Summary

As Badawi Zahir watches Queen Guinevere's coronation with disdain, his children admire the new queen's grace and champion her compassion as a portent of progress.

Chapter 17 To Build on Shifting Sands

Al-Sayyid Badawi's scorn for the peasant queen was thinly veiled at times – though his highborn breeding would never allow him to voice objections publicly. The thought of royal blood mingling with common stock deeply appalled him, though having lived most of his life in Camelot after his family's expulsion from Egypt, to not attend the coronation to the kingdom they now pledged loyalty would bring dishonor upon his house.

Standing beside his children, his gaze wandered the Great Hall. Sunlight streamed through high arched windows, the cavernous hall converted to a bower of Camelot banners and flowers – orderly rows lining walls and rafters in what he grudgingly conceded matched Alexandrian pageantry of his youth. Rustling gowns and voices whispered as anticipation swelled, hundreds gathered to honor the unlikely new queen.

Badawi glanced at King Arthur standing ready on the dais, his trusted sword glinting golden on his hip. However common his bride, none could deny the steel in Arthur's spine or valor in his heart – near legendary for one so young. As a boy the king had been brash, even cruel on occasion. But maturity and loss had forged a tempered leader, one even Badawi conceded upheld justice for high and lowborn alike. Such even compassion could prove folly now, especially with his new magic reforms dividing the realm. Yet today, Bishop Joseph's presence signified Arthur valued faith alongside force when wielding power by royal right. A more complex and formidable monarch than enemies might assume.

"King Arthur cuts quite the royal figure, yes?" Yaminah asked, capturing his attention with her bright smile. Her striking hazel eyes, gold kohl lining accentuated their brilliance, shone above sculpted cheekbones flushed with excitement. His daughter fingered the gold and diamond pendant at her neck, ever fixated on appearances as she eyed the well-featured king – his long high-collared tunic, black boots and red cloak also lending a commanding presence that drew her in.

"Indeed, quite dashing," Youssef replied dryly, scratching his head of tight curls. Despite the sarcastic tone, Badawi suppressed a smile. His tall-statured heir was nearly as vain as his twin sister, he too constantly toying with the gold and diamond signet ring ever present on his slender finger, the jewels glinting as he adjusted the embroidered silk of his sleeves.

Badawi cast an endearing gaze upon his children. As always, they wore traditional Alexandrian dress – Yaminah arrayed in fine, gossamer silk contrasting Youssef's smartly tailored kaftan and embroidered robes – complementing their graceful forms. It warmed him to see some culture clung to, though the twins were often eager for Briton newness which would vex any Coptic father. And though still unmarried to his dismay, they were exact likenesses of their mother. Every now and again, he would glimpse his long dead wife in them, his heart still adrift from the loss of his beloved treasure.

Youssef flashed a wry grin, a spark in his eyes. "The queen may be born of common stock, her beauty and spirit outshine even the loftiest ladies present," he declared. "No doubt she shall champion the people with compassion. A ruler's heart need be more than royal blood, does it not, baba?"

His subtly challenging tone was not lost on Badawi. Such naive idealism would crumble in the harsh light of reality. What did the peasant queen know about ruling a realm, especially now with sorcerers in council and magic running rampant, unchecked by fear? She proved as naïve as Arthur and would surely reap bitterly what they sowed today.

"Perhaps, but ruling also requires wisdom."

Already Badawi witnessed sorcerers puffed up by these so-called freedoms, spouting rights and privileges. No longer under the watchful eyes of knights and soldiers, they grew bolder displaying their vulgar crafts no matter how benign. Such slippage of sovereign control would only accelerate with an inexperienced queen sympathetic to their kind and a king soothed by misplaced trust – long would Camelot rue this coronation day. For now, the twins' innocence blinded them to hard truths about the destinies of kings and peasants.

"The kingdoms rejoice for her ascension," Youssef said, slightly defiant.

Badawi motioned toward Princess Mithian. "I doubt she agrees."

Princess Mithian and King Rodor of Nemeth wasn't smiling like most everyone else in the hall. A broken engagement with King Arthur – his love for a blacksmith's daughter surpassing a daughter of kings – still fresh in many minds. Yet Mithian showed courage attending her rival's marriage to the man she had been promised, and he admired her for that.

"I dare to say she would have made an excellent queen," he whispered wistfully.

"Don't be cruel, baba," admonished Yaminah. Though her defense was for Queen Guinevere, looking upon Mithian, sympathy softened her features.

"True love transcends duty sometimes – something that many of us yearn though few ever acquire," she said, a longing caressing her tone. Her glance shifted to King Arthur. "To risk regal riches for humble happiness...such fortune is rare."

He gazed at Yaminah, the melancholy in her tone stirring his heart. He had found such abiding joy with his dear departed Amina once. Though too fleeting – her loss had cleaved his soul.

In Yaminah's sighs, he glimpsed lingering loneliness she oft kept veiled. Had the demands of station alone denied her the profound heartbond they now celebrated in Camelot's king and queen? Or had his fierce protection of their Alexandrian heritage deepened her seclusion? She dwelt in the Northern Plains – still so far from the melodious Nile, removed even from familiar Arab customs that might offer camaraderie. She remained ever the outsider here, severed from possibilities – yet also detached from the simpler girlhood left behind in Egypt's shimmering dunes.

Badawi softly squeezed his daughter's hand, wishing not for the first time to remedy the absence that shadowed her eyes on occasion. But duty and grief yet kept his own heart locked away.

Yaminah offered a final wan smile before Youssef's heedless remarks summoned Badawi's attention and sparked his irritation anew.

"She's a fine warrior, too," his son affirmed. "I hear she battled for Camelot's liberation alongside Arthur and that she alone captured the Lady Morgana."

"You are young and naive," Badawi replied with a scoff. "Do not believe every rumor fluttering on the wind." His eyes rolled with agitation as he surveyed the other monarchs and high lords in attendance – Bayard of Mercia, Godwin of Gawant, Annis of Gwynedd, Gregory of Clarwick, Donnchadhs of Cornwall.

Badawi grunted as he gazed upon the aged and regal Lady Judith Donnchadhs, matriarch of one of the most powerful houses in their kingdom. With Cornwall's allegiance still treading tenuous ground, King Odin's presence was not expected. Yet sharp eyes knew the formidable Donnchadh matron need bow before no kings this day. Even without the fiery Odin gracing the hall, Lady Judith held sway to stand in his stead, confidence rooted in bartered steel and bannermen ready to march at her word.

"Things are changing," replied Yaminah, catching his eye. "We may be young and our ideals novel, but we hold to the future – so does the king and queen. Why must you remain in the past, baba?"

Badawi thinned his lips, lifted his eyes with impatience. Just like her mother.

Only twenty-four summers old, Yaminah did not know Queen Ygraine's gracious rule beside King Uther – the prosperity and summery warmth her gentility cultivated for all in those fleeting golden years before tragedy stripped such radiance away. What bliss a rightful queen brought through compassion alone, uplifting peasant and noble alike…What could a servant girl ever offer to eclipse the memory of beloved Ygraine's bounties?

"We can debate their virtues later, Yaminah."

"Quite right, baba," Youssef agreed as he scrubbed his clean-shaven chin. "I must soon depart Camelot and I do not wish to leave with us at odds."

Badawi thinned his lips studying his son with a questioning stare. Youssef's secrecy increasingly unsettled him, his Christian sensibilities whispering of trouble. His son's vague adventures spanned months, the occasional word coming from distant towns – even foreign realms, concerning him given their influences. Though Badawi grasped the value of worldly experience, neither child now sought nor heeded his counsel as in their youth. Both guarded their intentions, drifting beyond his reach.

Yaminah too raked anxiously, releasing her pendant and glaring at her brother. "Your adventures have stretched long these past months. Where do you wander now?"

Brow raised, Youssef idly stroked his chin, contemplative eyes flicking between them. "My travels must remain my own for now, dear sister," he replied after a moment. He winked at her and then smiled mischievously. "But have no fear – I shall certainly dance with you tonight before my departure tomorrow."

Before she could reply, ceremonial music announced the arrival of the queen and a hush fell over the great hall. All heads turned toward the double doors as pages spread them apart.

In flowing lavender silk, Queen Guinevere entered with measured grace, an enigmatic smile playing on glossed lips. Sunlight streaming through lofty arched windows wreathed her in ethereal splendor, brown locks artfully crowned her head while the rest cascaded down a straight back. Hazel eyes shone clear and unwavering as she glided through stands of enraptured onlookers, the graceful vision kindling hope in some hearts. Each step unwavering in the face of hundreds watching drew her inexorably into radiance – toward her passage into destiny.

"Breathtaking," Yaminah uttered.

"No glittering gem could enhance her innate splendor," whispered Youssef, awed.

Badawi grunted begrudging assent – beauty alone did not equip one for the throne, yet she donned confidence as naturally as the crown soon to rest on her brow.

Passing their ranks, the queen approached her king at last, his grin small yet swelling chest betraying arrogant pride in elevating her to lofty heights deserving of nobility. Badawi suppressed a scoff watching Arthur bask toward his foolish destiny, extending a hand to Guinevere as she ascended the steps.

Bishop Joseph stood before them, recited scripture, a blessing, and then the oaths, validating and sanctifying her ascension on behalf of faith and God.

As Arthur assisted Guinevere to kneel, the royal page stepped forth reverently holding the dazzling crown, each embedded jewel winking in the light. The king's hands closed firmly around the emblematic headpiece, rays setting it aglow.

Time itself slowed as he lowered the symbol of authority and power.

"I crown you, Guinevere, Queen of Camelot." Badawi hitched a breath as the bejeweled crown rested on the softened curls of a peasant – no longer a consort, now a monarch to decree their fates.

Grasping her hand and raising it above their heads, Arthur proclaimed boldly, "Long live the queen!"

The hall resounded with thunderous applause and triumphant chorus of "Long live the Queen!" as Guinevere rose as their solemn majesty and liege. Badawi released a shuddering breath, his jaw tightening against the swell of sorrow.

Kings and peasants. The death of us all. Camelot's future and fate now rested on shifting foundations, the once firm ground corroding by the doomed idealism of two misguided souls.