Ruins of Camelot (10 page)

Gabriella turned to her father.  Slowly, she lowered her chin and raised the pendant's chain over her head.  She felt the warm weight of the sigil settle beneath her throat.

Darrick took her hand and squeezed it.

The story of Darrick and Gabriella—the blacksmith's son and the Princess—had spread amongst the people of Camelot, becoming necessarily embellished and romanticised, so that by the evening of the wedding, the castle courtyard had become a scene of spontaneous celebration.  Those returning tired from the fields met their wives and children in the square, establishing little family camps along the walls and in hay-filled corners.  Street vendors had set up their carts to feed and profit from the crowd.  Those who could not afford their wares satisfied themselves with baskets of home-made bread and cheese.  Children danced and chased each other through the jovial throng.  Musicians fluted and drummed noisily, competing with each other from opposite corners of the courtyard.

Gabriella observed this with bemusement from her balcony.  She knew that most of the people below had gathered as much for the festival atmosphere as to celebrate her marriage to Darrick, but this did not bother her in the least.

"It is very nearly time," Sigrid announced, stopping in the open balcony doors.  "We should make our way down to the ballroom.  You're as ready as you will ever be, methinks."

Gabriella nodded but did not move.  "They look so happy," she said, smiling wistfully.

"Of course they do," Sigrid answered.  "It's not every day that a princess marries a commoner."

Gabriella looked down at the noisome throng in the twilight.  "Darrick isn't common," she said with quiet confidence.

Sigrid waited impatiently for a moment and then sighed and moved to join her charge at the balcony railing.  "Do you wish to learn a truth on this day, dear one?" she asked, peering down into the square.

"You've taught me nearly every day of my life whether I liked it or not," Gabriella replied.  "Why should today be any different?"

Sigrid shrugged.  "Today that will end.  I am no longer your nurse, but your lady-in-waiting.  From now on, if you wish me to advise you, you will ask me for it."

"I will always ask you for it," Gabriella said, suddenly feeling very sad.  Tears came to her eyes, surprising her, and she swiped at them with annoyance.

"This is how it always is," Sigrid nodded, softening her expression.  "Every great beginning means something else must end.  It is the way of all good things.  Sadness and joy are the twins of every momentous event."

"I don't think that's the lesson you meant to teach me," Gabriella chided, swallowing thickly and producing a handkerchief.  "Don't remind me of what is ending.  Teach me a happy truth for once, woman."

Sigrid nodded agreeably and crossed her large forearms on the balcony railing.  "You say that your Darrick is not common, and you are right," she said, peering down into the torchlight of the courtyard.  "Today's happy truth, Princess, is that neither are any of them."

Gabriella followed the older woman's gaze, allowing it to drift over the faces of those gathered below.  Some were smiling, laughing, singing.  Others looked on with stern solemnity or argued amiably amongst themselves.  Mothers watched their children, fathers cuffed them lightly as they ran past or held them on their shoulders, pointing up at the castle, perhaps even at Gabriella herself where she watched from high above.

"What does it mean to be a princess?" Gabriella wondered aloud, repeating her old question.

Sigrid turned and regarded her for a long moment.  "From now on, whatever you do, that's what it means.  For good or for ill, you are the Princess.  What that means to me and Darrick and all of those below is up to you."

Gabriella accepted this with a deep sigh.  She felt a strange reluctance to leave the balcony railing even though her moment was soon coming, the moment she had been waiting for much of her life.  She was going to be married.  In every way that mattered, she was no longer a child.  She had yearned ardently for this day, had rushed impatiently through her schooling, anxious to throw off the rules and boundaries of childhood.  Only now, looking over the precipice of adulthood, did she realise how secretly reassuring those boundaries had been.

Sigrid seemed to understand these things without Gabriella explaining them.  They waited together under the darkening sky.  Finally, Sigrid stood back and touched Gabriella's elbow.  Gabriella nodded down at the celebrating crowd below her and then drew herself up and smoothed her gown.  It was, of course, an extremely impressive gown, embroidered with pearls and white ribbons, shimmering with what felt like acres of heavy silk.  It was beautiful, and yet, like so many other adult things, it almost seemed to be wearing her rather than the other way around.  She sighed once more.  Silently, she turned and followed Sigrid back into the yellow warmth of her rooms.

They passed through, out into the upper castle corridor and the main stairway.  Hundreds of candles lit the way, their flames lining the walls and hanging from iron chandeliers.  As the two women descended the staircase, Gabriella saw that a small, waiting crowd had gathered on the floor below.  Unlike the crowd outside, however, these were nobles and ladies, resplendent in their colourful, formal best.  They smiled and looked up at her, and Gabriella saw that, above their ruffed collars and tasseled shoulders, their faces were exactly the same as the ones in the square outside.  Here, like there, were the regal and the rogue, valiants and villains, all mingling together and looking up at her expectantly.

Near the back of the hall, flanking the entrance to the grand ballroom, stood her father and his entourage.  He wore his crown, but for once, this did not make him the centre of attention.  He seemed pleased by this.  Near him, looking less comfortable in his formal attire, stood Rufus Barth, the academy Battle Master, in his role as chief of security for the castle wedding.  His black eyes roved endlessly over the crowd, flicking from face to face with nearly mechanical precision.

Gabriella was halfway down the curving staircase when someone called the traditional question.

"Has the young lady chosen a groom from the men of the world?"  The speaker was a young man, Jakar, a former classmate and a friend of Darrick.  He smiled up at her from where he stood next to his father, an archduke with a very impressive, grey moustache.

"The young lady has," Sigrid replied loudly.

Half a dozen voices picked up the traditional response.  "Is he amongst us this night?"

Sigrid stopped and turned expectantly back to Gabriella, smiling and raising one eyebrow.

"He is," Gabriella answered.  "He shall meet me in the ballroom, and there, we shall be wed."

A small cheer went up from the gathering of nobles and ladies, mingled with laughter and jostling as everyone turned towards the doors at the far end of the hall.  The King preceded them through, and Barth moved aside, taking up his post next to the doors and making room for the throng.  Gabriella could see that the grand ballroom was already quite full.  Brightly coloured coats and gowns filled the space, competing with the frescoes that covered the walls and ceiling.  Fire roared in the monstrous hearth that fronted the room, illuminating the small dais and altar that had been erected there.  Bishop Tremaine stood before the altar in his vestments, glowing white and gold in the candlelight.  Next to him, turned to face the crowd, was Darrick.  Gabriella saw him, but he did not see her.  He nodded and smiled as the room filled up with faces, some familiar, most not.  Even now, he seemed completely at ease.  It was remarkable, Gabriella thought, and not for the first time, how perfectly suited he was for the role of Viceroy and husband of the future Queen.  It was as if he were made for the Kingdom, and the Kingdom did indeed seem to need him.  But he belonged to her first, and this pleased her immensely.

The entrance hall's marble floor slowly emptied, and Gabriella was joined there by Rhyss and Constance, her attendants.  They wore yellow silk gowns, Rhyss with understated confidence and Constance with overt delight, examining herself obsessively in the mirrors that lined the paneled walls.

"Are you ready?" Rhyss asked seriously.

Gabriella nodded.  "I am.  I just can't quite take it all in.  Perhaps we should have gotten married in the church after all.  This feels so…," she shrugged, "so
royal
."

Constance grinned at her as if she were very silly.  "You're the Princess," she whispered harshly.  "Royalty is something you'd better get used to."

"It's time, girls," Sigrid ordered, joining them near the doors of the ballroom.  "Constance, you first now.  Stop across from Jakar.  He will attend you afterwards."

Constance rolled her eyes.  "Honestly, Sigrid, I've been preparing for this day longer than Bree, methinks.  I know what to do."  She turned back briefly and touched Gabriella's shoulder.  "Bree," she said solemnly, "this is it.  Your big day."  She shook her head and sighed.  "Don't bollix it all up by tripping over your skirts on the way to the altar."

"Thank you, Constance," Gabriella nodded ruefully, and then embraced her friend.

"Go!" Sigrid rasped, virtually pushing Constance through the ballroom doors.

Gabriella watched as Constance entered the ballroom and started towards the altar.  The throng of observers were parted to form a long aisle flanked by brass braziers and lined with a long, burgundy rug.  Constance walked with great deliberation, her chin held high, the scroll of the scriptures held reverently before her.  When she reached the altar, she bowed her head and handed the scroll to Bishop Tremaine, then took her place to the right.  When she turned back, her face was flush with pleasure.

Rhyss leant close to Gabriella's ear.  "I love you, Bree," she said in a small voice.  "Remember this day forever.  Long life to both of you."  She gripped Gabriella's arm for a moment, nodded curtly, and then turned towards the ballroom doors.  Gabriella watched nervously as her best friend began to make her way down the aisle, bearing the golden rings in a satin pouch.

Sigrid watched as well, and then a terrible expression came over her face.  She turned to Gabriella and looked her quickly up and down.

"Where's your bouquet?" she demanded in a harsh whisper.

"My—" Gabriella began, and then stopped.  They both knew where it was.  It was lying on the bureau in her bedroom, next to the basin where she had left it.

"You didn't," Sigrid breathed.

"You should've reminded me!" Gabriella rasped, her eyes widening.

Sigrid smacked her own forehead in annoyance.  "I'm not your nursemaid any more, Princess."

"I'll run back for it," Gabriella whispered, hiking up her skirts and turning back to the stairs, but Sigrid caught her by the elbow.

"You will do no such thing," she ordered.  "Stay here!"

With that, the older woman rushed back towards the stairs and took them two at a time.  Gabriella watched this, bemused at Sigrid's surprising speed.  A moment later, she turned back to the ballroom doors.  Rhyss was nearly halfway to the altar, walking slowly, her long, red hair hanging in waves down her back.  Most of the crowd watched her with bright interest, but a few eyes were turned back towards the doorway, awaiting Gabriella's entrance.