THE WARRIOR QUEEN (The Guinevere Trilogy Book 1) by Lavinia Collins Page A
Authors: Lavinia Collins
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nodded. I knew what a Christian was. I had seen the monks in brown with their shaven heads, and the nuns dressed in black and white, neat as pages in a manuscript, filing in and out of their big stone temples. I had been inside a chapel before, but not one like Arthur’s. Not one where the plain wood cross was made in gold, and bearing the Hanged God. Not one where everything shone with gold. Not one where kings knelt down.
“Mass is... mass is how we pray to God. My God must be your god now.” He sighed silently. I could not hear it, but I could see his shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Guinevere.”
I gave a little nod and slipped out from between the curtains, stepping across the room and into his embrace as though it were a habit of many years. That was the way of it. The foreign queen must take the gods of the land.
“It seems to be that you would be better off taking my gods, though, since your god has already cursed you,” I pointed out, gently, taking his face in my hands.
Arthur shook his head, kissing my forehead, thoughtfully.
“God isn’t like that – God gave me this Kingdom. God doesn’t like or dislike people, he just judges each thing that they do, on its own.”
Sounds like a funny kind of god.
Chapter Six
Servants came in with bowls of hot water and we washed and dressed in the fresh clothing they brought. Arthur had his splendid red surcoat, with the dragon of his father’s house spread in gold across it, and he put on his sword and his crown to go down to the chapel. I wondered if he wanted to look every bit the king, or if he just always wanted to have that sword at his side. I was dressed in red and gold, too, and my hair tied up in a golden net. Arthur placed my crown tenderly on my head and kissed me lightly.
“You look as if you’ve been queen all your life.”
“Queen’s blood,” I told him, with a smile.
In the chapel, Arthur was solemn again. The youthful play he had shown with Kay evaporated in the sight of his Hanged God, whose name, he told me, was Christ. As he grew older he would no longer be by turns mischievous and solemn. He would grow up, out of the boyish ways as the cares of the realm weighed upon him. I could see that already. And his god. Arthur bent his head in prayer so diligently to the god who had already doomed him. Why not pray to another?
I thought of my own gods as I knelt beside him, my head down. At least people could not see that I did not know the words, or the songs. Then we went up to receive the libation and bread as we had when we wed. None of it made sense to me, and I felt disorientated and alone again suddenly. Out of the safe privacy of Arthur’s bedroom I felt a foreigner, lost again, and I longed painfully for home. I didn’t remember half of the names I had learned last night, and Arthur was a different man when we were not alone. Once again I felt unsure if this place with its strange rituals could be my home, but then I remembered the Lady Igraine leaning close to me and whispering It will get easier . I supposed it would. I saw her, in the chapel, and we exchanged a friendly smile. I could not bear, somehow, to meet eyes with her daughter Morgawse sitting beside her.
After the mass, Arthur took me by the hand and we led all the assembled lords and ladies out of the chapel. Standing at the entrance was the witch Merlin, and I felt his black eyes pierce me to the bone, strip me down to my muscles and sinews and a shiver ran through me. I did not trust the man.
As we processed out into the light, Merlin took Arthur aside and they began to speak in hushed tones, leaning together in the shadow of the chapel. Merlin liked to stand close to that building, but I had already noticed that he would never go in.
I turned as I felt a light touch on my arm. Beside me stood Sir Ector, smiling, squinting against the morning sun.
“My lovely queen.” He bowed a little, then placed a hand in mine and fixed me with an earnest look. He
“Mass is... mass is how we pray to God. My God must be your god now.” He sighed silently. I could not hear it, but I could see his shoulders fall. “I’m sorry, Guinevere.”
I gave a little nod and slipped out from between the curtains, stepping across the room and into his embrace as though it were a habit of many years. That was the way of it. The foreign queen must take the gods of the land.
“It seems to be that you would be better off taking my gods, though, since your god has already cursed you,” I pointed out, gently, taking his face in my hands.
Arthur shook his head, kissing my forehead, thoughtfully.
“God isn’t like that – God gave me this Kingdom. God doesn’t like or dislike people, he just judges each thing that they do, on its own.”
Sounds like a funny kind of god.
Chapter Six
Servants came in with bowls of hot water and we washed and dressed in the fresh clothing they brought. Arthur had his splendid red surcoat, with the dragon of his father’s house spread in gold across it, and he put on his sword and his crown to go down to the chapel. I wondered if he wanted to look every bit the king, or if he just always wanted to have that sword at his side. I was dressed in red and gold, too, and my hair tied up in a golden net. Arthur placed my crown tenderly on my head and kissed me lightly.
“You look as if you’ve been queen all your life.”
“Queen’s blood,” I told him, with a smile.
In the chapel, Arthur was solemn again. The youthful play he had shown with Kay evaporated in the sight of his Hanged God, whose name, he told me, was Christ. As he grew older he would no longer be by turns mischievous and solemn. He would grow up, out of the boyish ways as the cares of the realm weighed upon him. I could see that already. And his god. Arthur bent his head in prayer so diligently to the god who had already doomed him. Why not pray to another?
I thought of my own gods as I knelt beside him, my head down. At least people could not see that I did not know the words, or the songs. Then we went up to receive the libation and bread as we had when we wed. None of it made sense to me, and I felt disorientated and alone again suddenly. Out of the safe privacy of Arthur’s bedroom I felt a foreigner, lost again, and I longed painfully for home. I didn’t remember half of the names I had learned last night, and Arthur was a different man when we were not alone. Once again I felt unsure if this place with its strange rituals could be my home, but then I remembered the Lady Igraine leaning close to me and whispering It will get easier . I supposed it would. I saw her, in the chapel, and we exchanged a friendly smile. I could not bear, somehow, to meet eyes with her daughter Morgawse sitting beside her.
After the mass, Arthur took me by the hand and we led all the assembled lords and ladies out of the chapel. Standing at the entrance was the witch Merlin, and I felt his black eyes pierce me to the bone, strip me down to my muscles and sinews and a shiver ran through me. I did not trust the man.
As we processed out into the light, Merlin took Arthur aside and they began to speak in hushed tones, leaning together in the shadow of the chapel. Merlin liked to stand close to that building, but I had already noticed that he would never go in.
I turned as I felt a light touch on my arm. Beside me stood Sir Ector, smiling, squinting against the morning sun.
“My lovely queen.” He bowed a little, then placed a hand in mine and fixed me with an earnest look. He
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