Lancelot sighed. "I still must pray for him. God help me, I would rather pray for others instead." She looked at her hands, as if they still were bloodied.
Nodding to him, she went off and walked around the orchard.
Gawaine sat on a bench under the trees.
Some of the young monks were picking apples and laughing as they did. Not a bad occupation for young men, Lancelot thought. Better than learning to kill.
Lancelot wondered whether it was much worse to deceive these monks about her sex than it was to deceive King Arthur and the other warriors at court. She didn't return until the midday meal.
She saw Gawaine still sitting on his bench, tapping the ground restlessly with his staff, and realized that he must want to leave.
She, on the other hand, thought that she could never get enough of such rest. They sat down to a meal in the refectory and saw that everyone was served a fish stew, so she didn't feel conspicuous for eating better than the others. During the meal, one monk read to the others from St. Paul's epistles.
Then, Father Paulus began to give them a homily. "I would speak to you from the Acts of Paul and Thecla."
Lancelot looked down at her trencher of bread. She knew that Thecla had dressed as a man so she could go off and serve God. Could Father Paulus have guessed her secret?
"The monastic life is a good and holy one," the priest said, his eyes gleaming with fervor. "Although we all know what temptation is, and no one is safe from the snares of the devil, at least here we are removed from the uncleanness of women. St. Paul spoke truly when he bade them cover their heads, for their so-called beauty is that of whitened sepulchers. They take on the guise of loveliness, but there is only corruption underneath. According to the Acts of Paul and Thecla, virgins are the only women who will be resurrected. Saint Jerome wrote 'As long as a woman is for birth and children, she is different from man as body is from soul. But if she wishes to serve Christ more than the world, then she will cease to be a woman and will be called man.'"
Lancelot with difficulty held back a gasp.
The priest's voice grew louder and even fuller of passion. Stretching out his hands, he leaned towards his listeners. "The Gospel of the Egyptians says that Christ came to destroy the works of the female and to put an end to the use of the sex to bring people into the world. Truly is it said that an unclean woman—I mean when they are at their most unclean, which comes every month—is not worthy to take the sacraments. If you search for love from them, slime only will be your reward, for that is all they are..."
Gawaine got up noisily from the bench and limped out.
Lancelot, who had been shaking with anger, rose also and left. She met him outside the refectory.
"You don't have to listen to that shit," he said, hitting the ground with his stick.
"Who are you to talk?" she snapped. "When I think of all the crap I've heard you say..."
"Well, you've never heard me say that," he replied indignantly. "I never said that women are disgusting, or that they are worse than men. Nobody could be foolish enough to believe that women do more evil than men."
"Very well, you didn't say that, but I don't want to talk about it." The question of whether women were disgusting certainly was no point to be debated. "I think it's time to go, before I pollute the place—if you're well enough to travel," she added, remembering his leg.
"Of course I am."
"If the dressing on your wound needs to be changed, will you let me do it?"
He frowned. "I'd rather not."
"We can't go unless you agree. I'll not let you bleed or your wound fester."
"If your leg were wounded, would you let me change the bandage?"
"If it were necessary," she agreed, impatient at his reluctance.
"Then you can change mine—if it's necessary."
"Very well, then. Let's get our horses and go."
Just as they were saddling their horses, Father Paulus rushed up to them.
"Lancelot, you're not leaving?" he exclaimed in considerable distress. He did not address Gawaine.
"We are. Thank you for letting us rest here." Lancelot gave him only the curtest possible nod.
"Please speak with me a moment first," Father Paulus beseeched, putting a hand on her arm.
Lancelot tried to curb her anger. "For a moment, but we really must depart. It is our duty to report to the king about the Saxons."
She followed him towards the garden, but stood at its edge and would not go further. Gawaine waited with the horses, out of earshot.
Father Paulus tried a conciliatory tone. "I understand that your friend was angry when I preached against his sins, but surely you have no reason to be disturbed. I hope that you will return here."
"You preached not only against his sins, but against all women. I dislike such talk."
She hastened to her horse.
Father Paulus then approached Gawaine. "Be grateful to God for you deliverance, and sin no more," he said.
"I am grateful to you for all the good you have done for me,” Gawaine told him.
The two warriors rode off.
Lancelot thought of her sins. She wanted to be in harmony with all that was good and just in the world. If she was damned, must she spend eternity with companions like Sangremore? Perhaps those who believed the old religion were right, and she might just be reborn to try to do better in her next life. She hoped so, for the Church said there was no love in hell, and she could not imagine life without love.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, it beat down on them. They came to a stream, and stopped to drink. Lancelot took water in her hands and splashed it on her face. Then she filled Gawaine's water flask and brought it to him so he would not have to dismount and strain his leg.
"You look solemn. Are you thinking about Sangremore?" he asked, taking a drink.
Lancelot nodded.
"I regret that you had to impale him in the back to kill him. It was nobly done, but some will say it is a stain on your honor."
"I don't mind losing my honor for you," she said.
Gawaine choked with laughter, spluttering the water.
"You know I didn't mean it that way," Lancelot protested, flushing. "Can't you stop thinking of me as a woman?"
"Could you stop thinking of me as a man?" he asked.
"Of course not!"
"There's your answer." He spilled some water on his face and let it trickle down.
"Not so," Lancelot complained. "You act always like a man, but I don't act like a woman."
Gawaine grinned at her. "Indeed you do. I didn't see it before, but now that I know you're a woman, I can see that you act exactly like one."
"That's not true!" She leapt back on her horse and refused to speak with him for a while.
"I was just teasing you out of your gloom, and it worked easily," Gawaine said, with an infuriating smile.
Lancelot grimaced. "How kind of you." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "But I want to ask a serious question. What about that saying of St. Jerome's that a woman who is always a virgin is more like a man than like a woman? Could that be true?"
Gawaine rolled his eyes. "Only a hermit like Jerome would say so."
When they returned to Camelot, Lancelot and Gawaine went to report to Arthur privately, in his room. Gawaine climbed the steps as fast as he could with his staff, but Lancelot was sure the climb pained him.
The king embraced them and exclaimed over Gawaine's leg. "Did the Saxons do that to you? Be seated, pray."
Gawaine accepted the chair, and before Lancelot could open her mouth, said, "It's not so bad a wound. They were angry because Sangremore abducted and raped a Saxon's thane's daughter, endangering your peace. He's dead now."
Arthur looked grave and shook his head. "I've heard that he was dead. What a bloody fool."
"I'm the one who killed him," Lancelot insisted.
Arthur patted Lancelot on the shoulder. "I've already heard that, Lance. Of course, I'll back you. Did you have to c
ut off his head, though?"
Gawaine spoke up. "Yes, he had to. The Saxons were holding me hostage and would have killed me if Lance hadn't brought back proof that Sangremore was dead."
Turning purple, Arthur pounded the table. "How dare they! I'll show them they can't threaten my kinsman."
Gawaine shook his head. "No, the thane Aldwulf was right. His men would have rebelled if he had not done as he did. And he's said he'll pay you more tribute because of how he treated us. You should like that."
Arthur's face returned to its normal color.
"They should pay the tribute. That's only right. But if they had killed you, I would have spilled their blood like wine."
Lancelot shuddered.
"Speaking of wine, I shall call for some." Arthur smiled at them. "You both should rest."
He beckoned, and Tewdar, his body servant, brought them the finest of red wines. Although he was aging, Tewdar's hair still stood up in a cowlick.
"You both behaved bravely, of course," Arthur said, "but I would have thought Lancelot might have chosen to be the hostage to preserve Gawaine, who after all is the heir to my throne."
Lancelot flushed.
"That's the reason I was the hostage, because I am kin to you," Gawaine told him. "I knew Aldwulf didn't want to start a war. Lancelot was more than brave, and I am grateful to him for saving my life." He quaffed his wine.
"So am I, of course." Arthur slapped Gawaine's shoulder. "Had the wound been a little higher, the ladies would have grieved," he said. "What a pity you have no wife to tend you."
"You should find one for him. He's too shy to find one for himself." Lancelot grinned.
"Then no doubt I'd be too shy to lie with her," Gawaine replied, swilling down the wine.
Gawaine went to his house and let Hywel remove his boots and exclaim over his leg. Agravaine and Gaheris burst in on him. "Your leg is wounded!" Gaheris cried, eyeing the large bandage that bound it.
"You let Lancelot kill Sangremore!" Ignoring the wounded leg, Agravaine yelled at his older brother.
"It was necessary," Gawaine said, not looking at him.
"Necessary! Necessary to stab him in the back, and then cut off his head! No other man has ever treated another member of the round table that way. And you defend that sanctimonious bastard!" He shook his fist in Gawaine's face. "You know that Sangremore saved my life in the Saxon War. Is my life nothing to you?"
"We all saved each other's lives in the Saxon War. I saved your life then, and I have saved it since. And Lancelot has saved it too, if you recall." Ignoring the fist, Gawaine strove to remain calm and dignified although his boots were off.
Gaheris merely stared at them, for he was ever a follower, even in family fights.
"Sangremore raped a thane's daughter. That could have started a war," Gawaine explained, though he guessed his brother would not be moved. He was pretty sure that Agravaine himself had raped at least one woman when he had served under their father. The memory weighed on Gawaine's heart.
Agravaine spat on the floor. "What do I care about those Saxon women? They're all whores."
Gawaine expected no better from Agravaine, who had said the same when British soldiers raped and murdered Saxon women and children during the war. Gawaine had lowered Agravaine's rank for that reason, a slight Agravaine had never forgotten. "The Saxons were holding me hostage. If Lancelot had not brought Sangremore—or his body—back, they would have killed me. Would you have preferred that?"
"They held you hostage! That means war!" Agravaine gasped. "Will Arthur declare war on them?"
"No, and I agree with him." Gawaine strove for patience. "They'll pay him more tribute."
"Tribute! That's not enough to compensate for holding the king's cousin! You care too much about peace. Did Lancelot give Sangremore's head to the Saxons?"
Gawaine nodded.
"What did they do with it?" Agravaine demanded, shaking with rage.
"Why ask?" Gawaine sighed. "If a Saxon had raped a British noble's daughter and you were given the Saxon's head, what would you do? At least cutting off the head left the family something to bury."
"You defend Lancelot? You care more about him than your own kin," Agravaine growled, turning away from him and leaving the room.
Gaheris looked uncertain whether to follow him, but Gawaine said, "Stay, Gaheris, and drink with me," so he stayed.
"How is your leg?" Gaheris asked.
"It'll be a while before I can run, but I can ride." He gestured to Hywel to pour his brother some ale.
Gawaine had little desire to drink ale with him at the moment, but he thought he should let Gaheris know that he had a friend other than Agravaine. Gaheris did not have many.
"I wish I had been the one to save you," Gaheris said with a sigh. "Then you might like me as well as Lancelot."
Gawaine clasped his hand. "You're my brother. Never imagine that I don't care about you." No doubt he should pay more attention to poor Gaheris.
Gawaine felt a strange ache, far worse than the still sharp pain in his leg, in the place where his love for Agravaine used to reside. Could he, as the oldest brother, have taught Agravaine to be a better man?
He could never bear to tell Lancelot that Sangremore had not been the only rapist at the round table, that his own brother was likely one. The less Lancelot and Agravaine knew about each other, the better.
All Gawaine truly wanted was to see Ragnal, and have her tend his wound. And other parts as well.
Lancelot eagerly climbed the hidden stairway to see Guinevere that night. As soon as the door was closed, Guinevere kissed her. "How was your journey? Is it true that you killed Sangremore?"
"Yes. He raped a thane's daughter." Lancelot shuddered.
Guinevere grimaced. "What a brute! I never did like him."
Apparently Guinevere had not yet heard about the beheading. Wanting to think about other things at the moment, Lancelot postponed telling her. "The journey was difficult. A Saxon injured Gawaine's leg, and we went to a monastery to recover."
"I suppose he'll be all right? I thank God that you aren't the one who was hurt." Guinevere stroked Lancelot's hair.
Frowning, Lancelot pulled away. "Believe me, it is just as hard to see a friend wounded as to be hurt oneself."
Guinevere's brow wrinkled. "I'll never understand how you can like him so much."
"Must you still dislike him?" Lancelot's voice was much sharper.
Guinevere's smile vanished. "How should I like a man who is always wenching? He consumes women in quantities, as he does mead."
Lancelot almost said that the king was not so different, but she checked herself, for she had no right to criticize Arthur on
that ground. Instead, she said, "Well, they want him. I wonder what it would be like to lie with many women, as Gawaine does."
Guinevere shook her head. Her dark hair cascaded down her shoulders, and Lancelot longed to stroke it. "I would rather be with you than a hundred other women," the queen said.
Lancelot smiled. "I have thought the same."
"That you are better than a hundred women? How modest," Guinevere teased her.
"Of course not. That you are. You know that's what I meant." Lancelot grabbed her hand and they both laughed. Candlelight made Guinevere's face glow, and the scent of her almost drove Lancelot mad. "But please don't harp on your dislike for my friend." She could see no reason for Guinevere to have such an antipathy to Gawaine. Once Guinevere had believed that Gawaine had killed the girl in the Saxon War, but Lancelot had confessed that she was the one who had done that.
Guinevere, like everyone else, apparently assumed that Gawaine was the hostage only because his rank was higher than Lancelot's. Lancelot could have told her the truth, but she was not ready to explain that Gawaine knew she was a woman.
Guinevere sighed. "I'll try not to criticize him. I don't want to distress you. I'm glad enough to have you back, sweet." She kissed Lancelot's lips.
Lancelot surrendered to the que
en's kisses.
Gawaine approached Ragnal in the shadows of the courtyard as she carried an empty flagon back to the kitchen. She wanted to fling herself on him, but held back.
Without speaking of it, Cai had assigned her fewer tasks than usual to allow her time to make herself ready, and she had bathed and washed her hair.
"I've heard too much of monks and virginity," Gawaine said, grimacing. The grime of the road did not cling to him, and his red hair appeared damp from washing. What other man would have washed to be clean for a serving woman?
"Why, I thought I might become a Christian so I could enter a convent." Ragnal spoke in a meek little voice unlike her own. He would always rather that she jest than greet him with sweet words. And he wouldn't want her to exclaim over his leg when he was flirting with her.
"You'll never do that." He took the flagon from her and set it on a ledge, where some other servant no doubt would find it and return it to its proper place. Cai would guess what had happened and would not scold Gawaine's mistress.
"Why not?" she continued in a voice of utter innocence.
Gawaine looked around to see whether anyone was near, then slid his tongue across his lips.
Ragnal made the same gesture back at him.
She was the luckiest woman at court, she thought. Those ladies with their fine gowns and jewels and thousand commands had such dull husbands—and she knew, from the years before Gawaine, just how dull some of them were. When Gawaine returned from a journey, he invariably turned to her, and for days or even weeks she had him to herself. He never said a harsh word to her, but kissed and petted her as if she were a noble lady who needed to be wooed, instead of a serving woman who could just be taken.
Envious serving women and ladies gossiped that she had cast a spell over him. Some claimed that she could turn into a beautiful woman at night in her room. But she knew that she held him with jests, tales, and a ready laugh. And, of course, by never making any complaint.
Life had been hard. Children had been her only other joy, but they had died early. She had learned how to hold onto this happiness with her warrior.
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