Spring Maiden (New Book)

The High Queen

Guinevere swirled her toes below her skirts. Beneath her toes were but a sheer drop; brickwork parallel to her legs and then below that, grass.

It wasn't that she wanted to take her life, only that she had lost the fear of death.

She heard a crow caw somewhere in the castle grounds. It was a bright winter's day. The air was crisp, but a warmth beat over the lands. It was quiet outside. It always was this time of noon. Many at court took to their rooms, with bellies full of meat.

She felt enveloped by the silence, it swallowed up her whole being, and she gazed in a trance out from the window ledge on which she so precariously perched. It was all so very tedious at Camelot these days. When she was a younger queen it had been different. There was always a banquet to prepare for, and the gates of the kingdom were rarely closed for two minutes. It had been war-time of course, but the climate had ensured every knight, king, priest, and even priestess of Avalon came in, bearing secrets or news. Gosh, what kind of woman enjoyed wartime more than peace?

A bored and lonely one.

She felt tears sting in her eyes. This month, she thought she may be with child, but as usual, it was her body, or mind, playing tricks on her, prolonging her moon blood so that she had deigned to believe it could finally be.

She had no children to care for, and thus, being a woman – not only in this castle – but in any corner of any kingdom – was not fulfilling. All her maidens had babes of their own now; she had miserably watched their bellies swell one by one, and given them all permission to leave Court when they had delivered. Now Guinevere was attended to by women far younger than herself. She did not have friendships with them like she had with those before. They had been as sisters, but she kept all talk confined to their tasks and no more.

She exhaled and swung out her leg, looking down at her fine little ankle. She was not a big lady, and if she should fall there was no doubt her body would be shattered, like glass.

Oh, it is no such burden for Arthur, like it is for I. He has all his duties to attend to; he was adored and worshipped by all in the lands. It doesn't appear to matter to the people if he had a little fellow to jig upon his knee or nay, a little princess. He could do no wrong, they felt only pain for him and even spared him that wretched disease, pity.

Ah, but he is so good, he deserves to be loved. He is so good that he will not even hear of putting his barren queen away and taking another.

Tears blurred her feet below. Oh, how she wished it were different. Was it her great sin she had been paying for all these years? Yet, she had not conceived a child even in the long stretch before then...

She was nearing the end of her maiden years now and she would be not bleed too much longer, but yet she felt it would all just pass her by... Perhaps she should have accepted her lover's sweet offer all those years ago. To leave Camelot and flee to his lands in Brittany. She would have freed Arthur and escape the intolerable pressures of being a childless High Queen. But she had been too much of a coward, too fearful of dirtying her name!

Is it too late now, I wonder? Could we still go?