Camelot lays sprawled at the bottom of the hill. Grey stonewalls encircled the massive city, where smoke clouds rose from early morning fires and small huts seemed to huddle as closely as possible. The city is in the shadows of the castle that rules over it. Towers and massive stone turrets are surrounded by what looks like greenery on one side, and patches of deep brown and stark buildings on the other. The castle itself is guarded by it’s own, much smaller, wall.
My nerves seem to vanish as I stare at the city, and I feel calmer than I’ve felt since I accepted the marriage. “Wow,” I mumble, caught up in the sight.
The walled city is surrounded on all sides by rolling green hills and thick forestry. Just staring at it, still several leagues away, I can almost smell the warm breads being sold in the market place. I breathe deeply, disappointed when all I inhale is my own unfortunate odour.
Beside me, Gareth is practically beaming. “That’s Camelot?” I have to be sure. Could it really be so beautiful?
“It is. That’s home.” Even Gareth sounds a little breathless.
We’re standing at the top of the largest hill in the region; one that Gareth had claimed was worth the climb. A claim I hadn’t quite believed, until he led me here, that is.
“How did you find this place?”
I can’t make out the road or our travelling party from where we stand, but Gareth simply shrugs. “I was sent to gather firewood once, a night we had been particularly late leaving Camelot. We only made it a few hours until we had to stop. I found this place then.” He turns to me, “But we should probably get back, they’ll have already fixed the horseshoe and eaten by now.”
He turns and, with one last reluctant look at Camelot, I follow him silently back to camp. Will the city be just as beautiful inside as it is from above?
Gareth is right: when we finally make it back to where the band of knights had stopped, for a rest and to fix the hoof of particularly anxious horse, we were greeted by Lancelot’s stormy visage.
Just looking at him makes my stomach clench painfully and my heart ache, just a little, at my deception. I may abhor him, but I can’t help but feel responsible for his pain. Don’t buy it Gwen, I try to remind myself, you know him. You know he can’t stand you. Don’t forget that.
I straighten my back a bit, trying to believe what I’m thinking. He should be relieved I’m dead… shouldn’t he?
“Where were you?” Lancelot barks out.
Gareth holds his hands behind his back, wringing them together anxiously where the advisor can’t see. “I was showing Gawain the view of Camelot, Sir. We must have forgotten the time.”
Lancelot narrows his eyes and looks back at me. “Don’t let it happen again.” He turns around and storms over to his horse, hopping on it gracefully and staring ahead impatiently.
I bite my cheek, a nervous habit, and scurry after Gareth to my horse. For the first time I manage to climb on in one go. The nasty gelding, however, clearly is not so impressed. He snorts and throws his head back, as if to say, you got on all by yourself? Give the human a prize.
When we take off down the road again, I’m sure to give my horse a particularly hard jab to the side.
We ride for hours, Lancelot at the head of the group while I stay at the rear. Gareth is just a few horses up from me, laughing with Geoffrey and Simon. They’re joking, occasionally riding close enough to give each other a light shove before pulling away. It reminds me of home, of Cedric and Peter and Thomas.
I wonder what they’re doing. Have they thought of me? Do they think I’m dead? Has Anna been married already?
Her wedding was one of the reasons I didn’t want to leave so early. Her mother had arranged for her to marry a rich merchant, not a terrible fellow, but a bit older than her. I wanted to stay and hold her hand, help her with her fears. Goodness knows Peter would only harp on about how terrible his future brother-in-law was and how their mother was ruining Anna’s life. She would need me, and I wouldn’t there.
I was barely there for them after Lancelot first ripped us apart. And when they needed me most he simply ripped us apart again. My fingers tighten on the reins and I clench my teeth. Murderer or not, I shouldn’t forget why I hate him.
A lump forms in my throat and for a moment I wonder how that thought still has the power to make me cry. I look away from the laughing boys ahead and stare at the trees. I don’t want to think about home, or death, or even Lancelot.
I don’t want to think at all.
The leaves on the trees have begun to change colour with the changing seasons. Patches of bright yellow and orange stand out amongst the greenery. The forest looks much more welcoming in the sunlight.
One of the boys yells something and they all burst into loud booming laughter once more. I look back to them, jealous, even though I know that I can’t afford to get to close to anyone. Let alone a member of the king’s guard.
It’s irrational, but I can’t help but think of how nice it would be to laugh like that again. I take a deep breath and mentally shake myself; you can laugh after you find out who killed your sister.
Hours seem to pass like this, a constant cycle of jealously ogling the camaraderie of the squires and then berating myself. Eventually the sky seems to darken and dusk settles in. Small lights glow in the distance and I think I’m imaging them until someone calls out that we’re almost home. This is met with a chorus of joyful cheers from the travel weary men.
Even I feel a newfound exuberance, perking up and sitting straighter in the saddle. My nasty gelding seems to have had the same realization as he picks up his pace a bit, looking peppier than before.
But with the joy, my stomach is coiled up in knots. When we get to Camelot they’re taking me to the king so I can explain an event I’ve never witnessed. I may have succeeded so far, but surely they’ll be smart enough to see right through me when the lies start coming out.
As we get closer I begin to see that the lights were flickering torches. Two large torches are mounted high on either side of a massive gate and a grey stonewall towers above us. Men dressed in full armour walk along the top of the wall, carrying much smaller torches of their own.
As we get closer one guard stops directly above the gate, staring down at our party. “State your name and business here!”
The evening protocol seems to irritate Lancelot as he looks up at the guard. “Merek, you oaf! You know exactly who it is, now open up the blasted gate!”
Merek, to his merit, doesn’t bat an eye at Lancelot’s harsh tone and instead lets out a deep belly laugh. “I see your mood isn’t much improved from when you left! I pity your poor men, having to put up with you for so long,” he calls back down.
He turns, walking to the other side of the wall and leans out of view, calling loudly, “Open the gate, boys!”
For a moment nothing happens, and then the great dark wood of the gate seems to shudder before slowly swinging open. The gate is split down the middle and opens outwards almost like the doors of a church. A very large, very fortified church.
The wood has got to be at least a foot thick—more than twice as wide as my head. My eyes must be the size of saucers by the time the gate stops moving. Lancelot takes off, hardly waiting for the gate to open before taking off. The rest of us follow behind more slowly, giving me time to take in my first look of the walled city.
Everything is packed tightly together, humble huts and homes with straw roofs huddle in on each other. The road is wide and the farther we ride into the city the larger the homes and buildings seem to become. Huts become houses, houses become taverns and inns and gorgeous stone churches.
Men wander up and down the road, most of them drunk or on their way to drunk and a few women of the night giggle from dark alleyways. The farther we get into the city the better lit it is, with torches perched outside nearly every building. We pass several wells, some very large, but most more moderately sized.
Eventually we come upon what is clearly the market area, with carts and wagons set up, though none feature any of their owner’s wares. I wonder what it looks like in the morning, with swaths of bright fabrics and foreign fruits. I wonder what it smells like, does the scent of fresh bread hang in the air like it does at home, or are there foreign fragrances and strange, spicy foods? I’ve read a few books about such things, but now I may actually get to see them!
If I survive the night, that is.
Ahead of us, the castle looms. It is much more daunting than it looked from above. Built with the same grey stone as the wall, it takes shape in a series of towers and intricately connected towers and flatter, squarer looking architecture. It is mammoth in size.
The only building I have to compare it to is my family’s keep, a place I had always thought of as massive, until now, that is.
We gallop to the curtain wall, where Lancelot as already entered and the gate remains open for us to follow. It is on a much smaller scale than the city walls, but still stands several men high, impressive in it’s own right.
As we enter the grounds my breath seems to catch. To one side, a beautiful garden with a small path through it, marked by fountains and arches overgrown with ivy.
To the other are massive stables, behind which appears to be never ending rows of practice courts- courts for sword fighting, archery, for horseback riding, and, in the distance, what appears to be a small stadium for jousting. Everything is lit with small, albeit bright, torches.
I look back to my party, noticing as the knights pull their horse around toward the stables and I do the same, still uncertain of what is to come. When I enter the stables I notice most of the knights have dismounted and I do the same. Gareth and the other boys have already brought their horses to their stalls and are now grabbing the horses of their knights.
Once my feet are on solid ground I grip the reins of my gelding tightly, unsure of what to do or where to go. A stable hand rushes over to me, looking flustered and weary as he grabs the reins from my hands and begins leading the horse away. He does not offer me a word, simply cooing softly to the ornery horse.
“Come with me.” I spin around, seeing the back of Lancelot’s head as he storms away from me. Angrily, I cross my arms across my chest and glare at him for a long moment, before snapping out of it and sprinting after him. As much as I want to demand he start treating me the way my rank calls for, I know I can’t.
Besides, I think, I should just be glad I didn’t have to marry him.
Lancelot leads me through the grounds, away from the main entrance of the castle. Instead, we come upon what look like barracks, barren on the outside, but surprisingly warm inside. He leads me through the door, up some stairs, down a hallway and into a small room, featuring only a small cot and a dresser not even a third the size of the one I used at home.
He turns to face me, the ever-present glare still firmly in place. “You’ll sleep here tonight. In the morning you’ll be taken to the king. You will,” he emphasizes, “answer his every question to the best of your ability. If you fail to do so, you will be forced to answer to me.” He smiles grimly, “If he doesn’t kill you himself, that is.”
Finally he makes his departure and leaves me standing there stupidly, frozen with anxiety. I’m a terrible liar. Mother used to talk about how funny it was watching me try to get myself out of trouble as a child because my left eye would start to twitch and I had a nervous giggle.
I’ve gotten this far without twitching or giggling, I try to reassure myself, tomorrow will be nothing. But still, I don’t think I’ll be getting any rest tonight.
*
I spend the night working on what to tell King Uther. My eyes are heavy by the time the sun begins to rise outside my small window, and my movements are slow with lethargy.
I rub my eyes and slap my cheeks a bit, doing my best to wake myself up. I’ve run out of time to sleep, and even if I still had some, I doubt I would be able to.
The small cot has proven oddly comfortable, despite appearing severely lumpy at first sight. I sit on it, leaning my back against the wall and replay my lies through me head once more.
If I mistake even one word they’ll see right through me; they may not realize who I am, they may not even realize I’m a girl, but they’ll certainly be able to know if I’m lying or not.
I’ll die either way.
A soft know sounds on my door, jerking me out of my thoughts. I shift around so I’m facing the door and call out, “Come in.”
Gareth pulls open the door and the very sight of him seems to quell my nerves. “Sir Lancelot,” he pulls a face at the name and I can’t help but giggle nervously, “Sent me to take you to the king.”
I stand up and follow him from the room, moving deliberately slowly as I try to calm my nerves. Gareth is a bit more subdued than usual. I stare at the back of his head, hoping it’s from exhaustion and not worry.
He smiles back at me and alleviates some of my fears. “Don’t worry,” he says, “It won’t be that bad. The king is nicer than you’d expect. It’s Sir Lancelot you’ve got to watch out for.”
“Lancelot? Why? Hasn’t he already interrogated me?” I respond, feeling as though I’m forgetting something important.
Gareth takes long strides and I stumble along behind him, exhaustion overwhelming me. He shrugs, “Sir Lancelot doesn’t like you. He just lost his betrothed and he doesn’t know who killed her—and then you appear, wandering to Camelot completely alone, claiming to be the only survivor of a massacre. If anything, I’d guess you’re his top suspect.”
I freeze, unblinking and shocked. “What?” The irony of my predicament is not lost on me. “He thinks I—” The laugh that bursts out of my chest is genuine, far too loud and too disruptive, but liberating in its very appearance. His expression remains serious, and I sober up immediately. “That’s completely ridiculous.”
Gareth and I have stopped now, and his brown eyes stare into me. “Is it? No one has been found from Kinwick in weeks, and yet, here you are. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“You think I killed someone?” I feel sick. Before I left Edith I thought over every possible outcome—but I hadn’t thought of this.
He shuts his eyes and heaves a deep breath through his nose. “I don’t know what I think. Come on, let’s go.”
I trail along behind him; I’m not prepared for those kinds of questions. I’m not prepared for them to ask about anything other than Kinwick. The familiar panic of the last day and a half rises up again, but this time I can’t quash it.
Gareth doesn’t seem to notice as I sprint off the path, hunching over and vomiting the meagre contents of my stomach onto a regal looking rosebush. The bile leaves a bitter taste in my mouth and when I straighten I notice that Gareth is standing a few steps away, his brown eyes lined with concern. My lips quirk up in a weak smile and I nod at him, signalling for him to continue.
We follow the path past the stables and toward the palace. He leads me around the front entrance toward a smaller building attached to the side of the huge castle. When we enter, serving maids are scurrying from long table to long table, appearing to be setting up for breakfast.
Gareth doesn’t hesitate to speed across the room when the women turn to stare at us and I focus on the ground, hoping they can’t see my femininity. For all I know, the men I’ve met so far are simply oblivious; if anyone can see through my disguise, it would be another female. But when no one starts screaming out my treachery I glance around and scurry after Gareth. They don’t know.
He leads me to a much larger door at the far side of the dining hall, and into the grandest hallway I’ve ever seen. Lush tapestries cover the walls from floor to ceiling and unlit torches with beautiful silver holders line the corridor. The hall is lit by light from a large stain glass window, perhaps the most expensive fixture I’ve seen in my life.
“That was where the knights and their squires and pages dine, it’s also how we are to enter the palace. Now, follow me.” I nod, still observing the sheer grandeur of the place with wide eyes. After I meet the king, I may never get to see it again.
We head toward the far end of the corridor into a large space that leads out toward the back courtyard on one side, with a grand staircase on the other. Gareth leads me up three winding flights and down yet another elaborate hallway.
We stop before a wide, thick door. Gareth raps his fist loudly against the wood.
“Enter,” Lancelot’s strong voice calls from within.
Gareth gestures for me to open the door, and I swallow. Taking a deep breath, I shove the heavy door open.
A/N I am so sorry that this chapter took me 4 months to post. I am an awful human. On the brightside, I know where this story is heading, and I shouldhave more posted soon for sure!
Also, I wrote out Gwen's first meeting with Lancelot (it explains a great deal of her dislike toward him) and it's about my favourite thing that I've writen for this story. It's a fun insight to Gwen's childhood, into Lancelot, and into their relationship. If anyone wants to read it, I'd be willing to post it on wattpad for your reading pleasure. Let me know!
The next chapter will definitely be more interesting!