Shalott: End Play

PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

Guinevere shifted slightly to make herself and the baby more comfortable. The infant stopped suckling and looked up into her mother’s face with a dark, unfathomable gaze. Her heart brimming with tenderness, Guinevere ran a soothing finger across the baby’s forehead.

‘All is well, Ana,’ she murmured. As the baby commenced suckling once more, Guinevere uttered a small sigh of content. No wet nurse for Ana, even though Lancelot had offered to find someone for her. She had waited too long to forgo the joyous privilege of nursing her own child, and she treasured these quiet hours alone with her.

For a moment her eyes lifted to the window and the clear sky beyond. A hawk lay on the wind, sharp eyes focused on the ground below, searching for prey. Guinevere shivered, and cradled her child a little tighter in an involuntary gesture of protection. No harm must come near Ana. She would fight to the death, do everything in her power to guard her precious daughter so that, in time, Ana would fulfil the destiny Guinevere had planned for her — to keep the Old Ways alive and to celebrate them once more in court after the death of Arthur.

Ana. All her mother’s hopes and dreams rested on this tiny baby. Even her name was chosen with her destiny in mind, for her name lay within the name of the goddess Dana, the Great Mother who watched over her people, yet who was being driven from memory by Arthur’s Christian court. All the great festivals had been given different names to commemorate Christ’s birth and death rather than the seasons marked by the ancient calendar. With all her heart, Guinevere hoped that one day it would be safe for her and Lancelot to return from exile. And the Queen of the Western Isle’s mantle would pass to Ana, along with the knowledge taught to her by Guinevere.

Ana. Guinevere felt a frisson of fear. Would Dana understand she had named the child in good faith, to honour the Mother Goddess? She bowed her head. ‘Great Mother, please guard and protect my child; give her the wisdom and courage to bring the Old Ways back to the people of Camelot,’ she murmured.

Comforted, she dropped a light kiss on the baby’s forehead. Ana smiled up at her with Lancelot’s crooked smile, and Guinevere’s heart turned over with love and tenderness. Surely now, after all this time, surely they must be safe? Many moons had passed since Lancelot had ridden to her rescue and snatched her from the death by fire decreed by her lord, Arthur. Even now Guinevere trembled with the memory of that fateful day and what had happened to bring it about. A night with Lancelot, a night of joy such as she had never known, a night she’d hoped and prayed might bring about a longed-for miracle — new life in her womb. Even as she’d faced Arthur, her husband and king, the following day, and heard him pronounce both her guilt and her fate, Guinevere had wondered if he was unknowingly sending her unborn child to death.

Such dark days! But all was now well. Her rival for Lancelot’s love had disappeared on that day, along with her companions, and the child for whom she had yearned was now safe with her parents at Joyous Gard.

Guinevere lifted Ana to her shoulder. As she gently patted the baby’s back, she looked about her at the symbols of Lancelot’s love. Six hanging tapestries. They covered the stone walls and added richness and colour to her bedchamber. Lancelot had commissioned them within just a few days of bringing her to Joyous Gard, summoning the pattern-maker to their enchanted garden to record their hours spent on sweet kisses, music and poetry, dancing, and playing with the fabulous creatures Lancelot had encountered on his travels and brought home with him.

But the tapestries were not the only record of her life. Schooled by Cathbad the Druid and the ministers at the court of her father, King Leodegrance, Guinevere had learned to read and write before her marriage to the king. Now in exile on this island across the sea, she was putting those skills to good use, telling the story of Arthur and how he had united his people to do battle against their common enemy, so that Ana would know that her mother was once married to a brave and noble king. Guinevere had felt great grief and remorse as she recorded the high hopes and ideals of Arthur. Paying tribute to her husband helped, in some small way, to ease the guilt she felt in not being able to love him as he had deserved to be loved.

On a second parchment, Guinevere had written the story of her own life at court, and of her love for Ana’s father. Others might tell lies, spread rumours, and judge the lovers harshly while they were not present to defend themselves at court. Guinevere was determined that Ana should read and know the truth for herself.

Ana burped loudly, wrenching Guinevere from painful memory. Her lips curved into a fond smile. As she put the baby to her breast once more, her eyes lifted to the window. The hawk had disappeared. The hunt must be over. Perhaps, even now, Lancelot was coming to her? She listened intently. Yes. She could hear his tread on the stairs, becoming louder as he drew closer. Her heartbeat quickened at the thought of seeing him. The door flew open and Lancelot was by her side, his lips pressed to hers in an ardent kiss. He straightened then, and threw off his cloak.

‘Good hunting?’ Guinevere asked.

‘Not today. I’ve been with my steward. We’ve been inspecting the harvest. A little more rain, a little more sunshine, and we shall have enough bread and wine to see us comfortably through the coming winter, and with enough hay and feed in the barn for our animals to keep meat and milk also on the table.’

He smiled as he scooped the now sleeping Ana from Guinevere’s arms and cradled her to his broad chest. Gazing at them both, Guinevere felt such joy she thought she must surely burst with happiness. And yet, even as she basked in the light and warmth of Lancelot’s love, still she was uneasy. Sadness shadowed Lance’s brow; she knew he regretted his treason against Arthur. She wondered if he also mourned the disappearance of the Lady Charlotte.

Everything comes at a price, she thought, especially happiness.

She stood up and walked to the window, pushing aside the shutters to gaze out across the golden stubble of harvested wheat, the fruit-laden trees in the orchards and the dense red and green-leafed vines. The air smelled sweet and sunshine warmed her cheeks. How beautiful was this land across the sea! And how happy and comfortable she was, here at Joyous Gard with Lancelot.

‘Who could have dreamed we would find such happiness after all that has befallen us,’ she murmured.

‘I would feel more comfortable if I knew that Lady Charlotte and her company were safe.’ Lancelot came to join her at the window, carrying his sleeping daughter in his arms. ‘One moment they were riding in front of us, the next moment …’ He shook his head in wonder. ‘I would swear they just disappeared, yet that cannot be possible.’

‘They took a different road from us, that’s all,’ Guinevere said sharply, stung by his concern for the lady.

‘If they had turned onto a different path, I would have followed them.’

‘Even though Lady Charlotte betrayed you when she sold the Ninth Diamond you won for her at the tourney?’ Guinevere strove hard to keep the jealousy out of her voice as she reached up to touch the diamond at her throat.

Lancelot ignored the gesture, though his lips tightened momentarily. ‘They too were riding for their lives, Charlotte and her twin sister, and Stephen and his friend. I was the only one of us bearing arms. I would have followed them to protect them, and to keep us all safe.’

‘It would have been so much better if we had vanished along with them.’ As soon as Guinevere said the words, she regretted them. What had happened next was the greater part of Lancelot’s sorrow; she tried never to remind him of that fateful moment. But perhaps it should be spoken between them, so the poison building from that hurt might be lanced before it burst and overwhelmed them both.

She put her arms around Lancelot and Ana, drawing them close. ‘Those knights came after us with only one purpose — to capture and take me back to Arthur, and to kill you. I was in mortal fear when I saw you were one against so many, yet you fought like a lion and won our safety. You were not to know that Gareth was among the knights. They kept their faces guarded so that you could not know. Please, do not reproach yourself, Lancelot. Those knights knew they would be fighting a champion, and they took their chance against you. And they lost. I can only be glad of it, for if they had won we would not be here, and neither would Ana.’

‘You speak the truth and yet, had I known Gareth was among them, I would as soon cut off my right arm than kill him. He was as dear to me as mine own brother. No, I did wrong that day, Guinevere. I should rather have crippled their horses instead. We could still have made our escape.’

‘And Arthur would have sent more, and yet more knights in their place.’ She laid her hand on Lancelot’s arm. ‘Come, it is done. You must try to forget.’

‘Arthur will not forget. Nor will he forgive us. And neither will Gareth’s brother, Gawain. That is why sentries are still posted on the battlements day and night to keep watch, to keep us safe.’

‘No one can come across the sea without our knowing of it. You told me so yourself,’ Guinevere protested.

‘True, it is difficult unless you know the way or have a guide,’ Lancelot agreed. ‘When the tide is in, and Joyous Gard is surrounded by water, the hidden rocks and savage currents protect us. And when the tide is out, no one would dare to cross the causeway from the mainland without a guide, lest he be swallowed up in quicksand. Besides, my people are loyal. No stranger may enter my domain without it being reported to me.’

‘Why then do you need to post sentries? Surely we are safe now?

‘If Arthur comes, if he finds someone to show him the way, then I mean to be ready for him.’ A spasm of pain contorted Lancelot’s features. ‘How shall I face him, Guinevere? He was my friend. My brother-in-arms. My lord and king.’

‘Your rival,’ she contradicted, her tone a little too sharp.

Lancelot sighed. ‘That too,’ he admitted quietly. ‘You are my only consolation, Guinevere, you and our child. For you I would give up my life, even my soul.’

‘Tish,’ she said, a false brightness in her tone as she tried to lighten his mood. ‘We have been here almost a year, and there has been no sign of trouble in all that time. You may be sure Arthur has forgotten all about us by now. He was always more concerned with being a king than being a husband.’

Guinevere stepped back from the window and took the sleeping infant from Lancelot’s arms. She dropped a kiss on Ana’s fuzzy dark hair, then lowered her into her cradle and drew up the covers.

‘Come.’ She took Lancelot’s arm. ‘I have been in my bedchamber most of the morning, and I crave a little fresh air. Shall we walk upon the battlements before dining?’

Lancelot nodded. Guinevere called for Ana’s nurse to keep watch over the baby, and together they left the bedchamber and climbed the stone spiral to the top of the keep. With a sigh of pleasure, Guinevere surveyed the patterned mosaic of fields, orchards, vineyards and forest spread before her. Sunlight lay upon them like a blessing, while the cooing of pigeons sang a sweet accompaniment in her ears.

She walked on, Lancelot by her side, to survey the far side of the castle. The tide was in; water surrounded the island, covering the treacherous sands and jagged rocks in its depths. The sea lapped at the stone walls of the castle, calm and gentle today, yet Guinevere had witnessed the wild storms that frequently ravaged the island fortress, seen waves thunder and smash against the walls in an agony of boiling foam and pluming spray while flashes of lightning cracked open the sky.

A glimpse of white caught her eye. She squinted into the sunlight. A sail? Lancelot had seen it too. He said nothing but stood beside her, quietly waiting. The minutes stretched long as the speck drew closer, finally revealing itself as a craft of considerable size. The sail bore a huge cross, which meant the travellers came not from Arthur, but from the Pope in Rome. Yet a red flag at the rear of the boat spoke otherwise. It was the flag of the red dragon. Arthur’s flag. The Pendragon had come for them, with all the might and authority of Rome behind him.

Guinevere squeezed her eyes shut and turned away, trying to ward off her fear. Lancelot uttered a choked exclamation of despair as he put his arm around her and hugged her close to him. She gazed up into his dear face, her vision blurring with tears. A movement beyond Lancelot caught her attention. It was the hawk, gliding closer, intent on its prey. Guinevere felt its shadow pass over her, and in that moment she knew they were lost, and the future with them.