Camelot & Vine (14 page)

Arthur and Medraut unlocked their gaze to
look at me. Even Lancelot turned his blue eyes my way.

“Is that true, Mistress Casey?” asked the
king.

“Absolutely, your majesty.” I sounded sure
of myself.

Guinevere returned to her husband’s side. He
encircled her waist with a single arm, a gesture designed to be
witnessed. He waved for me to continue.

I spoke louder, to be heard over the
upending furniture at the back, none of which seemed to concern the
royal party. “Regular exercise is essential for the body and mind.
Your men get it from riding and fighting. Women need it, too.
Obviously the queen knows this.”

Elaine stared demurely at her plate.
Lancelot put his arm around her, stealing an unreadable glance at
me.

“You’ve given me an idea, Mistress Casey,”
the king shouted over the melee. “You will lead the queen and her
friends on a daily walk. Inside the walls, of course.”

“I’d be honored, your majesty,” I shouted
back.

“You may call me ‘Your Grace.’“ He raised
his glass. “To Mistress Casey! Welcome to Cadebir fort!”

A drinking song broke out at the back,
signaling the end of the fight. While the king and his guests
toasted me, warriors righted the tables and benches, laughing and
slapping each others’ backs and buttocks as though they’d just
performed a comedy routine and were not bleeding from their lips
and noses.

With the subject changed, the king returned
his attention to the guests at his end of the table. His expression
betrayed no relief or gratitude. Nor should it have, I thought. I
had pleased him and that pleased me.

I looked to Myrddin to seek his approval,
but he had snored through it all.

-----

“You’ll stay here, next door to Cai.”
Bedwyr’s torch came precariously close to fingering the thatch
above a red-painted wooden lintel. A single spark and the hut would
disintegrate in flames. No streetlights lit the pathways. The
waning moon was enough to light the promontory. A few drunken
soldiers stumbled past, laughing and shouting on their way to the
barracks. A couple walked by on the path and said, “Good night.” I
felt a chill.

“You’ll need this, mistress.” Sagramore’s
dinner had complicated his aroma. He unpinned his heavy, brown
cloak and draped it over my shoulders, careful not to touch me. I
could almost hear him blush in the dark.

“And this, to keep it on,” said Bedwyr, not
to be outdone. He removed the brass pin from his cloak and placed
it in my palm, aiming the spike away from my skin.

I traced the pin’s golden inlaid curlicues
with my fingers. Was a powerful wizard to expect such tributes? Did
Sagramore have another cloak, Bedwyr another pin? According to
Lynet they’d all left the fancy stuff at their castle on the coast.
These must be special things.

“Chivalry,” I said, before I knew I was
speaking. From the confusion on their faces the word was new to my
escorts. I clarified. “Thank you for these kindnesses.”

Bedwyr grumbled.” Let’s light the lamp,
then.” He handed the torch to Sagramore and entered the pitch-dark
hut, returning with a lidded metal bowl. It had a wick at one end
and a handle at the other. He held the wick to the torch then gave
me the lamp, handle first. “You’ll sleep well, mistress.” To
Sagramore he said, “They had wine at the king’s table.” For my
benefit, he added, “
We
get mead from the village.”

“Not very good mead,” said Sagramore.

“Better than no mead,” said Bedwyr.

“Blast the embargo,” said Sagramore.

They ambled off toward the barracks,
grumbling quietly. I watched them go until their torch disappeared
beyond the huts. Then, holding the lamp before me, I stepped
inside. The lamplight softened the darkness and showed a room large
enough only for a small, lopsided table, a bench and a cot. The
walls were made of a combination of mud and straw and something
else; the hut smelled vaguely of livestock. There might once have
been shutters on the open window above the bench, but as it was, I
would have to find something to cover it. For the moment, the night
air freshened the room.

The table was sturdy despite being crooked.
I set the lamp there and emptied my fanny pack of loose change,
credit cards and English paper money. At Cadebir it was a useless
pile.

Someone thoughtful—Elaine? Lynet?—had left a
stack of clothing on the bench for me. Two wool tunics, a couple of
linen underdresses, a pair of leggings and a loose muslin sleeping
gown were neatly piled there.

A burst of drunken laughter erupted on the
pathway outside, startling me. I jumped away from the bench to a
spot near the door, where I couldn’t be seen through the window.
The drunks stumbled by, probably on their way to the barracks. The
room had aired enough. I tucked one of the underdresses around the
corners of the window to cover it.

I disrobed and donned the muslin gown,
shivering. It would be nice to have a mirror, but the only one who
owned such a treasure was the queen. What must be going on in her
quarters now? Did the king and queen discuss what had happened at
dinner? Did they talk of the affair? Fight? Make love? Perhaps they
lay awake, their backs to each other, silent.

Noticing something under the bench, I moved
the lamp closer and discovered another neatly folded pile: my
twenty-first century clothes. They’d been washed. The T-shirt was
almost white. The chain mail sweater had been cleaned so thoroughly
it was soft again, like new. Someone had sewn the pockets back onto
my cargo pants and scraped my boots clean. I would need those
clothes for my impossible return to the twenty-first century.

I sat on the bench and pulled a corner of
the cloth away from the window, just enough to peek out. I had to
get back to my time, my place, my element. I wanted to wash my face
and brush my teeth. I couldn’t even lock the door. How long could I
keep up a pretense of wizardry and remain on the king’s good side?
How long could I stay alive at Cadebir? Long enough to figure it
out, I hoped.

I moved the cloth further aside and leaned
on the splintered windowsill, taking in the sharp, cool air.
Laughter and the shouts of inebriated soldiers drifted from the
barracks on a breeze. Cai’s hut blocked my view of the hilltop, but
not of the black sky and countless stars above. Near the kitchen a
dog barked, lacking enthusiasm. Closer to my hut a cat meowed, then
a smaller animal, a mouse or a rat, screamed its last scream.

Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I was dead and
Cadebir was the afterlife. But I knew I was alive. They could have
killed me a thousand horrible ways. Instead they’d given me gifts.
The king had raised me to a high position. It was life, it just
wasn’t
my
life.

Close by on the path, footfalls came. I
closed my makeshift curtain and plastered myself against the wall
like I’d seen people do on TV.

Men, more than one, conversing in low tones.
They cut between the huts and went on. I dared one more peek.

It was only Medraut and Pawly on their way
to the barracks. Whatever I was afraid of, it wasn’t them.

EIGHTEEN

Squatting above the brass chamber pot, I
felt momentarily grateful to have been designated a wizard instead
of the servant whose job it was to empty it. But I missed toilet
paper almost as much as I missed toothpaste.

“Should we wake her?”

The treble notes of women’s voices floated
to me from beyond the door.

“Wizards need more sleep than we do. You
know Myrddin and his naps.”

Giggles.

After an awkward finish with a rag, taken
from a pile which I presumed and hoped had been left beside the pot
for the purpose, I threw on the green tunic and hooked my fanny
pack around my waist while the conversation continued outside.

“If she snores like Myrddin it’s no
wonder.”

When I opened the door Guinevere was making
a loud snoring noise, squinching her cute little nose. Lynet and
Elaine thought it hilarious until they saw me. I thought it was
funny, too, but I didn’t say so.

The queen recovered first, giving me a smile
that showed off her teeth. “Good morning, Mistress Casey. We’re
ready for our stroll.” She wore her usual white tunic. A
diaphanous, white scarf protected her face from the sun.

“I don’t suppose there’s any coffee,” I
mumbled, covering my mouth. My breath could’ve set torches
aflame.

“I’ve brought breakfast.” Lynet offered a
bundle of cloth. “It’s not nearly sufficient.”

To avoid breathing on her I accepted the
package with a closed-lip smile. “Thanks. You’re a lifesaver.” The
bundle contained a small, reddish-green apple and a couple of
muffin-sized loaves. I didn’t see any mint, but a bite of apple
would refresh.

“Perhaps you need more time for your
toilette?” the queen said, looking me up and down.

I ran my fingers through my hair. “I
wouldn’t like to keep your majesty waiting.”

“If you care to rise early tomorrow,” said
Guinevere, “you may join us in the hall for breakfast. The meal is
finer.”

Elaine tied on her scarf. “Will the stroll
take long? I’ve so much work.”

“It might,” said Guinevere. “My husband says
Mistress Casey is to lead us around the entire circumference of the
fort.”

“You can hardly call that a stroll,” said
Lynet.

“A march, then.” Guinevere stepped out from
under the eaves into the sun. I followed.

Elaine remained by the door. “I don’t think
I should go.”

I’d heard that walking was healthy for
pregnant women, though I couldn't cite my source. From the size of
her belly I guessed Elaine would deliver soon. “It’ll be good for
you and the baby,” I said, stuffing down a bite of muffin.

“If you say so.” Elaine hung her head and
slogged after us. I wondered if I’d made a
faux pas
. Maybe
she just didn’t want to go. With all the hush about Guinevere and
Lancelot cheating on the king, it was easy to forget Elaine was
being cheated on, too.

At the promontory’s edge the land sloped
downward toward the wall. Dampening our shoes and the hems of our
underdresses in the dew, we walked, sometimes skidded, down to
where dirt met wooden posts and the grass grew as high as our
knees. I tripped.

“Oops.”

“Did you hurt yourself, Mistress Casey?”
Guinevere was overly solicitous.

“I’m okay. Hey.” The grass had overtaken the
edges of a large, iron disk on the ground.

Lynet bent to examine it with me. “What have
you found?”

“A manhole cover?”

“The oubliette! I’d forgotten.” Guinevere
laughed at her joke and started up a nearby ladder. “Everyone’s
behaved so well we haven’t had to use it this summer.”

I remembered my high school French (my
“Gallic”) well enough. Being thrown into a hole to be forgotten
forever was a nightmare as horrible as burning. I pulled the grass
aside to get a good look. An iron handle on the disk allowed for a
jailer to open it. But it must have been locked; I couldn’t move
it. A rat-sized opening beneath the handle would let in a little
air. It would take ages to die in there in the dark, starving,
thirsting, and unable to move or see anything but the little circle
of light admitted through the hole. One would hear whatever life
passed by. I peered into the opening and saw nothing.

“Mistress Casey!”

My charges waited for me atop the wall. I
had a duty to perform. Leaving the oubliette, I started up the
ladderway.

Heavier than ladders yet more portable than
a permanent stairway, the ladderways improved upon both with a
simple design: they consisted of two aligned poles with planks
secured between them like stair-steps. A sure-footed soldier could
run up and down with his hands free to wield his weapon. These
ladderways leaned against the interior of the wall at
intervals.

The ladderway looked innocent from the
ground, but I got nervous halfway up. Without the customary
railing, the climb felt precarious. I knelt to crawl, like a
toddler going up the slide the wrong way. Elaine had struggled up
the steps as well, though her excuse was better than mine, and she
was still panting when I reached the top.

The sight of Ynys Witrin, glowing green
across the northern marshes, was our reward. A mist of fluffy
clouds rolled around it, revealing the hill, then hiding it, then
revealing it again. I saw then that it was an island, surrounded by
a glassy, black lake. I could have stood there for an hour watching
the island change, but the walk was my first shot at being useful
to the king and I wished to avoid such things as oubliettes.

We settled to walking in pairs, Guinevere
marching beside me in the lead, Elaine and Lynet arm in arm behind
us. The soldiers who patrolled the wall made way, nodding their
respect to the queen.

Elaine halted at the fort’s west end.
Myrddin’s woods lay below us. It had seemed vast when I was under
its cover, but from atop the wall I could see its borders.

“I’m already tired,” said Elaine, propping
herself against the wall. “I don’t understand why we have to do
this. I should be at the well. We’ll never finish the washing.”

“The women know what to do,” said Guinevere.
“They can manage without you for a time.”

“I don’t mind a break from work,” said
Lynet.

“Truly,” said Guinevere. “Since we must
endure this ‘exercise,’ let’s enjoy it.” She walked on. We had
little choice but to follow. I thought her pace too fast for
Elaine, especially because the sun was high and a wool tunic
wouldn’t have been my first choice for such an outing. But the
southwest gate wasn’t far, and the young soldiers there were as
glad as puppies to see us.

“Here they come.”

“Careful, Jonek, these ladies are in
fighting shape.”