Lancelot and the Wolf

by Sarah Luddington

  I remembered the tears in Arthur’s eyes when he decreed the full flogging for our adultery. He had begged me with his eyes to offer to take Guinevere’s lashes. I said as Queen’s Champion I would, the charges were untrue and we were committing no crimes. I wanted to take as much of the burden and pain from Arthur as possible. I knew he would not survive his wife being flogged in public. The relief and gratitude on his face that day the only thing, which held me to this world as I took first my lashes and then hers in succession.

  “She betrayed me?” I asked. I shouldn’t have been surprised. I long realised Guinevere the woman was not Guinevere the girl, I once loved as a squire.

  “She betrayed you, no one else. I am sorry. But now Arthur needs you to hold his way clear. To give him a new life. He needs you to protect him from her, from the de Clare’s and from the fey who wish to control England for their own reasons. You have to help him or our world will be lost.” Else said pulling me to my feet and strapping my armour back on. “So, stop with the maudlin introspection, and go bag us a king.” She pushed me into the dull afternoon light and bullied me back onto Ash. She gave me a lance to carry and we set off, back toward the keep and my afternoon joust with Arthur.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  We rode up the hill to the castle and the weather closed in. The clouds lowered, the wind rose, snapping at my pennon, the wolf’s head shimmering in the flat light. It would rain before too long, making footing dangerous. I mentally prepared, once more going through simple combinations of sword movements in my mind. I brought forward all I knew of Arthur’s fighting style and remembered every fight we’d shared. Calm filled me, I remained centred and back in my world. This I knew how to do, I knew how to fight. Women, politics, they were a mystery to me but fighting I understood.

  We approached the castle and I realised a great crowd swelled and rolled, like a huge wave of humanity. King Arthur always drew an audience. I wished feverishly we didn’t have a crowd but Camelot’s all about spectacle. Once we reached the main gate, the throng parted. We walked over the moat and through the wall into the killing fields. The soldiers lined the way to the tourney field, keeping the people back. We made short work of reaching the site. Without the time to set up a tourney field outside the city, we were squashed into the practice area. There wasn’t a great deal of room for the castle’s inhabitants never mind the city folk. The walls began to close in on me, the armour became heavy and my vision too restricted. The noise of the crowd and the stink of bodies made me wish for the open fields and my simple life with Else.

  I saw Geraint, Kay and many others scattered through the crowd of wealthy merchants. My eyes slid to the centre of the heaving tableau. I saw two things at once, Arthur, sat astride Willow, his mighty warhorse and Guinevere stood beside him but not touching him or looking in his direction. She stared directly at me.

  I knew she couldn’t see who sat under the black armour but her ice blue eyes captured my attention so thoroughly I stopped breathing. Across the distance of the tourney field, I realised Guinevere’s beauty still made me breathless. The wind moved her cloak and with it her hood, giving hints of her slim figure and hair spun from the light of the sun.

  “Hey, lover, focus,” Else snapped in whispered tones beside me.

  I turned to her and looked down into her elfin face. Her eyes turned the colour of dark honey when she felt calm and at peace. Her skin always retained a warmth in its tones which reminded me of summer. Her body’s slimness came from hard work and hours in the saddle, not contrived eating habits.

  I took a deep breath and willed myself to snap the chains Guinevere placed on my heart so long ago. “I love you,” I said quietly.

  “Bloody good job,” Else said grumpily, “or I might be forced to release that damned spell all over you again.”

  I chuckled, suddenly preferring all the complications of my relationship with Else, to Arthur and Guinevere any day. I studied my opponent. He sat on Willow, the great black stallion looking sleek and perfect as ever. Unlike Ash, Willow had the temper of a gelding but the brains of a true destrier. They were a fine pair, even if Ash’s temper usually meant he’d rather fight with Willow than beside him. Jealousy in horses is not attractive. Because of Ash’s colour change, they appeared to be brothers and Ash shifted as he recognised the scent of the other horse. Arthur himself sat straight in the saddle and the lance in his hand did not waver.

  Else rode forward slightly, “My Lord is here and prepared for the tourney,” she said loudly enough to still the hum of the crowd.

  Arthur, his visor raised, said in return, “As is traditional,” his voice rang clear and strong. Arthur had sobered up. “The knight has the right to ask for anything from me if he wins, other than my crown.”

  “All he asks in return is the chance to plead his case to the greatest of Kings, in audience alone,” Else said.

  I frowned. Arthur always included his wife in that speech. Guinevere stood beside him as if a statue made from chalk. Her eyes blazed with the fury of a smith’s forge. It meant, if a knight were brave enough he could ask for the Queen. I tried hard to ignore the implications but I felt them like poisonous demons on my back pulling my hair for attention.

  Else distracted me by handing me the black shield I needed for protection. “Good luck and don’t get hurt,” she whispered. I just grunted in return.

  Kay stepped forward, “Are we ready for the joust? Rules as always, the first to yield or the first to blood is the winner.” Just two rules existed in this contest, don’t aim to kill, don’t maim on purpose.

  Arthur lowered his visor and gathered his reins. Willow stepped forward calmly. I gathered Ash’s reins and fought him for dominance until he realised he couldn’t grab the bit and run for his enemy. We lowered our lances. The crowd grew quiet. I focused on Arthur’s great shield. The crest of the oak emblazoned on its surface. My own felt heavy on my left arm, a comfort. Kay gave the order to charge. Ash had already begun moving before Kay finished the word. The thunder of his hooves at full gallop filled my head. We were on the outside run of the lists, nearest the wall rather than the keep. I couldn’t see anything other than my opponent racing toward me, lowering his own lance as I did mine. I knew we were evenly matched at the quintain, so we were unlikely to unhorse each other on the first pass. I also knew the more often we did this the more likely one of us would be seriously hurt. I had to unhorse Arthur quickly regardless of our skill.

  Ash reached for greater speed, as was his habit just before we met our target. He lengthened his stride perfectly, I braced my lance against my besagew and angled it slightly too far to the left so it would glance off Arthur’s shield and not splinter into his body by accident. I needed to use his own momentum to unseat him by taking his balance. The horses were a thunderous noise in my head. I tensed my right side while relaxing my left so I could turn in the saddle if necessary.

  One moment I moved freely, with the endless power of my horse racing forward. The next, the world stopped moving with the brutality of a hammer hitting an anvil. The anvil being my shoulder. Arthur’s lance shattered against me, my own lance struck his shield and shattered to one side. He hit me square. Hunkered down behind my shield the splintered wood cascaded around me. I twisted painfully far to accommodate the force of his momentum. Arthur however, was not so lucky.

  Galloping past each other, I realised I’d struck home perfectly. I’d hit him a strong glancing blow. His seat in the saddle over extended toward me, enabling him to hit me perfectly, which meant I’d encouraged him too far past his centre of gravity. Arthur twisted to stay seated but as I pulled Ash up, having discarded the shaft of my lance, I saw him over balance. Instead of fighting the fall, Arthur merely flipped his right leg over Willow’s neck and almost stepped off the horse. The stallion slowed quickly, the other half of a perfect team. Willow snorted and stamped, returning to Arthur instantly, allowing him to pull his great two handed bastard broadsword from his saddle. Arthur carried the thing on his bac
k in battle but Willow’s calm nature meant he returned with it even in the joust. I couldn’t have done that with Ash. Whenever I fell off, he trotted away in disgust.

  I’d earned the right to fight from horseback but I would never choose to do so, the unfair advantage was not my way. I threw my leg over Ash’s neck and slid off the side, drawing my sword as my feet hit the ground. My own favoured weapon was a hand-and-half broadsword. Big, but I could wield it either one or two handed. I chose two for the moment and approached Arthur carefully. His weapon was longer but heavier than mine. Clearly, he intended to finish this fight quickly. I had never known anyone move as fast as he could with that monster. However, he couldn’t move as fast as me and I was fitter.

  “You did well in the joust, Sir Knight,” Arthur said. I approached warily.

  I merely tilted my head in acknowledgement of the compliment, watching Arthur carefully. He often engaged people in conversation and then sprang into attack in the middle of a sentence.

  “This vow of silence does not need to continue, we are alone, tell me who you are and why you want private audience with me,” he said, circling me.

  The noise of the crowd cheering finally started to filter through the adrenaline. I did not want a conversation. I moved into an obvious overhead strike, Arthur raised his sword and blocked the strike. The swords crashed, sparks flew and my blade slid off Arthur’s. We began the fight in earnest. The weapons wove patterns in the dull winter light and as predicted, the rain finally put in an appearance. We were both good. I realised even if Arthur had been drinking, his skill remained sharp and there seemed to be a driving force to his fight which never existed before. He attacked with recklessness. I managed to slip under his guard and smashed my blade into his breastplate, but in the same moment, I felt him smack my backplate with the pommel of his sword. It threw me forward me and I headed for the dirt. I tucked and rolled. The unfamiliar armour made it a hard, slow movement.

  “Fuck,” I cursed as I came up. I turned back to Arthur, just as he came in for a strike, which would have taken my head off. I threw myself backward. This was supposed to be to the point we yielded, not died. I gathered my senses together and realised this fight had become serious.

  Did he know who was under the black armour? Did he care or did he want me dead?

  He came at me again and it dawned on me I might lose this bout. If I did he would unmask me in front of the crowd and I couldn’t give him due warning about my existence. He’d have to arrest me without listening to me. He lunged. I deflected and led him into a pattern of movements. The crowd screamed their approval. I caught a glimpse of Kay and Geraint, they stood side by side, grim faced and silent. Arthur relaxed; he thought he’d worn me down. I caught the rhythm of his strike toward my legs, swept his blade, rather than allowing it to smash into me, and forced it into a circle. Arthur’s body already began to turn into the next attack and I took control of his momentum. I stepped into the attack, closed the distance, hooked my leg around his ankle and pulled back, while smashing my armoured elbow into the top of his breastplate. He crashed to the ground and grunted, air rushed out of his lungs. Arthur, always the scrapper, rolled away from me fast. I knew he’d move, so as he rolled onto his chest I dropped over his body. The weight of me, my armour and his own, pinned him down. I hooked my arm under his chin and pulled back against his helmet. Arthur grunted in his discomfort.

  I said, trying to hide my voice despite my breathlessness, “Yield, your Majesty, you know you cannot win from here.”

  I felt him strain against me. Our armour ran slick with rain. He would not yield. If I didn’t hold him and we ended up fighting he would know it was me. He’d be able to smash me to death. I wouldn’t be able to pin him again this easily. Despite my weight bearing down on him, Arthur heaved and managed to raise himself off the ground, twisting as he did so.

  “Please, Arthur, just fucking yield,” I cried out trying to force him down. The crowd didn’t hear me but he did.

  Arthur locked rigid. He now lay on his back, his left arm free. He raised his visor. He panted hard but he looked more alive than he had that morning.

  “Lancelot?” he whispered, his face confused.

  “Please, Arthur,” I eased my weight off him slightly. “We need to talk. You are in danger.” His dark blue eyes filled with joy, just for an instant before ungovernable rage contorted his face.

  “I will never yield to you traitor,” he screamed, pushing against me. His heavy gauntlet smashed into my head. The fist bounced off my helmet but the whiplash and noise were enough to disorientate me for a moment. The shock of seeing the hate in Arthur’s face made my brain disengage from the fight. I found myself rolling back with Arthur on top trying to wrench my helmet off.

  I heard feet pounding toward us. Arthur almost yanked my head off trying to open my visor. I saw Else running and Geraint’s voice booming at Arthur to stop. His fist came up as he finally saw my face. I just lay there, unable to stop my King from trying to kill me. His fist came down. Pain radiated through my head and my mind finally knew peace from the hate in his eyes.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I woke with a dull ache where my face used to be and sharp stabbing pains in my shoulders. I frowned. It hurt. I remembered to open my eyes, my nose realised it lay against something it didn’t like and my brain agreed as my vision cleared. I stared at mouldy straw. It stank horribly of piss and old food. I lay on my side all twisted up and without my armour.

  “Fuck,” I muttered and tasted blood in my mouth. My lips were split top and bottom. I took a breath and realised my nose remained intact. My right eye had swollen almost closed and my cheek burned horribly. I shifted my head and the world revolved on a new and interesting axis. Used to concussion I held still and waited for everything to settle before continuing my journey upright.

  My shoulders hurt because I’d been chained to the wall by my wrists and I’d been hanging just off the floor of the cell. My neck also suffered with the cold metal of a rough iron collar biting my soft skin, like wood ants. Torches in the corridor lit a small window in the door, but no natural light filtered into the dungeon. I could hardly see the bare stone walls. I did however, feel the cold. I sat in my shirtsleeves, thin wool doublet and hose.

  “Fuck,” I said again softly. I realised my eyes swam with tears and they leaked over my cheeks. “Arthur,” I sighed his name and closed my eyes, my grief overwhelming me for long moments. I lost the one thing, the one man who held me to this life more than any other. I know I’d been banished, but with Else’s news that I must to return to save him, I’d allowed hope in my heart. Perhaps he would forgive me and we could repair the damage we had done to each other. Apparently not. I just sat in the cold and the dark unable to unravel my predicament, only able to think about how Arthur must hate me to have done this to me.

  Finally, I realised I’d begun to shiver and I felt sick. “God, Else,” I moaned, a wave of fresh agony ripped through me because we’d been separated for so long. I pulled my feet under me and tried to roll up despite the bite of the manacles on my wrists and neck.

  The pain withdrew for a short time, giving me a respite. I struggled upright and then stood. The chain forced the collar tight against my neck. That tipped me over the edge. Anger, shame and pain coalesced inside me. I pulled against my bonds and screamed. The sound bounced back off the stone walls of the cell and hit me in their turn like small spiteful lashes.

  The effort cost me dear. When the emotions subsided, exhaustion swept over me. Utterly drained and defeated, leaning against the cold stone wall, I just stood, quiet, blank, alone. Waiting for the pain to return.

  I have no idea how long I stood there in that dank hole. I did think Arthur really needed to take better care of his prisoners. They should not be chained to walls and should have somewhere clean to sleep, but I guessed he might have had me thrown into the worst place possible for a reason. Eventually, I heard movement outside the cell and the light flickered. A key turned in t
he lock and I realised I hadn’t eaten in a long time. A tall, broad figure stood in the entrance, silhouetted against the torches. I’d know that figure anywhere.

  “Hello, Arthur,” I said, my voice dry from lack of water.

  The moment hung, suspended in the air like motes of ash. He tilted his head, looking down. I still couldn’t see his face clearly.

  “You shouldn’t have come home,” he said. He sounded as hoarse as I did.

  “I had no choice,” I told him.

  “So I hear,” he finally stepped over the threshold and approached. He looked so tired, his eyes were heavily shadowed and his face drawn. For a moment I saw the old man he would become if he lived that long. “I’ve sent for Stephen de Clare.”

  He couldn’t have hurt me more if he’d punched me and the bastard knew it. He watched the pain radiate from my guts and sweep through my limbs. I collapsed to my knees before him.

  “So, you do love her,” he said coldly.

  “If you want to punish me, fine, I understand,” I choked out. “But I beg you, Arthur, leave the girl alone. Don’t send her back to Stephen. He will sell her to the highest bidder, once he gets our marriage annulled.”

  Arthur snorted, “He doesn’t need to annul it, you both needed my permission which I haven’t given, so it doesn’t count. It just makes the girl your whore, not your wife,” he snarled close to my face. The heat of his anger washed over me. It met my own rage and suddenly I found myself on my feet, reaching for his throat. Arthur neatly stepped back and laughed as I fought the chains holding me to the wall. “This is what it is like to be impotent when someone takes the woman you love from your arms.”

  That pulled me up short. I stood, quivering with the residue of unspent emotion. “I never wanted to take her from you, Arthur,” I said staring into his heartbroken blue eyes. For a moment, I glimpsed his soul, desperately lonely and burdened. He felt he had no one and his one consolation in his isolation had been me and I’d ruined it. I’d stolen it.