Dedicated to the lovely Gargoyle13 in particular, and to strong women everywhere.
Different Feathers
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows.
(Romeo and Juliet 1.5.50)
The walled fortress town of Cameliard stood sprawling but proud by the sea. It had been a place of warriors and old magic since the beginning of time. She had walked the shores and ridden along the high cliffs as soon as she was big enough to escape the nursery. Her elder sister had been more mother than sibling, despite being only seven years older.
"Look! Look…! Oh, sister, look!"
"What now, little one?"
"Look at the shell I found with nurse! Isn't it beautiful?"
"Oh it is, how fine. Did you find the other half?"
"Yes, but it was broken."
"Well never mind. Be sure to put it in a safe place."
She was a high lady and the adored baby, the fiery little beauty to her sister's ethereal elegance. She would pick up her skirts to an indecent height around her knees as she dashed to the stables, eager to escape her lessons and needlework.
"Milady!"
"Madam!"
Go away. I'm hiding.
"Miss! Oh little miss!"
No. Shan't.
And then her sister appeared, wearing a dress of the palest green, her long gold hair swinging free about her as she stepped delicately across the wet grass. Her sister drew up, with unerring accuracy, to the oak tree in which she was hiding. A pale hand reached out and rested lightly on the trunk.
"Dearest, please come down," she said with her usual serene calm.
"Go away!" she hissed.
"I shan't let you be beaten, child. Just come down and we may talk."
"No!" she said in throbbing accents. "You don't understand, no one does!"
"I would like to try, if you would only come down and speak with me," her sister's beautiful bright blue eyes were fixed on her. "I would like that of all things," she added.
Why did her voice have to be so soft? Why did she have to be so gentle?
She knew if she kept resisting then it would only make her sister sad. And that was the worst thing of all. With a groan she swung herself down and landed by her sister in a swirl of brown woollen skirts and a muffled thump.
Her sister beamed down at her, like a miniature sun. "Shall we walk along the shore, my little bird?" She put out her hand. "You can tell me all about it."
She had no patience for her long, long hair—so dark it was almost black. She remembers being lightly beaten and sent to bed with no supper when she had cut the last foot off, reducing the tumbling curls to a ragged-edged mane that fell only to her waist.
"Really, child," her mother said crossly as her sister trimmed and evened out the mess she had made of her hair. "This will take years to remedy."
"I don't care. It's heavy and stupid."
"It is beautiful and you should be proud of it," her mother said. "Gods girl, you have no idea."
No, she really didn't.
Most of all, she remembers watching and listening to her mother and aunts and cousins as they listened to their husbands mutter and grumble to themselves as the womenfolk embroidered fine cloths or meditatively brushed out their shining hair that pooled in their laps. The way the women would listen in all sympathy to the trials of what it was to be a strong man in a world made for them by their forefathers. The way they were so calm and supportive.
She could never imagine having that kind of patience. The one time she had tried it with a young warrior, she had lost all patience and eventually tried to box his ears when he had said that women did not know anything beyond dancing, singing and child-rearing.
When her sister got wind of this incident, and their father's chagrined displeasure, she had laughed and said that if Guinevere did not mend her ways, she would never be married.
"I don't want to marry! I'm going to be clan leader after father!"
"Och mo ghraidh," her sister had sighed. "This is not something you can decide for yourself."
She had not understood at the time, and so had sulked while letting her sister brush her hair out and then braid it for the night.
As she grew taller, she still wore dresses less often than trousers, binding her hair back in a functional bundle at the nape of her neck and swaggering through the halls in a manner that seemed calculated to infuriate her parents and scandalise the servants. She would go hunting with the men and carried herself like the proud Celt she was. She often found her sister's retiring ways and soft words tiresome.
Until one terrible day, when 'daddy' became 'Leodegrance'.
Click-clack-click-clack.
"… Wh-what?"
Click-clack-click-clack.
"Your ears work perfectly, my dearest," her sister replied calmly, not looking up from her loom.
Click-clack-click-clack. Click-clack-click-clack.
"But…" she was at a loss for how to account for this betrayal.
"It is perfectly normal," her sister said, pausing in her work to untwist a threat that threatened to become knotted. As her long fingers deftly worked, she hummed softly under her breath.
"He's selling you! Like a cow!"
That made her sister pause. "No, he's not," she said softly, finally turning to look at her.
"But he is," she insisted. "You've only met this Caradoc twice before! And he's ten years older than you!"
"Seven. Your point?"
How could she be so calm?! "He lives so far away! I'll never see you again!"
Now her sister laughed. "Of course we shall see each other again. And at that time you can introduce me to your tall handsome husband." And those blue eyes gleamed teasingly.
"No! I shall never marry! Please—please stay here, stay with me!" Her panic was like a wave, building and building, the crest sharpening as it began to curve before the child-wrought sand walls of her control.
"I have accepted the proposal. I think Caradoc will be a fine husband—he is a good man, and we have spoken together privately about this matter. I do believe I shall be happy."
"But you don't love him!" she exploded, getting to the heart of the matter.
"Oh, but I think I shall. We are already tolerably fond of each other."
"I repeat: you've only met him twice before!"
"Yes, but I have a feeling."
"A feeling," she scoffed.
"Yes," her sister said. "You'll know what I mean, one day," she added and resumed her loom.
Click-clack-click-clack.
Click-clack-click-clack.
Click-clack-click-clack.
Her sister left for Caradoc's land with a full company of warriors and maidens in her entourage. Leodegrance also went with their mother.
The dowry was princely, as was fitting. Thirty cattle, including an astonishing bull the colour of sea foam with red speckled ears and pale horns like two crescent moons. And her sister's golden hair and pale face were hidden under a veil, she wore a beautiful green dress. They had hugged each other tightly for a very long time, but no tears were shed. They said nothing. She was too proud, and her sister felt no reason for sadness.
Then her sister had mounted a white palfrey and ridden away, while she watched from the gates of a suddenly hollow Cameliard. The wind picked up the prayers whispered under her breath and carried them with her sister to another land and another life that would forever sunder them.
She became more reckless after her sister left. She went south and joined Merlin's band of warriors. Her body became strong. She was fatal with a bow. She could move silently, like a wolf through the forests, she would run with the bands of warriors and hunt for Romans and game alike. A fire was lit in her heart, the sparks of passion kindled to a conflagration as she saw her true calling.
Her mother would weep with relief when she returned north from these journeys. Leodegrance was enraged and would lock her in her rooms.
"Like an animal!" her mother despaired. "Running around in the woods like a brazen she-wolf!"
"You are a princess! You are a daughter of chieftains!" Leodegrance thundered.
She stayed silent as she stripped off her muddied cloak, her chin raised in defiance. These people were weak and frightened, hiding in their keep by the sea and waiting for death, since they would never take their freedom.
These people were not of this land.
How could they be, if they did not fight for it?
First, she went cold, like ice over dangerous waters. The wintry sea in her blood would rage, but its stormy waves would break against her bones and her resolve.
She could wait. It wouldn't be long now.
Merlin and his growing forces had seen the waning power of Rome in their land.
The moon shifted. Seasons changed. Tides turned and turned again. Sand was pulled along the shore slowly, inexorably.
Yet still the half-Britain cavalry leader, son of the blazing Pendragon, led his ever shrinking band of barbarian knights out into battle. Outnumbered, surrounded, and yet like a whale bursting from the slate-grey waves, they would break free.
Some things were harder to move. Like driftwood clinging to the land, afraid of its sea journey. Leodegrance was such a piece of gnarled oak.
She would be a good daughter. She learned to weave on a loom of her own, she learned the songs of her ancestors and the steps of their dances. She learned to dress her hair and let her hands soften. Her mother was pleased.
She remembered her sister's gentle ways, like the sea in summer. Gentle and subtle. And yet the currents were just as strong, the power just as deep for all it was hidden by a calm surface.
"War, father?" she said at dinner one night.
"Merlin and the other chieftains are living in war bands along the length of the Roman Wall, constantly raiding."
"I see," she daintily put another morsel of food in her mouth and chewed slowly.
"You do not wish to join them?" Leodegrance pressed as her mother watched and listened in anxious silence.
She smiled winsomely, eyes downcast. "Once, yes, but no more. I am grown mature and see how bold and rash such action is."
"Yet you sympathise with them?" her mother ventured.
"Of course," she replied, lifting her intense gaze to her father's face. "But I see now that there are other ways to fight."
Leodegrance was silent for a long time, staring into her unfathomable dark eyes. Then he cleared his throat and looked away, speaking of other matters closer to home. Her mother sighed sharply and welcomed the new topic of conversation.
And her smile remained steady. She had felt the shift of power.
Tides turned and turned again.
She spoke softly of reconciliation and peace. She spoke of alliances and trade details.
Twisted and rough barked, freshly uprooted from the land. Leodegrance's driftwood heart was smoothed by the unstoppable summer waves of her beauty and talent. Her grace and gentleness, the gentle rhythm of her loom quieting his suspicions. She learned the subtle woman's way and waited.
Part 2 coming soon...