6. The Trial

Arthur

The guard outside the queen's chamber was a young man whose name Arthur didn't know, so as he approached he said, "Forgive me, but I don't believe I know your name."

"Caedmon, Your Highness," the guard replied stiffly.

"Caedmon. Thank you. And has everything been quiet, Caedmon?"

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Excellent. I would like to enter and visit the queen, Caedmon."

Caedmon immediately stepped back from the door and took the key from his belt. "Yes, Your Highness," he said.

Arthur didn't move. "Caedmon? I believe your orders are to allow no one to enter without searching him first." Caedmon nodded but looked confused, so Arthur added gently, "I am not above the law, Caedmon."

Caedmon's eyes widened as he realized what the king was saying. Then he shook his head. "I'm sorry, sire, I can't search you. You are my king."

"Even at my own command?"

The young guard shook his head decidedly. Arthur considered trying to explain to the guard why he insisted on being searched—so that there could be no shadow of suspicion that he had bent the law to help Guinevere—but he sensed that even this would make no difference to Caedmon. Fortunately, at that moment the captain of the guard himself appeared at the end of the corridor and approached the guard's station.

"Ah, Alan," the king said. "I wonder if I could prevail upon you to search me."

"Search you?" Alan repeated. He blinked, but then Arthur saw understanding in his eyes. Alan glanced once at Caedmon, then nodded. "Of course, my liege." While Caedmon stood rigidly by, Alan examined his king's pockets and boots. Then he stepped back while Caedmon unlocked the door and Arthur entered his queen's chambers.

Guinevere sat in a chair by the window, a shawl over her shoulders. She didn't rise or speak at Arthur's entrance. Arthur closed the door, heard the key turn in the lock, then said quietly, "How do you, my love?"

"How do you think, Your Majesty?" Guinevere replied coolly. "I'm a prisoner in the rooms where I was once a queen."

"You are still a queen, Gwen."

"Queens don't have to beg permission from peasant guards to have fresh water. Queens aren't locked up in their own bedchambers like common criminals."

"Not common, surely," Arthur said gently. Guinevere's jaw tightened, and she glared balefully at her husband. "My love," the king continued, "you have been accused of treason against the Crown."

"Treason?" Guinevere repeated blankly. "I thought you were just angry at—" Then her eyebrows snapped together. "Accused by whom?"

"Officially by Sir Mador de la Porte, but at least a dozen knights have signed the accusation."

Guinevere was thoughtful for a moment. "Another plot of Mordred and Morgause?"

"Undoubtedly," Arthur replied. "An attempt to divide the court, or—at the very least—to distract us."

"Who else signed the accusation? All cronies of Mordred's?" Guinevere asked.

Arthur shook his head. "Some, but not all."

"How am I said to have committed treason?"

"Through your long-standing affair with Lancelot," Arthur said evenly. Guinevere stared at the wall, and Arthur continued. "The statement that Mador drew up asserts that the king is the state, and that to betray the king is therefore treason. It further alleges that the two of you were meeting in secret the other night to plot my murder so that the two of you could marry."

"Arthur, I told you why we were together. We both received false letters—supposed to be from the other—asking to meet. All you have to do is show those letters—"

"The letters have not been found," Arthur said.

Guinevere blinked. "But I told you; my letter was on the writing table."

"It is there no longer, however."

"Then Lancelot can show his letter!"

"Lancelot, too, is here no longer," Arthur said. In the silence that followed, he walked across the room to the window where Guinevere sat. He gazed from the window at the rolling English countryside beyond. "It appears," he said, "that after the battle Lancelot left the court. My huntsmen followed his trail east for half a day before coming back. Perhaps he's headed for his castle in the Midlands."

"Lancelot ran away?" Guinevere breathed. "To Joyous Garde?"

"Let us say that he made a strategic, if not necessarily wise, retreat," Arthur replied. "His room was searched, and there was found no sign of the letter that you described. But another letter was found, half written, on his desk. It was a letter to Mordred, promising his assistance in the 'Great Undertaking' that Mordred was engaged in, once I was dead."

"Arthur, no! Lancelot would never betray you!"

Arthur glanced quizzically at Guinevere, then turned back to stare out the window again. Against his own will, against every determination of his soul, the old crushing weight of anger had descended once more on his shoulders. During the years of Guinevere's attachment to Lancelot, Arthur had lived with that weight. Once they had ended their affair and Guinevere had returned to him, Arthur had thought that all the anger had been dispelled. But he had been wrong.

Guinevere, her faced flushed with shame, said meekly, "I didn't mean that."

"No," Arthur said. "I suppose you wouldn't."

"Was I right after all? Is that what this is about?" Guinevere asked suddenly. "Am I, at last, to be punished for being a foolish girl and playing at romance with a handsome hero?"

"No," Arthur said. "This is about the king following his own laws. You have been accused of treason, and by my own decree anyone so accused must be tried in public and kept under guard until that trial."

"You aren't just anyone! You're the king! You should not be treated like others!"

"Don't you mean that you should not be treated like others?" Arthur asked. He had to fight to keep his voice gentle.

Guinevere stood abruptly and strode across the room. "This is why I had that cursed affair in the first place," she snapped. "If I could have just been sure, even once, that you cared more for me than for anything else, I would never have turned away! But everywhere I looked there was something that you put before me: the law, England, the throne, your Round Table. I was never first to you, never even second or third."

"And so, to make me love you more than anything, you betrayed me?"

"Lancelot always put me first," Guinevere said. "It was nothing more than that, a girl's childish wish to be treated as a ... a..."

"A queen?" Arthur supplied. Guinevere bit her lip and looked at the floor. Arthur went on, "As I recall, this girl's childish wish of yours went on for some eight years."

"And at least the last five of those regretting we had ever begun, trying desperately to think of a way to end it," Guinevere said. "But how could I send your greatest knight away, perhaps forever? You were still fighting wars. You needed him. I never wanted my stupid, childish infatuation to hurt you."

Arthur gave her another quizzical glance and looked away.

"I mean ... I know I hurt you, but then, after a while, it didn't seem you were hurt anymore. You grew hard and cold."

"You gave me no reason to think that displays of affection were acceptable, my dear."

"I know. But I thought I had lost you forever. I thought that if I sent Lancelot away, I'd have no one at all. How was I to know you still loved me?"

Arthur turned away from the window. "How was I to know you still loved me?"

"Lord, we were fools," Guinevere said at last.

"For my part," Arthur said, "I'd as soon not go through that again. When you and Lancelot broke it off and he left the court for all those years, we put things back together rather well, I thought. They've been good years since then."

"Except that we had no children," Guinevere said. "You can't know how it's tortured me, wondering if ... if we hadn't been apart those early years of our marriage, maybe I could have borne you an heir."

"There's no point in wondering what might or might not have happened. We can't tell—"

Guinevere interrupted. "Don't tell me you haven't wondered, too!" Arthur was silent, and the queen went on, "And so, because you had no other heir, when Mordred arrived you had no choice but to try to bring him into the court and prepare him to rule. In a way, all this was my fault. Maybe in a strange way, Sir Mador is right. Maybe I did commit treason against England."

Arthur shook his head, but he said nothing.

"So what is the punishment for a woman found guilty of treason? Hanging? Beheading?"

"That's the real reason I came to see you today," Arthur said. "You'll have to stand trial, according to the law. I won't set aside the law of the land simply because I love you. I can't be king if I do that."

"I know."

"But you will almost certainly be found innocent. The statement from Mador is nonsense."

"But what if I'm found guilty?"

Arthur smiled. "Why then, my hands are free again. I can't within the law prevent a trial from happening, but once a person is found guilty, then under the law I have other rights as king."

Guinevere blinked. "Of course. A royal pardon."

Arthur smiled and left the window, crossing to his queen. Taking her in his arms, he held her for a long moment, then kissed her. "I wanted you to know what was going on, but I didn't want you to lose any sleep. The trial will be in three days. I won't come visit you again until then, but know that I am always yours, and that you are always my queen."

"What about Bors?" Parsifal demanded. "There's no knight more upright than Bors. Why can't he be a judge?"

Arthur took a breath before answering. Beside him, Kai grumbled something unintelligible. "As you may recall," Arthur began, "Bors and Lionel are related to Lancelot. Cousins of some sort."

"So?" Parsifal replied. "If your cause is just and Bors is honorable, he won't let that weight his judgment."

"True," Arthur said. "But the thing is, Bors and Lionel aren't here anymore. They disappeared the day after Lancelot left, along with Ector de Maris and, by now, over a score of other knights. It is assumed that they've gone to join Lancelot."

Parsifal's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

Arthur pressed on. "So you see, we need a knight who's known to be just and fair, but who's not too closely connected to my inner circle of advisors. You do see, don't you, that if I appointed Kai, it might not seem impartial."

"Besides," Kai muttered, "if I get too near Mador, I'm likely to push my fist through his face."

"That, also, might not seem impartial," Arthur said. "But you, Parsifal, are as much an outsider as any knight of my table. You spend more time away from Camelot than here, and your integrity is unimpeachable. So I ask: will you do this for me?"

"You ask. But you don't command?"

Arthur shook his head, and after a moment Parsifal nodded.

"Thank you," Arthur said. "You'll be one of three judges. The law calls for one judge from each estate: a noble, a churchman, and a commoner."

"Who are the others?" Parsifal asked.

"Bishop Nacien and Goodwife Grete, from the butcher's shop in the village." Parsifal blinked, then smiled slowly. Arthur returned the smile. "The law does not require that all the judges be men," he added blandly.

Arthur waited at one side of the courtyard, saying nothing. Across the yard, Guinevere sat alone, and between them, at a long raised table, sat the three judges. Behind Guinevere stood a gallows. When writing the law for treason, Arthur had been primarily concerned that a king not use a careless charge of treason to get rid of anyone who opposed him. That was why he had specified that there be a panel of three judges, one from each recognized segment of society. For the same reason, he had required that treason trials be held in public. It hadn't occurred to him, however, that the only forum large enough to accommodate a public trial would be the courtyard used for executions. Even though he knew that Guinevere was in no danger and would be either acquitted or pardoned, Arthur found the looming presence of the gallows chilling.

The three judges looked at Arthur, but he didn't move. After a moment, Parsifal nodded and said, "Ah, I see. I believe the king is waiting for us. We are now in charge. Shall we begin?"

Mador stood up and spoke clearly. "Before we do, Sir Parsifal, I must protest the arrangements for this court. In particular, I protest the presence of a woman on the panel of judges."

"And why is that, Sir Mador?" Parsifal asked.

"Women are irrational creatures, moved by emotion rather than reason. Judges must be impartial."

Goodwife Grete leaned over to Parsifal and whispered a question. Parsifal nodded and said, "Yes, madam. Go ahead."

Grete scowled at Mador for a long second, then said, "Ye ain't married, I take it."

A titter stirred the gathered crowd, but Mador replied sharply, "I am not, but I don't see—"

"So tell me how ye come to know so much about women."

"You need not be married to know that women have lesser minds than men. This is not merely my opinion. So say all the great doctors of the church—"

"Who ain't married neither," Grete said, rolling her eyes. The laughter grew louder.

Mador looked at Bishop Nacien. "Your excellency, is it not true that it was by a woman that sin came into this world? The serpent deceived her, and she ate the forbidden fruit."

Nacien nodded slowly. "That is what Scripture says."

"Is that not a sign of a weaker mind?" Mador asked.

Grete leaned forward and looked past Parsifal at the bishop. "Adam ate the apple, too, didn't he?" Nacien nodded, and Grete continued, "Why does the Book say Adam ate it?"

Nacien smiled very slightly. "Because Eve gave it to him."

Grete snorted and muttered, "Which one sounds like the weaker mind to you, hey?"

Arthur suppressed a smile. He had chosen Grete because she had a reputation of being a woman of strong opinions who was willing to speak them, but this was better than he'd expected.

Parsifal cleared his throat and said, "Sir Mador, your protest is heard, but the law permits a woman to serve on this panel. We are not here to decide whether that law is correct. We are here to try Queen Guinevere for treason. Let us waste no more time."

Nacien and Grete nodded their agreement, and Grete added, "Well said, Sir Parsifal. A fair an' honest judgment. Yere mother teach ye that?"

"She must have," Parsifal replied. "I never knew my father." He nodded to Mador and said, "Continue, please."

Mador looked sour, but he proceeded with his case. "Your honors," he began, then added, "and your hon-oress, it gives me no pleasure to accuse our queen of betraying the kingdom, but I must do so." He produced an ancient scroll and said, "I hold here an ancient treaty drafted by King Locrinus, second king of Britain, and signed by the leaders of the Picts after Locrinus had defeated them in battle. Herein I read, 'As ye shall never again take up arms against the kingdom, and never betray the terms of this treaty, so shall ye also honor the person and family of the king, for the king is the kingdom in the flesh.'" Mador set down the document and said, "Why, you might ask, do I read this to you?"

"Ay," grumbled Grete. "I might."

Mador ignored her. "Because here we find clearly stated that a betrayal of the king, or of the king's family, is the same as betraying the kingdom."

Parsifal frowned and asked, "But does a treaty qualify as a legal precedent in a case like this?"

Mador smiled and said, "I thought you might ask that, and so I have asked Clerk Geoffrey of Glastonbury to speak to that question."

Arthur leaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes as a slight man with thinning hair stood up. He held a tall stack of books and papers and was clearly prepared to defend his perspective at length. Arthur sighed as the scholar began his evidence, clearing his throat deferentially every ten or fifteen seconds. His main point seemed to be that treaties were held to be in effect until replaced by other treaties, exactly like laws, and so should be regarded as having the same power. The crowd began to grow restless, at least those who weren't dozing, and Arthur himself found his attention wandering. He couldn't see where all this was leading, unless Mador wanted to make the trial last as long as possible. But that made no sense.

Then Goodwife Grete, who alone of the three judges had made no effort to pay attention to the clerk, said, "Enough of this!"

Clerk Geoffrey blinked. "My lady? I mean, my good woman?"

Grete ignored him. Instead she looked at Mador. "What're ye sayin' the queen did to betray the king and his family? I thought she was his family."

Mador scowled, but he had to answer. "She betrayed her husband with one of his knights, Sir Lancelot, as I will prove with over a score of witnesses, once we have established—"

Grete interrupted him, turning her head to look at Guinevere and saying, "Is that so, Yere Highness?"

"Yes," Guinevere said calmly.

"Shame on ye!" snapped Grete.

"You are right, your honor," Guinevere said. "It is the deepest shame I can imagine."

"When was this?" Grete asked.

"It ended fifteen years ago."

"Did your husband know?"

"Yes."

"What did he do to ye?"

"He forgave me and took me back," Guinevere said.

"Hmm. Better'n ye deserve," Grete said. "But that's his business." She looked at the king. "Why'd ye do that, Yere Majesty?"

Arthur had been watching Mador, whose anger at Grete's interruption of the trial was evident. Mador kept glancing behind him, at the gates of the castle, and Arthur was trying to imagine what he was expecting to see there when Grete's question broke into his thoughts. "I beg your pardon, Goodwife Grete?"

"Why'd ye take yere wife back after she betrayed ye?"

Arthur blinked. "I love her," he said.

"Then what're we doin' here?" Grete snapped. "I've work to do at the shop."

In the voice of one speaking to a child or an idiot, Mador said, "My good woman, I don't expect you to understand the intricacies of the law but—"

"But I do," said Bishop Nacien gently. "And I can tell you that where a husband or wife forgives, the law has no interest."

"But, as I was trying to demonstrate before this woman interrupted, the king is not just a husband—he represents England itself!"

"Why then, it would appear that England itself has forgiven her," Bishop Nacien said calmly.

Mador looked harried and glanced again toward the outer gate. "But I tell you, this is more than just a wife being unfaithful," he said at last. "She was unfaithful with a traitor!"

There was a hush as every eye turned toward Mador. But Arthur ignored him. Instead, he caught Gareth's eye and gestured to him.

"Are you trying to tell this court that Sir Lancelot du Lac is a traitor?" asked Parsifal in a quiet voice that nevertheless seemed thunderous in its intensity. Gareth stepped up to the king.

"Gareth," Arthur said softly. "It appears to me that Sir Mador is expecting someone to arrive through the front gates. Would you be so kind as to lower the portcullis?" Gareth nodded and walked away, his hand on his sword.

"That is exactly what I'm saying," Mador said clearly. "Sir Lancelot left this court, in the dark of night, and went to the east, did he not?"

The judges looked at Arthur, who nodded. "Yes, toward his castle, Joyous Garde."

"Toward Joyous Garde," repeated Mador, sneering, "or to join Mordred's White Horsemen?"

Arthur's attention sharpened suddenly, and he leaned forward in his seat looking intently at Mador. "Why, Mador, what makes you think that Mordred's armies are to be found east of here?"

Mador froze, his eyes suddenly blank.

Arthur continued. "We have reports of the White Horsemen in Cornwall and in Scotland, but we've heard nothing about their presence in the east. Do you, perhaps, have sources of information as to Mordred's movements that we do not?"

Every eye turned toward Mador. Parsifal and Kai rested their hands on their swords and stepped toward Mador. Mador placed his hand on his sword, his face flushed and ugly with anger, and then came a roar of galloping hooves from the gate, a clash of steel, a cry of pain, and chaos as dozens of horsemen burst into the courtyard. Arthur recognized Lancelot's armor in the lead and leaped to his feet, but he was immediately knocked backwards by Kai, who had thrown himself in front of his king. Shrieks rang out in the courtyard, but above them all, Arthur heard Guinevere's voice screaming, "No, Lance! Don't! Stop!" Arthur shoved Kai off of his legs and scrambled to his feet.

"Gwen!" he shouted.

The horses reared and turned, scattering knights and ladies and townspeople on every side, and then they rode away at a full gallop. Arthur saw Guinevere seated precariously before Lancelot on his saddle, clinging to his neck.

"After them!" Arthur shouted furiously. But the cavalcade was already out of the castle gates and had scattered, with each rider going in a different direction. "Kai!" Arthur roared.

"Here, sire!" came Kai's voice.

"Gather the troops. We march at once."

"March where, Arthur?"

"Joyous Garde! Three regiments. You lead one, Parsifal another, Gareth another. I'll ride before you all. At once, Kai!"

Kai hurried away to begin the preparations, but Parsifal's voice, from the front gate, stopped him. "Not Gareth, sire."

"No?" Arthur said, fighting to bring his rage under control. "Has Gareth joined the traitors, too?"

"No," Parsifal said. "Gareth is dead."