well. "I wish I had time to talk, but we really must be on the road before the rain comes."
"Did you hear me? You are not to leave."
She let out a girlish laugh. "Is that authority you're trying to convey? You lost the right to talk to me that way years ago. Arthur, I have to return to Corfe. I have a castle of my own to tend to, remember?"
"The guards will not let you out of the courtyard, Guenevere. Send your people back to their rooms."
"But, Arthur." She feigned innocence well; she was every inch the French coquette. "Camelot is so crowded."
"Even so."
Mark took a step forward. "Your Majesty must know how unwise it is to travel by night. There are bandits-- cutthroats."
"Then perhaps you'll be good enough to provide me with guards." She lowered her eyes. "My poor throat is so delicate."
Before Mark could respond to her irony, Lancelot stepped forward from among the servants where he'd been seeing to his horse's saddle. "We can handle any brigands who might dare attack the queen's party."
Then for the first time Arthur spoke like a king, with a sense of command in his voice. "Your swordsmanship is precisely the issue, Lancelot. Guenevere, you are not to leave. This is an order." He smiled. "Departure will not be permitted."
"Don't be a fool, Arthur. There are three times more people than the castle can hold. Food is running out already."
He turned to Mark and ordered him pointedly to post more soldiers. Then to the queen he said, "Go back to your rooms, Guenevere. If you don't go now, and voluntarily, you will do it under guard."
Lancelot stepped toward him, his hand on his sword, obviously angry. Two of Arthur's men drew their own swords, as did Mark, Britomart and Ganelin.
Guenevere stepped serenely between them and put a hand on Lancelot's arm. Servants scrambled to get behind one another. "You would never dare hold us prisoner, Arthur," Lancelot snarled.
"Do you think I'm afraid of the scandal? If I can weather the gossip about you bellying the queen, I can certainly weather this."
Looking more than mildly alarmed, Lancelot and Guenevere stepped into the carriage and talked hastily. A moment later she emerged, smiling lightly, and told her husband she would remain for another day, no more. "But I warn you, Arthur, we are to be treated as guests, not prisoners. "
"Is that a threat?"
"Let us say it is a request. A firm request."
Arthur turned to Britomart. "Take two of the men. Go and spread word that the queen will remain in residence."
Smirking, Britomart asked him, "As a guest?"
"As a guest." Glancing at the queen he added, "A royal guest."
Merlin leaned close to Nimue and whispered, "A royal pain would be more like it."
The rain began to come down steadily. Mixed with it were occasional particles of ice. It stung faces and hands.
Arthur watched as his wife, her lover and their servants were herded back into the castle by his soldiers. To Mark he said, "I should have let her go. This storm will get bad. She'd never have gotten far in it, and I'd have had the pleasure of hearing her ask for shelter."
"Would you have given it?"
"Not until she begged or became waterlogged."
A moment later everyone went back inside. Arthur asked them all to meet in Merlin's rooms the next morning, to discuss what had happened that night and plan how to find the assassin. "I won't rest till we find him. Borolet must be avenged."
"Suppose it was the assassin who you just sent back into your castle?" Merlin asked.
It caught Arthur off guard. In fact it seemed an impossible thought for him to confront. "Would that be worse than letting her go free?"
"She was trying to leave for a reason. To leave by dark of night," he added emphatically. "And without saying a word to you or anyone else. Is it wrong of me to find that suspicious? "
"You find everything Guenevere does suspicious."
"Only because it is."
"I'm going to bed, Merlin. I need a good night's rest. We all do." To everyone he announced, "We'll meet after
"Did you hear me? You are not to leave."
She let out a girlish laugh. "Is that authority you're trying to convey? You lost the right to talk to me that way years ago. Arthur, I have to return to Corfe. I have a castle of my own to tend to, remember?"
"The guards will not let you out of the courtyard, Guenevere. Send your people back to their rooms."
"But, Arthur." She feigned innocence well; she was every inch the French coquette. "Camelot is so crowded."
"Even so."
Mark took a step forward. "Your Majesty must know how unwise it is to travel by night. There are bandits-- cutthroats."
"Then perhaps you'll be good enough to provide me with guards." She lowered her eyes. "My poor throat is so delicate."
Before Mark could respond to her irony, Lancelot stepped forward from among the servants where he'd been seeing to his horse's saddle. "We can handle any brigands who might dare attack the queen's party."
Then for the first time Arthur spoke like a king, with a sense of command in his voice. "Your swordsmanship is precisely the issue, Lancelot. Guenevere, you are not to leave. This is an order." He smiled. "Departure will not be permitted."
"Don't be a fool, Arthur. There are three times more people than the castle can hold. Food is running out already."
He turned to Mark and ordered him pointedly to post more soldiers. Then to the queen he said, "Go back to your rooms, Guenevere. If you don't go now, and voluntarily, you will do it under guard."
Lancelot stepped toward him, his hand on his sword, obviously angry. Two of Arthur's men drew their own swords, as did Mark, Britomart and Ganelin.
Guenevere stepped serenely between them and put a hand on Lancelot's arm. Servants scrambled to get behind one another. "You would never dare hold us prisoner, Arthur," Lancelot snarled.
"Do you think I'm afraid of the scandal? If I can weather the gossip about you bellying the queen, I can certainly weather this."
Looking more than mildly alarmed, Lancelot and Guenevere stepped into the carriage and talked hastily. A moment later she emerged, smiling lightly, and told her husband she would remain for another day, no more. "But I warn you, Arthur, we are to be treated as guests, not prisoners. "
"Is that a threat?"
"Let us say it is a request. A firm request."
Arthur turned to Britomart. "Take two of the men. Go and spread word that the queen will remain in residence."
Smirking, Britomart asked him, "As a guest?"
"As a guest." Glancing at the queen he added, "A royal guest."
Merlin leaned close to Nimue and whispered, "A royal pain would be more like it."
The rain began to come down steadily. Mixed with it were occasional particles of ice. It stung faces and hands.
Arthur watched as his wife, her lover and their servants were herded back into the castle by his soldiers. To Mark he said, "I should have let her go. This storm will get bad. She'd never have gotten far in it, and I'd have had the pleasure of hearing her ask for shelter."
"Would you have given it?"
"Not until she begged or became waterlogged."
A moment later everyone went back inside. Arthur asked them all to meet in Merlin's rooms the next morning, to discuss what had happened that night and plan how to find the assassin. "I won't rest till we find him. Borolet must be avenged."
"Suppose it was the assassin who you just sent back into your castle?" Merlin asked.
It caught Arthur off guard. In fact it seemed an impossible thought for him to confront. "Would that be worse than letting her go free?"
"She was trying to leave for a reason. To leave by dark of night," he added emphatically. "And without saying a word to you or anyone else. Is it wrong of me to find that suspicious? "
"You find everything Guenevere does suspicious."
"Only because it is."
"I'm going to bed, Merlin. I need a good night's rest. We all do." To everyone he announced, "We'll meet after
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