“You did what?” My voice found itself with a vengeance, and I rounded on Kevin with a surge of emotion in which anger and disbelief rode high. “How dare you interfere with my life this way? You, who ran away when all our future lay before us; you, who left me to be married off in a political union whether I chose it or not; you, who now spouts pious oaths and lectures on duty and have no more idea what it’s like to carry the mantle of royal responsibility than Elaine’s cat does! What right have you to advise Lancelot to leave me?”
“The right of a man who knows how futile it is to love a woman who is destined for another,” he shot back, his eyes never leaving mine. “The right of a man who understands his brother’s pain. For God’s sake, Gwen, you don’t think Lance can come to you and pour out his misery at watching you sit daily next to Arthur, move nightly to your chambers together, rise every morning refreshed and renewed, together? He can’t tell you how much he longs for you, needs you, worships you. And he certainly can’t tell your husband.”
He paused, and I lowered my eyes, no longer defiant. I had never considered how Lance must view those things, and the recognition that it could be so painful for him pulled me up short.
“I…I didn’t realize,” I whispered.
“I thought not.” Kevin heaved a sigh. “I’m not sure he will go on a spiritual quest, but I’ve suggested he think about it. He’s a man who needs a cause to believe in…Arthur has Britain, you have Arthur, but Lance needs something of his own. Surely you would not deny him that. Not if you love him…and you do, don’t you?”
I looked up slowly, remembering how close Kevin and I had been when we were young, and suddenly the whole story came tumbling out. “But I don’t see that there has to be a conflict,” I concluded. “I simply love them both in different ways…they are, after all, very different people.”
“I don’t suppose it would do any good to counsel you to put aside your love for him, would it?” Kevin asked, as though not even hearing my last words.
“No, it wouldn’t,” I flared. “As long as we are discreet in our behavior and don’t hurt Arthur, there’s no reason why we should deny our feelings.”
“You know better than that, Gwen…that kind of reasoning sounds like Isolde.”
His tone was firm and unbending, and I turned to glare at him, sorry I had taken him into my confidence. He hadn’t understood after all.
But instead of Kevin, it was Lance I saw. He sat his horse in silence, a prim, proper, Christianized shadow of the man I loved. The sparkle of humor, the touch of tenderness, the joyful sharing I had grown so used to, were gone, replaced by a righteous rigidity, as stifling as the sanctity within the hermit’s cave.
It made me ache to see the free-spirited Celt so leeched of life, and I wheeled my mare around in blind terror. Leaning forward on Featherfoot’s neck, I screamed in her ear and lashed her shoulders with the reins. She leapt forward like a yearling, neck extended and nostrils wide, and I clung to her for dear life as she carried me through the forest shadows.
***
So I went flying back to Cadbury, trying to leave that sad, dried, empty shell of a vision behind. But Igraine had been right—no one can outrun the Gods.
Chapter XXXIII
Camelot
Lance didn’t say anything about leaving that week or the next one, either, but by early May the strain on him was evident. I could not look up but what his gaze was on me, and sometimes, having caught each other’s glances, it was impossible for either of us to look away. Within me a tension of desire began to build, and there were times when I turned to Arthur in furious lovemaking although it was Lance I longed for. Typically, Arthur didn’t seem to notice either my passion or my distraction.
But if Arthur didn’t notice, Elaine of Carbonek did. Ever since we had included her in our activities at Joyous Gard she assumed the right to join us anywhere we went, and if she wasn’t watching Lance, she was watching me. It was particularly irritating because I wanted to talk with the Breton alone but dared not call attention to that fact by driving her away.
“Lancelot, I swear you’re not listening,” Elaine pouted one afternoon as we rode back from judging a cattle show.
“Sorry,” he murmured, turning to the pert redhead on the other side of him. “What were you saying?”
“It’s about Tiger Fang. She’s been lost for three days, and I’m worried about her. Won’t you help me look for her when we get home?”
“Can’t do it this afternoon,” he responded. “I have sword practice with Beaumains. Maybe this evening, if she’s still missing. The kitchen boy is an apt pupil,” he noted, turning back to me. “He has a natural talent for the sword, and it’s a pleasure to be his teacher. Whoever his father is, he can be proud of the lad.”
“Ohhh, I feel so faint,” the girl from Carbonek moaned, lowering her eyelids and swaying in her saddle. “I’m afraid I’m going to fall…”
I looked away in exasperation as Lance turned his attention back to her. He dismounted to help her off her horse, and Elaine went limp in his arms. He paused for a moment, adjusting the girl’s weight as though to sling her over his shoulder like a bag of grain, then gave me a mischievous grin.
“She can ride in front of you, can’t she?” he asked, and when I grinned in response he prepared to hoist her over Featherfoot’s withers.
Recovering abruptly, Elaine protested that there was no need to inconvenience me this way, but Lance and I insisted it was not safe for her to ride without someone to balance her, in case she actually did lose consciousness.
So we rode into Cadbury with my arms around her instead of his. But even though she sat upright before me, when Lance helped her dismount she whimpered about being unable to walk, and he was forced to carry her into the Hall. A pang of jealousy cut through me at the sight of the young beauty held firmly in his arms, and I turned away, blinking back unexpected tears.
Featherfoot was favoring one foreleg slightly, so I led her to the stables and stayed to fix a poultice for her leg. All the pain and vexation I felt toward Elaine came out as I pounded the herbs in the mortar, and I was so intent on what I was doing, I didn’t realize Lance had entered the stable until he was standing next to me.
“Surely the little baggage isn’t worth that much fury?” He grinned good-naturedly.
“That’s for you to say, not me,” I muttered, ducking my head away lest he see my anguish.
“Oh, my love, don’t tell me you’re jealous?” Suddenly Lance’s arms were around me, and I crumpled against him with a sob. “She’s only a chit of a thing—a child. What interest would I have in her when I’m the Queen’s own Champion and privileged to love the finest woman in the realm?”
“But she’s so pretty…and free to give herself to you,” I gulped.
“Listen to me, Gwen,” he demanded, his voice turning deep and serious. “I don’t want her. I don’t want anyone but you. I do not know how to tell you more plainly…” His hands were moving along my back, caressing my sides, coming to rest on my hips. The desire so long held in check flared up between us, and we trembled in its fierceness.
Surrounded and sheltered by his body, reeling from the nearness, the warmth, the very smell of him, I lifted my face slowly and deliberately into the waiting kiss.
The world spun around us, full of the fragrance of fresh hay and springtime, love and fulfillment. Featherfoot nickered in her stall, but I barely noticed, for there was a pulse beating between Lance and me that was deep and sweet and gathered all my senses into that one focus. Never would I have thought a single kiss could say so much.
“It is good-bye, as well,” he said slowly, pulling away at last. “I cannot stay here any longer, M’lady. I’ll tell Arthur I want to take Beaumains and go up to Joyous Gard—maybe check on the Caledonians at Loch Lomond…anything, really, to leave this temptation behind.” He held my head between his hands and s
tared into my eyes. “You do understand, don’t you?”
A terrible ache lodged in my throat, blocking a torrent of protest. I shook my head frantically from side to side and drew back from him. He might be free to leave as I was not, but I would make him spell it out, each and every reason, before he upped and trotted off.
Yet his expression was so baffled, so hurt and sorrowing, I could not bear to make it worse, and with a sigh I gave a faint nod. “Go with my love, and blessing,” I whispered, closing my eyes in resignation. “And know you take my heart with you.”
We were no longer touching, but I felt him plant the softest of kisses on the top of my head, and then he was gone, as silently as he had come.
Numbly I knelt in the straw, trying to apply the herbs to Featherfoot’s pastern. She swung her head around and blew against my hair with a warm, sweet breath of concern, and when I finished applying the poultice I stood up and threw my arms around her neck, bawling like a child.
At last, worn out and drained of all emotion, I sank down on a pile of hay and stared across the barn toward the door. No doubt they would be gathering in the Hall already, and I wasn’t even dressed yet. Ah, well, this night I’d let Enid make my excuses and take my meal in my chambers.
I was trying to find the energy to rise when Tiger Fang slipped through the crack of the open door. She disappeared behind a manger, and as I squinted into the shadows I heard a small, weak chorus of meowing kits.
It made me smile in spite of my grief, and I went out to face the world thinking that we all grow up eventually—even Elaine’s motley little cat.
***
If last year’s summer was a time of love and romance, this year’s season was full of domesticity. Arthur concentrated on finishing the men’s quarters and forge while I began sorting through the debris of the temple that the Romans had built on Cadbury’s heights.
“There’s plenty of good tiles,” Cei pointed out. “We used the building blocks in other places, but some of the smaller things might come in handy in the garden.”
The new Hall was growing into a splendid place. My women worked constantly at loom and needle, making cushions and bolsters, pennants and draperies, to grace the raw interior and give it a softer, lived-in look.
I moved between the two worlds, helping to run the realm as always but overseeing the furnishing of the Court as well. Yet time dragged endlessly; each day I found myself looking at the sun, wondering where Lance was, when he might be heading back, if the night would ever come. There was an emptiness, a hollow in my very soul, that nothing seemed to fill. Arthur was too busy to notice, and I had no way to express it, so in the end it too became part of that sea of silence that separated us.
Geraint arrived with his usual panache on midsummer’s eve, sending a flurry of speculation through the ladies, who rushed to the courtyard to see his colorful entourage. Arthur greeted the King of Devon with such gusto, it occurred to me that with so many Companions elsewhere, my husband might be feeling lonely, too.
“My, but it’s a remarkable stronghold you’re building here.” Geraint nodded appreciatively after making the rounds of the hill-fort. “Have you a name for it?”
“The village down below is known as South Cadbury,” Arthur allowed. “Any better suggestions?”
“There was a place in a story I heard last time I was in Brittany.” The elegant southerner stroked his mustache and thought for a minute. “It was a special land, full of magic and wonders and the finest heroes. Camelot, I think it was called.” Geraint closed his eyes and savored the sound of it, then nodded. “Yes, that was it, Camelot. I say, Cei, what is that you’ve found?” he asked as the Seneschal marched proudly forward displaying a glass decanter and four matching goblets.
The wine turned out to satisfy the discerning palates of both Cei and Geraint, so we all toasted the new name of our headquarters. I drank my first glass slowly and switched to water immediately thereafter.
During dinner we caught up with much news, for Geraint had been traveling extensively. Everything was quiet along the Saxon Shore, and life at Castle Dore had gone back to normal now that the Queen was home. The only sad news was that Pelleas was not tending his lands but languished in bed, beset by nightmares and fevers. It seemed a wretched fate for the skinny horseman, and I wished we could do something for him.
“I’ve been on a special quest,” Geraint suddenly confided with a devilish smile. “Looking for a Queen. And after ruling out a number of other ladies, I’ve come to ask Enid to marry me.”
“You’ve what?” I sputtered, putting down my water glass.
“Now, Your Highness, I have excellent credentials,” the bachelor announced glibly. “But I wouldn’t think of stealing your best cook without your permission.”
He was so blasé about the matter, I laughed in spite of my surprise. Of all the women Geraint might have chosen, Enid was the last I would have picked.
“And what does my lady-in-waiting have to say about this?” I inquired, wondering how such a romance could have gone on under my nose without my noticing.
“Let’s ask her.” Geraint grinned broadly as I called Enid from the kitchen, where she was overseeing the food for the evening.
The dark-haired young woman arrived with her apron in hand, frowning slightly at being singled out this way. “Is something the matter, Your Highness?” she asked quickly.
“I don’t know. It seems this gentleman wants to steal you away from me…What say you to that?”
A mischievous smile flashed over Enid’s features, and she turned to look the King of Devon eye to eye. “Have you improved that kitchen in Exeter? Last time I was there the oven was cracked and the well was too far away.”
“Indeed, M’lady.” Geraint sighed. “The masons have built an entirely new oven, and we’ve piped in water from the aqueduct and paved the kitchen court besides. Now will you accept my offer?”
I was staring at the two of them, watching the playful teasing of lovers—and suddenly feeling middle-aged and stodgy.
“And a cow. Wouldn’t consider a husband who doesn’t give me a cow,” the girl bargained.
“Three cows; white with red ears, even…provided, of course, you bring your recipe for clotted cream.”
“Done,” she announced, throwing aside her apron and rushing into his arms.
“You drive a hard bargain, miss,” he allowed, tousling her hair and planting a kiss on the tip of her pointed nose.
“You’ll find me worth it,” she promised, spinning out of his arms and grabbing up her apron before heading back to the kitchen.
So much, I decided, for trying to guess the moira of lovers.
***
Ettard also came to Camelot that summer, looking dreadful. She’d developed a racking cough and rouged her cheeks in an effort to hide their pallor. The lodge Igraine gave her had contained a small chest of jewels, and she was decked out as though going to a grand occasion. The sight of her made me think of some macabre corpse.
“I just came back from visiting Pelleas,” she explained, shaking her head woefully. “I had heard that he was very ill, and wanted to make amends…” The childish voice trailed off uncertainly while her fingers moved from bracelet to necklace, ring to brooch, as though taking some silent inventory. “He refused to see me, but sent me away with a curse on my head. Oh, M’lady, I know I treated him poorly, but I used to be so scared that unless I married a big, powerful warrior the Saxons might…might could come again and…”
A violent coughing fit overtook her, and I found myself remembering my own fears. Perhaps the hidden scars of rape reach more deeply than even those of us who have gone through it know.
“As it was, I never even got a chance to tell him I was sorry,” she whispered.
I hadn’t the slightest idea what to say to the girl, for though I might understand why she had behaved so abominably, it
didn’t make me like her. Only her terrible condition and Nimue’s prophecy of an early death kept me from sending her packing from Camelot.
“Has Gawain come back to Court yet?” she asked casually, all the time twisting one of the rings on her fingers.
“No,” I answered. “Nor do I expect him…at least, not for some time.” If she was hoping for a further encounter with Morgause’s son, I intended to head her off immediately.
Whether it was the news that Gawain was not available or her own mortal timetable that drove Ettard away, I never learned. She departed for her own lands the following morning, riding proudly in the litter I had given her. Brittle and superior, she went to her death two months later, flaunting the wealth the Queen Mother had left her. It seemed a pitiful end, even if she did bring it on herself.
***
The summer began to wane, and the time of harvest arrived. Everyone worked that year, in the fields, at the barns, in the spinning loft and kitchens. I saw the leaves turn to gold and realized with a start that it was a year since Isolde had ridden off to Cornwall; a year since Kevin had come back; a year since Lance had told me that he loved me. Time, which dragged on its belly day to day, flew without a backward glance from year to year.
Gawain returned from the Orkneys, cheerful and glad to be back with us. The difficulties with his mother seemed to have been resolved.
“She’s mellowed a good bit with age, though she’s still a lively lady in most respects.” He cocked a knowing eyebrow and grinned. “She specifically sends her greetings to you, and says she hopes to meet you one of these days.”
Unfortunately I saw no danger in her message at the time.
Bedivere came back from Brittany, full of news and chatter and a whole new supply of songs and riddles as well.
“You can keep us entertained on the way to the fair,” Arthur allowed. “I’m holding Court and a tournament at Winchester next week to celebrate three years of peace.”
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