The Witch of Camelot

One....The witch of Camelot....

One...

Godfrey, the steward, had chased Percy and I from the kitchen the moment he had spotted us, but not before Gia, an elderly maid with a soft spot for Percy and I on account of our motherless existence, had slipped us each a large chunk of fresh bread, still hot from the oven. Laughing with glee, our treasure hidden in the folds of our tunics, we sprinted out of reach of Godfrey’s harsh hand heading for the castle walls. We did not stop until we had rounded a corner, knowing that the steward would not pursue us that far due to a disagreement he had with the blacksmith, whose door we were now leaning against, out of breath but exhilarated.

                ‘Ah did you see his face?’ I exclaimed, choking with laughter as Percy attempted to inmate Godfrey’s purple checks by sealing his mouth and puffing out his cheeks.

Running a hand through his hair as if he was greatly stressed Percy grumbled, ‘you ought to act like a girl’ he scolded me sounding exactly like the steward.

Climbing up the stairs, Percy and I settled ourselves on the battlements overlooking the plain which stretched out beneath us. We ate without speaking enjoying the sense of control that came with sitting so far above the course of daily life, down below us peasants dibbled through the main gateway some in small groups, others alone, the more fortunate leading donkeys. Beyond the city walls the road which these men and women, young and old, trod to reach the hall of our mighty king wound on all the way to the outlying village, through it and then curved away to the east. The weather was fine for the start of May, two days prior had been the spring festival where all had joined hands in celebration. Now though life had returned to normal and although some still nursed broken heads it was vital for us all to be getting on with things. When I say we, I do not necessarily mean myself. At that point of time my days were spent in the fields, the castle, the stables, the meadows, the brooks, not working but playing, having adventures. However having been given a treasure chest of spare time in comparison to the other child to devote to these activities I was not one who had a great many friends. Percy, alone, I could call my comrade. He had other companions of course who found my presence irritating, unnerving, humorous or a combination of all three. Therefore I rarely joined them and kept my distance when I heard they were around.

 His fellows, three of them in number, were all boys of a similar age and standing to Percy. The difference being that he welcomed me, whereas they were prone to shun the nobodies’ daughter whose wealth and education overpowered theirs combined. Something I was to learn as I grew older was that men fear a woman with power. A powerful man they fear also, but they believe they can forever predict a man’s movement for he is as they are. In comparison they have no experience with what women think, feel and plan except for what their docile, demure wives explain to them in the few feminine phrases their husbands give them time for. Even then, at the age of eight I understood all too well what it was that frightened them about me. After all when ones uncle, and only relation, was the kings’ chief adviser and a reputed magician it is only natural that others should feel suspicion and fear towards you.

I knew from an early age that I was different, that my family were different, and that because of this I would never led a normal life. Then  one day, I must have been around nine or ten, it occurred to me. Who wants an average existence anyhow? If I  had grown up as most girls do, be she peasant or noble man’s daughter, I would have been forced into marriage before my time - probably to a man whose prime reason for such a union was to make sons before his death bed and who wished to connect himself for social and financial reasons with my family. If I had lived the life that would have befallen me if I had not lost both my parents and trudged the three days to my uncles house at a mere five years old then I would have grown up on the land, married a local farmer when the time came and been forced into the slavery which is housewifery for the rest of my life. Either way I would have been married, known the joy of a man and children but been tethered to them by an unbreakable rope the whole of my life until cruel death had taken me and placed me in the ground to re-join the trees and rivers. Only then, when I rejoined nature would I have been free, and a lifetime would have been far too long to wait. This life I could never have accepted. It was not in my nature to be docile and demure. I would make no man a good wife and certainly never a good mother; this is why Godfrey scolded me constantly. He, like most others, believed a young girl should be at home learning from her female relations how to keep house and a family, and if she had none to teach her she should be sent for instruction. After all in their minds a masculine woman was a useless one.