Marshlands of Avalon

The river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. Just as it did every day since the dawn of time. Twice a day, as one might expect of the tidal marshes of Avalon. Only this day, the tidal rise did not cease. It was as if the influence that set the direction of flow of the great stinking waters had disappeared with the queen.

Much joy in the realm, there was, when the sorceress Guinevere came to claim these once watery lands, and their people, as her own, some thrice seven summers since. For many vassals owed fealty to their lord Arthur, betrothed of the fair lady.

For her dowry, Guinevere brought a great gift of an enchantment to the people of Avalon. In song, she bade the murky waters surrounding castle Camelot to begone. For a twelve-month did the edge of the vile soup slink away until but a moderate lake remained, fed and drained by the great River Afon.

Once the waters had departed, so rose in their place the lushest, most fertile and fecund, arable lands arcadian hearts might desire. From the first new harvest, the rich crops of corn, cereals, herbs, fruits and vegetables delighted every table, of peasant and noble alike. Thereafter there was such a surplus of produce that factors were sent far and wide for to share Avalon's new bounty. Returning, these commercial travellers brought gold, silver, jewellery, fine ceramics and spices. Happy, they were, to pay the share of dues, for to fatten the King’s treasury.

Yet it wasn't long before the fame of the lush lands of Avalon brought forth adventurers determined upon conquering the citadel and surrounding lands for their gain. In consternation at this challenge, King Arthur decreed that the great knights must assemble with their squires, armourers and foot soldiers, to venture forth and do battle with the would-be invaders.

Guinevere remained to rule in the King’s stead, retaining her personal guard and champions. Arthur also bade his most gallant knight, Lancelot du Lac, remain to protect the realm, the people and their beloved queen.

As the King’s quest progressed, so did the people of Avalon continue to prosper under their Queen. Such was the surplus held by the royal treasury that the Queen was able to endow funds to support the health and care of her subjects. She also founded a university at the hamlet of Gharoweth, bringing together the most prominent scholars of the kingdom and beyond. Sorcerers, alchemists, metallurgists, mathematicians, poets, philosophers and engineers, all gathered to ponder the great questions of the age.

Messengers sent by the King to enquire as to the health and wealth of his kingdom, its subjects and his queen, were able to report prosperity and happiness amongst its peoples.

Every forenoon, Queen Guinevere held court before her people, attended by her most noble and trusted advisers. Every afternoon she took long rides among the forests and lush lands of her kingdom, attended by two of her personal guard. These mounted men had need to ride hard to keep apace with their queen, whose speed and agility in the saddle were legendary. At the end of each day, the Queen sang her song of enchantment to the waters of Avalon, charging them to remain at their distance, to leave the good people of the the realm to cultivate the reclaimed land.

T'was on the day of the feast of Beltane that the Queen was accompanied on her daily ride by the noblest of the noble, Arthur's most favoured man of arms, the good Sir Lancelot. With good Lancelot as escort, she had no need of a second guardsman.

On that day, Guinevere's mount, her favourite grey stallion, was skittish. She bethought to ride it off him, spurring the beast to his best, driving him to speeds seldom attained by horse and rider.

Lancelot had need to ride his best to stay in his lady's train, lest he should fall behind. Yet he was amused at the Queen's desire to outride him. He would not presume to overtake her, nonetheless, respectful of his place as Queen's champion and personal guard, pledged to her protection. At length, the lady relented and slowed her mount to a walk, whereupon Lancelot reined in at a respectful distance.

"Ride beside me, good sir," said Guinevere, calling over her shoulder to summon her escort. "For I have need of company."

"As you command, my Lady."

"I do not command it, Sir Lancelot, it is but an invitation. Would you find my company, somehow... unpleasant?"

"I am here for my duty, my Queen, and not for my pleasure."

"Beware, good Lancelot, for should you say more, I will bethink you find my society repugnant."

"Your company is entirely pleasant to me, my lady, as it is my only desire to do my Lord Arthur's bidding, to ensure that no harm may come to you or your Kingdom."

Conscious that her merciless teasing of Sir Lancelot was having but little effect, Guinevere changed the subject.

"Is it true what they say, Sir Lancelot? That you are a disciple of this new god that comes to invade our kingdom?

"It is true my lady, for I was raised in a house dedicated to service of the one true God."

"And is your loyalty to this one true god, greater than your loyalty to your liege lord and King?"

"They are but one and the same. For I am sworn before God to serve my King Arthur and no other. In service of the King, I give service to God."

"Is that why you travelled from your land across the sea to this realm."

"It is, my Lady. It is my quest only to serve the King. It is my life's labour of love."

"Any is there no lady of our lands or yours that commands your loyalty and love?"

"None, my queen, save you. I would guard you and protect you with my life, as I guard and protect the King and your realm. As long as I live, I shall never love anyone but you, my King, and the Lord God.

Queen Guinevere was intrigued by the earnest profession of faith and loyalty displayed by her champion, and not a little beguiled by his square jaw, his handsome profile, and his knightly stature. Would that she were not Lancelot's queen and wife of the King, she mused. She also wondered if Lancelot's faith and loyalty would stand up to the test.

"Sir Lancelot, my brow is heated by the ride. I feel the dust of the path and have need to cleanse my skin. I see a clear pool yonder and would bathe in it. You shall guard my toilet against any comers."

"As you will it, my Lady."

Now was there, or was their not, the faintest note of embarrassment in Lancelot’s voice? Was Lancelot's discomfiture, in doing this service, evident in a hint of ruddy skin beginning to glow upon his cheek. Guinevere could not be sure.

When they came across the pool of clear water, fed by a gushing spring above the rocks, Guinevere made ready to bathe, and Lancelot dismounted, to stand guard beyond.

As the Queen shed herself of her outer clothing, so Lancelot stood stolid, his back to Guinevere, facing the outside world, ready to prevent any incursion upon the lady's privacy. He drew the sword that was held in his saddle scabbard, and held it before him.

For a while, the Queen forgot her protector, as she enjoyed the refreshing waters of the pool, swimming, splashing, washing her long, xanthous hair and cleansing her fair skin. Merrily she sang a song of happiness and hope.

At length, she noticed the statuesque figure of her escort. Tall, strong, his back and shoulders wide beneath their tunic. The thick calves below his culottes, spoke a sturdiness that Guinevere could not but help admire. The figure did not move. It could have been the trunk of an oak tree that guarded her modesty, rather than frail flesh and blood. As she continued to sing, Guinevere detected a note of beguilement creeping into her voice. She did nothing to restrain it but continued the enchantment, jealous of the chastity of the man that stood his ground before her.

And yet Lancelot did not move. And the more he did not move, the more Guinevere determined to move him with her song, which became more and more a song of love and longing and less and less a song of joy. And the more Lancelot was not moved by her song, the more she determined upon captivating him. Unbeknown to the queen, however, Lancelot, still facing away from the pool and its naked occupant, wept the bitter tears of longing. Tears streamed down his face and fell upon his tunic, wetting it to discomfort.

Guinevere, in her ignorance of this emotional effect, grew in ire at the obstinacy of the man refusing to be affected by her otherwise spellbinding song of love. Exasperated, she climbed from the pool, fully naked and without shame, and walked over to Lancelot, water dripping from her almost translucent flesh.

"Lancelot. Dear Lancelot, turn and look upon my beauty, I pray thee. Turn and acknowledge with your eyes what you know to be true from the song I sing for you."

"Lady, do not test me thus. I cannot look upon thee. Thou art exalted among mortals. You are my queen, and bound by hand to my liege lord and King. I am sworn to serve you in all humility. I beg you come no closer.

Her patience departed, Guinevere grabbed the shoulder of Lancelot's tunic, spinning him around to face her. Whereupon she immediately saw the flood of tears falling from his eyes.

"My angel, my darling, is this what I have done to you, to make you weep thus in my presence?"

"Lady, release me from this spell, for my heart will not stand the hurt of it."

Yet, despite his protestations, Lancelot was unable to tear his eyes away from those of his queen. For her own part, the queen's gaze was fixed upon the most beautiful eyes she could imagine. Locked in this drunken gaze, the two were breathless until, as if by some force of earthly galvanism, their lips came together in a kiss that was so slight it can hardly have happened.

And yet the spell was thus broken. The feel of ripe red flush upon flesh brought them both to their senses. Gasping, Lancelot broke away and shrieked the agony of his instant regret.

"My King, my King, my Lord, my God, what have I done? No! No! No! No! No! It cannot be!"

"Lancelot, please, still yourself, there is no harm done. It was but a kiss. It was nothing."

Though she said these words out of concern, she felt them unconvincing either to Lancelot or to herself. In their hearts they were both guilty of betrayal. For a small betrayal is still yet a betrayal.

Lancelot continued to shriek the agony of his regret at the deed. He still held the hilt of the sword in his right hand. He began to feel a heat growing within the weapon. Hotter and hotter it burned his hand until he perforce let it fall to the soft earth beneath, its point fixing it into the ground below. He began to pull at the rich auburn locks upon his head, tearing great chunks of hair and flesh out of it. Looking upon Guinevere as if for the first time, he might have been looking at a vile and grotesque demon, cast out from the underworld. In a state of unmanning terror, he leapt away from Guinevere and fled for the forest, shrieking his agony all the way.

Concerned, Guinevere was about to run after him when she noticed the sword that stood out of the grand, the hilt forming an accusing cross before her.

"Excalibur!" she gasped. The sword of Avalon. The sword of King Arthur. Forged by demi-gods, a weapon without equal. A sword to guard against evil, that could not be defeated in true combat by any sword forged by man. Arthur must have left it with Lancelot to protect the kingdom and guard its queen. Lancelot had broken that trust, and the sword would allow Lancelot to wield it no longer.

Guinevere sunk to her knees, wailing her anguish.

"Arthur, my king, my lord, my beloved spouse. I have betrayed you, betrayed our love, betrayed the trust placed in my by you and our people. How could you ever forgive me?"

She grasped the blade of the sword, her hands pressed into either edge, the blade slicing her flesh, her blood anointing the otherwise spotless sheen of the weapon. Then, clasping her hands to her face, she daubed it in blood, smothering the sticky red mess all over, as it curdled and congealed. Guinevere sunk her head to the ground. She grabbed great handfuls of dirt and leaves and threw the litter at her face, causing it to stick to the drying blood, forming a mask of penitence.

As darkness fell, and her still naked body shivered in the gathering winds, Guinevere continued her wailing, gnashing her teeth together and letting out animal screams of hopelessness and regret.

Back in Camelot, all were wondering and fearful at the failure of The Queen and her Escort to return at nightfall. Scouting parties were sent out but had to turn back, unable to find their paths and risking injury to horse and rider.

Several days passed and there was no sign of the missing Queen or Sir Lancelot. On the third day after the disappearance, a curious thing happened. On this day, the people noticed for the first time that the waters of the distant lake were beginning to rise. Some said that the river ran backwards on the day the Queen vanished. It continued to run backwards. There was no turn of the tide.

Of course, when the Queen failed to return to her castle Camelot, she was unable to sing her enchanted song to the waters of Avalon, to turn back the incoming tide to drain away and leave the marshes dry. Without the Queen's song, the tide did not turn and the waters continued to rise. The marshlands began, again, to flood and, with the flood, came the unholy stench of the unclean waters of the stinking marshlands of Avalon.

Would the tide ever turn for the people of Avalon?