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Guinevere: On The Eve of Legend

Cheryl Carpinello

Ref. No. 802013ch
Length 30,000 words

Summary

Guinevere: On the Eve of Legend combines Arthurian components with the trials of growing up and offers a glimpse into the childhood of the girl who brought down Camelot. Poised on the edge of womanhood, Guinevere is expected to leave her childhood behind and follow the path laid out for her. Combined with uncertainty and laughter are the adventures and misadventures Guinevere shares with seven-year-old Cedwyn, the soul-searching episodes with Merlyn and Nimue, the rebellion against her father, the first brush with love, and the typical doubts of a child expected to fit into an adult world with its responsibilities.

From The Book

GUINEVERE: ON THE EVE OF LEGEND

by Cheryl Carpinello

Chapter One

A long time ago in the country of England, there lived a little girl, a princess. Her name was Guinevere. She loved being a princess because she didn’t have duties. She just had adventures with her best friend Cedwyn. Her father was King Leodegrance. But he wasn't the King of England. That was King Arthur. King Leodegrance was king of a small part of England. After his queen’s death, he tried to give Guinevere an education to prepare her for her future. He even enlisted the help of his friend Merlyn to educate her in worldly matters because one day, Guinevere would be a queen. Guinevere knew that, and it didn’t bother her. She was young, and she knew that life was a long way ahead of her. But her life was about to change.

"Guin'ver?"

"Hush!"

"But ..."

“Hush!”

Guinevere, nearly thirteen years old, stamped her boot-clad foot on the grass-covered ground. Her displeasure clearly showing on her lightly tanned face, she turned to the younger boy beside her.

"Cedwyn," she snapped, the irritation showing in the sharpness of her voice. "What could possibly be so important that you would risk the rabbits hearing us?"

"I'm hungry, and the bottoms of my pants are wet. Can’t we go back to the castle yet?" Cedwyn asked, a hurt look on his seven-year-old face at Guinevere's cross tone.

Guinevere realized that her anger should not have been directed at Cedwyn. It wasn’t his fault. Glancing down at her own clothes, she saw that the bottom of her green ankle-length tunic was also wet with the morning dew. Her stomach chose that moment to issue forth with a small rumbling, but one that Cedwyn heard. He started giggling and then clamped his small hand over his mouth. But he was too late. She had already started laughing also.

"How are we ever going to trap a rabbit with all the noise you make?" But Guinevere reached down and tousled his blond hair to let him know that she was not serious and as an apology for her crossness. "Let's try for just ten minutes longer. Then, if we find nothing we'll go back. Okay?"

Cedwyn shook his head, not wanting to make any further noise. The English summer sun had not even been above the far hills when they first arrived at the edge of the forest. Now, it was well on its way in its climb toward the dinner hour, and they hadn't even had a proper breakfast yet. Mum was sure to be upset that they had been gone so long, and nothing to tell for it either.

"Come on," he whispered. "The only creatures we've seen moving have been badgers and Cornish hens. Bloody, we could of had five hens by now."

"I told you, it's good luck to bag a rabbit on the eve of your thirteenth Birth Day," Guinevere properly informed him.

Cedwyn studied her face, unsure if she was telling the truth or not. Then his blue eyes widened, and he grabbed her arm as she turned to continue hunting. "Wait a minute! You told me that you would help me bag a rabbit on the eve of my tenth Birth Day because that was lucky!"

Guinevere turned impatiently to him, her balled fists on her slim hips. "Oh really. You need to listen closer when I talk to you. I explained the difference between boys and girls. Boys have to seek luck on the eve of their tenth and fifteenth Birth Days. Since girls are naturally luckier than boys, they only have to seek luck once on the eve of their thirteenth Birth Day."

Cedwyn eyed her suspiciously, and then his eyes lit up.

“But I thought that the eve was the night before. Your Birth Day isn't until the day after tomorrow."

"Well, that's true; however, the eve of something can also be anytime close to the day."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course I am! Otherwise, what would happen if the day before I didn't get a

rabbit? This way there are more chances to get the rabbit. Now, let's go. I'm sure I saw

movement at the edge of the forest earlier." However, she didn’t mention to him that maybe she needed some good luck.

Cedwyn obediently followed her, mumbling to himself. "Well, we're still running out of time."

However, they hadn’t gone far when Cedwyn thought of something else.

"Guin’?"

She turned suddenly, her long brown braid whipping about. "Shh! You will scare the rabbit away!"

"But you also promised to teach me how to hunt with a bow and arrow once you are thirteen."

"Yes, but if you do not cease your prattle, I will not. Do you understand?" Cedwyn nodded. "Okay, let's go."

Cedwyn followed, a smile highlighting his chubby cheeks. He then promptly ran into the back of Guinevere who had abruptly stopped.

"Wha..." Suddenly a hand clamped down over his mouth followed by an angry

"Shh!"

Cedwyn moved quietly up to her side, his seven-year old frame about half the size of Guinevere. She looked down at him, excitement making her brown eyes sparkle in the midmorning light. Her lips formed the word "Look." His blue eyes followed her outstretched arm.

There, just past the edge of the forest where the wild grasses grew riotously before succumbing to the shaded woods, the tall green stalks moved, betraying the presence of something beneath.

"How can you tell if it's really a rabbit?" he asked softly.

"See how the stalks move forward a bit and then part?" Cedwyn nodded. "Well, the forward movement of the stalks is the rabbit testing out the goodness of the food. And then where the grasses part---that is---when the rabbit stops and starts feeding," Guinevere said, her pride in her knowledge showing. "Hand me an arrow." She held out her hand as Cedwyn pulled an arrow from the small leather quiver on his back.

Very carefully, her heart pounding, Guinevere nocked the arrow and steadily drew the bow string back. Taking a deep breath to steady her arms, Guinevere let the arrow loose, watching the spin of the feathers as the arrow sped to its target.

Suddenly a horrendous cry filled the air. Guinevere and Cedwyn jumped into each other's arms. Then they knelt down on the ground and covered their ears as the shrill cry made their ears ring.

"Wh...what is that?" Cedwyn whispered.

Guinevere shook her head in reply.

Then they heard a different sound. Something was crashing through the grasses and thickets. Slowly they inched their way up to peep above the grass. There, crashing and charging around the thickets, was the biggest wild boar they had ever seen.

Cedwyn looked at Guinevere. "Ain't that your arrow sticking in his side?"

She nodded, almost appearing disinterested, but really in shock that she had hit anything. For a few moments, they watched as the boar first ran in one direction and then

another in what appeared to be a crazed pattern. But Guinevere recognized the crazed pattern for what it was: the boar was searching, and she knew for whom.

"Com'on," she said, hurriedly grabbing his hand. "We have to get out of here now!"

"Why?"

But then Cedwyn had his answer. The noise of the boar became even louder and made the ground tremble under their feet. Both he and Guinevere turned to look in the direction of the noise. The boar had spotted them and was headed straight for them. He had found the culprits responsible for the arrow in his side.

"Run!" Guinevere said, no longer needing to be quiet.

Cedwyn needed no further urging. He took off with Guinevere close behind him. The thunderous crashing of the boar through the grasses and scrub bush vibrated through

every part of their bodies.

Guinevere chanced a look behind her and realized that the boar was rapidly gaining

on them. Swiftly she glanced around. There off to the right was a tree that Cedwyn could

climb to get up out of danger. He was the slower of them although they were each running faster than they ever had before. At the same time that Guinevere reached for Cedwyn's shoulder, she heard a thud, and her hand closed around nothing. Cedwyn cried out as he hit the ground after tripping over a root.

She reached down to help him up, but his foot was stuck solid in the root. Seeing the boar thunder closer, Guinevere looked around. If she made enough noise, she could get the boar to follow her into the edge of the forest. That would give Cedwyn time to get loose and up the tree. Then she could lose the boar in the trees.

"I'll lead the boar into the forest. Get yourself free and then head for that tree off to the right." Cedwyn looked in the direction Guinevere was pointing. "Get up in it as far as you can go and hang on until I let you know it’s safe to come down. Okay?"

Cedwyn nodded, real fear showing in his blue eyes.

"Stay down and be still until you hear from me. Then be quick!"

Cedwyn nodded again.

Guinevere jumped up and shouted, "Hey, boar! Here I am. Come and get me!" She waved her hands, and when the boar's attention was on her, she turned and ran for the forest, stopping momentarily to see if the boar was following. One look told her he was, and, if possible, he was coming faster. "Cedwyn! Now!" Guinevere shouted, and then she took off for the forest and the safety of the trees.

Behind her, the boar was charging blindly toward her. Thundering through the grasses and scrub brush, it focused only on reaching the creature responsible for his hurt. Behind him, Cedwyn frantically dug and pulled on the root to free his foot.

"Guin’ver! I can't get my foot loose!"

"You have to try harder. Pull harder!"

Cedwyn dug and pulled some more until he felt his foot start to loosen. When he

finally pulled free, he stood up looking for the boar, and spotted it still charging after Guinevere. With the boar heading toward the forest, Cedwyn starting running to the

tree. Grabbing branches, he pulled himself up until he was too high for the boar to reach,

and turning toward Guinevere's frightened voice, he could see her approaching the edge of the forest.

"I'm up in the tree!" Cedwyn yelled across the grassy area. Guinevere acknowledged him with a wave of her hand and continued running.

Just inside the trees, Guinevere stopped to let her eyes adjust to the darkness. She waited, the sounds of the boar growing louder. Finally, she could just make out a faint trail running parallel to the forest edge. Off she ran down the path, her eyes looking for some place to hide so that the boar would run past her.

"Guin'ver? Are you okay?"

Guinevere was too busy to reply. Then, up ahead she saw a pine tree that looked like it would do. Finding the last bit of speed inside of her, Guinevere reached the tree and

jumped up. Her hands grasped a low branch, and she proceeded to pull herself up.

Before she could get a good hold, the whole tree shook. Guinevere screamed and struggled to hold on. As she grabbed tighter, she realized that if the boar succeeded in shaking her down, she wouldn’t have her thirteenth Birth Day. She didn’t know which would be worse: the boar or turning thirteen.

The boar charged the tree again. Guinevere screamed louder as her grip loosened, suddenly sure that maybe turning thirteen wouldn’t be as bad as the boar.

"Guin’ver! I'm coming!" Cedwyn's only answer was another scream from the forest. He loosened his arms, and his body slid down the tree. He took off at a run toward the screams.

Guinevere searched above her for another branch to pull herself up higher before her grip failed her. There it was. With a final heave and all of her resolve behind her, Guinevere stretched up, grasped the branch, and wrapped both arms around it. The boar hit the tree again. The tree shook hard enough to topple over, and Guinevere screamed.

Then another more horrible scream filled the air. Its piercing sound traveled up the trunk into Guinevere's body. She risked a look down and saw a rock hit the boar on the side with the arrow. The boar's wounded cry filled the forest air one last time before it ran off

deep into the forest.

Guinevere's eyes followed the path of the rock until she came to Cedwyn peeking

from behind a bush.

"Is he gone? Can you see him?"

Guinevere searched the path that the boar had taken. There was no sign of him, and she couldn't hear him anymore either.

"He's gone. It's safe. C’mon out."

As Cedwyn made his way to her, she climbed down the tree and sat on the ground, her legs too wobbly to hold her. Both of them were a mess. Guinevere proceeded to

brush some of the dirt, leaves, and small twigs off her clothing and out of her hair. Cedwyn did the same. Then they looked at each other and burst out laughing from relief at still being able to breathe.

"I thought we were dead!" Cedwyn got out between laughs.

"You should have felt that tree shake! I was sure I was his next meal!" Then Guinevere added, somewhat subdued, "Thank you for coming to my rescue."

"You saved me too. That's what friends are for."

"Yes. I am only glad that we are still alive to be friends," Guinevere said, smiling down at him. "Let's go. I know we're late now, and we don't even have a rabbit as a peace offering."

Cedwyn nodded somewhat grimly as he thought of the scolding that awaited them upon their return. Then, as if in answer to their thoughts, upon the wind came a faint but clear sound.

"Lady Guinevere! Cedwyn!"

Grabbing each other's hand, the two set off across the meadow toward the castle at a run. But it was not a run of fear; that run was over. Both youngsters ran with laughter and breathless joy. They were still alive!

Suddenly Cedwyn stopped and pulled Guinevere backwards. With his face lit up with a smile, he pointed under a bush at the side of the path. She followed his hand

and laughter spilled out from her lips. There, under the thicket where they had set it earlier that morning, was their trap, no longer empty. Here was their peace offering; here

was their rabbit! Quickly they released the rabbit, put it in a bag, and headed off. The sound on the wind reached them again; this time it was louder and angrier.

"Lady Guinevere! Cedwyn!"

Chapter Two

"Cedwyn, be sure to have the courtyard raked by mid-afternoon, or I'll send you to the stable to help also," Brynwyn, Cedwyn’s mother, said. Reaching up with one of her leathered hands to push strands of black and white hair back into place, her focus shifted to Guinevere. "And you, Lady Guinevere, make haste to the schoolroom for your lessons. Both of you should be grateful that your bottom sides are not sore after being gone all morning!" she added as she turned to go into the kitchen.

Guinevere put her arm around Cedwyn's shoulders and guided him into the middle of the courtyard. He was almost on the verge of tears.

"Don't fret, your mum will forget being mad at us by supper time," she said.

"Well, that may be so, but you don't have to rake the courtyard and maybe even clean the stables!" Cedwyn said.

"No, I just have to spend the next three hours inside that stuffy old schoolroom with Professor Rymes. At least you'll be outside and able to enjoy the rest of the day," Guinevere countered.

"Wanna trade?"

"I don't think so. The last time we tried that, we both ended up with sore bottoms

and cleaning the stables too!" Guinevere grimaced as she stopped inside the doorway to the upper staircase. "I'll see you at supper."

Much slower, Guinevere made her way up the stone steps to the top of the tower. There was Professor Rymes waiting by the window, his arms crossed, and his right foot tapping the floor. With his brown cape flowing down over his belted tunic and pants, Rymes looked very imposing, especially with his oversized body.

"It's about time, young lady. Your father is going to hear how you missed an hour today. And that this is not the first time!"

"I'm sorry, Professor," Guinevere said. "I will take care that it doesn't happen again."

"Just be sure you do that. Now sit down and let's run through your Latin phrases." The professor maneuvered his body into the chair, smoothing his dark brown cape as he sat.

Guinevere sat in the small desk in front of him, conscious of his disapproving eyes as he took in her dirty and damp clothes. Dutifully, she recited the required phrases as he asked for them, but her pronunciation was not exact.

"Have you been practicing on a regular basis?"

"Sometimes."

"Sometimes is not the same as a regular basis. You must practice every night so that your brain does not forget the pronunciation. I've told your father that. He is going to have to take a more active part in your education," Professor Rymes stated.

"But it is not interesting. No one else in the castle except for you and my father even speak Latin. There is no one to practice with. I don't understand why I have to learn it," Guinevere said, pouting as she looked Professor Rymes in the eye. Since he wore glasses it was like looking into four eyes when one looked him in the eye.

"I have told you before, Ladies of the Castle need to be able to speak and understand Latin. Since the death of your mother, the Queen, there has been no Lady of the Castle. But that will change in a couple of days. It is time for you to step up and assume those duties. And that includes conversing in Latin with high-ranking visitors from abroad.”

Guinevere swallowed hard, reminded again that she would be expected to assume an adult’s role in the castle come her thirteenth Birth Day.

“My father knows Latin. He always uses it when talking to the visiting bishop.”

“Your father is an exception. Your future husband will most likely be relying on you being able to converse in Latin should such a visitor appear at your castle."

"Ugh! Can we not speak of marriage? After all, I am not thirteen yet ," Guinevere said.

"I am not going to discuss marriage with you. I am only pointing out the reasons for your education," Professor Rymes explained, removing his glasses and cleaning them on his cape. As he put them back on and adjusted them, he said, "Now, if we may continue with your lessons? Let's do some arithmetic. Where are those sums you were supposed to do?"

Guinevere walked over to the shelf and grabbed some papers and her charcoal writing tool. Surprisingly, for the next hour, the two worked together eagerly, both enjoying

the problems and working the sums.

"Very good," the Professor told her when they were finished. "I just wish you took to Latin as eagerly and quickly as arithmetic. Now, I know it is late but we should just touch on the history..."

He was interrupted by the loud rumbling of Guinevere's stomach. She tried to stifle her grin with her hand.

"Well. That is not very ladylike, is it?" the Professor said removing his glasses and cleaning them on his cape again.

"I'm sorry, Professor. Cedwyn and I missed breakfast this morning, and there was not time to grab something from the kitchen," Guinevere apologized.

"That should teach you to go traipsing about. Lucky for you and the castle those days are coming to an end. But, enough for now. It's time for you to help in the kitchen and learn some of the finer points of castle cooking. I will see you tomorrow," Professor Rymes said. "And don't forget to grab something to eat before you start cooking so you don't sample everything you help prepare."

"Thank you, Professor Rymes," Guinevere replied. Grumbling, she made her way to the doorway. “I don’t want my traipsing about days to come to an end. If only there was some way to postpone my Birth Day or make Father realize I’m not ready to be the Lady of the Castle.”

Concerned with her problems, she nearly passed by Cedwyn sitting on the stone step outside the kitchen wolfing down a piece of bread and cheese.

“Hey, where ya goin?”

He motioned to a cloth beside him. Guinevere sat down and unwrapped the cloth. A similar piece of bread and cheese was inside. Smiling her thanks, she devoured the food. Several minutes passed before either spoke, their only motion other than eating: lifting the amphora cup for a drink of sweet aleberry to wash down the food.

Once done, Guinevere turned to Cedwyn. "That was the best food I have eaten in a long time."

"Me too. Since last night!" Cedwyn said somewhat accusingly. "Mum decided I had to help clean the stables after all, and she said that since I had already waited so long to eat, a couple more hours wouldn't hurt. I think she was trying to make a point."

Guinevere looked contrite. "I'm sorry. I never meant to be so long this morning. If it weren't for that darn boar, we would have been home sooner. Anyway, thanks for saving me some food. Professor Rymes wouldn't let me eat either."

"Are you going inside to help?" He motioned behind him to the entrance of the kitchen.

"Yes. All ladies need to know how to cook. Just once I would like for Father to ask me what I want to know," Guinevere said, smoothing her tunic where it had dried from the morning dew.

"And what is it that you would want to know?"

"I don't know. Maybe how to catch a horse, shoot a crossbow, hunt a deer," she replied. “Something adventurous. But, I best be getting in the kitchen. I will be in enough trouble once the Professor tells Father I was late and didn't know my Latin. I can at least figure out how to cook a good supper."

At that, Guinevere got up, tousled Cedwyn's hair, and went in for what should have been an uneventful lesson. Cedwyn headed off across the inner courtyard to the gate and

then to the moat to see what was swimming in there today. He would have a full report for Guinevere at supper.

Guinevere wrinkled up her nose at the smell of raw meat and fresh herbs that floated out of the kitchen door. It always smelled better when the bread was baking in the ovens. But that was done in the morning, and by mid-afternoon, the rich aroma was lost in an air filled with the smell of pigs, horses, cows, and chickens. The only thing that made the afternoon bearable was the breeze that flowed through the slats in the outer wall and then circulated around the bailey courtyard.

The kitchen was a hub of activity. The blackguard Edward, a tall skinny boy around fifteen, was still setting pots and utensils out of a small alcove off to the side for use in the preparation of supper. His freckled face bore spots of charcoal on it from the pots. In the back, the carver James was sharpening the last of the knives on the whetstone. He was older than Edward by three years with well muscled arms from sharpening knives and cutting meat. The leather apron he wore was stained with blood. In the middle of the bare dirt floor stood a large black caldron on a bed of pine and hickory wood. Small wisps of flame could still be seen licking at the remaining sticks of hickory. This fire pit was used when company was expected. Other smaller caldrons simmered on beds of pine and hickory off to the side of the larger caldron. These were used to prepare the smaller side dishes.

Several women stood around the caldrons talking and adding ingredients. One of them was Brynwyn, Cedwyn's mother. Her black hair with streaks of grey running through it

was pulled back in a bun. Her ankle-length dress was covered with a pale brown apron that had seen much use. But while she was also in charge of the kitchen, she only interfered in the cook's domain when something big was happening. She seemed to sense Guinevere's presence.

"Well, Lady Guinevere, don't just stand there. In case you didn't know, your father is having guests tonight for supper, very important guests," Brynwyn said with hands on her stout hips.

"I didn't know," Guinevere said.

"Well, he is and there is lots to do. Help Maggie there with the potatoes and the

carrots." She pointed to a girl close to Guinevere's age busy peeling vegetables. Maggie looked up from her work, but showed no other sign that she knew Guinevere. "The lot needs to be peeled and cut up to put in the pot here. Goin' to be a real nice supper. Lots of vegetables and pork in garlic and pepper sauce, bread, and plenty of ale. Oh, and I almost forgot. Cook is making a special dish out of a barnacle goose and that rabbit you and Cedwyn brought in. That may save you a bit of trouble with your father," she added, turning back to the pot she was working with.

"Yes, madam. Is Cook by any chance baking circlette?" Guinevere asked, her mouth watering just thinking of the almond cake topped with fresh raspberry jam.

Brynwyn turned to Guinevere, a slight smile forming on her weathered face. "Yes, he is. So you best stay on his good side this time. No accidents today. He can't be making proper circlette if he has to work around a mess like the last time. Behave yourself and be careful."

Guinevere nodded and made her way over to Maggie, a plain girl whose mouse-brown hair was tied up in a bun. As usual, her clothes consisted of a well-worn tunic with no design. She also wore no shoes. The older girl nodded shyly at Guinevere and motioned toward the knives used for peeling. Guinevere thanked her, but received no reply and so just shrugged and started peeling a potato. Maggie never talked to anyone that Guinevere knew. In fact, it had taken months just to get a nod out of Maggie when she worked along side of her in the kitchen. But Guinevere didn't mind. She always told Maggie about everything she and Cedwyn had been doing. And once in a while, she even managed to get a smile out of Maggie, although she was careful not to let Maggie know that she saw.

After an hour, the pile of peeled potatoes and carrots had grown. Maggie had long ago stopped peeling and had been cutting up the vegetables. Finished peeling her pile of potatoes, Guinevere went in search of a pan to put them in. As she was heading back with the pan, Cook called out to her.

"Lady Guinevere, if it is possible without causing a riot, bring me the wicker basket with the rabbit in it. And don't open it!" he added, wiping his hands on his stained apron. His arms, muscled from kneading dough, looked as if they could easily squeeze the life out of a child if given a reason.

"Yes, Cook," Guinevere said, not wanting to risk his wrath. She put the pan down by Maggie and went to get the basket Cook had pointed out.

It was not heavy but even more interestingly, the rabbit appeared to still be alive. That would mean that she would have to listen as it was killed and skinned. Guinevere shivered and headed over to the other side of the kitchen where Cook waited.

Apparently, though, the rabbit knew what was in store and had no intention of being part of supper that night. And he didn't care who got in trouble for it.

The basket jumped out of Guinevere's hands before she could even blink. Hitting the floor, the lid came off and the rabbit, seeing its opportunity, took off across the kitchen. Guinevere just stood there, stunned. Maggie leaped up from her stool screaming as the rabbit dove under her legs. The pan she was filling with vegetables flew into the air, carrots and potatoes flying all over. Brynwyn shouted for Edward and James to block the doorways. Cook bore down on Guinevere, murder in his eyes.

"I only did what I was told! He jumped in the basket, and it slipped! It wasn't my fault!"

"You just wait until I tell the king about this...this fiasco!" Cook shouted, his plump face turning as red as the potatoes she’d peeled.

Guinevere turned and ran to the back side of the kitchen, looking under the shelves for the rabbit. She had to catch it. That was the only way to avoid trouble. Her father would be furious with her for wreaking havoc once again in the kitchen.

"It's over here!" James yelled as he exited the alcove with additional pans and utensils. The rabbit darted out of the alcove and made for the door. Cook ran toward the door, collided with James, and pans and utensils flew into the air. Cook pounced on the rabbit which turned and headed for the back of the kitchen.

"There it goes! It's heading for the drainage pipe!" The pipe was used to drain the

kitchen when it was washed down to the packed earth once a month. It came out at the edge of the forest.

Guinevere hurried to the far end of the kitchen. There, indeed heading for the drain pipe, the only way left unguarded, was the rabbit, racing toward it as if his continued existence depended on making it. And it did.

Knowing that she could not reach the pipe before the rabbit, Guinevere turned and headed out the door, bent on reaching the end of the pipe before the rabbit. Already alerted to a problem from the yells and screams coming from the kitchen, the bailey was filling up rapidly with spectators. The blacksmith Sauder, his hair and face stained with soot, just shook his head as Guinevere flew past. Several others, including the stable boys and gardeners, stopped their work to watch and eventually made their way out of the castle to see what was going to happen. Several ladies in various stages of cleaning the castle hung out of the upper windows and hollered down as she passed.

"What have you done now, Lady Guinevere?"

"You can't run fast enough to escape punishment this time."

Guinevere ignored their comments and concentrated on where she was going. She ran to the gate at the edge of the inner courtyard and out onto the bridge. She rushed passed Cedwyn so swiftly that she didn't even see him. Her mind and eyes were on the rabbit and reaching the end of the pipe first.

“I’ve got to get there first,” she stressed to herself.

"Hey! What's going on? Where ay goin'?" Cedwyn called after her. Receiving no response, he abandoned his moat watching and ran after her, still shouting. Several others also followed, though keeping at a safe distance. No one wanted to be close when the king arrived, as he was sure to with all the ruckus. Some had found out the hard way that when Lady Guinevere got in trouble, those close by were usually on the receiving end of the king's anger also. In fact, sometimes he directed his anger at those milling around rather than at Guinevere.

Guinevere ran on, her breath coming in gasps, but she didn't slow down. She could see the tall grass where the pipe spilled out its rotten treasure once a month. “I’m going to make it. Yes!” she silently cheered. On she ran, totally focused on the tall grass.

By this time, quite a crowd had gathered and followed her out the castle gate, over the moat, and across the meadow. Many of the women shook their heads as they watched Lady Guinevere tear across the meadow in a very unladylike way. Children of all sizes raced past the women, their cheers echoing alongside Cedwyn's repeated demands of what she was doing. Several men folk, including the blacksmith Sauder and Professor Rymes, were also drawn away from their work by the pursuing crowds and shouts.

Focused as she was, Guinevere didn't see was what was coming through the clearing. She didn't hear was Cedwyn's shout of warning. It was joined by the shouts of the rest of the spectators, but to no avail.

She did see the violent movement of the tall grass at the pipe's end. The rabbit was coming out of the pipe! Guinevere ran harder. She had to catch that rabbit.

From nowhere a blur of fur streaked toward the pipe, almost knocking Guinevere off her feet. The odor of wet dog assailed her senses, and his howling as he spotted the rabbit echoed in her ears. Not knowing where the bratchet hunting dog came from, but only knowing that it was after her rabbit, Guinevere yelled and ran even faster than she had before.

“No! The rabbit’s mine!” It was a race to the end! Guinevere's salvation or the bratchet's supper!

Dimly in the far reaches of her mind, Guinevere recognized the terrified voices of Cedwyn and the others. But she did not waver. Then Cedwyn's cries grew more desperate and more terrified.

"Guin'ver! Look out! Guin'ver!"

Without stopping, Guinevere risked a look around, hoping she would not stumble. Her ears were filled with the bratchet’s howling that was growing louder as it sensed victory was close.

Guinevere perceived a huge form barreling down on her. Fear started to work its

way into her mind.

“What...?”

She became conscious of Cedwyn's frantic shouting. The roars of others also filtered in to her brain.

"Guin'ver! Look out! Guin'ver!"

"Lady Guinevere!"

"Look out, my Lady!"

“Oh, my!”

The form materialized into the shape of a galloping horse with a knight dressed in shining silver armor coming full tilt straight toward her. Paralyzing fear stopped her running. Guinevere could only watch as the galloping horse thundered down upon her.

Sir Pellinore saw the girl and the danger, but was unable to swerve around her. He was also focused, focused on his bratchet that was now off on another trail. So quickly was the Painted Dragon forgotten in the face of more convenient prey!

Unable to move, Guinevere was also unable to even scream. Then, without warning, she felt herself lifted off the ground. The rush of wind from Pellinore's passing whipped around her even as she moved through the air. With a thwack, she landed on the ground, the wind knocked out of her.

In the few moments she struggled to breathe, Guinevere became aware of an apparition in flowing grey robes and a long white beard standing beside her. A frown of disapproval covered the wrinkled face.

“Wa... wai...”

"Fine behavior for the future Queen of England," the apparition said before turning around and heading back toward the castle. The rest of the crowd did the same as word filtered down that Lady Guinevere was safe.

About The Author

Education: Principal License-July 2003

Master’s in Computer Education- 1996

Institute of Children’s Literature, 1981

Bachelor’s Degree-1974

Teaching:

Jefferson County Schools-Secondary English, 1986-2007

Writing:

Via Satellite Magazine

Associate Editor

1986

Channel Guide

News Editor

1984-1986

Satellite Communications Magazine

Associate Editor

1982-1984

Copyright 2008-2009, Cheryl Carpinello (Expires February 20, 2009)

To request information on this author or a manuscript contact the listed agent or e-mail: dbooth@authorlink.com

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Author Reference Number	802013ch
Author Name	Cheryl Carpinello
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