Betrothal (3 page)
Authors: Mande Matthews
Elibel and I had been escorted into one of the tents that squatted in the center of the encampment, then left alone while Arthur made way to rally his troops, and, as he claimed, "liberate" my father. I assumed the tent belonged to our host since it bore two flags, each waving Arthur's emblem at the entrance, along with guards posted on either side. The insides of our shelter contained a center table strewn with maps. The topmost map revealed the geography of the surrounding area, complete with my father's fortress and outlying villages sketched on the parchment. Black ink marked off Melwas' position around Camelaird. The rest of the tent's contents looked as if they had been thrown in upon arrival as bedding, clothing, and more bulged out of the tops of wooden boxes.
I sat Aethelwine down on the table. At first he refused to leave my hand, but with a gentle prod, he obeyed.
"Elibel, keep an eye on Aethelwine for me, will you?"
"Why? Where are you going?"
A soldier shifted outside, repositioning around the front flap. I placed my forefinger over my lips to quiet Elibel. I knew she wasn't going to like what I was about to say, and I didn't want her raising her voice and drawing attention.
"I'm going to meet with King Melwas—"
"No!—"
I smashed my fingers over Elibel's mouth to hush her squeal. Her eyes widened, giving her that inhuman fey look again as I continued to stifle her speech with the force of my hand mashed up against her lips. She mumbled unintelligibly as I continued.
"I intend to sneak into his camp and discuss this rationally, Elibel."
We sat for moments, staring at one another, until Elibel's garbled protests stopped. Her brows furrowed downward, creating a dark dip above the bridge of her nose. After pressing my hand against her a tad tighter to emphasize "be quiet," I released her.
"That's madness, Guin. You'll get yourself killed. Or worse!"
"You saw how insignificant Melwas' army is in comparison with Arthur's. If a fight ensues, it will be a slaughter. I will not have the heads of slain men on my conscience."
She softened as she considered my reasoning, then asked, "What makes you think King Melwas will even listen?"
"He is King of the Summer Lands, cousin. They have long time respect with the old ways in those parts. I believe he would not risk dishonoring a woman of rank."
"As King Arthur said, his army speaks otherwise."
Her reference to Arthur's reasoning, as if he was the sole authority on the subject, annoyed me, but I persisted, "If I can convince him that he will wield a stronger claim to kingship if I am a willing bride—"
"Guin!"
"Shh—"
Elibel continued in a heated whisper, "You cannot marry him!"
"To save my father? To keep the peace? … If I can convince him that I will speak to my father on his behalf and he will be considered—only considered—as a potential suitor, then perhaps we can have a peaceful resolution to this problem."
My cousin, for once, sat speechless.
I ventured towards the edge of the tent, testing the opening between canvas and earth. Squatting down, I peered underneath. The view before me consisted of a narrow walkway and another tent, but no soldiers.
I pulled my head upright, intending on giving Elibel a final directive to watch my falcon when she blurted, "And you think you can stroll through an army of hundreds without notice—dressed like that?"
Of course she was right. Looking down, I reviewed my attire—an indigo and gold brocade dress, still stained from the pond. A gold belt draped over my waist, while a matching chain adorned with a Christian cross dangled down my front. A heavy underskirt peered from beneath my overdress in matching gold. Each of the layered dresses bore intricate embroidery that publicized my status. I would definitely not go unnoticed.
With a quick scan of the room, I devised a plan. Scrambling to a box stuffed with fabric, I pulled out garment after garment until I found what I needed. I undressed and pulled on what appeared to be Arthur's attire, as the legs of the trousers seeped over my feet like shed snake skin, while the tunic draped well over my thighs. With the help of a belt that I wrapped twice around my middle, and a cape that covered my long hair and gold and sapphire encrusted circlet to prove my identity once I met with Melwas, I was ready.
"How do I look?" I asked.
"Ridiculous."
"Elibel…" I warned.
"No, truly, cousin," she considered my appearance; her lashes swept up and down as she inspected me. She settled on my face, holding my gaze with her colossal eyes. "You look utterly absurd."
"Why, thank you for your support, cousin" I replied.
She sat, staring with unblinking eyes. "How do you even plan on getting back Melwas' camp?"
"I'll take one of those palfrey mules or ponies."
"And ride it?"
"No, Elibel, lead it. Of course I am going to ride it."
"You're not exactly Rhiannon."
"I don't need to be the goddess of horses to ride a pony."
"No, but you need to stay on top, and from the looks of your ride with Arthur, that might present a problem."
Instead of replying, I took a step toward the side of the tent where I would crawl underneath and exit. Except I didn't step. I fell headlong to the ground with a thud. I scrambled around, realizing the culprit; my oversized trousers had fallen around my ankles and with the help of my squirms had turned into a self-imposed knot.
Elibel erupted into laughter as I fumbled around, attempting to pull up and cinch my drawers.
"You could help me." I scowled, hoping to shame her with a glare.
She chuckled even harder.
"Quiet, Elibel," I scolded, growing more irritable as I hobbled around trying to roll up my trouser legs. "You're going to raise suspicion."
"
I'm
going to raise suspicion?" She asked incredulously as she wrapped her fingers over her lips, trying to hold back her giggles.
Once I had my trousers settled and folded down around my waist, my tunic sleeves yanked up over my elbows, my belt cinched as hard as I could bare and still breathe, I headed back toward my escape route.
Elibel's merriment turned suddenly grave. "Please don't do this, Guinevere," she pleaded.
I crouched, spied underneath the canvas to make sure of a clear escape path, and said, "Please take care of Aethelwine, cousin," then exited King Arthur's tent.
"Boy!" a soldier's ill-tempered voice yelled out.
I continued to sneak through the rows of tents, directing my way to the shire horses, palfreys and ponies I had seen from the hillside, but a hand gripped my shoulder and twisted me around.
"You boy! You deaf?"
I realized the soldier addressed me and figured from my attire and slight frame that I looked like a serving lad. Since I kept my head tucked downward to conceal my face, my view of the man consisted of a wide middle, cloaked in leather armor with matching breeches and boots, and a sword dangling at his side.
I shook my head in response, while holding air in my lungs, afraid to speak less my high-pitched voice give me away.
"Don't laze while others work! A battle is at hand." The soldier pushed me in the direction of two empty water buckets sitting by a nearby tent.
I lunged at his thrust and scrambled to the buckets, the air knocking from my lungs with relief. I hefted one pail in each hand, and took off at a jog, away from the brute but back on track toward my objective.
"Don't let me catch you loafing again or I'll cuff you by your ears, boy!" The soldier's voice mixed with the clamor of sharpening swords and the rumble of preparations for battle as I continued onward.
Soon, several shire horses appeared, towering over the mélange of warriors. Quickening my pace, I approached. Four of the massive beasts were harnessed to wagons, while two with only bridles were tied up to the backs of the carts. A few finely bred mules and a couple ponies were corralled with ropes next to the massive shires.
If I took a wagon, I wouldn't have to risk riding one of the beasts, but it would be impossible for me to sneak away from Arthur's troops. I knew I'd never be able to climb upon a shire horse, and the possible fall from the height of its back sent a shivers down my spine, so I chose the pony closest to me, figuring the smaller animal would be more cooperative than a mule.
"Ho, boy! What are you doing there?" A man called out, approaching me.
I frantically searched the ground, spotting a bit of twine piled near an empty trough. Grabbing the string, I knotted the two buckets together and threw them across the pony's back, gesturing to the man, the buckets and the empty trough to show him I intended to fetch water. He grunted then strutted away, calling underneath his breathe, "Hurry up about it then. There's a stream a couple hundred paces east."
I nodded, then grabbed the pony's halter and led him from his makeshift corral and headed out. A triumphant grin spread across my face as I cleared sight of Arthur's army—part one of my plan a success. Releasing the buckets from the pony's back, I took a deep breathe, then gripped the beast's mane and threw my leg over him. Since his withers only reached to my ribs, I didn't have far to toss my leg, but as soon as my rump hit the pony's back, he snorted and pinned his ears backwards.
My breathe quickened as his body quivered underneath me and my nerves constricted.
"Settle down, boy," I tried to coo, but my voice choked as the little beast reared. Grappling for his mane, I leaned into him and held on with all my might. His forelegs crashed down and his hind legs kicked up while I squeezed my legs into his flanks, intending to hold on, but instead I signaled the fiend to dart.
We shot across the rolling meadow like an arrow as I yelled, "Whoa!" to no agreement as the miniature monster flew along at a pace I wouldn't have thought his short legs capable. For good measure the creature bucked and kicked every few hundred paces until he sent me flying to the ground and galloped off over the hill.
"Impudent beast!" I yelled as his rump disappeared out of view. Now I knew why I didn't ride horses.
As I stood to dust the dirt from my trousers, I stared at the view before me. The little imp had dumped me no more than fifty paces from Melwas' camp, but within moments of my appearance on the hillside, Melwas' soldiers surrounded me.
"Halt!" yelled one, as two others appeared from nowhere and grabbed each of my arms.
Their limed hair and blue painted faces caused their features to flatten, enhancing the menace in their facades. My breath caught in my throat as their hands pressed into the skin and muscles of my upper arms. My cloak sunk down over my head to conceal my identity, and I kept my chin tucked to my chest as the men continued their interrogation.
"No weapons, sir," answered a fourth soldier as he accosted my cloak and patted me down with an aggressive search. Each nudge of his meaty hands felt like a singe on my skin, and a lump of revilement visited the back of my mouth. When his examination neared my breasts, I tugged away, wrapping my arms around my middle. The soldiers replied by drawing swords and spears; they encircled me, making no room for escape.
"Who are you?" asked one.
When I didn't reply, not for want of keeping quiet, but for lack of words, another asked, "What is your purpose here?"
Unable to form any type of intelligible speech, I thought my plan was indeed ill advised and perhaps I should have listened to Elibel's counsel, when one of the soldiers snatched the hood off my head.
"A woman!"
"A fetching woman, at that," said another; his leer turned lecherous, his yellowed teeth in sharp contrast to the smeared blue woad on his face.
I forced myself to breath to compose the nerves threatening to explode underneath every inch of my skin. I squeaked out my words. "I have business with King Melwas."
"And what kind of business would that be, lass?"
"Funny business," said another with a lustful smile. He sniggered and the others joined him, hooting with licentious intent.
My anxiety gave way to anger at their indecent suggestion. And, true to my nature, my fury always resulted in rash discourse—I either choked up or let loose. I rolled my eyes with exaggerated sarcasm.
"Not that kind of business you depraved donkeys."
Then I realized it was
almost that type of business
and my confidence sunk as if it leaked into the ground beneath my feet.
Their hoots rose in pitch at the self recognition of my actual "business," when a voice broke from behind, "That is no woman!"
A beefy man appeared—the ruddiness of his skin shown through his war paint. He was large, though well muscled as if he dined on Midsummer's festival food each night. The emblems of a shield and hart enameled on his shield, his shaven cheeks, a generous moustache, and gold ring on his thumb suggested his identity: King Melwas.
Elibel had not been right about his good looks—unless one considers a bear good-looking. I assumed he suffered from the same inflated bardic portrayals that I had.
"This is a Lady," he corrected. "Lady Guinevere, to be exact."
He ordered his men to stand away; they backed off at his command, but one mumbled, "Lady Guinevere of Camelaird? I thought she'd be more beautiful. Not that she's ugly, but I thought she'd be—"
King Melwas swatted toward the man as if he was a pesky fly and the soldier scampered backwards without another word.
Just as I had suspected, my inflated bardic portrayals preceded me. I wagered I was a disappointment to everyone I met—even battle hungry brutes.
Then Melwas swept down and bowed with consent.
His response gave way to the hope that my earlier interpretation of King Melwas' honor of the old ways proved true. I pressed forward even though I thought my knees might buckle.
"Your Lordship, rather than shed blood today, I propose we come to a more peaceful and equally satisfying arrangement."
An intelligent flicker passed across Melwas' façade. The sides of his lips turned upward under the mound of hair, whether out of amusement or admiration, I did not know.