Guinevere Evermore (23 page)

Caradoc approached. “You are Sevilis, of this town, are you not?”

“Yes, Sir,” the guard answered. “I was assigned to keep watch over the Queen. I mean, the prisoner.”

“And you came to me last night with some information. Will you tell it to my brothers, here?”

Sevilis nodded and turned so that he wouldn’t have to look at Guinevere as he spoke.

“I have, myself, taken the duty of spending the night watch outside the prisoner’s door. Last night, I overheard her speaking to someone in the room with her.”

“Had you let anyone in?” Caradoc asked with suppressed excitement.

Sevilis bridled. "Of course not! I know my duty! I sent for my second-in-command to wait while I went around to the window. It is on the second floor and there is another guard below. He swore no one had entered. I climbed alone to the window and saw the prisoner. She was talking to two ghosts! I swear it!”

He added this as an outcry arose. Sevilis wiped his brow and went on.

“They were terrible beings, full of smoke and fire. As I watched, one of them rose and floated toward the window. I am ashamed to confess that in my fear, I lost my grip and fell to the ground.”

Dubricius came up to him and fixed the guard with a skeptical glance. “Are you quite certain that is what you saw? Two ghosts? How did you know that’s what they were? Perhaps it was only a trick of light on a mirror or a wall hanging. Why should you assume they were spirits of the dead?”

“I’m not lying, Lord Bishop,” Servilis said earnestly. “I know what I heard. That was why I had to look. Capiam will swear to it also. She called one of the ghosts by name! She called it Merlin!”

The noise in the church was deafening. The guard passed by Guinevere and paused.

“Forgive me, my Lady,” he muttered. “But it’s true, you know it is. We can’t have that sort of wizardry anymore in Britain.”

In the midst of this revelation, old King Meleagant arrived and was helped up to the podium by Caradoc. He leaned heavily against the wood as he told of how Guinevere had charmed his servants and family and even his doddering father during her captivity in their castle.

“You all know the tale; it’s been sung often enough,” he said bitterly. “Arthur and I made a bet for my allegiance. I captured her and would have kept her for the time we set. My castle has never been breached by honest means. The gate is guarded by spirits and the only other entrance is by a bridge of a fine-honed knife. No man could have crossed it, yet Sir Lancelot did. And then, when he appeared, ragged and bleeding all over my floors, she wasn’t even grateful. She must have had her own plans to spirit herself away. She screamed at him and mocked him and drove the poor man mad. It made me sick to watch it.”

He gave Guinevere an ugly glance and resumed.

“And now they say she lured him to her, in spite of her cruelty to him before. What man would let himself be so used? I’d not let a woman, a human woman, do that to me. There’s evil in her!” he cried, waving his hands to ward off her spells. “Don’t set her free to do more harm to innocent men!”

“No!” Guinevere cried out. “It’s not true! Please!”

Dubricius stood and addressed her gently.

“Were you kidnapped by King Meleagant?”

“Yes, but . . .”

“And did Sir Lancelot cross the sword bridge to rescue you?”

“Yes.” More subdued.

“And what happened then?”

Guinevere hung her head. “I called him a fool for taking such a risk. It was only a wager! Arthur would have come. That was all! It was not his job to save me. I didn’t know my words would affect him so.”

Dubricius nodded and sat down again. But Caradoc leaped up.

“How did you know Arthur would come? Had you provided him with amulets against spirits or charms to cross the sword?”

“No!”

“And what about Merlin?” Caradoc probed. “Will you also say the guard was lying? Or will you admit that the wizard Merlin came to you in your cell?”

“It was Merlin, but he’s not a ghost; he only wanted to help me!” She started to say more, but was silenced by the wall of horror and fear before her. She covered her face. It was no use. She had sealed her own fate.

Cei was completely frightened by the end of that second day. He had listened to the timid attempts by Dubricius and Father Antonius to defend the Queen and seen how their own words had been turned against them; how her own words were condemning her. The murmurs of the men as they left the Basilica were full of confusion and not a little fear. If they found this woman innocent, might they not be accused the next day of being in her enchantments or, even worse, in collusion with her? And, though she refused to admit to sorcery, by her own words she had seen the greatest magus in Britain, vanished these ten years past, appear to her in a locked, guarded room. It seemed very bleak. Cei went to find out what Modred had learned from the civic leaders who would make up the tribunal.

Modred was well pleased with the attitude of the townsmen. They were tired of paying taxes for protection from the Saxon and Irish. They didn’t believe there was any more danger from them. Arthur had not expanded Britain’s hegemony on the island since the battle of Mons Badon. He was growing old and his influence was ebbing. The towns had not recovered in the way he predicted.

“It’s no use your trying to sway me, Sir Modred,” a lean, lantern-jawed merchant insisted. “Maybe she’s the cause of our weakening and maybe she isn’t, but since he married her, Arthur’s done nothing but talk and send us laws and levies. And we don’t think much of a man who does nothing when his wife makes a fool of him. In the oldest days, when the King grew weak they would have said it was time for a sacrifice.”

“Now, my friend!” Modred exclaimed in mock-horror. “You can’t mean to go back to those barbaric, pagan times! We have the great Roman culture surrounding us now, laws and customs of civilization.”

“Maybe so,” the merchant shrugged. “But we had rules then, too, and I can’t see that her baths and forums and fine laws did Rome any good. Maybe our great-grandfathers should have kept up the old ways as well as the new. I’ve heard what Meleagant and the holy men have been saying. There’s something wrong at Camelot and she may be the cause. I’ll hear the testimony, but I think, if the priests believe her evil, I’ll agree to whatever they say.”

Modred repeated the conversation to Cei.

“They all say the same,” he added. “Arthur has given them peace, but they’ve grown used to it. The prosperity he hoped for isn’t coming to them. It can’t come without the trade that we had in the days of the empire. They need someone to blame and they’ve found her. I’ve done my best, but it looks very bad for Guinevere.”

As he said this, he was swept by such a feeling of relief and elation that he had to sit down and bury his face in his hands to hide it. Cei patted his back awkwardly and rubbed his own eyes with his knuckles.

“You’ve tried, Modred. I don’t think you’ve slept three hours straight since we got here. The only thing left to do is get Arthur. He’s the only one who can stop them.”

“If he does, he may be faced with civil war,” Modred cautioned.

“Are you saying we should let this rabble have Guinevere? Do you know some of the things people are saying should be done?”

“Yes, but I may be able to get them to stick to Roman law. In that case, the worst they could do to her would be to brand her with the mark of a sorceress and exile her.”

“Modred, we’re talking about Guinevere!”

Modred rose. “And I’m talking about Britain and keeping what my . . . what Arthur has created. Don’t you see? If we can get them to take out their anger on her, she can be sent away someplace and Arthur can get on with making Britain whole again.”

Cei stared at him.

“Gawain was right about you, Modred. How can you even think of such a thing? Arthur would never allow his wife to be used like that. You sound as though you believe those slanders.”

“And you’ve forgotten that Guinevere is not exactly innocent.” Modred was tired and his temper frayed. “She acted the whore with her husband’s best friend in his own bed. Arthur knew about it for years and did nothing. Would you have stood for that? Maybe there is something to the charges!”

Cei felt icy with doubt and fear. Without another word, he opened the door and left.

The cooling evening air made the sweat on his forehead clammy as he stumbled back to the room he shared with Gawain. He had to get back to Camelot, to see Arthur, to talk to Lydia, to try and find some sanity again. And there wasn’t time.

The next morning Guinevere stood outside the Basilica with her chin high and her eyes blank as St. Caradoc announced that the priests and bishops had come to a conclusion.

Guinevere, Queen of Britain, was to be condemned and excommunicated by the church for the use of sorcery.

That afternoon, a civil tribunal convicted her of treason.

Numbly she followed her guards back to her cell. They circled her at spear length and kept their eyes averted. The day had turned cloudy and she shivered in her thin summer gown. All the people of the town were in the street, staring mutely as she passed. She looked into their faces and shrank inside herself as she saw the quick flickering of their fingers to ward off her magic. In the courtyard of her prison, she heard weeping and wondered if it were for her sake. But it couldn’t be that bad. Surely tomorrow they would see reason. Surely in the morning she would awaken at Camelot. Galahad would barge in with a hurt bird he had found and they would nurse it. Then they would play tag in the meadow with the other children and Lancelot would come with Gawain and chase them all with mock-lion roars. She lay down on the narrow bed and closed her eyes. Tomorrow it would all be just a nightmare, fading with the moon.

• • •

Gawain looked toward the setting sun and swore loudly.

“I haven’t much time today, Cei. We’ve got to do something before I fall asleep again!”

Cei paced the room in sharp, jerky paces. “What do you suggest? Every time I open my mouth, I’m accused of being under her influence. We’re lucky these madmen haven’t locked us up as well!”

“Then let’s rescue her! They are fools, all of them, and, if we can just get her away from here for a few months then Arthur can show them just how insane this whole thing is!”

“I don’t know.” Cei sat down wearily but his feet still continued their nervous tapping. “I’ve been lost ever since we got here. Your brother, Modred, nearly has me convinced that the only way Arthur will win is to let Guinevere be punished.”

“Modred is a conniving weasel!” Gawain stated. “I’m sick of hearing him praised. He never did anything in his life that wasn’t for his own good. They're talking of branding her with hot iron, Cei! I’ve even heard rumors that they’re weaving a wicker basket for her!”

Cei was puzzled. “Why would they do that?”

“You were raised in a Roman household or you’d know. It was the old way to pacify the gods. If you won’t help me, I’ll save her myself, or try to. I . . . I . . . ahhhhahh, blast!” He yawned and fell into bed as the last rays of sunlight vanished.

Cei looked at him for a long minute. With people like Gawain in the world, it was no wonder he was having such trouble convincing anyone that Guinevere was no witch. He knew how Arthur must be chafing at Camelot. He would be more than furious when he found out what had happened. If they did not save Guinevere, Cei felt uncomfortably sure that Arthur would keep his oath and twenty years of patient work would be destroyed. He had sent relay messengers every day. Why was there no response? Had they been waylaid or was Arthur coming himself with his men-at-arms? Cei kicked Gawain’s bed in irritation, but the golden head only burrowed further under the blanket. With a curse, Cei flung on his cloak and stepped out into the growing darkness.

The town was silent. The forum was empty. All the curious and taunting citizens had gone home. In the Basilica only the eternal flame still burned. Cei tried to approach the house in which they were holding Guinevere, but he was turned away by the guards. Finally, he retraced his steps back to his room and his lonely bed. Sighing, he wished for Lydia again. She would know how to deal with madmen.

• • •

In a large room at the last remaining inn in Cirencester, the bishops, saints, merchants, and landholders sat in a wary group and tried to decide what should be done with the Queen.

“By Roman law, she still has the right to final judgment before the King. If he wishes to forgive her, we have no further say.” Father Antonius spoke up boldly, knowing that he was the youngest man there.

Caradoc snorted and would have rebuffed the priest, but Dubricius raised a hand to quiet him and gently explained the problem.

“She has been convicted of influencing Arthur. How can we allow him to stand in judgment on her? We don’t know how long her spells last.”

“Do you all really believe this?” Father Antonius looked pleadingly at his elders.

This time Caradoc would not be silenced.

“I knew from the time he refused to accept my protection of Ligessauc Longhand, someone other than his proper advisers was controlling him. Now we know who it is. Now we know why Arthur has chosen to trade with the pagan invaders instead of sweeping them back into the sea.”

“I am sure that if we send her into exile, to Armorica, perhaps, Arthur will soon be himself again.” Dubricius faltered.

“No,” Caradoc spoke firmly. “She must be utterly destroyed. Nothing must remain of her tainted flesh.”

“What are you saying?”

“That her unholy body must be burnt entirely.”

“We are Christians, Caradoc. How will her soul rise on the day of judgment if her body be lost?”

“Her soul, if she ever had one, will have its chance to escape from the flames. It may be the only chance. Her obscene body will pay the price so that her soul may be free.”

“You mean burn her
alive
?”

The saint nodded.

Father Antonius was appalled. “That is barbaric! Even our pagan ancestors abandoned that hideous form of sacrifice years ago. No one will allow it.”