25. Fortuna's Blindness

"What does that mean?" Gwendolyn's sharp voice startled the girl in front of the mirror, and she let go of the chain in her hand. With a loud clatter the heavy, precious necklace fell on the dressing table and shattered one of the High Queen's most valuable glass phials. "Your Majesty, I…. I…."

"You what? Whose is this jewellery? How did you come by it? Answer me, wretched creature!"

The girl broke into tears. She stammered senseless words, getting herself even deeper into the jam with every shaking syllable. Finally she couldn't help herself no more and blurted out with the truth.

Gwendolyn did not trust her ears. "The Bishop gave you this? It is worth a fortune, whatever made him give it to you?"

"I …. I…." and only now the girl's common sense snapped back into place. Anything was better than Gwendolyn finding out about her spying. "He likes me. Severinus is fond of me. Very fond."

"I don't believe you. How dare you? Give the necklace to me, at once!"

"It is mine!"

"Give it to me. Now!"

The Queen pocketed the jewellery, and boxed the maid's ears with some force. "Pack your things, you're going home tomorrow. Get out of my sight!"

The girl rushed out, crying loudly, and Gwendolyn banged the door shut behind her that the echo resounded from the castle walls.

This did it.

Not enough that she had to crawl around the premises like a fat cow hardly able to move, not enough that Arthur and Malcolm had been absent from his palace for more than six weeks now and 'their' dutiful wife had begun talking to herself for lack of decent company, no, now even the wretched serving girls took liberties with Her Majesty the Queen!

As for Severinus, the old sanctimonious hypocrite, preaching water to others, he himself quite obviously preferred the best of wines. And with one of her maidens, no less.

Blast Arthur's notions of royal behaviour, blast Malcolm's political schemes and plots, she was fed up with it all, up to her back teeth. Enough was enough.

Gwendolyn rushed out of her chambers like a thunderstorm in full swing. "My carriage" she snapped at the guard in front of her door. "This instant!"

"Your Majesty?" said the baffled guard.

"Are you daft? I'll visit my children at Branguard castle. Today!"

"But the King said…"

"Arthur isn't here, or do you see him anywhere around? My carriage! This is an order!"

The guard found that he had run out of arguments. If his wife saw no reason to heed the King's orders in his absence, why and how should a humble guard soldier heed these orders?

Gwendolyn gave her harassed servants a very hard time before everything was packed and ready, but when the sun was setting, the small entourage of two carriages accompanied by Sir Leon, Percival and half a dozen soldiers took off.

Up to the last minute Leon had done his best to dissuade his obstinate Queen from the impromptu trip to a castle that presently harboured not only her three sons but also their uncle, who so far had shown no signs of forgiveness, neither for his King nor for his former sister-in-law.

It had done him no good.

Just the opposite.

Only when they set off he recognized his own wife in one of the Queen's Ladies-in-Waiting. Full of foreboding, he looked around, and there he was, 12 years old Gareth, his first born.

"What the hell are you and Gareth doing here?" Leon asked his wife at the first possible opportunity.

"Our son is of today a member of the Queen's guard" she snapped. "It's a perfect start for a young squire, as well you know. And I'm going to visit my parents at Branguard castle, I've been asking and asking you to take me for more than four months now, all you ever said was that you couldn't make the time!"

"The same applies to you, woman!" Leon said accusingly. "Visiting your parents, my foot. Half the court is assembled at Branguard castle this time of year, and you want to be seen gallivanting about the scene, in your new dresses, that's all. And our little daughter only three years old tomorrow!"

His Lady answered that with a radiant smile and a pulling back of a fur blanket by her side. Underneath it appeared the sleeping form of Leon's second child, her little cheeks rosy, and smiling in her sleep.

Leon felt his own cheeks grow hot with anger. She knew what he thought of his little ones being dragged around the country, outside the safety of Camelot Castle, she knew he didn't like it. Damn it, not once, not even once the darn woman could do as she was told!

"Is anything wrong, Sir Leon?" the Queen now asked. "If it pleases you, would you allow your wife to close the carriage window? It's getting awfully dusty in here."

His jaws clenched, his shoulders stiffly set, Leon spurred his horse and trotted off to take the lead. Behind his back, he heard the women giggle.

Sometimes he ached with longing for the old times, with a handmaiden named Guinivere riding her own mare astride, with her own blade to take care of herself. The times in which having children had been a concern of old men or commoners, but not of a Knight of Camelot.

But today? Blast all females of this world, royal or otherwise!

As it happened, Sir Leon and His Eminence the Bishop of Camelot wished all women to hell in exactly the same moment, for exactly the same reason.

"You told the Queen what?" Severinus raged when the apprehensive maid had finished her story. "That you got the necklace from me?"

"Ye..e..es" the girl muttered, suddenly quite uncomfortable inside her own skin. "But she thinks … it's for services rendered, Your Eminence. If you follow my drift. You aren't that old, after all."

Severinus wasn't listening. His thoughts went head over heels. The Queen's sudden departure could be no coincidence; her intention to visit her sons was only a ruse. Gwendolyn disliked him thoroughly; she hadn't made that her best kept secret.

No, the Queen was on her way to inform the King about Severinus' plot, and that would be the end of everything the Bishop had worked for in Camelot.

Severinus therefore could no longer heed Baron Lancelot's urgent request to postpone any action, to turn a blind eye to Arthur's frequent visits at Guinivere's convent, while Malcolm Branguard freely roamed the chambers of his divorced wife whenever he felt like it. What for the Baron needed the extra time before he took action to bring Guinivere and Galahad to safety was a mystery to Severinus anyway.

But one thing was certain - if Gwendolyn made it to her royal husband, the days of Church's power in Camelot were numbered, and Severinus could not let that happen. Who knew, Gwendolyn might have sent a messenger pigeon ahead!

Hastily the Bishop scribbled a note, whilst sweat dripped from his brow and ran down his back. He sealed the note with an unmarked ring, and handed it to the girl, together with his verbal instructions for its delivery.

She ran out, and he buried his face in his hands, shivering with dread. Forgive me, sweet Jesus, for what I am forced to do in your name, forgive me.

Only an hour later, the girl had reached the note's addressee in the woods near Camelot. The seasoned soldier, one of Lancelot's most trusted men, read the note twice, very carefully. Then he looked at the girl. "You read this?"

"No" she replied with a quick smile. "I can't read."

"Good" he nodded. Then he took out his knife and cut her throat. She died with widened, unbelieving eyes, but without a scream. He didn't care, they were safely out of earshot anyhow. He dragged her body into the small shelter he'd built for himself, took his few belongings and left the place without looking back.

He found his men where he had left them, at a long since abandoned camp of bandits, in a derelict castle outside of Camelot's main roads. "I've got the signal" he said, grumbling with discontent. "I know it's not what our master wanted, but as the tottering eunuch says all's lost, we must act now or never."

In spite of these motivating and encouraging words, the men didn't exactly make all possible haste and so they did not catch up with Gwendolyn and her entourage before the next morning.

"Bad work" his second in command said when they spotted the Queen's train from their hiding place above the road. "All the womenfolk, some boys and a handful of men. Dirty work."

"That's what we are paid for" his superior shot back. "D'you think His Lordship will dirty his hands with such doings? Get ready."

Meanwhile, from his place in the lead of the small escort, Sir Leon searched the hill's edge for any signs of life. The road passed through a ravine here, after which the terrain sloped down abruptly on one side, while the other side was blocked by high hills of solid rock.

If any place of the way was ideal for an ambush, it was this one.

Not that he suspected any real danger for the Queen's troops, Camelot was a peaceful place, had been so for years, but one never knew….

"Leon" he heard his wife's voice from behind. She had taken refuge in the first coach when her child had begun complaining, while Gwendolyn and two of her other Ladies had stayed in the second carriage.

"What?" Leon asked angrily.

"Minka is sick again."

"I've told you, you shouldn't have brought your daughter!"

"Some of the others have brought their kids. She's your daughter, too. Take her on your saddle for a while, she needs fresh air!"

Leon rolled his eyes at Percival, who smiled sympathetically. "Take the little mite, will you Percy?" Leon asked. "Gareth is too gallant a warrior to play with his little sister in public, and my wife will give me no peace."

Percival had just opened his mouth to reply when the first arrows hit the second coach's escort and turned their world upside down.

"Dismount" Leon yelled when he saw the first attackers coming from the hillside, swords drawn while their associates still showered the Camelot men with arrows. Percival cursed blasphemously. Five of the twelve soldiers had been killed or seriously wounded in the first onslaught.

Of the remaining seven, three came down in the next five minutes. They had no room for manoeuvring, the horses were stuck in the narrow passage, they dragged the coaches with the women and children trapped inside to and fro, so that on top of arrows raining from both sides and enemy soldiers wielding their blades the warriors were constantly in danger of being rolled over or trampled down.

The mercenaries' plan worked a treat, it paid off wonderfully that he had sent down only an absolute minimum of men, whilst the others stayed uphill, covering the terrain with their bows, harassing the Camelot men, and most of all the frantic animals, even further. The road was bone dry, when the hooves and feet stirred the ground the dust came up in clouds, blurring the sight of the defenders more than that of the attackers from uphill, who fired into the dense crowd regardless of their own men.

Leon and Percival stood back to back, fighting for dear life. Every thought of a defence line or of moving nearer to the coaches was out of the question, as five enemy soldiers at once focussed all their strength on the only knights in the Camelot escort, cutting them off from the few Camelot guards still on their feet.

With one hard, quick grip Gwendolyn ripped the seam of her skirts apart, so that she could move more freely. She and another woman managed to jump out of the coach a split second before the horses bolted.

Breathless, powerless, with a haze before her eyes, Gwendolyn nevertheless watched her own coach, with two young girls still inside, collide with the first carriage. Both drivers were thrown off their seat. Two of the second carriage's wheels broke at the same time, effectively nailing the cart to the spot where it keeled over.

The first coach came free of the wreckage and for the horses, there was no holding back. Gwendolyn screamed when she saw the wagon jump forward, out of the ravine, the mounts blinded by dust and panic. "Gareth, your mother!"

The squire, who had just now reached the Queen, turned, spurred his horse and raced after the vanishing coach at top speed. Together the boy and the wagon disappeared behind the ravine.

In vain Percival and Leon tried to fight their way to the others, their attackers kept them where they had them trapped, their backs to the wall. Percival pressed one of his attackers back with his sword, kicked the other in the groins until the man doubled over, screaming with pain. "Leon, run! Get the others."

"Percy, I…."

Leon choked on his words when blood streamed out of his friend's mouth. Like a huge, ugly insect a cross bow's bolt stuck out of Percival's neck. He fell down to his knees, gurgling.

With a loud scream of rage and despair, Leon stabbed his sword at the attacker's belly, cutting it open, partly emboweling his enemy. Percy's counterpart was stuck for a moment, when the dying Camelot knight fell on the other's legs. Leon raised his blade and cut the man's head off.

For a precious moment, he was free. Frantically he jumped to Percy's side, felt for a pulse that was no longer there. Percival was dead, his eyes stared unseeing at the sky above.

Somewhere in the distance, a horn was blown. A rustling, a stirring in the dust that covered the whole scene, then all was quiet but for the moaning of the wounded or dying men and horses of the escort. Some female voices were sobbing somewhere.

With a start, Leon jumped to his feet. "Gareth! Minka. Sweetheart, where are you? For the love of God, answer me."

He flinched violently when a hand tugged at his sleeve, and he shouted his wife's name.

"No, Sir Leon, it's me, Wintha. The Queen, you must come at once …."

On the edge of the hill, the mercenary assembled his men, and counted heads. Satisfied with what he found, he nodded. He had given the signal for retreat in the perfect moment. All were accounted for; he had lost even less men than he had feared and the survivors had dragged their dead or wounded comrades with them. He was confident that no sign would lead to his employer. The attack had been a complete success.

He walked over to the other side of the edge and stared down.

A complete success, indeed. The Queen's coach had not made it very far before it had come off the road and fallen many metres deep unto the rocks of the abyss. Nothing stirred down there.

Mission accomplished, then. Time to march off. And that he did.

He didn't care about other survivors. After all, someone had to tell the High King what had happened to his Queen.

The news found Arthur unprepared, unsuspecting of any harm.

He and Elyan were with Guinivere, in the convent's orchard, admiring her hapless fumbling with a bow lute Arthur had brought her for a present. They both frowned angrily when Malcolm of Branguard staggered towards them, like a drunkard filled up to the rim.

"What the hell…." Arthur said, but he broke off when Malcolm raised his head. His face was smeared with tears and dirt. "They're dead, Arthur" he whispered. "They're all dead."

Guinivere yelped and jumped up, while Elyan grabbed the other man by the shoulder. "What are you talking about? Who's dead?"

"There's been an attack. An ambush. Percival, almost a dozen men, the girls, and Leon's family, his wife and kids – all dead."

For a second, Arthur was too shocked to say anything, but he recovered quickly. "Gwendolyn?" he asked urgently. "The child…."

Malcolm inhaled sharply and rubbed his eyes with his fist in one, rapid, hard movement. When he spoke again, his voice was much colder than before. "They're both dead" he replied, staring into Arthur's face.

"Oh my God" breathed Guinivere.

Malcolm ignored her. Out of the blue, his face was almost split in two by a radiant, unnatural smile. "Would you believe it?" he asked the two men, as if it all were a perfect joke. "All we've gone through." He laughed out. "Gwendolyn is dead, and we're left with nothing. Nothing!" While sudden tears streamed down his reddened features, an appaling sight against the foolish smile that still split his face, he repeated it, again and again, until his voice broke. "She's dead and there's nothing to show for it."