The Guinevere's Tale Trilogy

Chapter 11-1

Chapter Eleven

I hardly noticed the journey south.

I had lost everything I had ever loved: my family in Avalon, my mother, my lover, and now my father. Even Octavia was forbidden to accompany me. Once again, I was alone, facing the prospect of another new home; it seemed like each time I traveled somewhere new, my heart became heavier, weighed down by another form of pain.

Life had just begun to feel normal again. The homesickness I had felt for Avalon had begun to fade; the shock and blinding grief that gripped my soul at my mother’s death had begun to loosen just enough to let me breathe again; even my father had shown a flicker of his old genial nature—and then all the wounds were slashed open in a single instant.

My horse trod the miles without prodding or direction, as if he was as resigned to his fate as I was mine. The countryside passed without my knowledge. All I could see in my mind’s eye was Aggrivane. The memory of him was the one thing that enabled me to draw breath—the light of his smile, the softening of his eyes each time they found mine, the warmth of his breath.

When Aggrivane and I parted in Avalon, I’d accepted it was unlikely we would ever see one another again. Of course I missed him, thought of him, dreamed of him, but that was all it was; it seemed more fantasy than reality. But when I saw him standing in the entryway of Northgallis, an unexpected beacon in my dark world, he had been real, as was our love—overwhelmingly, tantalizingly, achingly real. As our bodies came together, so did our hearts, our souls, permanently intertwined among our limbs like mistletoe in the boughs of an oak. When he whispered that he would marry me, my world was complete once again.

No matter what my father or that horrid priest said, he would always be mine. I couldn’t let him go, but I couldn’t be with him either, and it was tearing me apart.

The fissure in my heart seemed to expand every time I thought of him returning to Lothian. Surely his father would be merciful, would he not? Lot was widely known as a man of great integrity and strength of will. Aggrivane spoke highly of his father and it was clear that they loved one another, so he would understand; he had to. Perhaps Lot would even see the injustice that was done to us and send his men to rescue me from my prison. Then we could be together forever, just as we had intended.

Even now I could feel Aggrivane’s hand in mine as we wound our ways to unknown fates. I knew with absolute certainty that as my body drew ever closer to Dyfed, a small shard of my soul journeyed northeast to Lothian with him.

I could barely breathe as I waited outside the large oak doors of the great hall. Corbenic was a large holding, much more imposing than my own home, and standing here surrounded by guards did nothing to make me feel welcome. Inside, Lord Pellinor and Lady Lyonesse were holding court. With a murmur of voices, they attended to the room full of courtiers, common folk, and emissaries, each with their own agenda or case to plead.

The men around me shifted anxiously and stomachs rumbled audibly as the minutes ticked by. My feet were beginning to get stiff and sore when a servant emerged from the suddenly silent room to beckon us in. When I stepped through the doorway, I was greeted by a press of people on either side, strange faces peering at me with open curiosity or obvious distain. I began to sweat under the weight of their judgment, and I tried to ignore the feeling I was being paraded in front of the entire court like a criminal.

Pellinor’s tall, thin frame came into view first. He was standing in front of his throne with a warm smile on his face. A few new wrinkles creased his face and less of his close-cropped black hair was visible along his forehead, but otherwise he appeared much the same as when I had seen him last, two summers before I went to Avalon.

“Guinevere, welcome.” He came forward when we reached the dais and embraced me warmly. “I am so happy your father accepted my invitation. It has been far too long since we have had the pleasure of your company.” He regarded me with sincere appreciation, the way I had expected my own father to receive me.

Ignoring the gaping crowd, he continued in his familial tone. “My, you have grown. You are not the only one who has come of age in the passing years.” He put out his arm, and a beautiful girl about my age with long strawberry-blond hair trotted to his side. “You remember Elaine. The last time the two of you were together, you were covered in mud, do you remember?” He laughed lightly.

Elaine grinned at me, and although my body was visibly shaking, I couldn’t help but be warmed by her presence. I remembered quite clearly. It was Elaine who had led us into the bog, chasing after one of her many fantasies. Time had dulled the particulars, but I remembered enough.

My heart was beginning to warm and the slightest hint of a smile tugged at my lips when I caught the eye of the woman perched in the throne next to Pellinor. She had draped herself in such a way as to appear larger, more imposing than I knew her to be. With a sudden chill, I understood it was she who was holding court and that she was simply indulging her husband’s kindness. Her eyes were fixed on my forehead, and her jaw was taut. It was clear she had not been forewarned about my religious views and was not pleased.

Having held my gaze long enough to make her authority clear, Lyonesse rose and embraced me stiffly. “Welcome, Guinevere.” Her words were kind, but her greeting held no warmth.

Lyonesse had never been overly affectionate, but her actions were much more formal than I recalled from my last visit. Her brief embrace threw me off balance, and I stumbled as she released me and we both returned to our places.

Pellinor too took his seat beneath a large painting in which a woman lovingly gazed on her child while the father watched serenely but protectively from behind them. In the background, an older man and woman raised their eyes skyward in silent prayer of thanksgiving. I would have thought it a portrait of Pellinor’s family, if the child had not been a boy.

“Gentlemen,” Pellinor said to the assembled guards, “I release you from your service. You may tell Lord Leodgrance that his daughter is safely in my care. My men will show you to the barracks, where you may dine and rest before beginning your journey back to Northgallis in the morning.”

As the clamor of armor and footsteps receded, I was pleased to note the crowd had grown considerably smaller. Besides Pellinor’s family, there now remained only a few people I did not recognize, among them a strikingly beautiful woman with porcelain skin and a wild curly mane of hair that was more orange than red, brighter even than Morgan’s in the sunlight. She observed me with a strange mixture of emotions, as if she knew enough to pity me yet was dying to learn more. Her nearly concealed smile told me that she was amused by my situation.

I stood silently, still trembling before Pellinor and Lyonesse, unsure how to proceed. If I should speak, I could not; my throat was dry and my tongue seemed glued to my palate.

Lyonesse gazed down at me, her sapphire eyes hard and disapproving, still boring into my forehead as though she could remove the crescent by force of will. It was then that I realized she made me more uncomfortable than Argante had on my first day in Avalon. That thought sent a shiver down my spine, while beads of cold sweat made an appearance on my forehead and on the back of my neck. I looked to Pellinor and Elaine for reassurance, but Lyonesse quickly drew my attention back to her, exactly where she wanted it.

“I must admit I had serious reservations about allowing you to live here—and I still do—but my husband promises me you will behave with the utmost decorum and mind your place. Is that correct?” Her voice was grim, as though she held little hope regarding my ability to comply.

I nodded mutely.

She seemed the tiniest bit assuaged and relaxed slightly in her chair. “I know the story of how you came to be here, the real reason why our invitation was accepted.” She eyed her husband accusingly.

Pellinor was nonplussed, but I had a feeling it was all an act.

“With the addition of you to the household, we now have three mouths to feed and three husbands to find.” She gestured to her daughter, who immediately blushed scarlet. “Elaine, of course, will be no problem, but I question the influence you and the other one may have on her, especially together.” She threw the curly-haired woman a look of repugnance.

Why does she not call the girl by name? That simple act of disrespect rankled me.

“I do not want our home to become a house of ill repute. Given your history”—it was clear that she was speaking now both to me and the curious girl in the corner—“that could be a very difficult assumption to avoid.”

“Be reasonable,” Pellinor interjected. “Isolde and Guinevere have done nothing to earn your ire. Past offenses are nothing to us now. What good is it for Guinevere to have come here if she is not given a chance to begin anew? Even our Lord and Savior did not turn away the Magdalene from his companions, and he often dined with prostitutes and tax collectors. We owe Guinevere the same compassion and forgiveness.”

Inwardly, I took offense at Pellinor’s scriptural reference, but he meant well, so I ignored him.

“But those people were repentant of their sins, husband,” Lyonesse retorted, her voice becoming higher and harsher with each word. “Guinevere has done nothing to indicate she regrets what she has done or to show firm purpose of amendment. Therefore, we must be on our guard.” Her attention was back on me now. “You will be the model of righteousness while you live within our walls, do you understand? If I hear even the faintest whisper that you have done or even thought of anything that may be morally questionable, I will turn you out without a second thought.” Her eyes blazed fire. “I advise you to have as little interaction with Elaine as possible until you have proven yourself to be true to the path of virtue—”

“Lyonesse, you cannot forbid two friends from being together,” Pellinor interrupted, exasperated. “It is against nature, and it is not compassionate. Think how you would feel if someone did the same to you. Guinevere and Elaine are practically kin; you cannot rend the garment of family without displeasing God.”

For a moment Lyonesse was speechless, thrown by Pellinor’s accusation of un-Christian behavior, but she recovered and quickly changed the subject. “So be it. But your visits must be supervised.”

She stood, descended two of the three steps that separated us and stood glowering down at me. Silently, she scrutinized my face, my dress, and, I suspected, my body beneath. She took a deep breath and let it out with an exaggerated sigh.

“You seem to be in good health, and you are comely enough. It will be a challenge finding a good Christian man willing to marry you since you are a branded woman.” She started to touch the mark on my forehead with trembling fingers, but then pulled away, as if she feared being burned. “But I have faced bigger challenges in my time, and I am determined not to fail.

“The mark may mean little if we can show that you have changed and embraced the true faith,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “But the bigger problem lies in your virtue, or lack thereof.” She smirked. “Normally I would call the healer and have her publicly certify your virginity, but since we all know that would be a fruitless gesture, we will have to improve your spiritual virtue instead. It will be cold comfort when a man realizes he has been bound to a used woman, but it is the best we can do under the circumstances.”