After a tense fortnight of waiting, we finally received word that Camelot would honour its allegiance and fight with us, much to the great relief of everyone in Cameliard. Some small measure of hope has been restored and the uneasy atmosphere shifted into one of encouragement. Our army has been making a staggered retreat from the battlefield, arriving home in large groups in the two weeks since Father's order to fall back. Most have now returned and have been reassigned to Cameliard's defences, should the Saxons mount an attack.
Now another two weeks have passed and the day we had been waiting for has finally arrived. Today King Uther will arrive here with his army and, at last, we can foresee our future being rid of the Saxon incursion. Safety and security for our people. Camelot is one of the larger cities in England with a huge population and formidable army. This army was, and is, the pride of England and their skill in battle is legendary. With them fighting beside us, we were confident of victory.
Since receiving the joyous message from Camelot, the city has gone from deep despair to frenzied excitement. Everyone I pass in the Keep is smiling and jolly, busy preparing for the arrival of our esteemed guests. Ushers are running messages in every direction and courtiers rush hither and thither. The scullery is alive with more activity than I have ever seen before and all corridors and halls sport banners of Cameliard's yellow and Camelot's red. Outside of the Keep, it is no different. Bunting flags of every colour line the road from the Keep to the main gate of the city. Our citizens have even painted the doors of their houses in celebration. It is as if everyone has forgotten the real reason they are coming here.
"Guinevere! Guinevere! Are you ready yet? They will be here at any moment!" Enid shouts, flying into my chambers red in the face and huffing.
Rolling my eyes and smiling in amusement, I'm not sure who is the more anxious. I had sent her to help the stewards locate more crest flags while I attempted to get into one of my finer gowns. Enid was in such a flap, that she actually agreed to let me try and dress myself. I have just about got the thing - the undergarments, layers of skirt and long sleeves - but I am having some difficulty with the laces at the back of the corset.
"Well?"
"Oh see for yourself. I think it's knotted" I groan, irritated with my incompetence.
As she begins tugging at the tangled mess I have created, I feel a pang of nervousness. The knights and warriors of Camelot are almost at our gates and I am, of course, required to dress formally to receive such honoured guests. I cannot get away with being a Princess in name only, but must also show it in appearance. We are one of the smaller kingdoms in England and by no means a centre of society. Aside from the occasional ceremony, a few celebratory feasts and court meetings, there was little need for me to act the part of Princess. Let alone dress like one. And I was fine with that.
I had always been a little unruly and willful. As an only child, I was doted upon by my father and he encouraged my curious and adventurous spirit. Maybe because it amused him, or maybe he wanted to protect me for as long as possible from the burdens of responsibility. As a result, I was much happier playing in the grounds, or the nearby woodlands, with nothing but my imagination to entertain me. I would make believe I was an explorer of faraway lands, a keeper of mythical creatures or a brave knight saving those in distress. And more often than not, I would return covered in mud.
Over the last three years since coming of age, all this has changed. My daily lessons have become more intensive and have more to do with diplomacy, law, and etiquette within society. Attending meetings of the court, partly for Father's sake, but it is also good practice for when I am married and sit beside a Prince or a King. A future I hadn't really given much thought to.
All of this considered, although I have the education and aptitude to go with my title, I have not fully appreciated the responsibility I have for Cameliard until right now. Being potentially on the brink of war, and with the arrival of Camelot's King and army, it is a stark reminder of my role as Princess and the obligations that come with it. I would be fulfilling the role my mother the Queen would have shouldered; checking in on the wellbeing of our guests and ensuring our people we also comfortable with these new visitors, making conversation with Camelot's King, his inner circle and courtiers. And of course, supporting my Father throughout. The weight of this makes me feel a bit nauseous.
Enid sighs loudly, jolting me from thoughts, "I told you this dress was trouble! Why could you not have picked a simpler gown? Even I struggle with this one..."
"That's all very well, Enid, but I do not want these neighbouring royals to think my father has brought his Princess up to be a scruff."
Enid merely shot a look at me and snorted in response. After a few minutes of silence and intense concentration, there is a chuckle of triumph from my handmaid. This is followed by a strong tug as she pulls tight the laces, forcing the breath from my lungs. Some skirt straightening, hair tweaking and fighting the feeling of light-headedness, and I am finally ready.
Enid looks me up and down and nods in approval. "On second thought, that gown was a good choice, Guin. You may pass for a Princess after all!"
"I couldn't have done it without you; I got those laces into a real mess."
She opens her mouth to reply, but we hear the bell of the Keep's tower rings out - Camelot has arrived.
Enid thrusts a pair of matching silk shoes at me as I run towards the door. Racing out of my chambers as fast as the cumbersome skirts would allow me, I hurry down the endless hallways towards the main entrance and courtyard to the Keep. From there we will watch the procession of Camelot's men through our city.
Making the final turn, I am now only metres from the entrance doors. Slowing to a walk, my lungs in their compressed state fight for air as I try to compose myself. Through the large entry doors to the Keep, are the crowd of waiting courtiers and nobles in the stone courtyard. They split down the middle and fall silent as I hurry through them and take my place at Father's side. Taking a few moments to straighten my skirts and run my fingers through my hair I then take his arm. Looking up at his face I see him looking curiously at my other hand. I follow his gaze; I'm still clutching my shoes in my hand! Face reddening further, I drop them to the floor and shuffle my feet into them, using Father's strong arm as balance. Father chuckles at my clumsy efforts and isn't the least bit surprised at this spectacle.
The signal is given and the huge exterior doors of the Keep are opened. Immediately we hear the roar of thousands of ecstatic citizens, all here to celebrate this historic event; for the first time in a very long time, we are about to receive the great King and knights of Camelot. Tales about them, present and past monarchs and knights, had been told to Camelardians for generations; the battles of King Uther, magicians and magic, even dragons. Many of them are no more than stories, but they have captured the imagination of children since before even my grandfather would have been a child. Naturally, these tales were also told to me by Father and Enid when I was small, which captivated and amazed me. Especially the tales of dragons; those were always my favourites.
As I looked down upon the city and the main road through it, I expected to see a sight similar to that of our own army; all things chainmail and cloaks, tedious marching, mud, irritable horses and so forth. The excitement for me is not in the procession but in the greeting of our guests. Father had met Uther in Camelot on a few occasions for tournaments and kingdom-wide council meetings. He had frequently referred to him as; '...a miserable ageing man, stuck in the glory days.' He had said nothing of the knights, other than commending their skill and discipline on the field, and less about Camelot itself. Yet, in remembrance of the fantastical stories I'd been told as a child, I was secretly just as thrilled as our people to welcome them.
The giant oak gates at the city wall are unbarred and are slowly opened, creaking and cracking as they do, which is audible even from up here. It's not until you stand before them that it can be fully appreciated why the doors take so much time and effort to open. As one of the main defence barriers of the city, they are constructed from strong, old oak. Each door stands at the height of five men, stood one atop the other. The thickness of them is the same as the length of a great sword. Both gates are ornately carved with flower motifs and in the centre across the span of the two doors, there is a large shield featuring the crest of the Cameliard Kings. When both gates are fully open, ten horses abreast can pass through comfortably.
As the giant doors are now almost fully open, there is a clear, collective intake of breath from the people of the city. All heads turn to the widening void in anticipation as the first sounds of horse hooves can now be heard heading towards them. The gates thud against the stonework and fall still. There is a momentary pause then the first knights come galloping through the now-open gateway. I, along with everyone else, gasp at the sight.
The first row of the first five horses are large and muscular; their shoulders are around head height to even to the tallest of men lining the road. All of them are royally decorated in gleaming reigns and shining saddles, under which are scarlet coats, adorned with gold edging and the crests of Camelot. Atop one of these horses is presumably the King of Camelot, Uther, and flanked by his closest aides and generals. All are dressed in their battle armour with vivid red cloaks flowing behind them. Their armour is like nothing I have ever seen before; the metal seems a brighter, lighter colour than that of our knights. In the sunlight, it appears to glow like bright silver.
Seeing these newcomers marching through our city with a much larger, more glorious looking army than our own, I feel suddenly anxious. All of my lessons on etiquette suddenly vanish from my mind and I wonder how I am to conduct myself before such guests. When should I speak? How much smiling is too much? What do I do with my hands?
I shoot a worried look at Father, who reads my face and smiles, "Stand up straight, chin up and smile that beautiful smile. Just be your lovely self, Guinevere."
Great, I think to myself; just be myself. That will go down well... Father is well-versed in greeting royal guests and is standing to attention, drawing himself up to his full and formidable height. I still feel small standing beside him, as if I were still a child. All the same, I mimic his stance, straightening my back and trying to add even a little bit to my modest height. At least I can look like I'm meant to be here, even if I don't feel such confidence within.
As the procession draws closer, more details come into focus and for one thing, King Uther did not appear as "aged" as my Father had once described. Straining my eyes a little more, I can see that upon his head he wears a golden circlet, indicating he is indeed the King. But he looks so young, in his early twenties perhaps. He is athletic and strong in build, handsome too and with hair almost as golden as the crown he wears. He also wears a red sash across his chest, adorned with Camelot crest to match their cloaks and the coats of their steeds.
"Uther does not look half as old as you made him out to be, Father."
Father nods, his face full of concentration. "If my eyes are not deceiving me, that appears to be his son, Arthur. And judging by that crown upon his head, he is now the King of Camelot, rather than its Prince."
"His son? But we have not had word that Uther has passed, or of a coronation for his son."
"Indeed we have not. I am sure all will be revealed in good time, my dear."
"He looks awfully young to be a King, from here at least."
"He must be four-and-twenty by my reckoning. A young man true enough, but then again I was not five-and-twenty when I ascended the throne," he says wistfully.
They are soon within one hundred feet from where we stand and I can now make out the King in better detail. I can see that his gold hair is wavy but neat, a beautiful smile radiates from his fair face and he is, as I thought from a distance, a strong figure of a man. The knights nearest the king are also smiling and waving to the crowds, creating further excitement amongst our citizens. I cannot help but feel a little excited myself, unable to resist the energy of the growing atmosphere.
On a jet-black steed behind Arthur and his flanking knights rides an older gentleman in a simple tunic of brown and blue. His face is plain but comely, his hair short and greying.
Father, seeing me frowning, trying to ascertain who this man was, says, "That man behind the King is Merlin, once Uther's closest adviser. He does not seem to have aged at all, for he must be in his late sixties... He does not look a day over forty!"
I look back towards Merlin who is looking in my direction. He catches my eye with a flash of steely blue and in those eyes, I can see a lifetime longer than his physical appearance suggests. His expression is blank but he holds my gaze and I cannot break it. A sudden rushing sensation comes over me and I feel every emotion at once; fear, happiness, anger, passion, sorrow and anxiety. My heart almost stops, my head tingles and I shudder. Remembering who and where I am, I glare back defiantly, locking my eyes on his. The rushing emotions fade. His lip curls into a smirk before he breaks eye contact with me.
They arrive at the bottom of the stone steps that lead up to the courtyard in which we stand. There are seventy-five stairs in all if memory serves all those days as a child, running up and down them, counting as loud as I could. The first thirty knights, Merlin, and Arthur dismount from their horses and proceed to march up the steps toward us.
Once at the top, Arthur stops and drops gracefully down on one knee, bowing his head. "King Leodegraunce, it is a great privilege to be here in Cameliard. We are here to honour your call for aid, pledging ourselves to your service in fighting our shared enemy."
Father steps forward and grasps Arthur's shoulders. "King Arthur, please do rise; I should be the one kneeling to you. Words cannot express my gratitude to you for answering our call."
Arthur rises just as gracefully as he'd knelt. "Our kingdoms have long been allies and Camelot take such alliances seriously, especially when there is such a threat as you face. That all of England face. When we received your letter, we rode out as soon as we were able."
"Again," says Father sincerely, "You have my deepest thanks, on behalf of our family and our citizens."
The pair shake hands, sealing their words of friendship and gratitude.
Arthur turns to me, gently taking my hand and kissing it softly. "And you must be the beautiful Princess Guinevere. An honour to make your acquaintance, my Lady."
His eyes sparkle emerald green as they meet mine and it takes all my strength to not blush and stutter.
I somehow manage to form some coherent words, "Indeed, I am, Your Grace; we are honoured to receive you and your knights. Our home is yours, for as long as you need."
"Thank you, Princess," he replies, straightening his back and smiling warmly at me. My cheeks burn at that smile.
Father steps forward to address the newcomers as a whole. "I now invite you all, our honoured guests, to share our home, food and hospitality."
Cheers and applause erupt from the crowd once more.
We turn and enter the Keep, leaving the ecstatic crowds to their celebrations. Navigating the corridors at the head of the decorated procession, the men of Camelot follow us to the Great Hall. Once there, I see that the two thrones have now been placed at the far end of the room, along with an additional one for our royal guest. Tables have been arranged in a sort of horseshoe shape, so all may be involved in the impending discussions. Father thought it prudent to start talks right away, after the latest reports that the Saxons were moving quicker than anticipated. There is no time to waste.