Gawain sighed. That was the way things had been going for him, lately. There was no point in explaining.
“Well,” he said. “I’m awake now.”
“That’s true,” she replied, and pressed against him. Gawain’s eyes lit up. Perhaps his luck was changing.
He had only just rolled on top of her when he heard a snap. Grateful, for once, for his morning strength and agility, he managed to deflect the falling sword with no more than a gash on his arm.
“Oh, are you hurt?” the girl asked calmly. “That was very good. Why don’t we tie up your arm and finish what we were doing before my father comes?”
Gawain started to protest and then shrugged. Good offers didn’t come his way as often as they used to.
He became so enthusiastic that he didn’t hear the door open an hour later.
“My God! Alia! What are you doing?”
Gawain looked up. He looked down again.
“Are you Alia?” he whispered. She nodded.
Yes. Life was going normally after all.
In a few seconds it appeared that everyone in the castle had heard the news and managed to squeeze into the room with them. Alia had cravenly taken the blanket to wrap around herself and so Gawain was left trying to get into his pants and answer the outraged questions of her father and mother. He got a glimpse of Lancelot, looking embarrassed and highly confused, and Gareth, looking smug.
“My poor baby!” the lady moaned. “How could you come here and take our hospitality and then seduce my sweet child? Oh, how awful! Her virgin blood all over!”
“Wait a minute!” Gawain hollered. “That’s my blood! She certainly wasn’t any . . . And that reminds me. What do you mean by hanging a whacking great sword over the bed where it could fall and kill someone?”
“Gawain, how could you complain? After all those things you said to me?” Alia started to cry.
“Lancelot! Help!” Gawain yelled.
Lancelot was trying to understand what was going on. At first, knowing Gawain’s reputation, he was inclined to believe that he had brought this on himself. Then he remembered the accusations which had followed after he had been drugged and lured into bed with Elaine. Gawain had taken his part then. He could do no less.
“My Lord.” He pushed through the crowd to Alia’s father. “I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding here. Sir Gawain could not have . . .”
“Oh, yes he could! I saw him, myself. Furthermore, the sword didn’t kill him the way it did all the others, so, clearly,* he was meant to marry Alia.”
“Marry!” Gawain yelped.
“What others?” Lancelot asked at the same time.
“It’s a family tradition. If a man can lie all night with my daughter and not molest her, then he’s worthy to be her husband. But if he tries anything, the sword immediately falls upon him and kills him. Sir Gawain is the only one who survived. And, since it is clear that he and Alia have already consummated the match, it only remains for me to marry them, this afternoon, in the main hall.”
The next moment everyone, including Alia, had left to prepare for the wedding. Lancelot and Gareth looked at Gawain, who was still struggling back into his clothes.
“This is worse than the Green Knight,” he said flatly. “Then I only thought I would lose my head.”
“Look, I can sneak around to the stables, get the horses, and we can be gone in half an hour,” Gareth offered.
“What do you think?” Gawain asked Lancelot.
“You know very well that’s what I did in the same situation.” Lancelot was profoundly uncomfortable. “I think you’ve been tricked here as cruelly as I was then. You got the horses for me, as I remember.”
“It isn’t the same, old friend.” Gawain swung his boot from hand to hand as he thought. “I made no vow of chastity and no one drugged me. I woke up. The girl was there. I had an hour before breakfast. It was nothing that hasn’t happened before. Hell, she seems nice enough, and I’m getting old for this. If I can take her back to Camelot with me, I guess I may as well marry her.”
He laughed at the dropped jaws in front of him.
“Come on. See if you can find me something proper to wear and then some food. I want a last meal.”
Even though Lancelot assured the people of the castle that their prize was not going to run, they hurried through the fastest wedding ever devised. Gareth and Lancelot stood dumbfounded as they watched Gawain and Alia take their vows. Afterwards they were persuaded by the happy couple to wait until the next day to continue the search for the Grail. Gawain, of course, had to take his bride back to Camelot before he could go on.
The next morning Alia’s parents wept as she bade them good-bye.
“I thought we could keep you forever,” her mother sniffed. “The sword seemed invincible.”
“Mother! Do you know what it was like having men sliced to death on top of me? Some of those stains never came out. You should be happy for me, married to practically the greatest warrior in Britain.”
Gawain mentally vowed to visit his in-laws as little as possible.
“Gareth and I are going to Llanylltud Fawr, to see if St. Illtud knows anything about the Grail,” Lancelot told him. “If you decide to follow us, go there first. We’ll leave a message for you there. Good luck, Gawain! And to you, Alia!”
After they left the valley, Gawain noticed that his new wife seemed preoccupied. She couldn’t seem to keep her mind on what she was doing when they made love after the noon meal. She kept looking around, as though expecting something to jump out at her.
“Poor thing,” he thought. “She’s never been away from home before. It must all be very frightening for her.”
But, late in the afternoon, a horseman appeared, riding from the opposite direction and galloping toward them. He carried a very sturdy-looking spear and had a sword at his side. Alia screamed as he came closer, his arm raised to launch the spear at Gawain.
The spear didn’t worry Gawain; he could tell from the way the man threw it that it would go wide. He drew his sword reluctantly, though. He didn’t really feel like killing anyone today.
The man made the mistake of waiting to see where the spear went and Gawain was on him at once. He had wanted only to disarm his attacker, but he was stronger than Gawain had anticipated and he had to parry a few clumsy strokes first, before the man was unhorsed. From the ground, he continued to make a determined, if inept, effort to skewer Gawain. But, finally, the sword clattered down and Gawain raised his to demand surrender. He started to bring it down when Alia, whom he had completely forgotten, threw herself in front of the robber. With a wrench, Gawain managed to turn the blade.
“What are you doing?” he asked her reasonably.
“How dare you try to hurt him! You horrible bully! You think because you’re one of Arthur’s knights that you can do anything you want!”
Gawain shook his head to clear it, but still nothing made sense. Alia was trying to remove the man’s helmet, to check for bruises. Gawain’s opponent was trying to get up.
“Stop it, Alia! He didn’t hurt me!” The man brushed her away. He reached for his sword, but Gawain’s foot was there first. He tapped it against the metal as he considered the pair.
“All right. What’s going on?” His jaw was set and the man took a few steps back. Alia, however, was not intimidated.
“This is Rintuidd. He and I have been trying for years to get my family to let us marry. But there was that damned sword always stopping us. I was beginning to think I’d never get away. Finally, you came along and I’m very grateful. Now Rintuidd and I will just be going and you can get back to your Grail-thing.”
She remounted her horse and Rintuidd got back on his.
“Wait a minute!” Gawain yelled, trying to keep control of the situation. “You married me!”
She had already started off, but she paused to smile and wave.
“That’s all right; I married him first. Thank you again! Good-bye!”
And
they galloped off as quickly as their horses could take them.
Gawain sat down in the road. He found a piece of rock under his hand and ground it into powder. He was too angry to move. That was enough. He had been duped again and this time it hadn’t even been an allegory, just a featherhead who wanted to run off with her lover. Slowly he rose and dusted himself off. He was giving up the quest and going back to Arthur. What difference did it make if he searched for a Grail or just a nice girl? Something always happened to make him look ridiculous. There was no point in trying any more. Damn! He had pulled a muscle in his shoulder when he swerved to avoid hitting Alia. Well, it could have been worse. He could have had to live with her the rest of his life.
Chapter Ten
“Isn’t it wonderful, Letitia? Aren’t you glad we convinced you to come to London?”
Guinevere leaned far out the window and gestured at the view of the city. All around were gleaming white stone buildings, interspersed with later, brightly painted wooden ones. The Basilica loomed impressively to the north, the bronze statues of the emperors and praetorians shining as if they still looked out on the vastness of the old empire. To the left was the old Mithraem. It had been cleansed of the influence of the sun-god and rededicated to Christ, but there were rumors that the old rites of Mithras still occurred there from time to time, especially during the longest of the winter nights.
“It’s all just beautiful,” Letitia answered. “But, Aunt Guinevere, London is so big! Doesn’t it scare you a little? Why, just within the walls, there must be five thousand people living!”
“More than that, Arthur says. And, on the south side of the river are all the farms and even some villas like ours. Now you must come and see what my room overlooks; there is an old Roman garden in the courtyard with pools and fountains, and the water is still running!”
They scampered like excited children through the palace built for a long-ago governor, investigating all the rooms and trying to guess their various purposes. Guinevere was enchanted. The last time she had been to London had been for her wedding, over twenty years before, and the confusion at the time had made her memories a blur. This time they would winter here and have the freedom to wander all over the town.
“Isn’t this better than being snowed in all season at Caerleon?” she asked Letitia as they went back to the balcony looking out over the city. “My wedding procession went along the Walbrook, there.”
She pointed to the stream that bisected the town. “The streets were lined with people cheering, and, just to confuse me more, St. Geraldus had his choir sing a prothalamium for me. It was the only time I ever heard them. I don’t know why he always complained about the sound; I thought it was beautiful.”
Letitia gave her aunt a sideways glance to be sure she wasn’t teasing.
“You heard St. Geraldus’ voices? But grandmother told me they were a heavenly choir. He was so good and saintly that God sent him the voices of the angels!”
“Well, yes, that is what people said. And he was a very good man. He always took care of me as best he could. I’m sorry you’re too young to remember him well. He told such wonderful stories! But as for the singers being angels, he didn’t think they were, and, I must say, they didn’t look very angelic to me, especially the lady in the green dress!”
“You saw them as well?” Letitia wasn’t sure if she should genuflect or run for help. Aunt Guinevere looked sane enough.
Guinevere laughed at Letitia’s expression.
“I always saw them. It was a long time before I found out no one else could, even Geraldus. He was a very dear person, Letitia. If people wanted to believe he heard angels, why shouldn’t they? He earned his keep at every house he visited, with his stories and songs and the news he brought.”
“But, if they weren’t angels, what were they then?”
Guinevere shrugged. “Some of the Others, I suppose, the Old Ones like Lancelot’s Lady of the Lake. I never thought about it, really. There are so many different beings around, you know.”
Letitia shook her head. She did not like her childhood saints made mortal. And she definitely did not like to think about invisible “beings” wafting about her. She preferred to change the subject completely.
“Do you know what I would like to do here?” she asked. “I want to go eat at one of the inns. And I want to have my dinner in the hall with everyone else, not up in my rooms like a lady!”
She glanced at Guinevere to see if she were shocked. Her aunt laughed.
“I think that would be fun. Arthur certainly doesn’t want us to become too elitist. Although you may not feel much like eating when you see the table manners of some of the Saxon traders.”
“Saxons! You mean they’re allowed inside the gates?”
“London is a trading town. The merchants will allow anyone in if they have something to exchange. But you have nothing to fear. Their axes are left at the gates. The city would not have survived so long if the shopkeepers here were stupid.”
Letitia’s eyes were wide. “I’ve never seen a real Saxon. After all that Grandmother has said about them, I’d just like a peek at one, but I never dared tell her. I know they killed my father, but that was in battle. He was a soldier. Mother does not hate them.”
“I know. But I can’t really feel comfortable around them, myself. Of course, if it hadn’t been for the Saxons, I wouldn’t have met Arthur.”
“I never heard that story!”
“You were only a baby, and there wasn’t much to it. A Saxon band kidnapped me for a few days and Arthur and his men rescued me. That’s all. That’s when the gatekeeper, Cheldric, lost his arm.”
“But that’s so romantic!”
“Is it? It didn’t seem so at the time. I just remember being cold and dirty and having to eat very badly cooked meat. But if you really want to see Saxons, there are plenty in London. Some of them even speak British. But don’t you get any ideas about them, my dear. It took poor Constantine long enough to make you agree to marry him. If you suddenly fall in love with a Saxon eorl I don’t know what he’d do.”
“Don’t be silly, Aunt.” Letitia smoothed her dress and hair as she went back into the room. “I just want to see what they’re like.”
“Certainly. As a matter of fact, you don’t even have to go to the inn. There will be some as guests at dinner tonight.”
“What! Why didn’t you tell me sooner? What should I wear?”
“From my experience, I’d say that their taste was for leather and lots of gold bangles, but that really doesn’t suit you. Why don’t you just wear the green-and-red check with the yellow trim?”
• • •
Dubricius, Bishop of London, ran his hands through his thin, brown hair. He grimaced. Hardly enough of it left to be worth tonsuring, he thought. He spared an idle moment to wonder if it were merely a coincidence that the hair should be shaved at just the places men first go bald. But no, that was unworthy. Why should the fathers of the church have cared? Most of them didn’t live long enough to worry about it, what with all the persecutions and martyrdoms. Dubricius, however, had managed to live in less dangerous times and had lasted into his fifties, an old man by most accounts. Although, he reminded himself, he wasn’t much older than King Arthur. He just looked it. Lucky man, the King! Gray, of course, one couldn’t expect him to avoid that, but still as shaggy as a winter ram. He could afford to shave every day, Roman fashion, without looking naked as an egg. Ah, well! God made His decisions and it wasn’t the place of His servant to question them.
Dubricius returned to his records and tried not to reflect upon the wisdom of a deity who would take away a man’s hair just when he needed it most to keep the cold out. He had work to do. He had to record the names of all the men he had ordained this past summer, most of them at Llanylltud Fawr. Illtud taught the boys well. Now, there was Samson, from a very devout family, and Paulus Aurelius, from a traditional one. Then there was Gildas, what was his background? Ah, yes, a son of Caius, as he re
membered, not wealthy now, but good stock. The boy had a sound classical education, first from St. Docca and then St. Illtud. He should be kept in mind for advancement, perhaps for further education in Armorica.
Dubricius unrolled the scroll a little further and started recording the marriages. He hoped that his dating was right; the twenty-fourth year since Arthur’s victory at Mons Badon, that everyone knew. But Dubricius wanted to go beyond Britain, show a link with the rest of Christendom. Now, was Hormisadas still Pope? The last men he had questioned had said so, but they were nearly a year out of touch with Rome. And what about that Gothic, Arian, illiterate, upstart king, Theodoric? He must be close to seventy by now. One would think that God would have rid the earth of him long ago, but those sailors had been certain that he still lived.
The bishop shook his head and dipped his quill again. It was not his place to question the ways of God. He brightened suddenly. There were, though, plenty of men he could deal with.
The knocking at the door was far too insistent to be one of his acolytes. He would have to answer it. It was his duty to minister to those who needed him, even when they arrived inconveniently. With a sigh, Dubricius put the weights on the scroll to keep the ink from smearing and then got up to admit his visitor.
“Sir Modred!” he exclaimed in surprise. “Welcome! How is the King? Does the old governor’s palace meet his needs? Some parts had to be repaired last summer and you know how hard it is to duplicate the work of our ancestors.”
Modred ignored his pleasantries.
“I came because of your sermon yesterday,” he said. “You seem to feel that we are living in a time very dangerous to the Faith. I have been pondering your words.”
Dubricius blinked. A penitent? He hadn’t thought Sir Modred the type. He had been all business and little religious awe when they had planned the winter accommodations.
“Well, of course,” he hedged. “Any age in which there are still people who do not profess the true faith and live by its creed is a dangerous one. But I was speaking generally, really. I had nothing specific in mind and I certainly don’t agree with some of my northern brethren about King Arthur. The churches should help to pay for their own protection. And all that nonsense about his tolerance of the old religion. If we can’t convert men by example and reason, then they will never be truly won. King Arthur has always been a fine example. He attends Mass almost every day, carries the image of the Holy Mother on his shield. Everyone knows that Christianity is the source of his greatness.”
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