Yuletide In Camelot
(a version of this story was in my novel Moxie’s Decision)
Queen Guinevere rubbed her gloved hands together to keep the blood flowing while she waited in Camelot's entrance hall of Camelot's. Outside, snow stood three feet deep in the courtyard and the drifts reached almost to the top of the outer walls. A chill north wind blew loose snow into blinding squalls that swirled around her. Her heavy blue kirtle and matching cloak didn't keep her from shivering, and despite her fur-lined boots, her toes had gone numb.
Arthur's plan vexed her considerably. She didn't want a bunch of Saxon pigs messing up Camelot for the Yuletide feast days — she was sure many of her expensive mead cups would be missing when they left — and she certainly didn't want to stand here in the cold awaiting the arrival of the Saxon war-chief, Hengist.
In the courtyard, off-duty Knights of the Round Table had formed two groups. One defended a snow fortress while the second assaulted it with snowballs and icicle daggers. Sir Tristan, Camelot's bard, sat on nearby snowbank where he played his lute and inspired the knights by singing about the Fall of Troy. She wondered about Tristan's abysmal lute playing until she noticed he wore gloves.
Led by Sir Gawain, the second group threw themselves over the walls and the attack degenerated into a melee. Bodies rolled around in the snow until coated with white.
From the look on Arthur's face, she knew he'd be in the middle of the snow scrum if it weren't for the Saxon visitors
Men! She thought in disgust. All they ever thought about was fighting.
Finally, the herald sounded a horn, signaling the approach of the guests. A few minutes later, Hengist rode over the drawbridge and through the castle gates. Guinevere studied the figure riding alongside the war-chief. "What is his wife's name, again?" she asked Arthur.
"Helmwige." Arthur looked regal in a flame-colored tunic, leather breeches and a purple fur-lined cape. His hands were stuffed under the cape to keep them warm.
Guinevere had a faint hope that perhaps Helmwige would become a friend. In Camelot, the women, even the noble ones, were servile in her presence. She had no one to confide in, no one to share secrets with. She knew her hope for Helmwige would most likely be dashed. No doubt, she was peasant-born and would put on airs because her husband happened to be an efficient killer and the war-leader who had conquered a large part of southern Britain.
The Saxon pair, accompanied by twenty warriors, pulled up at the castle steps and dismounted. She noticed that one Saxon, the largest one, wore a bearskin coat, a sign that the man was a berserker. Just what she needed! Berserkers were notorious for their rudeness and bad table manners.
Hengist was tall and broad-shouldered. In his thirties, he was the hairiest man she had ever seen. His long, blonde hair and bushy beard merged somewhere around his ears. He had steel-blue eyes that took in everything. He seized his wife's arm and they marched up the steps to stop in front of her and Arthur. Neither one bowed or bent a knee to Camelot's king and queen. Guinevere raised an eyebrow and wondered if the insult was calculated or made through ignorance of royal protocol.
"Arthur!" Hengist roared. "Well met!" The two men seized the other's forearm in greeting.
"Hengist!" Arthur matched the Saxon's volume. "I'm glad you came."
The thunderous voices of the men grated on her nerves. Guinevere hated the way warriors insisted on yelling, even when they stood next to each other. It was as if points were awarded to loudest one.
"This is my wife, Helmwige." Hengist pounded her on the back sending a minor avalanche of snow cascading down her cloak. He spoke British with a heavy accent. "This is King Arthur and Queen Guinevere."
Helmwige pushed back the cloak's hood, gave Arthur a nod and turned to Guinevere. The Saxon woman was in her late twenties, had blonde hair, a fair complexion, green eyes and stood as tall as her husband.
Guinevere smiled at Helmwige and waited for the women to speak first.
Helmwige said, "Gwen, how nice to meet you."
"It's Guinevere, not Gwen." She detested people taking liberties with her name.
Helmwige blinked at the Queen's strident tone and studied her for a moment. "Guinevere, then." She gave Guinevere a radiant smile. "How kind of you wait here to greet us. I know how you old folks hate to stand in the cold."
Guinevere couldn't believe her ears. The Saxon slut had insulted her! In her own castle! And she wasn't that old! She was only thirty-seven!
"Come." Arthur was oblivious to the women's hostility. "Let's go inside and you can enjoy a cup of mulled wine to warm your bones. Then I'll have a servant show you to your room."
# # #
In her dressing chamber, Guinevere fretted over sabotaging Arthur's peace plans, but he didn't have to deal with Hengist's rude wife. She took a deep breath. It would take a great deal of fortitude to get through the feast. There was a limit to how long she could force a smile.
When she had arrived at Camelot twenty years ago, it consisted of a wooden hill fort. Since then, she and Arthur had built the most magnificent castle in Britain. Nevertheless, a lonely castle was little better than a lonely hovel. Arthur was wedded more to his dream then he was to her. He had spent most of the years urging the other kings to stop their local wars and to concentrate instead on increasing trade. In recent years, his vision had changed. Now, he labored to unite all the petty kings into a single armed force to rebuff the Saxon invaders.
His fierce dedication left her lonely. She suspected her inability to produce a son also impacted on their marriage, but Arthur never mentioned it. Lancelot really was the only friend she had in the castle, but he was often away on Arthur's business. She sometimes wondered if Arthur assigned Lancelot to these mission because he was good at them or because the knight was friendly with her.
If she could have anything in the world, it would be a sister. She was the only child of a Welsh king and always envied other girls who had sisters to play with. Sometimes, she had been so lonely she would have accepted a brother. Alas, Helmwige's contemptuous attitude doomed Guinevere's earlier hope of gaining a confidante.
She looked through her gowns and chose a white kirtle with gold and silver threads and dotted with pearls. It should make the Saxon hussy green with envy.
Time to prepare for battle.
# # #
When Guinevere entered the great hall later in the day, she walked by Arthur's side with a hand on his arm. The hall was the largest room in the castle and a long fire pit ran up the middle of it. Flames and smoke leaped high as servants threw heavy logs into the pit. Despite the roaring fire, the hall was chilly. The heavy wall hangings swayed from the wind that leaked through the door jambs and window shutters. Tables, far enough away from the fire pit to keep folks from getting burned, ran up the length of the hall. Bunches of mistletoe hung everywhere, the green leaves and red berries offering splashes of color. In the center of each table, servants had placed a bough of holly. Pine needles littered the floor and gave off a woodsy scent when stepped on.
Saxon warriors filled the benches on one side of the pit and guzzled horns of ale. From tables on the other side of the fire, Knights of the Round Table did the same. Arthur had invited a number of important personages from the surrounding villages and they huddled as far away from the warriors and knights as possible. The locals knew, if history was a guide, that a brawl could break out before long between two groups as volatile as these.
She and Arthur stopped behind the high table and awaited the entrance of Hengist and his wife. As honored guests, they would enter from a side door allowing the feasters to see them while they walked across the hall to join Arthur at the high table.
Guinevere experienced what warriors described as pre-battle jitters. Armed with a triple strand of matched pearls around her neck, she wore her hair pulled back and gathered into a net made with silver thread. She had also spent extra time with her cosmetics to mask the crows-feet at the corners of her eyes, lest her enemy comment on them.
A page opened the side door. Hengist entered the hall, turned and held out a hand for Helmwige. Guinevere sucked in her breath and her eyes bulged when she saw Helmwige's outfit, an ermine-trimmed, carmine red kirtle cut low and tight. The outfit displayed much of her lush bosom and emphasized her wide hips. The Saxon must outweigh her by thirty pounds. Helmwige had a gold torc at her throat and dozens of gold and silver bracelets on her wrists and forearms. She actually jangled as she walked to the high table. Her hair was done up in the fashion popular across the Narrow Sea, parted down the middle, woven into two braids and curled up around her ears. Guinevere recognized the signs. Helmwige had dressed for combat just as she had. Perhaps this feast would be more interesting than most.
From the corner of her eyes, Guinevere saw a lascivious smile on Arthur's face as he watched Helmwige's entrance march. She kicked his ankle with the sharp point of her shoe. He winced and the smile disappeared.
Arthur and Hengist took their seats at the high table facing the rows of benches. Guinevere and Helmwige sat at a table to the left of the men while Merlin sat across from the women. An empty seat alongside the wizard was reserved for Lancelot. Guinevere frowned when the festivities started and Lancelot still hadn't shown up. She had anticipated some lively conversation with her Knight-Protector while she ignored Helmwige. "Arthur? Where is Lancelot?"
Arthur pointed to a figure in armor at the rear of the hall. "He's Marshal of the Feast." Guinevere gave her husband a withering look. She knew he did that deliberately so she couldn't spend time with the knight. What a despicable act!
Helmwige leaned her head close and whispered, "You and this Lancelot must be lovers. No?"
"No!" Guinevere turned scarlet. "We are not lovers." Her eyes raked her opponent.
"Too bad." Helmwige clucked her tongue. "It'd do wonders for your disposition."
"Ohh!" Guinevere sucked in her breath and clenched her fists. She had to grant that her guest had won the first round. She gathered her determination. Camelot was her home and she would defend it with all her strength.
Servants entered carrying platters of roast boar, stuffed fowl and poached fish. Other servants carried pitchers of ale or mead and refilled horns and cups. Already the knights and warriors were boisterously yelling insults across the fire pit.
"My Lord," the bishop said from the rearmost tables. "May I say grace before we eat this fine meal?"
"You let Christian priests in your hall?" Hengist asked.
"Only on special occasions," Arthur replied. To the bishop, he said, "You may speak briefly." He stood and pointed to Lancelot. "If he talks longer than two minutes, haul him out and throw him in a snowbank."
The bishop grimaced, mumbled a quick prayer then sat down.
Sir Tristan, the master of ceremonies for Yuletide, sat on a stool on a dais to the left of the hall. He announced, "During the meal, I will entertain you with a selection of my most popular ballads." He strummed his lute a few times and sang:
"Torra-lorra lie,
Foram Sorra bie."
Roses are red,
I want to go to bed."
"This Tristan can play the lute beautifully and he has a wonderful voice," Hengist said to Arthur, "but he is a wretched poet. I've never heard such bad rhyming."
"Sir Tristan is a world-class bad poet," Arthur replied. "At one feast, he had everyone bleeding from the ears. Several neighboring kings have promised to declare war on me if Tristan ever crosses their borders again."
As the meal progressed, the knights and the warriors playfully threw bones at each other and laughed uproariously whenever one hit its mark.
Helmwige and Guinevere exchanged labored small talk during the meal.
While the tables were cleaned for the dessert course, Guinevere went on the attack. She fingered Helmwige's kirtle. "I love your outfit," she cooed. "Did you make the cloth yourself?" From the way Helmwige's eyes flashed knew she had scored. Only peasant women made their own cloth.
"Oh, no." After a pause, Helmwige smiled. "I'm much too busy helping Hengist administer all the land we seized from you Britons. I used a dozen British slave women to make the cloth. More Brit slaves sewed the dress."
Guinevere seethed at the reference to how badly the British had defended their land against Hengist and his savages. She had to do something to let off steam. "Excuse me a minute, dear." She walked over to Merlin and sat down in Lancelot's chair. "Merlin, my old friend. I need a small bit of magic."
Merlin wiped his greasy hands on his beard and arched a white eyebrow at the queen.
"Please give that Saxon bitch a hot foot."
Merlin looked alarmed. "I will do no such thing. It could start a war."
"Oh, pshaw! It will not. It will just be a little joke. To entertain the folks. Please?"
"Arthur and Hengist are negotiating to extend the truce that expires in the spring. Both men want the extension. If I did your bidding, the talks could break down and even the current truce could be shattered. I will not do it, Majesty."
Guinevere stomped back to her seat.
"And now, gentlefolk," Tristan yelled over the babble of voices, "I present the Knights of the Round Table Folk-Dancing Troupe as they perform an annual Yuletide tradition. It's their interpretation of Boudicca's attack on the Romans and the massacre of the Londontown settlement."
Six knights in tunics and tight breeches stormed through the side door and jumped onto the dais. On the count of three, they tapped, danced, leaped around the small stage and slapped each other while Tristan accompanied them on the lute.
At the conclusion of the dance, the crowd applauded by tossing food and bones at the knights who bowed deeply and departed.
The bishop wandered the hall peddling fifty-fifty raffle chances. "Only a ha'penny a ticket," he called out. "Four for three."
"Next up," Tristan said, "is the Saxon Men's Choir. They will perform a traditional Saxon Yuletide carol."
Eight warriors, including the berserker, left the benches and stood on the dais. Seven had removed their breeches and wore only a long tunic that reached their knees. The berserker, in the middle of the line, still wore his bearskin coat.
The knights whistled and yelled catcalls at the Saxon's bare legs.
Tristan played the lute at a faster tempo and the Saxons jumped about, clapped their hands, stomped their feet and sang incomprehensible lyrics. After a few minutes, all except the berserker turned their backs on the crowd, pulled up their tunics and mooned the hall. The berserker pulled open his robe. Naked underneath, he swiveled his hips.
Hengist and Helmwige jumped up to applaud.
Servants entered carrying trays of sweetmeats and nuts.
Guinevere noticed a young Saxon stagger over to a wall and throw up. "Who's that?" she asked. "He's awfully young to be with the warriors."
"He's my twelve-year-old." Helmwige bit her lip as the boy retched some more. "He'll be a fearsome warrior someday."
"Right now, he's quite far from being the man he thinks he is." She gave the Saxon a false smile
Helmwige chewed on her upper lip before saying in a sweet voice, "It's such a shame that you couldn't give Arthur a heir to his throne." She gave Guinevere a grin and a wink. "I'm sure he is trying to solve that problem elsewhere."
Guinevere was stunned by the audacity of the Saxon. The insult struck a chord deep inside her. She leaped to her feet. "You bitch!" She slapped Helmwige's face. Despite the noise in the hall, everyone heard the slap.
Helmwige stood and stared at the queen. "No one hits me and gets away with it. I challenge you to a duel. Let's see what you're made of, you old biddy."
Hengist and Arthur hustled over to the women, but both men took care not to get between the two.
"Ladies," Arthur said. "Have a cool drink."
"Sit down, Arthur." Guinevere kept her eyes locked on Helmwige.
"Let's take a walk, dear," Hengist said.
"You can, I'm staying here. Queen Gwen and I have unfinished business." Helmwige matched Guinevere's stare. "What's your pleasure?"
As the home team, Guinevere had the choice of weapons. "Knitting needles." She was confident Helmwige had never knitted in her life and wouldn't be adept in their uses.
"Done. Get me some."
"Arthur," Hengist said in a low voice, "we shouldn't let this affect our negotiations."
"Well said. I agree."
"You!" Guinevere said to the closest serving maid. "Fetch two pairs of knitting needles."
The maid curtsied and scurried away.
# # #
Ten minutes later and after removing all their jewelry, Guinevere and Helmwige faced each other on the dais. The queen flapped her wrists to loosen them up while Helmwige stretched, making the knights and warriors groan out loud. Each woman, oozing hatred, stared at her opponent.
Tristan, who refused to move from the dais, announced, "During this contest for feminine supremacy, I shall sing my new epic poem. It's about a three-sided love affair involving a beautiful noblewoman, a handsome knight and a very ugly donkey."
Hengist touched Arthur's arm to get his attention. "Is Tristan going to sing about himself, Isolde and King Mark?"
"Maybe." Arthur shrugged. "Nobody ever knows what Tristan is singing about."
The knights and warriors called out odds and placed bets on the women.
As Marshal of the Yuletide Festivities, Lancelot's duties included supervising any duels that occurred. He stationed himself so he could watch the women and keep an eye on the crowd. "Let no one interfere," he said in a stern voice. He held up his right arm. The two women awaited Lancelot's signal. He dropped his arm and the combatants circled each other with a knitting needle in each hand. They feigned attacks, searching for an opening.
Tristan sang: "The donkey wore a crown."
"I'm going to poke these into your eyes." Helmwige waved the needles back and forth.
"Hah! You have to catch me first," Guinevere snarled. "This old Brit is much faster than any over-developed Saxon serving wench."
"The lady wore a frown."
"I'm not a serving wench." Helmwige slashed a needle towards her foe. Guinevere blocked it with her forearm and almost dropped her weapon as her arm turned numb from the force of the blow. Before Helmwige could follow up with a second strike, Guinevere stabbed her other needle towards her face. Helmwige threw up an arm and took the point in her forearm.
"The knight wore a smile,"
The knights cheered and stamped their feet at first blood going to their side. The warriors booed and groaned.
"The donkey thought was vile."
"Last fifty-fifty raffle of the night." The bishop worked his way through the hall. "You have to be in it to win it."
Helmwige gnashed her teeth and thrust a needle toward her opponent's eyes. Guinevere ducked under it and danced around Helmwige. She lunged and stabbed Helmwige in the right buttock. The Saxon screeched and swung an arm instinctively. Her forearm hit Guinevere in the side of the head. The queen reeled across the dais into Tristan. He pushed her back with his lute without missing a note.
"Fiddle di do dum."
Guinevere's hair had come undone from the silver net. She snatched the net off her head and threw it away. Helmwige's left braid no longer curled around her ear.
The warriors and knights intermingled, cheered and slapped each other on the back.
"The king was a bum,"
Helmwige closed on the dazed Guinevere. She jabbed a needle forward and nicked the queen in the left side. Her dress ripped as the needle scored her ribs. Guinevere snarled a curse and counter-attacked. She got inside Helmwige's guard, dropped her needles, grab the bodice of her dress with both hands and head-butted her.
"The knight was noble,"
Blood splattered across the dais from Helmwige's split lip. She dropped her needles and pushed Guinevere away, but held the queen's arm with her left hand. With her right, she punched Guinevere in the nose.
"And gave the lady a bauble."
More blood splattered the dais from the queen's bleeding nose.
The knights and warriors went into a frenzy at the sight of so much blood. They stomped their feet, cheered and hugged each other.
The two women closed. They grappled, clawed, pinched and pulled hair. Both sobbed and cursed simultaneously. They tripped and went to the floor with the larger Saxon woman on top of the queen. They rolled over and fell off the dais. Lancelot barely got his armored frame out of the way in time.
Arthur looked at Hengist. "I think honor has been served, don't you?"
"I agree. Let's see if we can pull them apart without getting clawed or punched."
They advanced on the dais. Lancelot saw them coming and slapped his ironclad hands together to end the fight. It sounded like an ill-made church bell. Both blood-bedewed women ignored Lancelot and continued pulling hair with one hand and scratching with the other.
The two husbands managed to pull the women apart. One of Helmwige's boobs had popped out of her dress. The knights and warriors yelled in appreciation. She gave them a filthy look and pushed it back into her dress.
The knights and warriors groaned.
"Try to act like a queen," Arthur said in a low voice.
"How dare you talk to the queen like that." Helmwige sneered at Arthur. "She was defending your honor."
"You stupid cow!" Hengist growled. "Are you trying to start a war?"
"Women don't interfere in men's wars." Guinevere glared at Hengist and stamped her foot. "Men should stay out of ours. And don't call her a cow!" She turned to Helmwige. Each woman looked into the eyes of the other. Guinevere gave Helmwige a flicker of a smile and the Saxon responded with a wink.
"Oh, look at you." Guinevere paused to snuff up blood. "You're hurt, you poor dear." She ripped a piece of cloth from her sleeve and held it against Helmwige's split lip. "Hold this and push lightly. It'll stop the bleeding."
"I'm so sorry I hurt your nose." Helmwige smoothed out a section of Guinevere's hair that stood straight up.
"I've never had anyone defy me before," Guinevere said. "It's so refreshing."
"Me too." Helmwige tried a smile but ended up wincing. "Everyone agrees with me no matter what ridiculous thing I say. I'm so sick of it."
"I think I just found the sister I never had." Guinevere held Helmwige's hand while wiping blood away from her nose with her other wrist.
"Really? I only have brothers." Helmwige winced from her split lip. "I always wished I could have a sister."
"Let's go to my dressing chamber where we can fix our make-up and straighten our hair."
Arm in arm, the ladies swept from the hall, accompanied by lusty applause from the knights and warriors.
Hengist and Arthur looked at each other and shrugged.
# # #
Helmwige hugged Guinevere. Arthur, the Queen and the Saxon couple stood on the steps of Camelot under a blue sky and a sun that produced blinding reflections from the snow.
"I wish you could stay longer," Guinevere said to Helmwige, "so we could get to know each other better."
Hengist walked down the steps and mounted his horse. He nodded to Arthur and yelled, "Well, that was fun."
"Let's do it again next Yuletide," Arthur bellowed in return.
"Oh, do," Guinevere said. "And bring all your sons. I'd love to meet them." She talked slowly because of her swollen and bruised nose. "And stay for more than two days."
Hengist and Helmwige rode across the drawbridge followed by their warriors.
"Were your talks successful?" Guinevere asked.
"Very successful," Arthur said. "The truce has been extended for a year."
"I'm glad."
"Don't be. What it actually means is the Saxons will launch a surprise attack in the summer."
Guinevere sucked in her breath.
"Unless I attack them first."
"So, they won't be back next year."
"Both armies will chase each other through the forests and have a few battles. By harvest time, we'll renew the truce." Arthur patted her shoulder. "They'll be back."
"You men really have to find a hobby other than war."
Arthur rolled his eyes.