The Song of Guinevere: Prologue
Anno Domini 503
She lay in thoughtful silence as he rose
to dress before the hearth. He fanned the fire,
and suddenly the light took up his form
and flung a giant shadow of his figure
on the wall. She watched it as it spread,
heroic in proportion, 'cross the room.
She watched, and thought how very meet it was -
a symbol of the man and all that he
had done. She marveled how the embers would
conspire to glow today and pay him homage
thus, enlarging him, as though they knew
as well as she that in his flesh and blood
there breathed the stuff that gives a legend rise.
And what of me? she mused, for she could not
begin to cast a shadow of that size.
Would bards who sang his praise be kind to her?
Or when their verses sought to aggrandize
the king - would all her virtues cause demur?
Eleven golden summers she had lived
as this man's wife; eleven bitter winters
come and gone. And in that time his fame
had spread throughout Britannia and beyond.
Eleven bloody battles he had fought
against the Saxon foe; and eight of these
since they were wed. It seemed he never tired
of charging o'er the countryside to roust
the heathen trespasser anew, and drive
him back whence he had come beyond the channel.
Nor was there surcease at the battle's end;
for when the taste of victory lay sweet
upon his lips, and combat came to rest,
his vigour turned to training new recruits
the classic skills of Roman cavalry
technique; for this was Arthur's legacy.
His battle style had proved consistently
effective, for the enemy, who fought
afoot, were much intimidated by
the beasts who charged and reared upon a trained
command; and those whose courage yet sustained
them, fought against enormous odds when they
were grappling with a horse and rider. Men
had come to think of Arthur as the Great
Deliverer. Where e'er he went they called
him Rex and strove to be his friends. He quite
encouraged all this admiration, for,
at his request, their armies came beneath
his own command, thus forging an alliance
of determination and chain mail
that spanned the breadth of Roman Britain. She
knew well that Arthur had been blessed with near
Socratic powers of persuasion which
he coupled with the muscle of a Spartan.
Combined, they made the man invincible.
Indeed, it seemed he rode with destiny.
And being fate's companion kindled his
ambition, luring him away from home.
She often wondered what it would be like
to live like farmers' wives who toiled beside
their men throughout their lives behind the plow.
She'd watched them wistfully from time to time
as she rode by, and envied them the fun
and bickering which they indulged each other.
They drew a comfort from each other's habits.
For day by day, and year by year they shaped
their complicated monuments to marriage.
But Arthur would belong to history.
And he would no more plow the fertile fields
beside his wife than Guinevere herself
could go to war. His destiny was sealed.
Upon this moment then, as if to give
her thoughts full substance, came the flash
of steel, as light from some rogue tongue of flame
glanced off the lethal blade her husband now
was buckling at his side. Excalibur!
How many men had it now known? she wondered.
How many lived no more because they had
not reckoned with that steel or with the iron
hand that held it firm? He turned and came
towards her now - this man - this warrior born -
this leader of brave men - and sat upon
the bed beside her; tucked the furs up close
against her skin.
"It's time for me to go,"
he said.
She put her arms up warm and lissome;
she pressed him close against her breast. "You will
take care?"
He answered softly, "Yes, for careless
men don't win." He held her just one moment
more in silence. "You as well," he said.
"You too must take great care." He raised himself
upon his arms to probe into her eyes.
"The things I want to do," he warned, "require
both strength and honor. By these virtues men
will measure my authority." He weighed
his words most carefully. "As ever in
the past, I have enjoyed great pride in you,
my wife and queen, I urge you, Sweet, take care.
Remember that I love you, and am glad
that you are mine."
The guilt did rack her mind.
In vain she strove to read his thoughts. What did
he know? What had he heard? But now, as always,
Arthur held the tactical advantage.
The light behind him made it difficult
to see his face full well and pull the truth
out from the shadows of his eyes. She dared
not follow down his line of thought, for well
she knew her own tormented conscience heard
suspicion in his every word - though maybe
'twas not there at all. Oh, fervently
she hoped that he would never learn her secret.
Moral obligation notwithstanding,
love itself provided heartfelt cause.
Indeed, she loved this man. How could she not?
For no one could be left untouched by such
a lively mind.
"You know that I shall try,"
she said. "You know that I aspire to greatness
by your side. But I am made of softer
stuff - and cannot always grasp the ring...
I feel there's something in me forfeits glory."
He kissed her. "Try you must - and try again -
until you make a habit of success."
He ran a gentle thumb along her cheek.
"May God go with you," she said sadly.
"May
The Virgin keep her watch on you," came his
reply. He rose and with a cryptic smile,
he strode outside, his figure disappearing
in the misty gloom. She sensed a void.
For he had taken his vitality
away and left the room an empty shell.
Alone now, Guinevere got to her feet -
her mind tumultuous confusion - heart
a hammer on her ribs. She hurried to
the window, pulling on the latch that she
might see more clearly. Undeterred by cold
beneath her feet, and cold wet wind upon
her cheeks, she stood surveying the commotion
in the courtyard down below. She heeded
no discomfort. She was seeking one
especial figure in the crowd, wherever
he might be.
In that wan light of morning
everyone was grey and featureless
until a torch would be held high and some
one's face would spring into relief - all bones
and shadows, glitt'ring eyes, before receding
once again within the pallor. Servants
scurried to and fro, their spines contorted
under burdens meant for saddles. Horses
whinnied, striking sparks from off the cobbles -
ill at ease and restive mid the clamor.
Where was he? She saw her husband come
into the crowd just fresh from her farewell.
The servants bowed in homage as he passed.
But he strode on, charged by the enterprise
at hand. His custom was to pay attention
to his men - whatever rank they be.
But not today. He was preoccupied.
He moved among the troops, discharging orders
just beyond her hearing in the noise
of horses' hooves and shouting. Standing tall
and straight, with his assurance fundamental
to his bearing as it was, he made
her swell with pride that she should be his queen.
But in the instant that she swelled, she faltered.
For now a second figure was distinguished
from the shadows: Lancelot du Lac
addressed the king.
The two immediately
engaged in serious conversation, eyes
alight; their bodies eager to be off.
And Guinevere stood watching them until
her eyes from want of blinking stung. She knew
full well they did not talk of her. Indeed,
she knew that thoughts of women seldom came
into their heads at times like these - and for
the hundredth time she asked the heavens why
should women be manipulated by
the whims of love while men partake and go,
as from a banquet; well refreshed - restored -
the other facets of their lives unaltered;
touched, perhaps, but yet unharmed - and free
from any risk to male integrity.
Ah, Lancelot, she sighed. She ached for him.
She stood and trembled in the cold, decrying
the duplicity within her heart.
She wished her life could find some resolution.
Soon her lover, and the king, her husband,
would be gone, and sorely she would miss
them both. The world would never comprehend
her if her sinful secret came to light.
Would never comprehend her or forgive.
And she would be condemned to death for love
as surely as would those whose passions drove
them to commit the crimes of bloody slaughter.
Now, as she watched, a little child approached
the king, and Guinevere took note it was
Anir, the son of Arthur's henchman. One
who always tended him on his campaigns.
And Arthur crouched to this boy's level - there
to better hear. He smiled. The child flung wide
his arms in animated gestures. So,
he had a thrilling tale to tell! The king
was list'ning most indulgently. He spoke.
The boy replied, and then the king threw back
his head and laughed. That laughter was a joy
to simply look upon. For in his laugh
this man encompassed all the great delight
that one could find in this old world of wit
and madness. Not to say his laugh was loud,
but rather, it was generous and healthy.
His teeth were strong and white, and even in
this pallid light of dawn they gleamed. His eyes
were sparkling too, as he reached out a great
brown hand and tousled Anir's curly hair
with genuine affection.
She could not
help wincing at this scene. How wonderful
it would have been to've borne this man a son,
and watched them laugh like this. Her womb had failed
her here, however. Now she kept a watch
upon Anir who daily grew to look
more like the king. Did others see this likeness
too? Or was it only she suspecting?
She was afraid to know. And so she turned
her head away. She looked at Lancelot.
While Arthur laughed with his small friend, her love's
dark eyes had sought her window. Standing there
in half-light at her casement, absolutely
still, she let his passion lap her; felt
her bones turn malleable as molten wax.
There was the wild sensation she had known
before - that all her flesh was curved and glowing -
though reason told her she was barely profiled
in the shadows of her room. And though
he stood immobile, yet she felt his touch;
and silent, yet she heard his voice; and then
the moment passed.
With all at last prepared,
the king had sprung astride his horse. The men
fell silent. Tense. They trained their eyes upon
the king as he put up his hand. He wore
the mantle of authority with ease,
she marveled. 'Spite her desolation, all
the pageantry could send a thrill along
her spine. Anticipation heightened in
the air, and something truly carnal in
her stirred at sight of all the latent virile
power tensely tuned to his command.
Now, in the hush, the invocation could
be clearly heard, as in a solemn voice
he led his men in prayer. And Guinevere
sent all her hopes with them. She knew she looked
her last on some of these, her husband's men.
And fervently she begged the Fates that they
bring home alive again the brilliant king
and Lancelot, his friend.
And now, their souls
commended to the Virgin's gentle care,
they heard the hornsman blow the call to arms.
The king turned 'round and faced his lady queen,
his helmet 'neath his arm, his golden head
was glinting in the growing light of dawn.
His smile was almost imperceptible,
('twas little more than sparkle in his eyes)
but it had always been his smile for her,
and knowing it so long, she loved it well.
He pulled the great black charger hard upon
his haunches, rearing tall; a mighty show
of equine pride and courage! Testaments
to Xenophon with hooves that cleaved the air!
The king put up a hand in proud salute.
The woman stood there at her window while
her heart skipped beats within her frame. In half
a moment more, the king had sharply wheeled
his mount upon its shining quarters, so
to take the lead, approaching massive gates
set in the walls. The stallion pranced and tossed
his mane, and set his harness jingling. He
was eager as the king himself to start
that early morning gallop through the dew.
Then Lancelot came forth with his discreet
salute - his sword held up - the briefest bow -
for this was all decorum would allow -
before he turned Chrétien, his own young bay,
who danced in sidesteps just beyond control.
The rider was obliged to calm him with
a gentle hand upon the lathered neck
before they could negotiate the gate
in Arthur's wake, and move beyond her view.
Behind the king and Lancelot there went
the mounted officers of Arthur's guard
who rode in double columns through the yard
with all their retinue of farriers,
of leather craftsmen and of iron smiths.
But Guinevere chose not to watch the last
man go. She sighed, and with a heavy heart,
she padded back to bed for warmth and solace.