Eminence Grise: The Making of a Dictator

The sun was barely making its way above the horizon, but the people of Camelot bustled in the streets, everyone heading to one place or returning from another. The farmers prepared to tend to their farms; the one who had an ox loaded the animal with his tools, while the one who did not lugged them along. Traders opened their shops, cleaned their wares, and displayed them for prospective buyers.

Fishermen dragged their hauls to the centre of the market, hoping to sell them off so they could drown themselves in a tankard of ale before the sun got high in the sky.

Camelot was a busy kingdom, and the magnificent castle where the royal family lived was no different. Despite the early hour, the king's court was already in session, with attendants from all over the kingdom present in the throne room.

Every man and woman currently present in the great hall, arranged in a semicircle around the dais that held the king's ornate throne, was a representative from their community who hoped to appeal to the king regarding one issue or another.

Of course, there were some that had been summoned by the king himself, here to receive an imperial order. The knight who had just lowered herself onto one knee was one such person: Guinevere Carmelide.

As the sun's rays diffused through the high windows and settled on her bowed head, illuminating her auburn locks, the crowd could not help but murmur, unable to contain their awe. She was truly beautiful. Her skin shimmered with a healthy wheat colour that seemed to point to an African ancestor, and her oval face was elegant, framed by her wavy bronze hair.

Her graceful figure was clothed in the uniform of the imperial knights, blinding white and gold. The two swords sheathed at her waist were both of a quality that could be found nowhere else but in the king's armoury. It had been said, and it would continue to be said, that there was no greater beauty anywhere in the kingdom.

The chancellor stepped forward, and after clearing his throat, he unfurled a scroll and began to read in a vibrant voice. The crowd quieted down such that if a pin dropped on the marble floor, the sound would reach the ears of all in the hall. They hung on every word that escaped the chancellor's lips. History was about to be made.

The chancellor finished reading the last word of the imperial order, rolled it up smartly, and looked expectantly down through the spectacles on his nose at the knight who was kneeling below him.

"I, Guinevere of the house of Carmelide, accept this imperial order," Guinevere said, bowing with her left hand placed reverentially over her heart. Her voice rang out in the silent room, elegant and pleasant like the tinkling of a wind chime shivering in a soft breeze.

She rose slowly from her kneeling position and could not help the small smile that curved upon her lips. She turned her gaze to the man on the throne. "Thank you, Your Majesty, for giving me the opportunity to serve you. I swear on my life that I will not let you down."

Uther Pendragon, reclining in the massive throne, smiled and nodded. He was the most important and powerful person in Camelot.

"You will act as my representative in the west. Drive the Saxons out in my name, and I will reward you with whatever you desire."

The crowd gasped as one, and even an eyebrow twitched on the chancellor's stoic face. Guinevere herself was not immune to the effect of the king's words. The assignment she had just been given was incredibly important, and the reward that awaited her was incredibly special. Her heart thumped, pushing blood faster through her body. She could feel it just beyond her reach: the glory and the honour that awaited her and her men.

Repeating her vow, Guinevere bowed deeply and walked backwards to the door, as was the custom when in the presence of the king. As the large brown doors closed in front of her, Guinevere straightened and stared at them briefly before turning to make her way out of the palace.

Finally, Guinevere thought as she strode through the hallway, boots striking the floor, she was getting the acknowledgement she deserved. This was an imperial order, not an order from a marquis or even a duke. It was an order from Uther Pendragon himself. Those whispered tales had reached the king's ears. Years of training rigorously to become a knight against her father's wishes had been worth it.

She reached the entrance of the palace and stepped into the sunlight, its soft heat warming her up. She jogged down the stairs to the edge of the courtyard, where her friend and most loyal knight waited patiently on one of the cobblestones.

"How did you fare?" Lancelot du Lac asked eagerly, rising to his feet as soon as he saw her. He was dressed identically to Guinevere. The only noticeable difference was the number of swords sheathed at his waist. While Guinevere was a dual wielder, Lancelot's skill—although impressive—limited him to just one blade.

"How do you think?" Guinevere asked, smiling. "It's just as I told you. We received an imperial order to squash the barbarians." The excitement she had kept on a tight leash in the hall seeped out, and Guinevere clenched her leather-covered fist, beaming at her friend. "The king has acknowledged us, Lancelot. His Majesty."

Lancelot beamed back at her, his blue eyes glinting, and clasping her shoulder, he said, "It has been you all along. You led us to victory and glory. You have validated us in the eyes of the throne."

Feeling the praise was too much, Guinevere shook her head. Camelot was a cesspool of politics. Because the political strength of a lord greatly depended on the number and quality of the troops under their control, the competition to serve all the important lords was fierce. She recalled with conflicting emotions all the years they had spent struggling in the kingdom, trying to prove their worth to the lords and masters.

No position was guaranteed. If your master felt that you added little value to his political standing, then your employment was forfeit. Guinevere and her men had been in that position several times in the past, but things had changed.

Now, they were serving as the king's troops, acting under an imperial order.

"It was all of us. Our hard work brought us here, Lancelot. We will never have to struggle for food, clothes, or shelter ever again."

They stood in the shadow of the great castle, gazing at each other with unshakeable comradery for a few seconds before mounting their horses and making their way out of the grand gates. The stallions picked up speed, and with the wind in her face, Guinevere could not help but smile as she imagined the reaction her fellow knights would have to the news.

It would be wild, to say the least.

***

The western territory was vast. It lacked the mountains of the north, the rivers of the east, and the mines of the south and instead was full of plains. The rich plains made the west the economic centre of the kingdom, full of agriculture. The food produced there fed the entire kingdom, the produce reaching as far as the king's table.

However, the plains, as beneficial and important as they were, made the west very easy to invade.

That was the problem currently facing Duke Lucius. The Lucius Duchy was the closest territory to the border, and as the duke of the region, it fell to him to protect this section of the kingdom. Unfortunately, that did not mean he had the power or the skill to do so.

Currently, his forces were stretched to the limit trying to contain the Saxon incursion. He was out of resources and at his wit's end when he sent his request to His Majesty last week, and the situation had only gotten more severe since then.

He had waited impatiently, hoping the king would send the elite knights of the central army to come to his aid. The king had responded promptly to his call for help. That the duke was happy about, but he had no idea what a woman in a knight's uniform was doing in front of him.

She and her troops had barged into his palace, claiming to be sent by the king. She commandeered his study and was setting up a base of operations. It didn't matter that she had flashed the imperial order in his face, Lucius just could not believe that a woman had been sent as his backup.

Was this a subtle insult from the king?

Shaking with fury, Lucius approached the table where the woman and one of her knights had their heads bowed over a map, deep in conversation.

"Now, see here, woman," Lucius began, spitting the word 'woman' like a vile curse. "I do not know how things are done over there in the capital, but here, women do not lead troops. They sew and knit and tend to the babes. No man in this great duchy will allow himself to be led into battle by a woman. Although, any man who allows himself to be led by a woman deserves whatever comes his way, if you ask me. But I will have you know that—"

His tirade was interrupted by the screech of a sword being drawn. Lucius flinched, but before he could blink, the pointed end of a sword was resting below his chin. Lucius looked at the person who held the sword and held his breath.

Lancelot's blue eyes were filled with a murderous rage. "Would you feel better if you died by my hand, Your Grace?"

The duke whimpered slightly, his heart thumping painfully behind his ribcage.

"Drop your sword, sire," Guinevere said calmly, raising her head from the map of the duchy splayed on the table. The expression on her face was a contradiction: Her lips were curved into a friendly smile, but her eyes…

They were different from those of the knight who held a sword to his neck.

They weren't filled with blind rage and, instead, were piercing and electrifying. If the knight's eyes told him that his throat could be cut at any moment, her eyes promised him pain and suffering beyond anything he could ever imagine.

Duke Lucius felt a cold chill travel down his spine and could not help but shiver. His breaths became shallower, his muscles tensing. And then, suddenly, it was over. Guinevere blinked, and the murder in her brown eyes disappeared. Lancelot obeyed her command, returned his sword to its scabbard, and went back to his original position beside Guinevere.

Despite the threat she had communicated a few seconds earlier, Guinevere's countenance was carefree as she said, "Your Grace, I beg you to bear with us. We will be out of your hair soon, and then your graceful duchy can return to having no man under a woman's leadership. All I ask is that you supply us with food and shelter and stable our horses while we are in your care, as the imperial decree commands."

Returning her attention to the map in front of her, Guinevere pretended not to hear Lancelot scoff beside her. Comments like this were commonplace, and she was used to them all. She had endured them from the very day she stepped foot into the training academy to the day she was officially knighted.

Society seemed to have only one thing to say to her: It was not right for a woman to fight.

They'd had no problem with the fact that she was a knight. After all, there were other honorary female knights. But as their title suggested, they were only knights in name, many of them never lifting a sword or even glancing at one.

Not Guinevere. Even though her father was a lowly baron, one who had to run a blacksmithing trade to keep his barony afloat, his position as a noble was enough to secure her the title of honorary knight. But that was not what Guinevere wanted. She wanted to fight and gain glory for the kingdom with her own two hands.

The desire had sparked in her when her father had taken her to one of the blacksmithing stalls he owned. She had admired the resilience of the blade, the way it became stronger with every strike until it transformed into the perfect weapon, glinting in the sunlight.

She wanted glory, strived and fought for it. It had finally come with the king's decree. She had to execute it flawlessly, and when she did, she would ask that she and her men be included in the king's army. That was her goal, and she definitely would not allow a chauvinist noble to stop her.

Guinevere placed a finger on the map. "Here. Are these caves empty, Your Grace?"

The duke swallowed his fear and shifted slightly towards the table. He glanced at the region she was pointing to and nodded. "They are empty except for the occasional wild beast. What do you want to do with those caves?"

Guinevere used the same finger to trace a line along the border. "This is where the Saxons are invading from. It is the most accessible part of the border. They can easily attack and retreat through this region. And from the last report, it seems that is what they are doing." She returned her finger to the caves and tapped the map twice. "We'll camp out here and set up scouts along the border. Once we get word that they have made their move, we will ambush them, blocking their path to retreat." She looked up from the map. "I expect all inhabitants have been evacuated from this region?"

The duke shrugged. "Maybe, maybe not. There is no one of noble blood in the area, only commoners."

So? Did that mean they were not a priority?

Guinevere forced back a sigh of frustration. That was another thing that was commonplace: disregard for the life of anyone whose blood did not run blue.

"We will begin this operation with the evacuation of the villagers." She turned to Lancelot. "Please make the arrangements."

Lancelot nodded and walked out of the room to follow her orders.

Guinevere studied the map for a few seconds, asking the duke a few more questions before nodding to herself and rolling it up. She bowed to the duke and also made to leave the room. Hand on the knob, she was about to let herself out when the duke's shaky voice came from behind her.

"H-how long?"

She turned to glance at him.

"How long will it take to get rid of the Saxons? We'll be done in a week, Your Grace."

Disbelief was apparent on the duke's face. "A week?" he shouted, forgetting his fear. "That's impossible."

It seemed truly impossible for the aristocrat to comprehend. He had been battling these infidels for a month to no avail, and now a woman was telling him that she would be successful in a week.

"You must be crazy if you believe that."

Guinevere did not reply, simply bowing and exiting the room. It was utterly without use to explain the basis of her confidence to the prejudiced noble. Actions spoke louder than words.

And she was a woman of action.

Guinevere sat with her back on the cave wall and frowned as she assimilated the information a scout had just provided her.

Silent for a minute, she finally said, "Continue to monitor the situation and keep me updated as it changes. In the meantime, we will continue the mission as is."

The knight bowed and walked out of the cave. Guinevere’s eyes followed him to the mouth of the cave where she could see the tips of field stakes and the tops of pitched tents.

It had been five days since she and her men arrived at the western duchy. The subjugation plan was going flawlessly. In the first three days that they had tangled with the Saxons, they had whittled their numbers to a quarter of what it used to be.

The report had been sent to the duke and Guinevere severely wished she could see the look on his face when he received the news but she had to remain in position. Especially as she received news from one of the scouts she had posted around their camp.

A strange individual was spotted entering and exiting some caves south of the ones her troops currently inhabited. For the past five days since they took up residence in the caves, the scouts had been spotting individuals, sometimes groups of people, in the caves.

Whenever the scouts tried to follow them, they always lost the trail in the labyrinth of caves. It was a worrying report because although the scouts had assured her that they were not Saxons, the possibility that someone was spying on the movement of her troops was disconcerting.

Guinevere had readied several contingency plans but it seems the individuals whoever they were, were perfectly content on just watching. Well, she would deal with that later. Now, she had the battle to win.

Palming the ground and rising in one fluid motion, Guinevere armed herself with her swords and walked out of the caves and down to where her troops were currently getting ready for battle. Today was the last day of the fighting and she would be personally leading the troops out today.

She had learnt to let her men fight on their own once in a while so they could rack up some achievements for themselves and so that she would not be accused of taking all the glory. Today, however, she had to make sure that all the infidels were cleared out.

She had promised herself that this mission will not take more than seven days and she had to keep that promise. Mounting her rubican stallion, she skimmed over the field and raised a hand in the air to call for silence. A moment later, the clangs of metal and the murmurings came to a stop. The knights looked at their awesome leader, awaiting her words.

Guinevere did not keep them waiting for long. With a loud voice, brimming with confidence, she spoke to the army of men. “We have fought bravely for the past five days. Today marks the final day of our presence here in the West. We will end the Saxons tonight!”

The men roared and clamoured, their faces shining with excitement as they banged their swords and shields together. She waited for the noise to lessen before continuing.

“We will chase them down to their hovels and destroy them. We will make them regret ever setting foot in the glorious kingdom of Camelot.”

More clamouring.

“This is our time to shine. This is our time to show the king that we are worthy knights, time to show him our prowess.”

The men became quiet as the intensity in Guinevere's words travelled across the field like breeze rippling through the grass.

“You are all aware that the king has promised us a reward of our choosing when this battle is over. This is our chance to become members of the king's army. To become elite knights. So, men, when you fight today, fight with all your strength and all your heart and all your soul, keeping your gaze firm on the reward that has been set before us. For glory, for Camelot!"

“For glory, for Camelot!” the men bellowed as one.

“Take your positions and let us run the Saxons out of our land!”

Full of vigour, the men readied their equipment and arranged themselves into the prearranged positioning. The signal was given and they rode out in tight formation.

The caves where they had hidden overlooked the plains where the Saxons invaded from and so they had the advantage with the high ground. Guinevere had a basic plan. She would use the infantry to pin the Saxons in the region she wanted them and then mounted knights would flank them, dealing damage. The archers would then pick up any stragglers.

It seemed like a basic plan but Guinevere knew that the skill of her men would make it highly efficient.

The adrenaline seeped into her bones. Her muscles bunched and tensed, quivering with excitement, fear and tension. Her breath came quicker and quicker. Beside her, she could hear Lancelot breathing hard as well. Their eyes locked and she grinned at him. She knew what he was feeling. She had fought many battles in the past but this feeling never went away. She liked it though. It reminded her that she was human. Frail but determined.

Donning the bright silver helmet, Guinevere unsheathed her blades and thrusting her right hand in the air, she screamed, “Charge!”

Her stallion shot out of the line of soldiers and the knights swiftly followed suit.

She swung her sword and the sharp blade connected with the neck of a Saxon but it did not stop there. In one swoop, Guinevere felled three men, their bodies dropping with a thud to the field beneath them. The ferocious attack frightened the men in her vicinity and they tried to scramble away but Lancelot was behind her, not as ferocious but just as quick and soon three men fell by his blade as well.

The duo charged down the middle of the enemies and carved a path for their allies to follow. The sound of clashing swords carried on till the mid-afternoon, albeit steadily diminishing.

Guinevere panted and pulled her helmet off with a grunt. She surveilled the field before her with grim satisfaction. She did not think that the battle would last this long. Say what you may about the Saxons, they were formidable fighters.

But her men were more formidable.

The battle was all but won. Lancelot rode up to her and reported. The last of the Saxons were retreating, if their dash for the border could be called a retreat.

“Lead a group to chase them down and kill every last one of them. The rest of us will regroup and mop up any leftovers. The battle is over.”

Lancelot received his orders and steered his horse away. Guinevere watched him go before turning back towards the caves. She rode swiftly with the wind tossing her hair into a frenzy behind her. Her men cheered, lifting their swords in a warrior’s salute, at the sight of their once again triumphant leader.

She smiled, letting her happiness show. Yes, the battle was over. They were once more victorious. But one thing kept nagging at Guinevere’s mind. Throughout the battle, she had stationed a group of knights at the rear to guard against an ambush.

The flow of the battle made it look like she had employed a basic hammer and anvil strategy but the reality was that Guinevere had arranged her knights into a poleaxe formation, keeping the entire squad flexible and ready to swing in any direction. It was obvious that she was on guard to any extraneous attacks.

But none came. The battle was over, well and truly won with no interruption.

And it begot a question. What were the individuals who were in and around the caves doing? Were they spies hired by the duke to observe the battle? If they were not from the duke, then from the king? Or another interested party?

Whatever it was, Guinevere did not like to leave things that could bite her in the back. That was how she had survived so far and that was what would guaranty her continued survival. So she urged her steed towards the cave closest to the last reported sighting and dismounted once she arrived.

She hid the horse behind one of the rock formations and began creeping slowly and keeping low to the side of the caves. Luck shined on her and she spotted a middle-aged man dressed in a peculiar uniform walking into a cave. Guinevere kept her head down to avoid being spotted but the man did not seem careful about his surroundings.

She followed the man, noting his ease and confidence as he made his way further into the cave without any source of light. The deeper she followed him into the cave, the more she became convinced that he had been doing this for a long time; it seemed impossible that he had been simply commanded to follow and spy on her troops. They had just arrived in the region five days ago. This man had been doing this for months, if not years.

Guinevere trailed him carefully, partly because she did not want him to see her and partly to keep from tripping on the cave's rough floor. He suddenly turned left and walked into the wall. Surprised, she rushed to the spot he disappeared from and ran her eyes all over the area.

What just happened?

She spun around in confusion before noticing that there was a small cleft in the wall, barely enough for a human to fit through. Was this where he disappeared?

There was no other way to find out and she did not want to stand here in case there were any hostiles nearby. Guinevere took a step forward and shimmied into the tight space, wincing as the rough surface rubbed against her uniform and skin. But her discomfort did not last long.

Soon, the narrow fissure opened into a much larger space with tunnels and wooden stanchions. Mine was the first word that popped into Guinevere’s mind. This was a mine. But another question soon followed. What was being mined here?

Curious and cautious, Guinevere drew one a dagger from her waist—a sword would have been too long to swing around in the tunnel—and crept silently along the walls, using the undulations as cover to travel undetected.

The deeper she went into the mine, the louder the sounds of metal striking stone were. The vibrations in the walls were also more prominent. She was getting closer. Running her palm against the wall, Guinevere allowed the tremors and the sounds to guide her. She reached a spot where the quakes and the rumbles were at a peak.

She squatted and looked into the hole, and her mouth promptly fell open. It was not the sheer number of men working in the mine that startled her. It was the precious cargo that they carted away in trolleys, the jewels that glittered in the walls.

Diamonds. They were mining diamonds. This was an illegal diamond mine.

She did not have to think hard to know that the mine was illegal. All the disclosed mines were in the north. And the manner with which the miners conducted their activities was also proof that the mine was illegal.

There was no special equipment that would mark the area undergoing mining operation or any guards that would serve as an indication that something valuable was contained in the caves.

Guinevere’s mind made all sorts of mental flips as it ran through all the possibilities. She thought back to the history she had learned. The skirmish that had occurred before she was born, when Uther was the crown prince and had not yet ascended the throne.

The bout of fighting had occurred between Camelot and the neighbouring kingdom, Endore. One thing led to another and Camelot ultimately lost that battle. As part of the reparations, they had to pay tax on any article mined in Camelot that was to be sold elsewhere.

The tax increased as the value of the material increased and as one of the most precious articles in the world, the diamond tax was exorbitant. The unattractive prices repelled buyers from other kingdoms and Camelot ended up losing a large portion of the internal revenue due to this tax.

But if there was a mine that was hidden from general knowledge, a mine whose jewels were not taxed, then it would be a great benefit to whoever owned them.

The king had to know about this. Making up her mind swiftly, Guinevere rose and nimbly her way out of the mines. Her men should be returning. It would be harsh to ask them to seize the mine now. They had to rest. Once they did, she would command them to surround the caves and capture the mine.

Yes, all the men could not squeeze through a cleft in the rock but Guinevere was certain there was another entrance; one that allowed the miners to move their jewels and equipment freely and quickly. She had to find it and march in with her troops.

***

She watched as her soldiers seized the miners, restraining them and pushing them up against the rocks. They worked quickly and efficiently, the tiredness from the battle fading away. This was another chance to gain accolades. Defeating the Saxons and busting an illegal diamond mine. Their honour would increase ten-fold.

Guinevere watched the proceedings and could not help the cold feeling that nestled between her shoulders. The man who had identified himself as the head miner glanced at her and smiled nastily.

He spoke in a voice hardened by years of inhaled mine dust. “It would have been better if you had just ignored what you saw but now, you are going to pay the price.”

She stared him down, eyes unwavering, unlike her heart. The soldiers around her quickly beat him into silence and Guinevere turned away, biting her lip. What price?

“...ere.”

“…nevere.”

“Guinevere!” Lancelot shouted and Guinevere jolted, alarmed.

“What is it?”

“That’s what I would like to ask you, my lady. You seem out of it.”

Guinevere shook her head in place of an answer. "What was the response from the king?" She had asked him to send an urgent message to the king, telling him about the mine.

"He asked us to keep the bust a secret. He will send some elite knights to aid us in the arrest and the clean-up. They are already on their way."

She nodded. “That’s fine. Let’s wait for the imperial army before we move out.”

"Will do," Lancelot said. Then added in a concerned tone. "Guinevere, you need to rest." By using her name, Lancelot crossed the line between official and personal. Allowing herself some reprieve, Guinevere raised her hand to softly ruffle his light brown hair.

“I will.” She turned to survey the area for a place where she can rest without being disturbed. The caves to the right of them were high up and out of the way enough for a quick nap. She pointed and said, “Let’s go up.”

Lancelot followed her finger and nodded. They climbed up and reclined at the entrance of one of the caves. They sat close by, their shoulders almost touching. Lancelot reached over and touched her neck, settling her head on his shoulder.

“Sleep,” he commanded.

Guinevere smiled. “I will heed your command, sire.”

They both chuckled softly and Guinevere closed her eyes, content to remain like that, under the inky sky. Although she slept peacefully for hours, she felt like she had barely closed her eyes when Lancelot shook her awake.

“They’re here. The king’s men,” he whispered and followed up with, “Something doesn’t feel right.”

Guinevere blinked rapidly, trying to clear the sleep from her eyes. She trained her sights ahead and watched as the army approached, all of them mounted and galloping towards the caves at full speed.

She immediately agreed with Lancelot. Something was not right. Did the king send such a large force to clean up an illegal mine? No. Instincts honed by years of fighting told her one thing. They were not here to aid them. They were here to kill.

Guinevere rose and bellowed into the night. “All men to arms!”

The response was instant. The horns sounded and her men began preparations to battle. The approaching army also wasted no time. Their archers, riding at the rear, loaded their bows and fired.

The arrows rained down. Guinevere pulled both her swords and prepared to defend herself, but Lancelot stood in front of her, sword drawn.

“Go. Mobilize the men. I’ll cover you.”

Guinevere looked like she was going to argue for a moment but ultimately decided to heed his words. She turned back and immediately made her way back down the rocks. She did not fear any arrow striking her in the back. If Lancelot said he would cover her, then no arrow would make its way through to her.

“Are the Saxons back?” they asked each other as they armed themselves and mounted their horses. By then, the thudding of the approaching army’s stallions had reached them. They stood in formation, tense and waited for further instructions.

Guinevere herself had already rushed down from the cave, mounted her steed and drawn her swords, praying and hoping she misread the situation.

Soon, the vanguard of the approaching army arrived at their makeshift camp. The silvery light of the moon reflected on their uniforms and she gasped. Emblazoned above their left breasts was not the typical crest given to a knight of Camelot or even the one given to the imperial army.

These knights belonged to the interior palace guards. The very guards that protected His Majesty Uther Pendragon. What were they doing here?

She was not alone in her confusion. The men around her also furrowed their brows. Why would their leader call them to arms against the palace guards? Was that not treason? And why would the palace guards attack them?

“They probably think we are Saxons.” That line travelled down the formation and so the men felt the tension drain out of them. There was no battle to be fought here. It was not until the first few throats were viciously cut that the men realized that there was no mistake. The palace guards were here to hunt them down. Why?

Guinevere severed a hand pointing a sword at her while she contemplated the situation. The mine belonged to the king. That was the only answer she arrived at. It was the king who owned the mine and he had sent his most trusted men, the palace guards, to keep its existence secret.

And although her men were superior to most private soldiers in the kingdom, they were not better fighters than the soldiers that protected the most powerful man in Camelot. Even if they could have stood a chance against the palace guards someday, it would not be today, being so fatigued as they were.

Not long after the assault began, Guinevere and her men were forced into submission, tied like the miners they had arrested. She tried to struggle out of her bonds but stopped once she heard a thump behind her. She craned her neck to see Lancelot on the floor, blood trickling from his mouth.

“G-guin-evere,” he managed to say before a sword was sunk in his chest, blade striking the stone beneath him.

Guinevere gasped, blood draining out of her face as she stared into Lancelot’s lifeless eyes. “No. No. NOOO! Lancelot!” She screamed her pain and denial into the night sky. She struggled with renewed vigour against the men that held her.

They grunted as she kicked and shoved them away and ran to Lancelot. She slid on the ground beside him but there was nothing she could do. His body was still warm but there was an unnatural stillness in his limbs. Lancelot, her friend and most loyal knight, was dead.

She begged, cried and pleaded but there was no one to hear her pleas. Eventually, Guinevere was drained of strength and willpower. And so, when the guards surrounded her once more, they were met with no resistance. Guinevere was dragged off, shackles placed on her hands and feet. Her eyes were blank and filled with tears.

Lancelot was dead; the sight of his limp body forever etched in her mind.