So there was a queen.

“We use the well to see our reflections if
we must, but there isn’t time now. You look quite presentable,”
said Lynet. “Myrddin’s orders.”

“Thank you. I...I love baths.”

“You look pretty,” said Elaine.

I released a breath. Though I feared it
would not be enough, I wanted very much to look pretty for the
king.

FIFTEEN

“Wart!”

Myrddin and I stood in the small audience
room where I’d met the king the day before. Or two days before. In
losing time, I had lost track of it. I shifted from one foot to the
other, picking at the edges of my muslin sleeve.

Myrrdin called at the faded red curtain.
“The lady wizard is with me.”

“Enter.”

The old man pulled the curtain aside.
Touching my shoulder, he guided me through the archway into a
low-ceilinged chamber. Daylight found its way through tall windows
at the far end, where a ladder led up to some kind of loft. At the
room’s center, King Arthur sat behind a crudely-made wooden desk,
studying a vellum document. Behind him, hanging from an iron hook
that pierced its eye, leered the sideburn helmet of the Saxon I’d
watched him kill.

The king did not glance up. “Please refrain
from addressing me as ‘Wart’ in the presence of our guest.”

“Sorry, Arthur.”

Myrddin chose a chair facing the desk and
relaxed into it, crossing his legs. I awaited instructions.

With his arms supporting his head like
columns support a roof, King Arthur rubbed his temples and sighed.
His salt and pepper hair was tied into a ponytail with a leather
thong. The sleeves of his linen shirt were rolled up to the elbows,
revealing a cloth bandage where his forearm had been sliced in the
fight with the big Saxon in the woods. The document he perused was
a map, which didn’t surprise me. What I didn't expect were the
stacks and stacks of vellum sheets, bolted between slabs of wood,
piled on the desk and floor. Books. Everywhere. Quills, too, with
little ink pots like Myrddin’s. Maybe Myrddin wasn’t the only
well-read man at Cadebir. But with shoulders hunched and shirt
draping open, King Arthur wore the look not of a scholar but of an
aging prize-fighter, stony with muscle and etched with scars.

Tapping a thick finger on the parchment
before him he said, “Come around this side, mistress. I’ll show
you.”

I didn’t expect to find the wolf-dog behind
the desk. Cavall growled. Startled, I tripped over the king’s
sword, which was propped against the desk in its scabbard.

“Hush, Cavall. Go away.”

Cavall cocked his big head, looking
innocent.

“Go.”

The dog obeyed, slinking off to curl himself
onto a pillow by the cold fire pit.

“Sorry, your majesty,” I said. Nervous, I
righted the sword. It wasn't a broadsword, but shorter, and a good
deal heavier than it looked. When I finally stood beside the king I
saw my passport lying atop a stack of vellum on the desk, weighted
by a smooth stone. I was also in a position to see the queen’s
mirror, the looking glass Lynet had mentioned, hanging on the far
wall near the ladder. A ray of sun glinted off its edge with a
golden spark. It was too far away for me to get a glimpse of
myself.

King Arthur reached a burly arm across me,
brushing against my sleeve and recalling my attention. Standing so
close to his shoulder, I could see the weave of the rough fabric of
his tunic. He pointed to a spot on a crude map of southern
England.

“You know Londinium.”

“Yes, your majesty.”

He moved his finger a couple of inches west
and slightly south. “Here’s the Giant’s Ring. And there,” he
pointed a bit southeast of that, “is Poste Perdu.” Indicating a
mark further west he said, “This is Cadebir.”