Warriors of Camelot

Chapter 3: Gwen

With a pail slung over her right arm, the young girl hurried up through the bustling village of Camelot, her crimson cloak billowing out behind her. Villagers and market traders raced by, until, without warning, the pump seemed to rush into view. 

Gwen wasted no time in eagerly working the handle. Water gushed into the pail, but for once, Gwen's attention had drifted elsewhere. First, she glanced up at the magnificent castle that was home to her mistress, Morgana Le Fay, ward to Uther Pendragon, the King of Camelot. Gwen wandered what Morgana, who she considered more of a friend than a mistress, would require of her today.

A new sound brought Gwen's attention back to the present moment. Startled, she flicked her head in the direction of the training arena. Just as she suspected, the arena was already a hive of activity as Camelot's finest knights practised their sword-fighting. 

Before Gwen realised what was happening, one of the knights had turned slightly- just enough so that his eyes rested upon Gwen's. Upon recognising the knight, she drew in breath. It was no-one other than  Uther's son, Arthur Pendragon!  

Gwen's first reaction was turn away, so that Arthur wouldn't  even have a chance to glimpse her blushing cheeks.  All the same, she could still feel his gaze upon her back. Whilst Gwen would dare to admit it to very few people (not even Morgana, Merlin, or her own father for that matter!) she was certain that Arthur would make a wonderful ruler one day-  one who's just and loved by his people. 

After that, Gwen filled the pail as quickly as she dared. Gallons of water splashed over the sides, but she hardly noticed. Once it was full to the brim, Gwen heaved the pale off its perch and made haste,  homeward bound. If she realised that she was still being watched, Gwen didn't react to it. 

One way or another, Gwen was relieved when she returned to her humble home. Once inside the comfortingly shady cottage, she set the pail down on the kitchen table, before removing her scarlet cloak, which  she hung  on a peg behind the front door. 

"Phew!" she exclaimed, mopping a few beads of sweat from her bow. That walk had been more strength-sapping than she anticipated! 

Gwen's chocolate-brown eyes rested on the brimming pail. There was no way that would be able to complete the rest of the her chores or fulfil her duties as maidservant with a parched mouth, so she wasted no time in swiping a tankard from the worktop and filling it to the brim. 

Once  her thirst was quenched, Gwen returned her attention to more important matters. Now that her daily chores had been accomplished, it was time to return to her mistress. Within minutes, Gwen's cloak was looped around her shoulders once again and every crease in her dress had been smoothed out.  She reached out a hand to take the door hand- and froze. Why? Because something had caught her gentle eye.

A flash of gold, coming from...her bed?

Gwen started slightly. What did she possess that could give off such a bright light? She could not say.  Curiosity quickly overpowered all her doubts. Hitching up her skirts,  hurried over to her bed in the adjacent room. 

Then she saw it. 

Lying on her pillow, gleaming in the sunlight, was the most beautiful feather that Gwen had ever seen. Long and elegant, it shone in the sunlight as though it had been forged from pure gold. 

Gwen's face lit up in delight as she reached out a single finger and stroked it over the delicate artefact. 

How pretty! How soft! How... unusual! Where had it come from?

Gwen glanced out of her window, wracking her brains; but no matter how hard she tried, she just couldn't think of a single animal that would have left such a beautiful feather behind- and why here?

Anyway, now that she'd found it, there was only one thing to do with it. With her mind made up, Gwen slipped the feather into a handy pocket in her dress. This time, she headed straight to  the front door and did not look back once. 

No sooner had the door slammed shut, that there came a loud squawk. Anyone else present in the cottage would have, at that moment, spied a large  raven landing on the nearby window sill. What her jet-black eyes discovered confirmed the raven's suspicions: a second feather had been claimed.

Good! Her plan was now well underway; but what about the other feathers that she'd left in Camelot? Had they been claimed yet and had the feathers that had already been found been claimed by the right people?

Time alone would tell...