Guinevere Evermore (22 page)

She told herself this again and again, during the long ride by day and the fearful silence by night. She remembered it when they brought her into the town and the few remaining citizens stared at her as if she had been a rare bird, captured for their astonishment. When she was taken to a room and the door barred she sat down on the bed and composed herself to wait.

When a guard brought her some food, she thanked him and calmly informed him that she would need water to wash with, a clean robe, and the services of a maid to attend her.

“I . . . I . . . don’t know about that,” he stammered.

She smiled.

“Of course it must be difficult to provide for so many in the town, when the streets have been nearly empty for so long, but perhaps you could ask?”

“Yes, of course.” He bowed. “Perhaps my wife . . .”

“If she could lend me a robe and some hair clasps, I would be grateful.” Guinevere smiled again.

An hour later, there was a timid knock on the door and a woman entered, followed by a servant carrying a steaming kettle of water scented with mint. They were followed by a shoemaker with a selection of sandals and another woman whose arms were piled with a rainbow variety of cloth. Guinevere showed no surprise. This was the way she had always been treated. People were so kind! Perhaps things hadn’t changed so much after all. Now, as long as Lancelot was safe, everything would be all right.

In the town, however, there was consternation bordering on chaos. Only St. Caradoc had known the real reason for the meeting of the holy men of the church. The others thought that it was only an unhappy coincidence and their reactions were many and varied.

Dubricius was cautious when asked about the charges.

“I did hear something about it last winter,” he admitted. “Some say that the King would never have entertained Saxons at his table if the Queen had not influenced him. Since her brother took a Saxon wife, they assumed it was her doing. But I never heard she was that fond of those heathens in spite of the gossip. I don’t know. We must have more proof before we condemn a woman of such high status.”

“Have you seen her?” Bishop Teilo asked. “I have heard that she does not age and that her beauty is a temptation to any man who dares look at her. The proof may lie in the accused herself.”

“She has not changed much since I first saw her, well over twenty years ago, but she has not had the cares of motherhood or the burden of toil to wear away her youth,” Dubricius hedged.

Caradoc overheard them and spoke across the room in the penetrating tones of one who often preaches to the stones. “Time touches us all, to remind us that we are but mortal and decay is the fate of our bodies. To go against that is to go against God’s design.”

Dubricius quelled a desire to clap his hands over his ears. These country ranters! He turned back pointedly to Teilo.

“I will wait until all have spoken and we have questioned the woman before I decide if she is a sorceress and if she has committed any evil through it.”

“Adultery isn’t evil enough for you, Dubricius?” Caradoc rang out again. “London has tainted the purity of your faith, I fear. Well, there will be enough evidence to convince even you.”

“If that is so, I will not flinch from my duty,” Dubricius answered wearily. “But I, for one, would prefer not to discuss the matter until we convene, tomorrow.”

He did not wait for a reply but returned to his rooms.

Modred was waiting there.

“I apologize,” he began. “I just rode from Camelot with Sir Gawain and Sir Cei. King Arthur has sent us to be the Queen’s defenders.”

“He wishes her defended, then?”

Modred avoided the older man’s eyes. “He does not believe she has done anything that is anyone’s affair but his own. He says there is no truth in the gossip of witchcraft and treason. He is very angry but will abide by the good sense of the tribunal.”

Dubricius concentrated, trying to find a hidden meaning in Modred’s words.

“He will not intervene, even if she is sentenced to excommunication and death?”

“Arthur told me that the laws are just and all must obey them.”

“So!” Dubricius thought. “He believes her to be guilty but will not condemn her himself. Perhaps there is some truth in all the wild rumors.”

Aloud he only murmured that it was a rare man who would not use his office to go around justice.

“My . . . uncle is indeed a rare man. If he were not the King, I think he might have been called a saint.”

“Your loyalty commends you, Sir Modred. You may tell the King that he can trust me to be true to his laws. Now, would you like some wine before you go?”

“No, thank you. I must speak to many more people tonight and, if possible, visit the Queen.”

“They won’t let you do that, I’m afraid. Sir Sagremore was terribly shocked when he discovered that she was holding a sort of court in her cell, so that he has forbidden anyone to see or speak to her. Her meals are lowered from the roof to the window in a bag. They are afraid she will work her enchantments on the guards and escape.”

“Idiot!” Modred snapped, then recovered himself. Perhaps it was just as well. “I find it difficult to believe that a being that powerful could have been captured in the first place. Clearly Sir Sagremore was overzealous.”

Dubricius had thought so himself, but there was a question in Modred’s voice that made him wonder. It was true that she had not been imprisoned a day before people began to arrive with gifts and comforts for her. Was it just that she was loved by the common people, or did she have some unnatural influence over them?

He pondered the question long after Modred had gone.

Sir Perredur had told Guinevere that the next morning she would be taken to the center of town, past the forum to the Basilica. There she would be questioned by the bishops and saints, and witnesses would speak for and against her. He held iron out before him at arm’s length to keep her away. Guinevere had watched him with sad wonder, but said nothing. What could be said?

She lay on her narrow bed that night, wrapped in the soft woolen blankets the guard’s wife had brought. He had looked fearful, and she hoped they had not punished him. There was no sound in the rooms around her. Her lamp had been taken away. For the first time in her life she was alone in the dark. She put her back to the wall and stared into the moonlit room. Her eyes drooped and she dozed. It seemed in her twilight state that she could hear music from somewhere, singing by many people, with melodies that chased each other round and round in complicated patterns until she grew dizzy trying to follow them. Only once before had she heard anything so exquisite.

“Dear Geraldus,” she murmured in her sleep. Then she sat up with a shock.

The moonlight quivered around the sitting forms of two men. One was slight and laughter shone in his eyes. His hands were waving in the air, in time to the music. The other man was taller. He was younger than Guinevere remembered but still as imposing. He watched her with the same look of annoyance that he had always shown in her presence.

“I should have warned Arthur before I left,” Merlin said. “I always knew she would bring him ruin.”

“She hasn’t done anything. You know that or you wouldn’t be here,” Geraldus chided. “Hello, Guinevere. I’ve missed you. How do you think we’ve improved?”

He indicated the choir.

“Geraldus!” Guinevere reached out her arms to him. “I knew you didn’t die, but no one would believe me.”

“I shouldn’t have left my body behind,” he admitted. “But I don’t seem to have missed it.”

“There is a shrine to you now. People say you work miracles.”

He squirmed. “Not really. I cured two cases of tone deafness. These things get exaggerated.”

Merlin cut in. “You can gossip later. Guinevere, they are going to condemn you at this trial.”

“No, of course not. Arthur won’t let them.”

“He can’t stop them, and if he tries to rescue you, he’ll destroy everything I worked for.”

Guinevere stared at them. “You came here to tell me that I’m going to have to let them kill me?”

“No, Guinevere.” Geraldus smiled with eagerness. “We came to take you back with us. You can live with us here until the end of the world.”

He held out his hands to her, but she drew back.

“Is Galahad with you?”

Merlin tapped his foot impatiently. “Of course not. What would he do here?”

“Then can Lancelot come with me?”

“I doubt it. He couldn’t stand the comfort.”

“Then why should I come?”

“Because if they come for you in the morning and you are gone, they will say that all the charges about you were true, but it will be over. There will be no trial, no accusations, no chance for anyone to criticize Arthur. He can possibly recover from the shambles your adultery has made of his life and of Britain. And if you had ever done anything for the good of anyone else, you would know this was the best and only way.”

Her lower lip trembled. “Geraldus?”

“You belong with us, dear,” he said gently. “You were never meant to stay so long in the mortal world. You’re like me, neither one nor the other. It’s so beautiful here. You’ll soon forget.”

“Forget! But I can’t forget! I don’t want to! What if I went back to Arthur and swore never to see Lancelot again, ever?”

“Child, you still don’t understand.”

“I don’t believe you, Merlin. First of all, no one can condemn me for a treason I haven’t committed. This is Britain, not some lawless waste. But even if they did find me guilty, if I went with you, it wouldn’t be as you said. There would always be talk that Arthur or Lancelot had freed me and that I was still alive somewhere, brewing horrible potions, no doubt, to destroy my enemies. No, I won’t go with you. I’ll stay here, and if the tribunal says I’m guilty, then I’ll die.

Merlin stood; his look showed his complete disgust. “The one time in your life you make up your own mind and you choose the wrong answer. We can’t force you. I saw in you from your childhood the seed of disaster. I should know better than to try to change what must be. Come, Geraldus.”

The musician kissed his fingers to her tenderly. “Don’t be afraid, Guinevere dove. He doesn’t know the future. Everything may turn out well. I’m proud of you, dear. But we will miss you here. Listen for us!”

They were gone. The moon was higher and the rays slid onto the wall, outlining the ancient stones. Guinevere pulled her feet back onto the bed. Her mouth was dry but the water ewer was empty. She wrapped herself up again. What had she done? Those awful men couldn’t mean to kill her, could they? For the first time, she was afraid.

Chapter Seventeen

Guinevere’s belief in the kindness and reason of the people of Britain was severely battered during her ‘questioning’ and trial. The first day she sat in the Basilica with the holy men while they set her recitations of dogma and creed. She had been taught well and had read widely, so she was able to answer with no difficulty. Despite the tendency of her questioners to argue the answers among themselves, she felt it went well and began to hope it would soon be over.

The following day was different.

They put her behind a fence of iron grillework. St. Caradoc began the morning with a speech of two hours which set the stage for the rest of the trial. Slowly she began to realize that Merlin had been right. No one was going to be able to convince her inquisitors of her innocence, for the saint was using their own sympathy toward her to convict her. With this fear growing in her, she stared at him with the horrid fascination of a rabbit mesmerized by a snake preparing to bite as he shouted and gestured toward her, sending gusts of odor from his unwashed robes.

“You see her before you. Look at her, my brothers! Look closely. What do you see? A child, almost, just setting out on her adult life; an innocent flower just creeping from the bud. Yes. We look at her and see freshness and sweetness and transcendent beauty. I’ve watched you all when you speak to her. You are kinder, gentler, protective. You can’t believe that this fragile, delicate creature could possibly have evil in her. And last night you went to your rooms and dreamed of her.”

He sneered at them. Guinevere reeled back coughing as he thrust his finger at her, waving the fetid cloth of his sleeves even closer. From the back of the long Basilica she could hear Gawain start to interrupt and someone shush him. Caradoc went on.

“From this you should know what this witch can do. She hides behind her beauty; she lures us with smiles and guileless eyes. And just as she plans, just as King Arthur and the unfortunate Sir Lancelot were trapped, so she intends to trap us! But I can see past the flesh into the hideous soul beneath. God has given me the strength to resist her wickedness, and now I exhort each man among you to pray that the temptations she sends to torment you be thrust out! Yes! Even now I see doubt on some faces. Her magics are still at work even in this holy place. But think, my brothers, think of your sisters and wives and mothers. Yes, especially think of your mothers. I see you young men with lust in your eyes. And yet this woman who excites you is older than your mothers. How can that be, without sorcery?”

He went on and on in his most flamboyant style. Guinevere stopped listening. It made her queasy. In the back, Gawain seethed and longed simply to hit that haggard face as hard as he could. It would be a relief to crush the man’s skull. Cei put a hand on his arm.

“No one will believe this,” he muttered. “We’ll make them see. It would be easier, though, if she hadn’t been caught with Lancelot.”

Gawain leaned his head against a pillar and closed his eyes. Modred had to be behind this, he and Aunt Morgause. But how could he convince anyone? And how could he stop them? He wished his mysterious father had thought to give him brains to match his strength.

In the afternoon, Guinevere was surprised to see the guard who had stood outside her room come forward to speak. His wife had continued to send her small offerings of flowers and bread, and she became hopeful. But when she smiled at him, the guard looked away.