Camelot & Vine (15 page)

“Think so?” Jonek tossed his ponytail over
his shoulder. “Will they take us on then?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” said
Guinevere, perhaps a bit more flirtatious than a queen ought to
be.

“I’d look forward to it, your majesty,” said
a dark-haired soldier with a crooked but charming smile.

“Beware, Hew,” said Lynet to the swaggering
guard, “we’ll soon be as strong as soldiers.”

“I doubt it not,” Hew answered. “Both you
and her majesty already have the muscle to lick me.”

Then came a good deal of laughter of the
har-de-har sort. I thought the young men wouldn’t have been so
brazen if Gareth or King Arthur had been present, but the women
didn’t seem to mind. All these men out in the middle of nowhere,
with so few women around, had to be feeling a powerful hunger to
say the least.

Flirtation was as good an excuse as any to
stop in the shade of the guard house. On a stone bench inside,
under which lay a cache of axes, Elaine took the opportunity to
rest her feet.

Not Guinevere. “You’d best not tangle with
Mistress Casey,” she told Hew on her way through. “She knows well
enough to be on our side.”

“I wouldn’t dare, your majesty,” he said,
bowing his tall, brown head to her, then to me.

I liked that. I gave him my best smile.

“Good morning, Mistress Casey.” I recognized
the red-haired, peach-fuzzed boy who’d driven my wagon on my first
day in the Dark Ages. Apparently guard duty was reserved for the
young.

“G’morning,” I said, waving as I trotted
past. “Nice to see you again.” I was hoping to be introduced, but
Guinevere had already moved on. The king had asked me to lead the
walk, but his wife was taking over. I had no desire to thwart her
authority. Lynet stayed behind while Hew and the other soldier
helped Elaine to her feet. Maybe we wouldn’t make her come with us
again.

I caught up with Guinevere along the
southern wall, where she had stopped to wait for me. Cattle waded
in the stream far below, sinking their maws for a drink of clear
water. Watching them made me thirsty. On the opposite bank, a
herder grazed his sheep on a gentle slope.

Guinevere’s soft cheek lay on her hand and
she gazed to the southwest, where a single road curled away, a
silver trail blending into the green.

“Where does that road go, your majesty?” I
asked.

She sized me up for a second, then returned
her gaze to the road. “You may address me as Guinevere.”

“Thank you, Guinevere.” I tried a
curtsey.

“The road leads home. I haven’t been there
in a long time.”

“The castle on the coast?”

“No. My home.” She watched the road a moment
longer, as if hoping to see a friend approach. When she turned to
me, her voice was as direct as her gaze. “Everything you see is
Arthur’s. All of it.”

“So it’s yours, too, I guess.”

Her laugh was short, but not bitter. “I’m
not his ally, Mistress Casey. I’m his property. Like the land.”

“I see.” We began to walk again. “If I’m to
call you Guinevere, shouldn’t you call me Casey?”

“Yes, of course I will. Hello, Berrell.”

A sentry stood at attention against the
wall, allowing us to pass. I nodded to the sentry and kept up with
the queen’s pace. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I don’t think I would like being owned by
someone.”

“There’s no greater position for a woman
than mine. I’m fortunate that my father made this alliance.
Besides, what makes you think you’re not owned?”

Owned by the king. If I was to survive I had
to think of myself that way. I stole a glance at the queen. If she
felt anything other than serenity it didn’t show on her face. “I
have a lot to learn, your majesty.”

“Guinevere.”

“Right. Guinevere.”

“But it’s my understanding that you know and
see all,” she said, still gazing calmly forward.

I was tempted to let her believe in my
prowess, but I knew I’d be found out. “No. That’s beyond my
powers.”

She puffed a out sharp breath of relief.
“Oh.”

We came to a stop where the wall ended,
crumbling almost beneath our feet and leaving the hilltop
vulnerable. Inside the fort, to our left, the way was lined with
storage sheds. Outside, the steep ramparts tiered from high to low.
I imagined an army crawling up them, like black bugs on the green.
Below us, at the foot of a ladderway, a sun-wizened foreman oversaw
a tattered crew.

“Rufus,” the queen called down to him, “how
goes the work?”

“We’re getting nowhere, your majesty.” Rufus
spat. “These Saxon slaves. Too belligerent to be good workers.”

“Respect, Rufus.” Guinevere began walking
down the ladderway. “You’ve not met our new wizard, Mistress
Casey.”

From the way he paled when he saluted I
guessed he’d heard of me. “I mean no offense, mistress,” he said,
shifting his weight and bowing a little too deeply.

I nodded sagely and gifted him with my most
benevolent glance. I followed Guinevere down the ladderway
toddler-style, feet first and holding the sides. Below the wall,
slaves handed rocks from one man to the next, the boulder version
of a bucket brigade. Here and there a bleeding hand stained the
stones. Their ankles were chained as mine had been, but their scars
represented months of endurance, not days. They worked
methodically, rock to hands, rock to hands, manacles clinking, eyes
downcast, anything but belligerent. To be owned by King Arthur
could mean many things.

“Give the slaves a rest and some food,” the
queen said to Rufus. “The wall can wait.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

To me, she said under her breath, “No matter
how he works the slaves, there isn’t time to finish the wall before
we fight. There is always fighting.”

My stomach clenched. The gap in the wall was
only twenty-five feet at its widest, and the workers seemed to make
progress even as we watched them.

“You’re a fast walker, Guin,” Lynet called
from atop the wall. “It’s as though you’re late for an
assignation!”

“I’m only enjoying my exercise.”

“Let’s not climb back up,” said Lynet,
starting down the ladderway. “It’s too hard on Elaine.” Elaine
lugged herself down the ladder, huffing and puffing, while Lynet
watched her from below. By the time they reached the bottom
Elaine’s cheeks were as red as the last flecks on my fingernails.
Lynet blushed a rosy pink.

“We’ll go through the pasture,” said
Guinevere, kissing Elaine’s forehead like a mother kisses her
child. “Would you like that?” She led us past the slaves at a
slower pace, scuffling through the grass to the gate and lifting
the wooden latch. “It doesn’t matter what we do,” she said. “Arthur
wants me out of his way, that’s all. We might as well enjoy
ourselves.”

“I think I’d enjoy sitting down,” said
Elaine. She giggled, which was a relief to me. I was afraid we’d
overtaxed her. She was cute when she smiled. I saw what Lancelot
must have seen in her before she gained her pregnancy weight and
still had her hopes.

The pasture was less trafficked than the
paths. Grass grew thick there. Tiny, blue and yellow wildflowers
filled the corner where the fence met the wall.

“Come,” said Lynet, “you shall rest in the
barn.” She took Elaine’s arm and they moved off, Elaine dragging
her feet, Lynet pirouetting, a thousand years too soon for the
ballet to have been invented for her.

“Is that your mare with Arthur’s horse?”
Guinevere pointed to several horses grazing together among the
wildflowers near the barn. Lucy stood in their midst, watching us
and chewing. The brown stallion beside her was the only other horse
that came close to her in stature.

“That’s Lucy.” I felt pride of ownership
even though the big gray wasn’t mine. Her coat shone, a benefit of
the break in her rental routine. She seemed to make a decision and
begin to stride toward us. Perhaps it was because she was more
accustomed to people than to horses, but I allowed myself to hope
it was because she was happy to see me. She walked directly to me.
Cooing to her and petting her soft muzzle felt familiar, although I
had never done so before. I wondered if horses had memories, if she
knew we shared a different time than the one in which we found
ourselves. When she slobbered green foam on my fingers, eating the
wildflowers I picked for her, I wondered if she felt the bond I
felt, my friend from another time.

The barn door clattered open. Lucy shied and
trotted away.

“
Bonjour,
your majesty.
Bonjour,
Mistress Casey,” Lyonel surged through the door,
not bothering to sidestep a well-placed pile of manure. He held the
door for us, bowing to the queen and watching me from the corner of
his eye.

I had liked it when Mike looked at me that
way, the way that meant he wanted me. In private moments, he’d bite
his lower lip, allow his eyelids to droop, and give me a secret
smile. I didn’t want Lyonel to look at me like that. He upset my
balance and I was already unsettled.

“Good morning, Lyonel.” Guinevere was all
business. “You’ve been seeing to Lancelot’s horses?” I could see by
the way she turned up her chin that she didn’t much care for the
man, either.

“I have, your majesty,” he said in his oily
voice, giving her his attention. “Everything is satisfactory.” For
a moment I detected that heavy-lidded look directed at the Queen.
“Lancelot will be sweetly satisfied.” He licked his thick lips.

If the queen took implicit meaning from
Lyonel's words, she ignored it. “Very well.” She flounced past him
into the barn, skirting the pile of manure. I followed, leaving him
outside with his insidious smile.

Stepping from sunlight to shade I blinked,
shaking off Lyonel’s taint of imagined sins. Instead of the
expected alfalfa and manure, my nose smarted at the scents of hot
metal, leather and oil. Under the low ceiling, about thirty men
worked in a central room. Some sharpened blades and repaired
weapons. Most of them, though, were making copies of Lucy’s
saddle.

The saddle was perched prominently on a
wooden stand in the middle of the main space. Light spilled in from
the back door, showing the saddle to its best advantage. I heard
not one neigh or moo; instead, men’s voices discussed the work: “It
needs to be thicker there. Use more padding.” “Sagramore says
that’s good.” “Here now, give a quick cut, will you?” Mostly the
pound! pound! pound!
of hammer on nail and the
whap!
of leather slapping against leather.

I allowed my palm to feel along the seat of
one of the copies. The hide they’d used to make it was soft, undyed
brown, with short tufts of hair still on it. Brass rivets, their
small, round heads etched with intricate designs, attached the
wooden stirrups. I tugged on the stirrup leather. Solid.

“I think Elaine’s going to faint.” Guinevere
sat on a stool near the open back door, where Elaine had plopped
herself onto a bench. Lynet was fanning Elaine with her scarf and
dabbing sweat from her friend’s forehead.

Sunlight from the door shone directly into
Elaine’s eyes. “I’m not going to faint.”

Sagramore crunched across straw and scraps
to block the offending light with his bulk. “Are you ill, my
lady?”

“We’ve been having our exercise,” said
Lynet.

“Arthur’s orders,” said Guinevere.

“I’m fine,” said Elaine.

“I have water, fresh from the well.”
Sagramore darted out the door. I had not thought Sagramore could
dart.

“One day I’ll get the nerve to suggest he
try some mint,” said Lynet.

“He’s sweet.” Elaine squinted and pushed
herself to sit up. “I’m sorry. I’m not much good at exercise.”

“We shouldn’t have made you come,” I said,
leaning on Lucy’s saddle. “It was too much for you.”

“Here.” Sagramore arrived and knelt at
Elaine’s feet to present a cup of water.

“Thank you.” When Elaine smiled, the big man
blushed and cast his bashful eyes at the floor.
“I...we...we’re...”

“You’re very kind.” Elaine drank.

“You’ve been making copies of Casey’s
saddle,” said Guinevere. “They’re quite fine. Arthur will be
pleased.”

“Thank you, my lady.”

“What do you think of it, Casey?” asked the
queen, sitting erect on her stool and appearing to be
interested.

“Yes, what do you think, mistress?”
Sagramore's droopy eyes looked up with hope.

“It’s remarkable,” I said. “Almost
perfect.”

“But something’s missing.” This, Sagramore
said with the conviction of the old “death and taxes” joke, as
though something were always missing for him and that was the way
of the world.

My instinct was to be more positive,
especially in front of women I thought he might want to impress.
“Only one thing. It’s important, but I’m sure it’s easy to fix.
Look.” I demonstrated with Lucy’s stirrup leather. “See? The
stirrups are adjustable. That way the saddle can be fitted to the
man.”

A light went on in his somber, brown eyes.
“Ah, for leverage. Ingenious.” He almost smiled.

“It is,” said Guinevere. “Do you think that
will be simple to fix in the time we have, Sagramore?”


“Simple enough, I suppose.”

“Wonderful.” The queen stood. “My friends,
reward yourselves. Go on to the well and soak your feet.” She
looked away from me, from Elaine, and especially from Lynet to fix
her gaze on Lucy’s saddle. “I’ll stay here and inspect the work. To
report back to Arthur.”

Lynet straightened. “Surely Sagramore can
report his own progress to the king.”

In the silent second that followed,
Sagramore focused on Lucy’s stirrup. Elaine sipped her water. I
wasn’t sure what had happened.

“I will see for myself,” said Guinevere,
refusing to look at us.

She was the queen. It was her final
word.

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