Lancelot and Guinevere

by Carol Anne Douglas

  And what did he mean by saying that there was more between husbands and wives than Lancelot knew? Was it possible that Guinevere wasn't faithful to her after all?

  Lancelot tried not to think of that idea. Jealousy grabbed her and she fought it, as if it were a powerful warrior riding against her.

  Lancelot felt that Guinevere was hiding something.

  But the next night she smiled at Guinevere, touched her, and pretended that nothing was wrong.

  Guinevere's body was tense, and never seemed to relax. For the first time, Lancelot suspected that Guinevere did not desire her as much as previously. Guinevere had not truly relaxed for several months, but Lancelot only now admitted that there might be more of a problem than she had recognized.

  "Are my touches really as good as ever for you?" Lancelot ventured, afraid to hear the answer.

  "Of course, dearest," Guinevere said, kissing Lancelot's neck.

  But Lancelot was not reassured. She remained awake, not daring to ask any more questions, even though she knew that Guinevere was still awake also.

  Lancelot and Gawaine taught the young warriors how to ride in battle, showing such maneuvers as slipping to the side of the horse and riding so that one was not a target, and could scarcely be seen.

  In so doing, Lancelot could reach nearly to the ground, but none of the young men could. A few of them could reach the ground with their spears, but none could do so with their hands. She smiled as she watched them. She was not so old after all. The day was fair and the sun shone on the warriors' chain mail.

  "Now it is time to fight with your spears," she told them.

  A forest of spears was lifted to the skies, and the young men all covered their left sides with their shields.

  "And how would you fight on horseback if you lost your shield?" Gawaine challenged them. "Take up your spears and try yourselves against me." His leg had healed from the previous year's wound.

  The young warriors put aside their shields. Bearing spears, they charged Gawaine, and he fought them off. Feeling no anxiety for her friend's safety or his dignity, Lancelot watched Clegis attack Gawaine. Gawaine's spear held him off. Gawaine raised his spear like a barrier, and Clegis pressed against it, as if they were fighting with swords. They seemed to wrestle, trying to push each other off their horses. Gawaine was heavier, but Clegis was also heavy and strong. Their pressure on the wooden spears was so great that both broke.

  Clegis yelled with pleasure.

  Gawaine merely smiled and let the young man gloat. "Ah, my fighting strength wanes as the day does," he said. "I fight my best in the morning."

  Lancelot smiled to herself. She knew he could fight almost beyond match at any time.

  She then showed the young men the trick of leaping from one's horse to the enemy's. This technique Lancelot demonstrated with Dinadan playing the enemy. After several demonstrations, Dinadan begged to take his leave.

  Gawaine then said that he would willingly take Dinadan's place in this arduous task, but Lancelot said that she had demonstrated the move enough, and the young warriors could practice this trick with Gawaine. Whereupon Gawaine said it would be much better if they practiced it with each other.

  After an afternoon of practice, some of the young warriors made moan that they were tired and aching because they had fallen any number of times.

  The older warriors just smiled and said it couldn't be so bad, but when the younger ones had dispersed and gone off to rest, and Lancelot and Gawaine had taken their own horses back to the pasture, they relaxed a little.

  Gawaine's gray gelding and Lancelot's dark mare both eagerly sank their teeth into the grass.

  Although it was late in the day, a few larks sang.

  A red kite flew overhead, and Lancelot winced because she remembered seeing them eat the dead on battlefields.

  "You didn't take up your sword to fight Clegis after the spears were broken, as you would have done in a real battle," Lancelot observed, wiping sweat from her brow. "You haven't shown them how to fight with swords on horseback."

  Gawaine grinned. "Time enough for that later. I enjoy knowing a few things they don't know. There's no war on the horizon, and this way I may have an advantage over them in fighting contests when I grow old. I notice you showed them how to leap behind an opponent on horseback, but not how to throw someone off if he leapt up behind them."

  "Perhaps I also want to keep some tricks of my own," Lancelot admitted. "You know how to do that, and I do, and we can show the younger warriors how if war comes. That was quite a tale about your being unable to fight as well in the afternoon as you do in the morning." She returned his smile.

  "They may decide to wait until the afternoon to challenge me in fighting contests, and then get a surprise." Gawaine chuckled.

  Lancelot rubbed her back. "To tell the truth, I'm a little old to leap from horse to horse," she said. "Next year, I'll be forty. My back is killing me." She ached much more than she should from a mere practice.

  "I am forty, but I have fought enough for forty men, or at least that's what all of my bones tell me," Gawaine moaned, rubbing his right shoulder. "I'm not sure which of them protests the most. That pasture has begun to look more appealing. I almost want to join those horses."

  He gestured not to the horses they had just released, but to the older horses, including a bay that had been his, that spent the whole day in the pasture.

  "I never will go to pasture, of course," he added, with some haste.

  "You? You'll go to the horse pasture only if they decide to bury you there," Lancelot replied, grinning and rubbing one of her legs, which was almost as sore as her back.

  "True. But there are some things that I wish I had done and have not." Gawaine sighed.

  She refused to be serious. "You've lived your life exactly as you wanted to. No one more so."

  "Yes, I have lived a life of sacrifice, but indeed I chose it." He rolled his eyes heavenwards. "But really, I wish that I had children."

  "But you have sons, and pay them little enough heed," Lancelot objected, completely unsympathetic. One of the stallions in the pasture was approaching a mare, and Lancelot turned and started walking away. "Everyone knows that Brendan of the Isles' sister Ysaive's boys are yours. You should have married her."

  "Well, in fact Camlach and Cildydd are not mine, or probably not," he said, following her. "True, I laid with Ysaive, but so did almost everyone else. When she found she was with child, she came and asked me whether I would say that it was mine, because no one else would, so I agreed, and settled some money on Camlach, too. But the boy bears no resemblance to me, and I was never fond of him. Frankly, I think he looks like Bedwyr.

  "And, as for the second one," Gawaine continued, "I didn't even lie with her in a month that could have made me his father, although I did many other times. I was not so happy when she asked me to say again that he was mine, but what else could I do? She was in a bad place, and it would have been hard for the boy. So I said that Cildydd was mine, too, and settled some money on him also. They're not such bad boys, although I think they've joined Mordred's group."

  "Which will make them bad in the end. If you went so far as to say that they were yours, you might have taken a little more trouble with them," Lancelot admonished, frowning at a thrush that sang in a bush near them.

  "I can't do anything right, apparently. I've been very courteous to Ysaive and her boys, almost like a saint to them, and still you reproach me," Gawaine complained, rubbing his red beard.

  "Your idea of sainthood is a little different from mine," she replied, stepping around a pile of horseshit and glancing at it pointedly. "I suppose you want sons."

  "A son, perhaps, or a daughter. I wouldn't want to wear my wife out with overmuch childbearing." He looked at Lancelot. "But what about you?" he inquired. "Do you ever wish you had children?"

  She choked. "Good Lord, no, I never give it a thought."

  "True, children may not be so important after all," Gawaine said agreeab
ly. "But are there things that you have never done that you wish you had?"

  "Everyone has such things, I suppose," Lancelot replied, looking at the caer and particularly at a certain window. "Of course if I could change my life in any way, I would marry Guinevere and go off to live with her, far away from any man's claims."

  "Indeed?" Gawaine raised his eyebrows. "Well, at any rate, I can't marry. I'm afraid you'd steal my wife if I did."

  Lancelot started to say, "Don't wor..." then paused. "But I shouldn't make any promises to you. I should wait and meet her first."

  Gawaine groaned and they both laughed.

  "I would have to marry the one woman who won't fall in love with you," Gawaine said.

  "Only one? And who is she?" Lancelot asked.

  But Gawaine only laughed more uproariously.

  "Did you hear that Tristram died?" Bors told Guinevere on the way to the great hall for supper. "He was finally killed by King Mark's men."

  Guinevere winced. "Poor Iseult," she said almost involuntarily.

  Bors frowned. "Her husband has forgiven her sin and taken her back. We can only hope that Tristram repented at the end and saved his soul. There will be a Mass for him tomorrow morning."

  Guinevere shuddered at the thought of Iseult having to live again with her husband. She remembered that Iseult had said that lying with him was like being raped.

  As Arthur accompanied Guinevere to the Mass for Tristram, he said, "Of course Iseult will never escape again."

  Guinevere had never liked Tristram, but she battled to refrain from weeping at the Mass, and, as usual, she succeeded.

  Wearing her chain mail away from fighting lessons, although Lancelot had forbidden her to do so, Talwyn rode through the woods. She came to a pond, shimmering in the late spring air. Swallows swept over it, apparently in random madness, like warriors on a quest, looking for something, they knew not what. People said they were the devil's birds who visited hell, but Talwyn doubted that.

  Talwyn dismounted and went to drink. On the other side of the pond, she saw a slim woman bathing.

  She had never really looked at another naked woman before. She noticed the slender legs and arms, the small breasts. Talwyn had never been able to see well in the distance, so she couldn't make out the woman's face. It was all very sweet, a peaceful scene on a peaceful day.

  The woman saw her and fled to the shore.

  "Don't worry," Talwyn hastened to call out. "I'm really another woman. You're safe."

  Still the woman ran crashing through the bushes.

  Worried about her, Talwyn hurried around the pond, through the willows and alders, to reassure her. She called out a number of times, saying that she was a woman, but there was no reply.

  Not finding the woman, she abandoned her attempt and went back to her horse. She hated to think that she had frightened another woman.

  After she had ridden a short distance, another horse trotted up to hers. The rider was Galahad.

  "How are you today, Talwyn?" Galahad asked, with a proper bow of the head.

  "I'm a little disturbed," Talwyn admitted. "A while ago I saw a woman bathing in a pond, but she ran away from me. It's awful to think that I could have frightened her because I'm wearing mail." A thought crossed her mind. "You didn't see her, too, did you?"

  "No, I didn't see any women bathing," Galahad assured her, but there was an annoying grin on Galahad's face.

  "I certainly hope you wouldn't spy on her, but you probably would have," Talwyn chided the young warrior.

  "Of course I wouldn't watch a woman bathing—unless it was you." Before Talwyn could snap back, Galahad said, "Why shouldn't I look if you did?"

  Talwyn scowled. "It's entirely different. I was just looking because it made a pretty picture. It was innocent."

  "But she ran away from you," Galahad reminded her.

  "It's a good thing she didn't run into you, or you would have taken advantage of her," she retorted. Staring at Galahad, she gasped. "I think you did! Your hair is damp."

  Galahad's red hair lay flatter than usual, unmistakably moist.

  Galahad sighed. "What can I say? It's true. She was so afraid of you that she threw her arms around me for protection, and nuzzled her head against mine."

  "I knew that you were untrue to me. Good day, I don't want to ride with you." Talwyn made her horse go ahead of Galahad's.

  "I should have admitted it immediately, because I can never fool you," Galahad tried to cajole her, but Talwyn tossed her head and rode away.

  14 KINDRED

  Lancelot strode across the courtyard. Every stone she trod on was familiar, beloved, different from stones that were condemned to lie far from Camelot. Surely being at Camelot was enough to make even the stones feel important.

  Lancelot wondered whether she would win the next day's fighting contest. A blazing sunset streaked across the western sky, and she paused to look at its red and purple clouds. Pentecost was a time of light, and she should pray rather than thinking of the contest, she chided herself. Even though she was probably damned, she should give glory where glory was due. She prayed less often than she used to, and felt ashamed therefore. Sunset bathed Arthur's dragon banner in red light, and Lancelot hoped that no other red stain would ever touch it.

  She was not eager to enter the great hall and consume what was no doubt a fine supper. It was better not to eat too much so she was not weighed down for tomorrow's contest—and certainly not to drink much wine.

  "Lancelot!" A voice more imperious than those usually heard at Camelot demanded her attention.

  She turned to see Queen Morgause of Lothian and Orkney, a guest who had come for Arthur's Pentecost celebration. The queen was fine-looking for a woman aged between fifty and sixty years. Her hair, wonderful to relate, was still red, and she was tall enough to tower over most other women—about the same height as Lancelot.

  Lancelot bowed her head. "Yes, my lady?"

  Morgause did not smile. "You have set yourself up as being a greater warrior than my son Gawaine. That is impossible. I have little use for idle boasts. Tomorrow's contest will prove who is the better man."

  "Indeed, I agree with you, Lady Morgause." Lancelot had heard that the queen worshiped her eldest son even more than he did her. Despite the queen's insulting tone, her maternal devotion moved Lancelot. "Gawaine certainly is the best man at Camelot. No man can match him as a warrior. I have never boasted that I was better than he is."

  "At least you will not make your shameful boasts before me. See that you do not make them over your cups either." Queen Morgause swept past her into the great hall.

  Lancelot smiled to herself. The queen would see her son victorious. Surely Gawaine would not insist that Lancelot win this time.

  It was Pentecost, time for Galahad's first serious fighting contest. Mail polished spotless, she rode out onto the jousting field. The view was different than it was for a watcher. Galahad could scarcely look at the stands to see the viewers. She glanced towards the royal stand with the dragon banner, but could not see any faces, nor was it possible to look at the warriors who earlier had offered encouragement. The onlookers were all melded into one overwhelming pair of eyes.

  Galahad's opponent was Lionel, a young warrior just a bit older and not a great deal larger than Galahad. There was a real chance of winning. Galahad had trained with Lionel many times, and found him generally unobjectionable, except that he sometimes liked to claim, apparently because he was from Lesser Britain and had black hair, that he was a cousin of Lancelot's. Lancelot heard the claim and was too courteous to dispute it publicly, but privately said that it was not true. But then, almost any noble in Britain who had black hair (and some who did not) seemed eager to claim a relationship to the perfect warrior.

  Galahad's horse was ready, and so was Lionel's. They charged at each other, and their spears clashed on each other's shields. Neither was unhorsed. They turned, and charged again.

  Galahad was in a trance. This was far different from
practice. True, it was not real fighting, but it was a real spectacle, and Galahad was enveloped in her part.

  This time, Galahad knocked Lionel from his horse, and dismounted to the sound of cheers. Sword drawn, keeping in mind Lionel's strong and weak points, she advanced on him. Lionel stood and drew his sword.

  Galahad began slashing, trying to confuse Lionel, moving in so many ways at once that Lionel could hardly keep track of his opponent's movements, much less have a chance to strike. Always a little slow, Lionel fumbled.

  Remembering years of lessons, Galahad pressed the advantage, driving against Lionel, keeping him on the defensive, and then dealing a blow to his shield that knocked Lionel on the ground.

  "Will you yield?" Galahad asked.

  Lionel pulled up his visor, displaying a gray face. He tried to open his mouth and speak, but he could not. He shook as if something had seized him, and passed out.

  Galahad stood frozen, staring at Lionel.

  Shouts resounded from the viewers. Warriors ran onto the contest field.

  Lancelot arrived first and knelt by Lionel.

  She choked. "He's dead."

  Galahad shook like the pennants that rippled from the stands. She had killed a man. She had killed Lionel, whom she had liked.

  Other warriors crowded around, then parted to make way for Cassius the physician, who confirmed that Lionel was dead. Cassius closed Lionel's eyes.

  Gawaine shook his head. "What pity. Such a young man. The only other time I ever saw this happen at a contest, the man was much older."

  Lancelot rose and put an arm around Galahad, who could barely stand. "Don't blame yourself. You did just as you were taught. No one knew that Lionel had a weak heart."

  Other warriors came over and said similar things. Percy tried to say some words of consolation. Gareth said it must have been God's will. Even the king hurried to them, sighed over Lionel, then turned to Galahad. "Don't blame yourself, you fought well and courteously."