The Once and Future Camelot Read online

  At that moment I was tempted, so tempted to confide my suspicions to Guinglan, but still I kept silent for I was fearful of how he might react to my news, given our present predicament. And so I held my peace and dismissed his concern with a light laugh. “It is nothing serious,” I said. “It is only an affliction of the spirit caused by my mother’s actions against us. If you think this king and queen can somehow show us the way home and make things right, then I will go with you, and gladly.”

  And so it was settled, although we had to stay overnight and wait until the tide was low enough once more for us to leave. Fortunately another group of pilgrims had come over, and we were able to persuade their guide to take us back to the mainland. Once there, Guinglan bought two horses from a local trader, and I then made some more enquiries, with Guinglan prompting me as to what I should say while I did the talking.

  What I heard put new spirit into my heart. One of my questions produced an answer, and also a warning that turned us in a new direction.

  “You need to take the road to Rennes.” Our informant, a wealthy merchant by the look of him, pointed in the direction we should take. “Once there, you must continue south to Angers. The roads are well-traveled and you should have no difficulty finding your way – so long as you go in the right direction. There are several roads leading out of Rennes, and you must be careful to take the road to Angers and no other, as there is a great forest west of Rennes, called Broceliande. I have heard such tales from travelers who have been lost there, tales of otherworldly beings that would turn your bowels to water if you heard them.”

  All my senses were alerted as he uttered the word “otherworldly”; I was so excited by the possibilities inherent in it that I utterly ignored the warning that followed.

  “What do you mean by otherworldly beings?” I asked, throwing caution aside. Guinglan laid a warning hand on my arm but I ignored him as I waited for the merchant to answer.

  He gave me a long, considering look, and then said quietly: “It is said that a fairy resides there, who trapped the wizard Merlin in a tree and keeps him captive there. Nimue is her name, although she has also been known by another: Viviane.”

  Nimue? That name I did not know, but I had heard of both Viviane and Merlin! My mother had once spoken to me of the high priestess of Avalon. She’d had nothing good to say about Viviane, as I recalled, but she’d certainly never mentioned Viviane’s involvement in anything of this nature, nor had she called her a fairy. As for Merlin, his name I had heard only from others. In fact, I suspected there might be something shameful about my mother’s dealings with him, for she never spoke of him to me and had turned the question aside when once I’d asked her. I took the names as a sign that here, indeed, was proof of some connection between this world and the world with which I was familiar.

  “Has there been any talk of King Arthur, and his sister, Morgana?” I ventured, encouraged to question the merchant further.

  He grunted. “As for the king, I couldn’t say. But Morgana, the Sorceress, is much hated and feared in those parts. It is said that she inhabits a special high part of the forest into which she entices young men to their doom. And it is true that many who have entered the forest are never seen again.”

  Speechless with dismay, I could only stare at the merchant, but Guinglan found the words to defend my mother. “I know not where these stories originated,” he said, “but I can tell you now that there is no truth in what you say.”

  “And we shall go there ourselves to prove you wrong,” I added, made bold by Guinglan’s strong defence.

  “I have tried to warn you, but it seems you will not heed my warning,” said the merchant, seeming annoyed not to be taken seriously. “There are, however, two more things you should know about this forest before you venture in.”

  More lies, I thought. And yet the merchant had known names familiar to me, as had Sister Grace. Somewhere, somehow, there must be some connection between our two worlds.

  “There are stories of a strange beast that lives deep within the forest. Several brave men have gone in quest of it, but none has managed as yet to capture and kill it. Nor can any man that I have met even describe the nature of the beast.” The merchant gave a deprecating laugh, and continued, “I can see you don’t believe me, but even if there is no unknown creature within the forest, there are other animals who would do you harm unless you can defend yourself against them: ferocious wolves, and wild boar, and such. Even worse: this is a vast forest, largely uncharted and untrammeled. Some who have ventured in have never been seen again; others come back half-mad, with tales that would curdle your blood. It is only too easy to lose your way. Indeed, I once met a man who had strayed from the path and who said that he wandered for days looking for a way out while suffering extremes of hunger and thirst. He told me of some of the strange and wonderful beings he’d spied there, and said that they haunt him still. He was lucky, he said, to escape with his life.”

  This last was an honest warning, but I was more interested in the merchant’s mention of a strange beast. I remembered hearing that several knights of Camelot had gone in search of such an otherworldly animal. Indeed, two of them, King Pellinore and Sir Palomides, had dedicated their lives to the pursuit of the Questing Beast, as they called it. It seemed clear that this new world in which we found ourselves had some knowledge, however imperfect, of our own world. Here, if nowhere else, the veil between the two worlds might be thin enough for us to pass through. After all, my mother had succeeded in crossing between the worlds, and had brought us with her. If she had managed to open the door, others might too. I had no way of knowing if my reasoning was correct, but I was determined that we should try.

  After thanking the merchant for his advice, I then set about trying to persuade Guinglan to go along with my plan. To my surprise, he argued vehemently against it. I wondered if he was afraid that he, too, might fall into my mother’s clutches. I challenged him with it, laughing to show that I truly believed no such thing. His eyes dilated, and his face turned pale as whey. Stunned, I stared at him, but he shook himself and, with a visible effort, said that he feared no such thing.

  “So we’ll go then?” I hesitated, then added, “For I will go, whether or not you come with me.” I had no intention of carrying out my threat but, fortunately, I was not put to the test as, at last, Guinglan finally agreed to accompany me. And so we journeyed on to Broceliande, although Guinglan stipulated that we would enter the forest only if we could hire a guide to lead us.

  We have great forests near Camelot, but even so I felt overwhelming awe as we approached the mighty wall of beech and oak that confronted us at the forest edge, and that seemed to stretch forever. As we’d come closer, we’d begun to make enquiries about a guide, and offered payment, doubling the amount when everyone we met refused our request. It made no difference. Some added expressions of regret, others made excuses, but they would not change their minds. A few people issued warnings similar to those we had already heard from the merchant. There were other stories too; stories which bolstered my resolve to enter the forest regardless of what we might encounter there. All had a reference, no matter how small or incorrect, to what I’d heard in Camelot – like the story of a fountain from where rain could be summoned by throwing water onto the slab in front of it. This was a story that related to my own half-brother, Owain, whom I had never met but who was the son of my mother and her husband, King Urien of Rheged.

  This time I had to argue a lot longer and harder with Guinglan before he would consent to enter the forest without a guide. It was only when I repeated my threat to go in without him, and said that I would leave him behind forever if there was a chance that I might find my own way back to Camelot, that he consented to come with me. “For your protection,” he said. I could tell he was angry with me, and fearful too. But my mind was set on going, and so we arranged stabling and food for our mounts at a nearby inn, and then set off on foot towards a small gap through the trees that the innkeeper assure
d us would take us into the heart of the forest – “and God be with you all the way and bring you safely home again,” he said by way of farewell.

  Refusing to feel discouraged, but with a small prayer of my own that our mission would prove successful and that we would indeed find our way home, I set off happily. I was ready to lead the way, but Guinglan drew his sword and, holding it at the ready, insisted on going ahead. At once tall oaks and beech trees closed over us, blocking the light, so that thereafter we walked through a green darkness pebbled only by small spots of gold where a ray of sunlight managed to penetrate the gloom. There was a track to follow, faint but discernible, and we were forced to walk separately for the path was too narrow for us to stay side by side. In truth, I would have been glad to be able to hold on to Guinglan’s hand. As we penetrated deeper into the forest, my courage began to falter and fail me. It was utterly silent, save for the quiet crunch of our footsteps on fallen leaves that littered the path. It seemed that we were alone in this vast darkness.

  On either side of the path were a profusion of tall weeds and crawling creepers, some of which reached out to entangle my feet and trip me, so that I was forced to keep my eyes down at all times and step carefully. Nothing moved; even the leaves on the trees were still. And we, too, were silent. Although it was midsummer, here it was cold, with a deep and unnatural chill that began to make its way through my bones and into my heart. My feeling of dread grew stronger, although I knew not what it was I feared.

  We walked on. All my senses were pricked for a sign that we might be close to the veil that separated our worlds, but I was also on the alert for a threat of any sort. Ahead of me, Guinglan too proceeded cautiously, and always with his sword at the ready. But there seemed nothing untoward other than the heavy, unnatural silence.

  “May we stop a while, Guinglan?” I asked, finally giving way to my unease. “I’m tired. And I’m also hungry and thirsty.” We had reached a small clearing, and I sat down on a grassy patch before Guinglan could argue that we should keep walking while it was still daylight. With a sigh, he sat down beside me and unstoppered a leather flask of ale, while I unpacked some of the bread and meat supplied by the innkeeper for our journey. Belying my words, I found I had little appetite. The silence of the forest seemed to have entered into our hearts for we hardly spoke. And all the while I became aware of a gathering fear and a deepening sadness that seemed without cause.

  After a short rest, and feeling somewhat fortified, we continued on our way. The path was so faint now that we followed it with difficulty, sometimes having to guess which way to go. On several occasions Guinglan had to use his sword to cut away a tangling vine or overhanging branch that blocked our progress. It was hard to tell how much time had passed for the leafy cover over our heads had become ever more dense. The gloom had deepened although I was sure that the summer day had not yet darkened into full night.

  I became aware of a slight noise, the first I’d heard since we’d entered the forest, and I stopped to listen. It sounded like a faint sighing through the trees, as if a breeze had sprung up, and yet everything stayed still. Guinglan had stopped when I did, and as the noise became louder he turned to me with a worried expression.

  “I hear it,” I said, before he could ask. Stories of the Questing Beast ran through my mind. I was sorry now that I hadn’t questioned the knights of Camelot more carefully about their exploits. I also wished I’d paid more attention to the merchant’s warning.

  Guinglan drew me in close to his side as the noise intensified. I clung to him, shaking with fear, but he gave me a quick kiss then thrust me aside. “Go into the trees and hide,” he said quietly, with a push to set me on my way.

  Too afraid to defy him, I did as I was bid, casting a quick glance over my shoulder in time to see my husband, sword poised at the ready, walking on to confront whatever awaited him ahead. Now I could hear a groaning and rumbling that set all the leaves of the forest trembling. The wind grew stronger, shrieking and moaning, and I wrapped my arms around a sapling beech for support. Even the earth was shuddering now. The noise was so deafening I could hardly bear it. But I dared not release my grip on the sapling to cover my ears.

  “Oh God, please keep Guinglan safe,” I prayed, too terror-stricken to think of anything other than the danger we were in; the danger I’d brought upon us with my reckless disregard of the warnings we’d been given.

  The whole forest was shaking now, and I hung on to the tree and prayed the same prayer over and over to the God of my childhood, trusting in his mercy. Finally – and in the space of a moment – all became silent and still once more.

  I stayed where I was, still clinging to the tree in terror – until a greater horror intruded. If the danger was over, why had Guinglan not returned to find me? Unless … But I could not bear to put my fear into words. I unwrapped my arms from the sapling and turned towards the path, meaning to go in search of him lest he be wounded and unable to walk. I’d gone some distance, preoccupied with seeking out any healing herbs I might come across in case they were needed, when I realized I must have mistaken my direction. I’d taken shelter not too far from the path so that I would be able to find my way out and yet there was no sign of it now. I turned in all directions, seeking it out, but a cage of green surrounded me and I could not see any way forward at all.

  “Guinglan?” I called softly, fearful that the Beast, if there was a Beast, might still be lurking in the dense undergrowth. “Guinglan?”

  I waited, but there was no reply. “Guinglan!” This time I shouted his name, for his absence was of far more concern to me than any animal, mythical or otherwise. “Guinglan!”

  My voice echoed and sighed through the trees. But there was no reply. I began to thrash around, beating through weeds and dodging past trees, ignoring sharp thorns and stinging nettles in my need to find my husband. As I tripped over hidden rocks and kicked aside the clinging ivy, I kept on calling for Guinglan. In between I left silences, so that I could hear his answer if he called out. But the forest stayed quiet and still, while the path remained hidden despite my desperate attempts to find it.

  Finally, exhausted, I sank to the ground and began to weep. I was sure now that he must be dead and that he had gone from me forever. I wept for my lost husband, my companion and lover. And I wept harder when I realized that he had died without knowing he was going to become a father. I cradled my belly, smoothing over the small bump that told me I was indeed carrying a child. And I sobbed with the bitterness of loss, sobbed until I was exhausted and there were no more tears left to shed.

  I suppose I must have fallen asleep then, for I did not hear Guinglan’s approach. I was not aware of him until I felt his arms twine around me and pull me close. I felt his hard arousal and, murmuring my relief at his safe return, and my pleasure at being close to him once more, I opened myself to him and felt him enter me. We moved together, reaching ever-higher peaks of pleasure, until I felt a shuddering release that I knew matched his own. Safe in his arms, I began to drift off to sleep once more, thinking that all explanations could wait until morning, as could the news that I was now ready to impart. Guinglan’s voice roused me momentarily.

  “Tell our stories, Marie. You must tell the stories of Camelot.”

  “I will,” I promised drowsily, and then I slept.

  *

  With the memory of our night’s loving in mind, I reached out for Guinglan when I woke, but all I touched was grass and earth, damp now with the early morning dew. Momentarily disorientated, I sat up, and the full horror of what had happened came back to me. I called Guinglan’s name once more; softly so as not to rouse any fierce beasts that might be lurking in the undergrowth. Once again, my call met with no response. Thoroughly alarmed now, I called louder, and louder again. There was no sign of Guinglan at all, not his sword, nor even the bag my mother had given us although I searched all around for it. I was beginning to wonder if I had dreamed our encounter last night. Perhaps Guinglan had not come back to me at a
ll? There was desolation and utter despair at the thought. But whether he’d come to me in the night or not, it was clear that my husband was not here now.

  I sat down to wait for him … and I waited … and waited. But in spite of my calls, he did not appear. I remembered the merchant’s warning about my mother and how she enticed men to their doom, but quickly dismissed any such fanciful notion. And yet something had happened in the forest last night; something that I now feared might have taken my husband’s life. But if so – where was his body? Or had the Beast swallowed him whole? I felt such horror at the thought, and such an aching sadness, that I sprang to my feet once more and began to search in earnest for any sign of my husband, or indeed any sign of a beast, magical or otherwise.

  To my surprise, I found traces of the path almost straightaway. The trees had thinned somewhat, so I was able to tell which way I should take from the direction of the rising sun, which now slanted towards me from the east. After a moment’s consideration, I began to walk in the direction that Guinglan had taken when he’d gone after the Beast, although I feared greatly what I might find. His mutilated body perhaps, or even the Beast dead and my husband so badly injured he could neither walk nor cry out for help.

  There was no sign of anything untoward except, in one place, some bruised and broken foliage and, on the path, some footprints, along with an unfamiliar tread of which I had no knowledge at all. Was this where my husband had encountered … whatever it was? I searched the area more thoroughly and, in a patch of high weeds, half-hidden within their depths, I came across the bag given to us by my mother. I snatched it up with a cry, although I dreaded what its presence might mean. A quick inspection revealed that the jewels and coins were still there, along with my mother’s ancient book, the pack of wooden tablets that she’d used to divine the future, and a hard lump of purple crystal that I recognized as amethyst.