Jousting is Not a Game: the New Legend of Guinevere by Michele Wardall

Author:Michele Wardall
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781784628529
Publisher: Troubador Publishing Ltd
Published: 2014-10-31T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

When Merlin had arrived in the village of her birth and her mother had told her that she was to go with him to Camelot, Guinevere had thought she was leaving more than her home behind, she believed she would be discarding her childhood as well; yet as each event was thrown at her she felt as if she were going backwards in years, growing less capable, more immature. Her education, so high for a girl, had left gaps she was unaware of until now. What poor instruction in feelings, and life, and worldly ways that rendered her unprepared for this theatre they had entered with such innocence, such naïveté, only months before; and Merlin, the cause of it all, was not here to help her through it. He was off, who knew where, searching for news of his Holy Grail and it could not matter, should not matter more than the circumstances unfolding in Camelot. For Blanchefleur was his responsibility as much as Guinevere. Look at her now, Merlin: look what your quest has done to Blanchefleur. If not for Iseult we would have perished for certain! Her rage felt impotent.

Iseult had a way of revealing things in a different light. That Sir Perceval had a wife, that he had seduced a maiden he could not marry, one who was no older than his sons, was not alluded to. For Iseult the joy of a new babe overruled its inauspicious conception. She planned for the birth as if it were her own and helped Blanche to come to terms with her change in circumstances; and in the absence of Lady Constance – for Blanche was adamant her mother not be told – she was the closest the girl had to matriarchal guidance. Through her optimistic support and nurture, as the days gave way to weeks, Blanchefleur began to talk about her condition if not with excitement then at least with acceptance. Guinevere caught her more than once nursing the gentle swell of her belly with a faraway look in her eyes and she wondered if she was yearning for her love, for love the old knight she did, and wishing he would come to take care of her and his progeny. If only he could.

With this drama enveloping her Guinevere could be forgiven for believing that life had dealt its greatest blow; and perhaps it had, for Blanchefleur. So the day the herald came to ask for her presence at court did not carry any portent of doom, and she set off unaccompanied by her friends. She came at the king’s bidding and had been informed it was a private audience, which piqued her curiosity but no more. It was the first time she had been into the castle since her return from the battle; it was strange that the walls did not seem so high as on her first visit, nor so forbidding. Inside, it felt comfortable, familiar, like the home of an old friend, and it was with this feeling of bonhomie that she rushed to meet the king.

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