A/N: Hi there. So…long time, no see (or no write/read, as it were). In my (very feeble) defense, life was distracting and the holidays were distracting and then I started watching The Tudors, in which Henry Cavill proved to be very distracting. ;) Excuses, excuses, I know. At any rate, this chapter is longer than any of its predecessors, so perhaps I might be pardoned?
Many thanks, as per usual, to homeric for her beta awesomeness and to CeffylGwyn for her constant badgering (*cough*kind reminders*cough*) to work on this story. You are both fantastic.
And thanks also to all the lovely people who've read, reviewed, followed, & favorited. I hope you continue to enjoy the story & I love hearing from you.
PSA: There are non-movie knights in minor roles in this story, the first of them being introduced in this chapter. I am using traditional Arthurian names but they won't match the traditional Arthurian characters. Sorry if this disappoints.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize, either mythologically, cinematically, or otherwise. I am making no monetary profit from this venture.
Happy New Year & enjoy the chapter!
Chapter 4
The sun had not journeyed far in the sky following Galahad's pronouncement before the travelers left the woodland behind them to traverse the now-icy farmlands surrounding Camelot's outer wall. The horses picked their way along the road that passed through plots of varying sizes denoted by neat stone borders. A few wheat stalks that had been passed over by both the harvesters and the gleaners in autumn now stood as solemn upright icicles, glistening in the cold winter sun.
As they approached the city, a handful of scattered huts came into view. Most were empty, used as additional shelter in summer and autumn when work began before sunrise and ended after sunset, so farmers didn't always return home at night. Wisps of smoke rose above a few, however, and Bethan caught sight of some of the poorer inhabitants of Camelot, those who could not afford—or chose not to seek—shelter within the city walls.
When a group of rosy-cheeked and energetic children engaged in some sort of game saw the trio, they stopped their play and acknowledged the knights. Gawain and Galahad smiled and saluted in return. For an instant, the scene was suspended in the air along with their frost-laced breaths, but then one little boy pushed one of the others, and the whole troupe of children raced off again, their giggles and shrieks echoing across the frozen ground.
At a barred gate in the outer wall, the knights exchanged greetings with the guards and the heavy wooden doors swung open to allow them entrance. Once inside, any serenity Bethan had felt in the woods and farmlands dissipated quickly. Even in the dead of winter, Camelot bustled with activity. Children and dogs ran through the streets, dodging their elders and any horses as necessary. The road they traveled took them through the city marketplace where vendors hawked their wares to potential customers. Bethan noticed a tannery, a bakery, a clothier's store, a cobbler's shop, and a seamstress' shop before she stopped trying to account for every building or stall they passed. Camelot was the largest city she'd ever visited and it was as fascinating as it was overwhelming.
They passed by a second set of guards and through an inner gate that opened onto a courtyard. The large stone building adjacent, Bethan surmised, was the inner fortress where the King and his court lived. Gawain helped Bethan dismount and then motioned to a red-haired girl who appeared to be around Bethan's age. The girl hurried over and curtsied, then pulled her shawl more tightly around her shoulders and smiled at Bethan.
Gawain placed his hand lightly on Bethan's shoulder and nodded to the girl, saying by means of introduction, "Lady Bethan, this is Phoebe. She is to be your maidservant. Galahad and I are glad of your safe arrival in Camelot and now leave you in her capable hands. She will provide you with what further information you require. Farewell."
He bowed slightly before leading his mount away. Galahad followed suit silently, although he spared Bethan a parting smile as he led her horse as well as his own toward the stables. Bethan smiled and inclined her head in return, although she felt a shiver of trepidation as the only familiarity in her new home walked in the opposite direction across the cobblestones.
"You are Lady Bethan, I am told?" a cheerful voice beside her asked.
Bethan's attention shifted from the departing knights to Phoebe, who had addressed her. The girl's auburn hair was tied in a loose knot at the nape of her neck and her brown eyes sparkled against her lightly freckled skin. She smiled again and Bethan returned the gesture. "Yes, my name is Bethan," she said.
"I am pleased to meet you, milady. Ever since King Arthur told me I would be in your service, I wondered with what sort of woman Galahad and Gawain would return."
Bethan raised an eyebrow. "Am I what you expected?" she inquired.
"You are younger than I expected," Phoebe said with a smile, "which makes you closer to my age, I reckon." Then she added, "I am eighteen."
"And I am sixteen," Bethan said, shivering in a sudden gust of wind.
Phoebe laughed. "Just the age I was when I was wed," she said. "Come now, let's go inside. You must be freezing." She led Bethan through a maze of dark passageways and up several flights of stairs before she took out a key and unlocked a door that she then pushed open as she announced, "This is your room."
Bethan stepped inside and surveyed the room as Phoebe followed her through the door. The stonework, wooden furniture, and fireplace were all reminiscent of her room at home, although the room in Camelot was slightly larger than hers had been in Ailech. It had a window, too, that upon inspection revealed a view of the inner courtyard from which they had come. Glancing around the room again, Bethan reconsidered her initial evaluation of the room's size. Perhaps the light made it appear larger, for it had not taken her many paces to walk across it, or maybe it only seemed more spacious because, she realized on her second glance around the room, among its contents there was no bed.
"Well, what do you think?" Phoebe asked, looking at Bethan expectantly as the latter joined her near the fireplace.
"The room is lovely, Phoebe," Bethan said, rubbing her hands together and holding them out toward the fire. She loved the outdoors, but she had to admit that it felt glorious to be inside after so many days on the road. "But where am I to sleep? There is no bed."
"Oh, yes there is," Phoebe said, crossing the room and pushing open another door. She beckoned for Bethan to join her and said, "It's in here."
Bethan looked through the doorway and saw that there was, indeed, a bed as well as a small table in the next room. She turned to Phoebe, confused. "Begging your pardon, but I do not understand. Why isn't the bed in the room with the rest of the furniture? Is this a custom here in Camelot?"
"Well, no." Phoebe conceded after a brief hesitation. "Usually a bedroom is just one room, not two, and the bed is in with the rest of the furniture. King Arthur ordered to have you put here in this room because of your…particular circumstances."
"My particular circumstances?" Bethan echoed. Ever since the knights' arrival at her father's fortress, questions seemed to be much more easily forthcoming than answers.
Phoebe sighed and shook her head. "I am afraid I do not have the authority to reveal those details to you, Lady Bethan. I was chosen for this position because I've proven my ability to be discreet," she said, her voice and gestures conveying a mixture of regret on Bethan's part and pride on her own.
"Well, then," she said, changing the subject and abruptly shutting the door to the chamber with the bed. She turned to Bethan and said, "I am to take you to meet with the king once you are refreshed from your journey. He did not suppose you would want to meet him fresh from the road."
"That was most gracious of King Arthur," Bethan said. "But, please, Phoebe, why all this mystery? It seems that no one is able to reveal anything in this country—Sir Gawain and Sir Galahad could not tell my father who I am to marry and now you cannot tell me why my room is arranged strangely?"
"I'm afraid it must be that way for now, Lady Bethan," Phoebe said apologetically. "Your meeting with the king will clarify some things, though," she added, as if that were consolation enough.
Frowning, Bethan decided her only option was to wait for her audience with the king. Phoebe, for all of her cheerful disposition, did seem to possess a stubborn sense of discretion and loyalty to her employer. Good traits, Bethan mused, although they worked against her at the moment.
A knock at the door signaled the presence of two male servants with Bethan's bags in tow. As Phoebe retrieved the bags and began unpacking Bethan's clothes into the chest allotted for that purpose, Bethan wandered back to the window and looked outside at the few people passing through the courtyard. She'd heard much about King Arthur and his knights—tales of daring and bravery had passed down the banquet tables in Ailech from time to time—and she wondered if he was really as powerful and deserving of the apparent loyalty given to him as the stories implied.
"There, that's finished," Phoebe said, interrupting Bethan's reverie as she stood and brushed out her skirts. "Would you like to rest any longer, milady, or do you think you would like to change out of your traveling clothes and meet the king?"
"His majesty has been most patient already," Bethan replied. "Help me change, Phoebe. I wish to meet the king." She was unsure as to whether the prospect of meeting such a fabled king and possibly having some questions answered about her fate was calming or nerve-wracking, but common sense told her it was best not to delay the inevitable.
After Bethan had changed into the dress that she and Phoebe agreed was the least wrinkled from the journey, she followed her maidservant (who occasionally hummed soft snippets of songs as they walked) through another set of winding passageways until they reached a long hallway with small, high-set windows along one side.
"This passage goes along the whole outside wall of the fortress," Phoebe explained over her shoulder, nodding toward the outer wall with the windows. "The throne room where King Arthur receives visitors is off of here, near the main entrance."
Bethan wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, fisting the fabric slightly as she wondered how much longer she would have to wait before her audience with the king. She had met visiting nobles and sometimes royalty in her father's house, but it was an entirely different prospect now that she was the newcomer in unfamiliar surroundings with a king to impress.
After a few short minutes that seemed very long to Bethan, she and Phoebe reached an open space in the passageway. Bethan noticed a sturdy set of double wooden doors that she guessed led outside and, farther up along the hallway, a much more ornately carved set of doors guarded by a man she assumed must be a knight. She had barely made these observations before Phoebe stopped suddenly and Bethan almost collided with her.
"This is the main entrance," Phoebe explained, gesturing toward the doors Bethan had suspected of that purpose. "King Arthur meets with any subjects who wish to speak with him in the mornings when he is home in Camelot, and this is where the people wait. Over there," she said, pointing to a table set along a wall with a few chairs behind it, "is where the king's guard sits. Everyone who wishes to speak to the king must first speak to his guard to help ensure no one gets through who wishes to harm the king. A scribe records every visit." Phoebe rocked on her heels and then turned, answering the question Bethan was about to ask before she even opened her mouth. "The visits usually end around midday and as it is nearly dusk now, the hall is much quieter than its habitual morning commotion."
She began to walk again and Bethan followed her silently to the ornate double doors behind which the king waited. Phoebe spoke to the guard—"Cei," she had told Bethan as they approached, "one of the newer knights."—who nodded and opened one of the doors for them and beckoned them inside.
Bethan's pulse was scurrying as she followed Phoebe through the doors. The king's throne room was elegant, filled with colorful tapestries and sconces that made it seem bright even in the fading light of day. On thrones across the room sat a man and a woman she could only assume were King Arthur and Queen Guinevere. Confronted with their proud bearings and benevolent gazes that held such power and authority, Bethan suddenly felt very small and out of place. Here, indeed, were the people of whom legend spoke.
Phoebe led Bethan down the center of the room until she reached out and put her hand on Bethan's arm, signaling her to stop. She walked a few steps ahead of Bethan, curtsied deeply, and announced in a crisp, clear voice, "The Lady Bethan of Ailech, your highnesses." Then she was gone, gliding past Bethan and out the door, which Cei closed behind her.
Now alone with the royalty of whom she had heard so much, Bethan curtsied deeply before the king and queen, then waited for them to speak.
"Lady Bethan," Arthur began, and if she had not judged as much from his appearance, his voice held all of the reasons she needed to understand why he commanded such allegiance from his subjects. He was regal, poised, and powerful.
Bethan felt a sudden urge to flee that she suppressed by clenching her fists so tightly that her nails began to bite into the flesh of her palms. This king held her future in her hands, and she was terrified. But despite the respect he commanded and the intense scrutiny with which he currently regarded her, she sensed a kindness behind his green eyes. King Arthur would not willingly lead her or any of his subjects to ruin; of this she was unaccountably sure.
The king continued, "Welcome to Camelot. I trust you have been informed of the reason why you are here?"
Bethan answered, "I was told that I am here to marry the knight of your choosing to seal an alliance between yourself and my father."
"That is correct," Arthur nodded. Then she felt the scrutiny of his gaze sharpen as he asked, "Have you been informed of the particular details of this union?"
Bethan furrowed her brow slightly and shook her head. Therein lay the majority of her worries. Amazed at the evenness of her tone, she replied, "No, your highness. I know only what I stated previously."
"Then allow me to fill the gaps in your knowledge," Arthur said. "Lady Bethan, for reasons not directly related to you or to the alliance with your father, the marriage you are about to enter must be kept a secret. Only myself, the queen, and a few select others know of its existence. Because of this secrecy, even you cannot know who your husband is. You will marry him in secret and he will come to you in your chambers in secret. Your maidservant Phoebe knows the details and will act as a liaison between you and your husband. Ostensibly, you are here as a companion for the queen Guinevere and that is how you will fill your days." He nodded toward his wife even as he reached out to take her hand.
Guinevere, for her part, intertwined her slim fingers with her husband's strong ones, smiled a smile that Bethan didn't quite believe and said, "I look forward to getting to know you, Lady Bethan."
"And I you, your highness," Bethan forced herself to say through her racing thoughts.
Seeing the shocked look on Bethan's face that she hadn't quite been able to shake after his revelation of her future in Camelot, Arthur's hard expression softened slightly and he added, "I can assure you, Lady Bethan, that your husband is a knight of good standing in Camelot. I do not think he will do you harm or I would not have put you in this situation. I do not take my alliance with your father lightly."
"Of course not, your highness," Bethan said.
"As a sign of my dedication regarding the alliance with your father, we will not delay the proceedings. You will wed tomorrow, Lady Bethan, and in so doing you will at once seal our alliance and free your family from its curse. The following day, you begin your life as Guinevere's companion."
"As you wish, your highness," Bethan said softly.
After a few more seconds of observing her, Arthur nodded and said, "You are dismissed, Lady Bethan. Please know that I am very glad to have secured an alliance with your father. Knock when you reach the throne room door; Cei will open it for you."
"Thank you, your highnesses." Bethan curtsied to the royal couple and walked to the door, where she knocked with a shaky hand. Thankfully, Cei heard her knock and opened it immediately. She walked a few steps beyond the door, which Cei closed again, and was relieved to see Phoebe rushing toward her from where she had been waiting near one of the walls.
"Lady Bethan," Phoebe said, taking her arm and walking alongside her. "You look as though you've seen a ghost. Are you all right?"
Bethan drew a shaky breath, using the warmth of Phoebe's hand on her arm and the solidity of the stones beneath her feet to keep from becoming too lightheaded. She had been dreading marriage to a stranger her whole life, and now she had discovered that not only was she to wed a stranger, but that he was to remain always a stranger. The hopes she had harbored in her deepest heart, hopes of eventually finding love with the man she was forced to marry, had begun to slip away and she knew that eventually the tears would come. She only wished to avoid shedding them in public after her first meeting with the great King Arthur, who, despite the apparent cruelty of the situation in which he had placed her, lived up to the tales she had heard of him. He was a great man and, she thought, not in his heart a cruel one.
She smiled tightly and said, "Thank you for your concern, Phoebe. In our meeting, King Arthur informed me of some details of my impending marriage of which I was previously unaware. I am not unwell, merely shaken."
Phoebe nodded and regarded her mistress sadly. "Let me take you to your room, milady. We can speak further there."
No sooner had Bethan replied, "Of course," than a tall, armed man with long braided hair loped past the young women with a hurried gait. He left in his wake the chill of the outdoors and its wintry air.
"Who was that?" Bethan asked Phoebe, momentarily distracted from her melancholy.
"That, milady, was the knight Tristan. He is the king's premier scout and one of his most trusted knights." She glanced over her shoulder at the knight's retreating figure, then added, "And from the looks of it, he's not got good news for our king."
Tristan barely noticed the two girls he passed in the hallway on his way to find Arthur, but he saw enough to know that Phoebe was one of them and that her companion was a young woman he'd never seen before. She was slender, taller than Phoebe (but that didn't take much, he allowed), and had long, dark hair that contrasted sharply with her pale blue eyes. He had noticed that Gawain and Galahad's horses were back when he'd recently returned his own horse to the stable and he guessed that this new girl was Lancelot's intended, the princess from Ailech.
He registered this thought in a few seconds before he returned to the task at hand, which was finding Arthur and informing him of what he and Lancelot had discovered on the scouting mission they'd returned from only moments before. He'd left Lancelot to wait for Dagonet with Jols in the stables and his long strides took him quickly in search of the king.
He found Arthur just outside the throne room, speaking with Guinevere and Cei.
"Arthur," he said brusquely, aware that he was interrupting a conversation but not much caring. "We need to talk."
The bluntness of his scout was something to which Arthur had long become accustomed, so he merely nodded and said, "Come to my chambers and we can speak there." He bade Cei farewell and, along with Guinevere, he and Tristan headed toward the interior of the fortress.
Once they were inside the king's outer chamber, Arthur motioned for Tristan to sit down. He did, and accepted the wine Arthur then offered him.
"What news do you bear, Tristan?" Arthur asked, sitting down beside him with his own cup of wine.
"There is trouble to the north," Tristan said.
"What sort of trouble?" Arthur asked. "Saxons?" While the battle at Badon Hill had wiped out the majority of the Saxon army, rogue bands occasionally cropped up and attempted to continue what Cynric and Cerdic had failed to accomplish.
Tristan shook his head and his braids shuddered with the motion. "Not Saxons. At least, I don't think so. Doesn't seem like typical Saxon work."
"What did you find, then?" Arthur asked.
"Can't tell exactly," Tristan said. "And that's the problem. The tour passed with little to note until Lancelot and I reached the territory near where Marius' estate used to be. That's where the land was burnt."
Arthur paused with his wine cup partway to his mouth and raised an eyebrow. "Burnt? By what?"
Tristan shifted, his free hand making restless gestures in the air as he spoke. "What we saw was acres of burnt land covered with apparently randomly placed remains of carcasses—small beasts, mostly foxes, best we could tell. My guess is that they were tied in pairs, set afire, and set loose. Lancelot and I scoured most of the area and the only evidence of human tracks we found didn't lead anywhere," Tristan said.
"But someone had to set the animals alight," Guinevere spoke up from the corner where she had been standing, observing the men in silence.
"Someone did," Tristan conceded, nodding toward the queen. "But they covered their tracks well."
"Why would someone do such a thing?" Guinevere asked. "It seems like such a pointless act."
Tristan took another sip of his wine and shrugged. "Cruelty. Boredom. Who knows? Nothing about the site seemed overtly suspicious, just odd."
Arthur was silent for a moment, mulling over the information Tristan had given him as he slowly swirled the liquid in his glass. Looking up from his wine, he asked, "What do you suggest we do, Tristan?"
The scout drained the last of his wine and spun the cup slowly in his lithe fingers as he thought. Finally he looked up at Arthur and shrugged. "I would say to do nothing now, but keep an eye out on future scouting trips. See if oddities continue."
Arthur nodded. "Very well, then. I accept your counsel. There is a meeting with all the knights tomorrow afternoon and we can inform them of this development then."
Tristan nodded his agreement, rose to leave with a brief bow, and was almost out the door when Arthur added, "Oh, and Tristan?"
Tristan paused and Arthur said, "Please find Lancelot and tell him to come speak to me here immediately."
Upstairs, Bethan sat on the chair in the outer chamber of her rooms, staring intently at her clasped hands. Phoebe waited nearby for a few moments, occasionally tapping her foot or fidgeting with her sleeves, until she finally sighed impatiently, knelt down beside her charge, and, waving a hand in front of Bethan's face to get her attention, said, "Milady, if I may be so bold, I implore you to speak."
"Excuse me?" Bethan asked as she looked up from her hands, slightly taken aback.
"I said, 'Please speak.' I can see that your thoughts are running wild behind that pretty face of yours, and it will help you sort your thoughts if you talk about them," Phoebe prompted. "I have four sisters and when something worried me, I always felt better if I talked it over with them."
Bethan raised an eyebrow. "And if I don't wish to talk to you?"
Phoebe shrugged. "Then it is your choice to keep your silence. But I still say it would calm your spirit if you talk."
After a further moment of skeptical silence on Bethan's part, Phoebe sighed again and said more tenderly, "I know this is all very abrupt, milady, and that you've been taken from your home and everything you've ever known. But Arthur is a good king and Camelot is a good place to live. You can learn to like it here, I know you can. And there's a tournament in two days' time—you'll get to see all the knights acting like obstinate children, trying to best one another's military skills in the freezing cold." She grinned. "Camelot at its best, I assure you."
Bethan smiled briefly in return and asked, "Did Arthur choose you to be my maid because he knew you would talk so much that I would have no time to brood on the questions that plague this journey?"
Phoebe laughed and grinned conspiratorially at her new mistress. "Only in part. But you'll find that so much time with sisters also made me an excellent listener. So if you wanted to take me up on that suggestion of talking I made earlier…" She waved one of her hands vaguely in the air, leaving an opening for Bethan to speak.
Bethan sighed. She wanted to talk to somebody, and it appeared that Phoebe was her only option at the moment. Besides, the girl seemed nice enough. And was apparently trusted enough by the king to be put in a position requiring utmost discretion. She drew in another deep breath and began talking.
Tristan found Lancelot in the mostly empty tavern with Dagonet, midway through the process of rapidly downing a mug of ale.
"Wouldn't drink that so quickly if I were you," Tristan observed as he slid onto the bench next to Lancelot.
Lancelot shot him a disparaging look and replied, "And why would I deny myself the pleasure of libation after a scouting mission? You should be joining me, not discouraging me, man—you took the same trip yourself."
Tristan only shrugged, although he did motion for one of the barmaids to bring him a mug of ale. After a few moments, he said, "Yes, but I don't have a wife who might not appreciate her husband's public drunkenness."
Lancelot leveled Tristan with a suspicious stare as his grip on his ale tightened. "Last time I checked, I didn't have a wife, either."
"Not yet," Tristan said, taking a sip of his own drink. "But she's here in Camelot."
Lancelot paled. "When did she get here? Have you seen her?"
Tristan ignored Lancelot's questions and merely said, "Arthur sent me to find you. He wants to talk to you in his outer chambers. Now."
Lancelot pushed back abruptly from the table, tossing a few coins on it to pay for his drink as he left the tavern with Dagonet close behind.
Arthur had sent Guinevere to their inner chambers and was sitting at his table alone, looking at a map of the area where Tristan had reported trouble, when he heard the hurried footsteps shortly before Lancelot burst into his room, followed by a much calmer Dagonet.
Arthur spoke before Lancelot had a chance. "I see Tristan found you."
Lancelot nodded impatiently, walking hastily to stand in front of Arthur's table. "Where is she, Arthur? When am I to meet her?"
Arthur raised an eyebrow and pushed the map slightly to the side before replying, "You're not."
"I'm…what?"
"You heard me, Lancelot," Arthur said. "You won't be meeting her, at least not formally."
"How am I to marry her if I never meet her?" Lancelot asked suspiciously. He knew he had very little room to challenge his king given the new dimensions of their relationship, but he had a distinct feeling he would not like where this conversation was headed.
Arthur sighed and stood, meeting Lancelot's gaze evenly. "I told you already that your marriage is to be a secret. However, I left out one detail when I presented that arrangement to you. You will know who your wife is, but she will not know who you are. You will marry her in secret and you will go to her in secret."
Lancelot looked startled and he eyed Arthur with the increasing fury of prey that has realized its fate. "Not only will you deny me a public marriage, but you will also deny me an informed wife? Arthur, I realize that I have wronged you. You have made that eminently clear. But in this you go too far."
Arthur's fist slammed down on his table, further disturbing the papers strewn there. "I do not go too far, Lancelot," he roared, stepping out from behind the table and pacing restlessly, his words coming in heated accusation. "You slept with my wife. You took her love from me. It is only just that I prevent your wife from knowing and loving you."
Lancelot took a few steps backward, instinctively distancing himself from the king's anger even as his own grew. "So you will allow me to marry her for political gain and go to her bed as often as I please, yet you intend to keep her forever ignorant of her husband's identity? You know that I am no romantic, Arthur, but that seems unfair to the poor girl."
"Better to be ignorant, perhaps, than to know that her husband is a faithless womanizer," Arthur rejoined.
By this time, both men were breathing hard in their rage as they stood some distance from each other. The tension in the air spoke to the fact that the slightest provocation could induce a brawl. Dagonet watched quietly from the corner, loath to interfere but ready to act should his friends come to fisticuffs.
Arthur regained his composure first, speaking sternly into the angry silence. "I am your king, Lancelot. You are my second-in-command, not my equal. I will not tolerate further questions on this subject. You will marry the Lady Bethan on the morrow and I expect evidence of the union's consummation the following morn. What you do with her beyond that is up to you."
Lancelot curled his fingers into his palms, feeling at the moment that he would like nothing better than to provoke a fistfight with Arthur. Instead, after several deep breaths during which Arthur stared at him challengingly, he bowed and rasped, "As you wish, my king."
He stalked out of Arthur's chambers, followed closely by Dagonet, who was relieved he had not had to intervene.
On the other side of the room, just inside the private quarters Arthur and his wife shared, Guinevere stepped back from the door where she had listened to the proceedings. She heard her husband's footsteps coming toward the door and so she bit back the tears that were threatening to overflow. Her lover was banished from her presence, her husband despised her, and she had no one to blame but herself. And so when her husband entered their private quarters still wearing the last seething remnants of his rage, she smiled at him, spoke to him gently, and comforted him in the way in which a wife comforts a husband. She would reflect on her own troubles in some quiet moment another day.