“I would lose it, I am certain! Thank you for taking care of it. What is expected of me today?” Guinevere asked.
Brangien shook her head, deftly twisting and braiding Guinevere’s long, thick hair. “It is assumed the queen will be tired after her wedding night, so none of the other ladies will call on you.”
Guinevere did not comment on the basis of that assumption. At least it gave her some peace. “And Arthur?”
“I expect he will be busy all day.”
“Good!” Guinevere turned, smiling in unfeigned excitement. “Will you take me into the city? Show me Camelot as you live it?”
Brangien looked taken aback. “What do you mean?”
“This is my city now. I want to walk the streets with you. See how it works, how the people live. Please take me on an adventure?”
Brangien’s face softened with friendliness. She finished pinning a twisted braid to frame Guinevere’s face. “I forget sometimes what a wonder it is. When Sir Tristan and I arrived, it felt like the journey across the lake had transported me into a dreamland. It was the first time in months I could feel something like hope again.” She leaned back, admiring her work before nodding to herself. “But do you think it is appropriate for us to explore today?”
“I have not been given any instructions on what I am to do. And if no one has told me no, they cannot be angry with us!”
Brangien laughed. “If we are leaving the castle, we will need different clothing than I picked.”
Guinevere followed Brangien into the bedroom and waited patiently as Brangien cinched and tied her into her clothing. Today’s dress was a cheerful yellow. The hood draped over her shoulders was deep blue. After checking to make certain that Guinevere’s sleeves went all the way to her fingers, Brangien knelt and helped Guinevere get into her shoes.
“Would you like to wear a veil?” Brangien asked.
“Must I?”
“It is not unusual for ladies, but it is not so common that it will cause gossip if you do not.”
“I would much rather they get used to my face than expect a veil.”
Brangien nodded and stood. Her maid’s clothes were nicer than any Guinevere had ever owned before now, but the cloth was not so finely woven, and she had no fur trimming her hood. The dyes were duller as well. Brangien’s clothes said that she was important, but not royal.
There was an entire language to this city that Guinevere had to learn. She was grateful she had Brangien to navigate it for her, and even more grateful for Merlin’s wisdom in choosing a princess from so far away for her to impersonate, so that any errors could be excused by her foreignness.
Brangien hurried her through the hallway. Guinevere suspected her maid was half-worried they would be caught and not permitted to leave. They both sighed with relief as they exited the castle through one of the side doors; then they turned to each other and laughed.
Guinevere followed Brangien down an unnervingly narrow flight of stairs that wound from the midsection of the castle all the way down to the city below. Having so many doors into the castle initially seemed like a safety flaw, but only one person at a time could navigate these stairs. And they were so twisty and treacherous, no one in armor and wielding a weapon could climb them with any haste.
The base of the castle featured the only door wide enough to accommodate more than one person. It was open, but guarded ten men deep. They passed alongside it. Guinevere half expected the men to call out to them to stop, but they paid the two women no mind.
Feeling freer than she had since she entered the convent, Guinevere linked her arm through Brangien’s, and together they walked down the steep path into Arthur’s city. The streets were not what she had expected. They were not cobbled or made of dirt, but were channels in the rock itself. The centers were flat, but the sides sloped gently upward. Almost like the aqueducts above their heads, but on a far larger scale.
They passed the homes closest to the castle, which were also the nicest. Brangien chattered happily about them. Sir Percival’s, Sir Bors’s, Sir Mordred’s. Mordred’s was by far the largest and finest of them.
“Where does Sir Tristan live?” Guinevere asked.
“Most of the knights who flocked to Arthur left behind everything they had to fight at his side. He claimed them as brothers and gave them rooms in the castle.” She turned and pointed to the lowest level. “They all live there, in their own chambers. Arthur says they are the foundation of his strength.”
“He values them very much.”
“He does. And his love is reciprocated.” She returned her attention to the city. “Doubtless you will be forced to sit through many meals at these manors. No reason to linger here. I want to show you my Camelot. Pull your hood a little closer. If no one recognizes you, we will move easier.”
Brangien’s happiness was contagious. Guinevere’s own feet moved faster, nearly dancing down the path. “Do you spend a lot of time in the city?”
“I do! Or, I did. There was not much for me to do before the castle finally got her lady.” Brangien turned to Guinevere. “But do not take that to mean I am not glad you are here! It is a relief to be useful again. It has been so long since I lost Isolde.”
“You were Isolde’s maid? I thought you were with Sir Tristan.”
“I was hers first.” She cut off the conversation with another determined smile. Brangien offered smiles in place of explanations. “The aqueducts are back to water today.” She pointed upward. Guinevere followed the lines of them, twin tubes going alongside the road and then veering to either side down through the city.
“It is a clever system. I have never seen its like.” Guinevere had never seen a city, period, but Brangien did not know that.
“We do not have wells. The rivers provide our water. It would be such a chore going down to the lake and then hiking to the heights of the city or the castle. There is a saying among servants when things go wrong. ‘Could be buckets.’ Their way of reminding each other to look on the bright side of things. At least they are not breaking their backs hauling endless buckets of water up these streets!”
Guinevere understood. She had to step carefully to avoid breaking into a run, pulled as they were by the slope of the streets. The homes and shops were all built at an angle. Most doors were on the lake side of the hill. She peered into an open one to see a tiny entry, the floor sloping sharply upward toward the castle. Shelves had been put there, a clever use of the space. The streets seemed unplanned, like tributaries branching out from the castle. Houses and buildings had been put in wherever they could be.
As she and Brangien got lower, the buildings grew closer together, jostling and nudging each other for space. Barrels of water were placed at regular intervals.