“I am glad. Let me know anything I can do to help, or to make her life easier.”
Brangien squeezed Guinevere’s hand where it rested on her arm. “I will. Thank you. And how are you? Any more dreams?”
“Nothing to report.” Guinevere and Arthur had returned to the city together, then stayed up late into the night discussing in detail what Arthur had learned and what it all meant for Camelot now and in the future. If Guinevere had dreamed after falling asleep in Arthur’s bed while he wrote letters, she remembered nothing, which suited her fine.
Guinevere and Brangien walked into the arena, climbing the wooden benches until they reached the covered section reserved for royalty. It was built out so it overlooked the arena floor, giving them the best and most comfortable view possible. Today, however, there were additions. Anna was sitting in the back, mending stockings. And Guinevach was sitting in Brangien’s seat, leaning forward and waving a kerchief.
Brangien froze. Normally she sat next to Guinevere, but with another lady here, it was not her place anymore. Guinevere could feel the tension in Brangien as Brangien led her to the seats at the front and then walked back and sat stiffly next to Anna.
“Oh, hello!” Guinevach beamed at Guinevere. “I heard you never miss watching your knight in the arena. You have been very hard to spend time with!” Guinevach said it lightly, patting the chair next to her.
Guinevere sat. “I told you I did not have time for you. I told you to go home. You did not listen. I owe you nothing.”
Guinevach did not so much as flinch. “I am glad your husband is back. That must make you happy. Is he away often?”
Was she fishing for information? She had to know Arthur often left the city. “The city is always protected.”
“All those knights! I like them very much. But none is as good as King Arthur. He is so handsome.” Guinevach’s expression went soft and dreamy. “Imagine being betrothed to a stranger and riding to discover him waiting for you at the end! You are the luckiest.” The way she emphasized luckiest made it sound less romantic and more like a criticism. “Do you remember what Father always used to say to us?” She fixed her golden eyes on Guinevere, waiting.
It was a trap. Guinevere was sure of it. “I am afraid you will have to be more specific. He said many things.”
Guinevach raised one delicately expressive eyebrow. “Not to us.” She paused, but when Guinevere did not respond, she pitched her voice low and raised her chin, glaring down at Guinevere as though she were a mess to be cleaned up. “Pray you are beautiful and fertile; the world has no other use for a girl.”
Guinevere must not have hidden her shock well enough. Guinevach’s brow furrowed. “You really do not remember? He would say that, and then you would cry.”
“It has been a long time since I thought of Father.” Guinevere looked out at the arena, trying to end the conversation. She could not trade memories she did not have. And this one felt particularly cruel. Whether it was made up or not, Guinevach was obviously trying to communicate something. Maybe commenting on the fact that Guinevere was not pregnant yet? Until she provided Arthur an heir, she was not a good queen. She knew it. The kingdom knew it. Only Arthur did not care.
“How fortunate for you.” Guinevach’s voice was as cold as a winter midnight, but she followed Guinevere’s lead and focused on the arena.
Soon she was again cheering, waving her embroidered kerchief whenever one of the knights did something particularly good, or even when they did not. Lancelot led a group of boys through a drill to make certain they all knew how to wield a sword. If they did not have basic proficiency, even the blunted training swords could pose a threat to someone who had no idea how to block a blow.
“Sir Lancelot,” Guinevach said. “That is funny.”
“What is funny?”
“That she is called sir.”
“That is what knights are called, and she is a knight.”
“Yes, of course.” Guinevach rested her pretty pointed chin on one fist. “But it is odd. It is also odd how close you two are. You spend so much time together. She even sleeps in your bedchambers sometimes, does she not? Does that bother the king?”
“Why should it bother him?”
Guinevach shrugged. “I do not know. That is why I asked whether it does. But she is a knight, and he certainly would not let any of the other knights sleep in your chambers. Why should the standard be any different for Sir Lancelot?”
“She is a woman.”
“But she is a knight. People are talking.”
“Who is talking?”
Guinevach brushed a hand dismissively through the air. “I cannot remember. It has been remarked upon to me is all. People find it odd that the queen spends less time in the company of other ladies than she does with her knight and her maidservant.”
Is that what the little vermin was doing? Stalking through Guinevere’s city, gossiping about her? Gossiping about Lancelot and Brangien? As though she had any right! As though any of them had any right. Guinevere would never choose to spend time with horrid Blanchefleur, or Sir Caradoc’s insufferably snobbish wife. Besides which, everyone knew Dindrane was one of Guinevere’s closest friends. But somehow that seemed not to count. Or at least, Guinevach was pretending it did not.
“People find it odd, or the ladies find it odd? Have you spoken to anyone in this entire kingdom who does not hold a rank or title?” Arthur treated all his people equally, and Guinevere had always endeavored to do the same. It helped, of course, that she felt more at home with waifish chicken maids and blacksmiths and knights who raised themselves in the wilds than she did with most of the ladies.
Guinevach actually laughed. “I am the Lily of Cameliard. I am a princess. Unlike your maid back there, I know my place.”