Chapter 3 — Bereft

Guinevere was dragged into the throne room and thrown to the floor in front of the dais. She fell on her knees and through crusted eyes, stared at the same marble decoration that she had seen the day she received her assignment. It was the same; beautiful and elegant. The throne room around her had also not changed. Its columns were high and white, the windows large and adorned with different etchings.

No, nothing in the room had changed. Barely anything in the world around her had changed. It was just a week, after all. Seven days since she had bowed below this very dais, promised glory if victorious.

Just seven days. Now, Guinevere returned defeated and bereft. She had lost Lancelot and every other soldier that had followed her unwaveringly into battle.

A click sounded as a door opened and King Uther Pendragon and his chancellor entered the room from a door behind the throne. Guinevere looked up and watched as the king settled himself on the large throne.

For some reason, he seemed amused. Like a father watching his child do exactly what he had warned against.

“Lady Guinevere,” Uther began. “Well, I do not know if I should be calling you lady anymore.” He chuckled briefly, the chancellor who had read the imperial order smiling slightly. “I heard the tales of your great ability in tactics and strategy so I thought you a wise woman. But it seems like you are quite stupid. Tell me, who did you expect the mine to belong to? Spineless Lucius?”

He chuckled again and Guinevere gazed at the king through a red haze that had suddenly descended around her surroundings. Still, her voice was stable when she said, “Then, Your Majesty, what did you expect me to do?”

Uther shook his head. “You truly are unwise. Why, of course, kill the men who set eyes on the mine and report directly to me. That would have proven to me that you can keep a secret and I would have granted you a place as one of the elite knights of the Central Army.”

Kill her men? This monster expected her to kill her men. The men that had stuck faithfully to her. Lancelot.

The anger boiled in Guinevere, setting her mind and soul ablaze. Before she could understand her actions, she shot up from the floor and ran towards the king, a battle cry escaping her lips. Despite her fearsome ire, she barely managed to take more than a few steps before the guards around her pinned her to the hard, cold floor, immobilizing her.

She struggled but her efforts were fruitless.

Uther’s laughter rang out, echoing in the empty hall. “My, my. That is quite the treasonous look. Not to worry, you will be joining your friends soon but we will be making an example of you. The populace needs something to amuse them.”

Gesturing to the guards, Uther said, “Take her away.”

The men wrenched her up and pulled her towards the door. Guinevere screamed and struggled. "I'll get you, ignoble man! In this life or the next, I will haunt you forever!" She craned her neck, trying to see Uther and curse him.

But the men did not allow her, dragging her pitilessly. And as the door closed behind her, the only Guinevere could hear was the laughter of an unrepentant man.

***

Guinevere hit the wall with a dull smack and slid to the ground of the cell. The metal door was shut and locked.

“Stupid woman. You should just have stayed at home, tending to flowers and sewing. Now, see what has become of you. You will be paraded tomorrow as a traitor to the kingdom and then executed.” Hacking, the guard spat at her through the bars and sauntered away, laughing.

The guard’s laughter echoed in the walls of the dungeon as he walked out another door. She was in the dungeon underneath the castle. A place reserved for the most heinous and dangerous criminals.

The stench that rose from the wall and the floor was intense and overbearing but did not move her from where she sat slumped on the floor. She had no desire to move, no desire to live. All her energy was focused on how she could get revenge against Uther but a part of her mind told her that it was an impossible task.

She was going to die and Uther would never pay for his sins.

Guinevere felt something in her break at that realization and tears fell from her eyes as Lancelot’s face swam in her mind. She wrapped her arms around her knees and buried her tear-stained face into the crook of her arms.

“I’m so sorry, Lancelot. I’m so sorry.”

Her helplessness tore into her, eating her will and her vital energy until she became a lifeless husk. Guards came at regular intervals, some with plates of food that they dropped to the dirty floor, pretending it was an accident but Guinevere did not care. Only those who wanted to live ate.

“This is your evening meal.”

Guinevere did not bother to lift her head. It was only evening. she felt like she had been here for an eternity. She barely noticed that this guard did not fling the plate like the others did, instead, placing it down gently.

The guard stared at her through the bars of the prison for a second before turning away. He walked hesitantly to the main dungeon entrance, his face troubled.

If Guinevere had glanced at him, she might have recognized him as a member of her training academy class. He recognized her. When he had heard the news about her imprisonment, he had striven to ensure his position on the dungeon guard tonight to truly confirm the news circulating in the kingdom.

Treason. Conspiring against the throne.

Tristan could not believe his ears. The girl he had spent all those years learning swordsmanship with. The lady, who despite being a noble, mingled with the commoners, putting her chin on the ground. The awesome sword-wielder who always strove for glory and honour, dedicating all her victories to the kingdom of Camelot.

Tristan could still vividly remember all those moonless nights that she would spend coaching him on this sword handling and positioning. He truly could not believe what he’d heard.

His intention in delivering the meal was to question her privately but seeing as she did not acknowledge his presence much less recognize him, he decided to let it go.

Tristan reached the guard room and was met with the sight of the men drinking, gambling and cursing around a small table. These were the men that guarded Uther’s dungeon. They were incompetent but one could argue that their job did not demand much from them.

Very few prisoners inhabited the cells. Most of them were killed; Uther was very thorough with that. The others were made docile by threats to their families and friends, reducing the chance of a prison break.

Simply put, the prison was overstaffed, making sights like the one in front of Tristan very common. Sighing inwardly, Tristan took a chair at the table as there was nowhere else to sit. He was not interested in the game so he took out his dagger and began polishing it. As he swiped the cloth over the fine blade, he tried to figure out what the circumstances behind Guinevere’s arrest were.

As if reading his mind, the guard opposite him said, “What happened with that female knight, though? I thought she would become a member of the Central Army. I even imagined she would have gotten a pretty high rank.”

“Who knows? Maybe she refused to spread her legs for the duke in the west or even the king?”

Cackling and dark jokes followed that statement and Tristan cringed inwardly. Their jealousy at being inferior to a woman made the guards bitter and callous. But in all their words, not one of them belittled her skill or her loyalty to the kingdom.

It was evident that despite their hatred of her, they understood that she had truly not betrayed the kingdom. But as servants of Uther who had arrested, locked up and killed innocent people in the past, they cared little of Guinevere’s fate. The question the guard raised was simply a conversation starter.

“It may be something even more serious than that. After all, she is getting paraded and executed tomorrow.”

Tristan jerked forward, unable to control his expression. “She is what?” he asked incredulously.

The room fell silent as the men turned to look at Tristan in surprise.

“You did not know? She will be paraded as a traitor to the kingdom tomorrow and at noon, she will be guillotined.”

Tristan’s eyes were as wide as saucers causing laughter to burst out in the room. The man next to him clapped him on the shoulder. "You must be one of her admirers," the voice said mockingly. "You can go to the square tomorrow and watch as they put her head on a pike."

Another round of laughter followed that and the men returned to their game, muttering about weak men.

Tristan swallowed his emotions and tried to concentrate on polishing his blade. He arranged his facial expressions to seem like he was completely engrossed in the task. The men around him may be incompetent but they did not get to this position by being dull-witted. They could sniff out a plot from a mile away. He definitely did not want them to get a whiff of what he was planning.

After the men on patrol returned and the ones to replace them rose from the table grumbling, Tristan blended in with the men leaving the room and walked to the cupboard where the guards kept spare blankets for use during shifts. He picked out three of them and after making sure no one was around him, closed the cupboard and walked swiftly to Guinevere’s cell.

His heart pounded and his breath rang out in the empty hallway. He was planning a prison break. It was such a stupid thing. The plan could cost him his life but Tristan felt like he had no choice. He could not allow her to die like that. A traitor to the kingdom and a pawn in Uther’s game.

He had to make this work.

Unlocking the main door, Tristan rushed in and stopped in front of her cell. He was relieved to see that she was still awake, although unmoving.

“Guinevere,” he whispered into the dark cell. “It is I, Tristan.”

He waited but got no response.

“Guinevere,” he whispered, urgency bleeding into his voice. “It is I, Tristan. I have come to rescue you.”

Finally, Guinevere raised her head and peered through the dimly lit prison at Tristan. Her eyes remained blank for a few seconds before the recognition widened them.

“Tristan? What are you doing here?” Guinevere asked, bewildered.

“I have come to save you.” Picking a key from the bunch that hung from his belt, he swiftly unlocked the door, wincing when the metal screeched on opening.

Guinevere remained on the floor but she was tense and wary, eyes fixed on the slight opening of the door. “Save me? why would you do that?”

Tristan looked at a loss of words briefly but he said firmly, “I do not believe that you betrayed the king or the kingdom.”

It was a simple statement but the effect it had on her was profound. Fighting back surging emotions, she rose from the floor. “Thank you, Tristan. Thank you for believing in me.”

He nodded and slipped into the cell. It was then that Guinevere realized that he was carrying something in his hands. A bundle of blankets. She furrowed her brows in confusion but took less than a second to figure out what he planned to use them for.

Especially as he laid them down and arranged them so that they resembled a person lying down.

Rising and stepping back to assess his work, he clicked his tongue but decided that there was nothing else they could do.

“Let’s get out of the main building and head to the underground passageway. I know how to get you out of here.”

Guinevere understood the risk Tristan was taking and bit her lip as she followed him out of the prison gate. She glanced back briefly at the cell and prayed that the ruse held.

***

The ruse held for a few seconds, but only. The instant a guard noticed the cell was empty, he grabbed the whistle that hung around his neck and blew into it; the shrill sound pierced the relative quiet of the dungeon. Cards, coins, ale and meat lay abandoned as the guards sprang into action, searching for anything or anyone out of the ordinary.

Guinevere and Tristan also heard the sharp whistle.

“Curses,” Tristan hissed. “This place will soon be flooded by the guards we have to hurry.” While speaking, he drew his sword and handed it to her. “If it comes down to it, use this to defend yourself.”

“And you?” Guinevere asked, noticing he had no other sword. “What will you use to defend yourself?”

“I know this place very well. I can deceive them.”

Guinevere nodded and took the sword. She wrapped her hands around the hilt and felt tension stiffen her body. She was ready to fight.

“Come on.” Tristan waved her over and they dashed through the hidden passages. The passages were uniformly dark but as they turned a corner, Guinevere could see the light of the moon penetrate the darkness. They were getting close to the exit.

After running for a minute, they reached a gate and Tristan pulled out the key from the bunch and swiftly unlocked the padlock.

“There is a wall at the very end of the forest,” he whispered. “If you run straight in this direction, you should see a crack in the wall that is big enough for you to squeeze through.” He paused, the sound of boots thudding directly above them heightening the urgency. “Go. They are almost here. I will try to hold them back. Live, fight and regain your honour.”

Guinevere clenched her fist, overwhelmed by emotion. “I will never forget this. I will never forget your help.”

Guinevere dashed through the gate and into the forest beyond. She ran at a mad pace, her muscles bunching and her breath bursting out of her lungs. Not long after she began running, the snaps of fallen branches as they broke and the thuds of heavy footfalls rose in the forest, telling her that she was being chased.

Adrenaline pumping through her blood, Guinevere ran even faster but fortune did not smile on her.

The prison guards, when they noticed her escape, had informed palace guards stationed nearby. More equipped and more skilled, the palace guards moved into formation, and in an instant, arrows rained down in the dense forest, hitting the bark of the trees beside her. As she tried to swerve between the arrows, Guinevere stumbled and landed on the earth, the lush soil scattering under her.

She tried to rise and resume her run through the forest but an arrow struck her in the right heel and she stumbled again, the pain made her vision swim.

Biting her lip, she panted and struggled to her feet. Her body badly wanted to stop and rest but Guinevere knew that the situation would only get worse. If she dallied and allowed time to pass, the guards would assemble an even larger force and comb through the forest.

She wanted to dump the sword but she feared that it would be connected to Tristan in some way. So, she soldiered on, half limping and half running, until she reached the edge of the forest where a tall wall awaited her.

If you run straight in this direction, you should see a crack in the wall that is big enough for you to squeeze through.

Guinevere whipped her head left and right but she could not see any crack that was large enough for a person to pass through. Calculating the line that she had run through the forest, she realized that she was in the wrong position. Hobbling to her left, Guinevere kept close to the wall, tracing a hand along the stone blocks, both for support and as a way to search for her escape route.

After a few seconds of frenzied and painful search, her fingers caught in a space between two blocks and Guinevere gasped, coming to a halt. She had found it. But she had also been found.

The instant she found the way out, the grass beside her rustled and a knight stepped out from the tree line. His gaze fell on her and he opened his mouth, about to shout a call, she assumed.

Guinevere, however, did not give him the chance. Dismissing her pain and focusing all her energy on the attack, Guinevere leapt forward and swung the sword in a dizzyingly fast arc, immediately injuring the guard. Reeling back from the unseen attack, the guard tried to balance himself and retaliate. He barely lifted his sword before Guinevere’s blade was shoved square in his chest.

He staggered forward as the blade was withdrawn and fell to his knees, dying as soon as he hit the ground.

Without hesitating, Guinevere turned and forced herself through the crack and out of the king’s palace. She was free. For now.