Talwyn's face couldn't be any hotter. She wanted to cover it with her hands. "I was so rude."
"Not at all," he replied graciously. "Your candor is very pleasing."
"Lady Lionors," Gawaine said, striding back across the room. "Talwyn had good reason to have words with me. The king had suggested that I might be a suitable husband for her, but we have discussed the matter and decided that such a match was not appropriate."
Lionors dropped the garment she had been working on. "The king! I can't believe he said such a thing. The queen would..." She left the thought unfinished.
"Exactly." Gawaine nodded. "It might be best not to tell her, as nothing came from it anyway. Talwyn is a fine girl, and perhaps I'm a little sorry that the king was mistaken."
Bowing to both of them, he departed.
"Talwyn, Talwyn, what have you done?" Lionors shook her head.
"Nothing," Talwyn said, blushing.
"I have never seen Gawaine show so much liking for a girl. You mustn't discourage an offer of marriage!"
"Because he's so high-placed?" Talwyn shrugged.
"He is indeed, but I meant because he's kind. Kindness is the best a girl can hope for in a husband, Talwyn. Don't imagine that anything else is more important. Never mind what the queen says about Gawaine. He's always treated me with great respect. I think he just needs a good wife, and then he'll settle down." Lionors patted Talwyn's shoulder. "Oh, dear child, let me go to him and tell him not to take your protests too seriously. And don't worry about Queen Guinevere's objections. I'll persuade her not to oppose the match."
Talwyn wondered for a moment whether she had said the right thing. Then she thought of Galahad and was sure that she had, even though Galahad had paid little attention to her since the Pentecost contest. "No, no, please don't speak with either of them. It's very good of you, Lady Lionors, but I know what I want."
"Nonsense." Lionors frowned. "Think on this matter. I can't go to the queen if you'll tell her you don't want him."
Talwyn didn't at all agree with Queen Guinevere's view of Gawaine, but at the moment she was just as glad that the queen was not fond of him.
Gawaine whistled as he walked to the kitchens. Most food would already have been cleared away from the table in the great hall, but the serving people would give him whatever breakfast he wanted.
Talwyn was a delightful girl. If she had liked a youth who was rich, handsome, and cocky, Gawaine might have enjoyed contesting the young man for her affections. But Galahad was none of those things. He was a fine youth who deserved Talwyn and should have her.
But Gawaine couldn't help plotting what he would have done if he had tried to get Talwyn for a wife. There was one way to overcome Guinevere's objections. He could have claimed that he had dishonored Talwyn—though of course he wouldn't have touched her until he married her—and Guinevere would be forced to give her consent to the marriage. Then he realized that Lancelot would never forgive him for saying such a thing about Talwyn. Even if he married Talwyn without subterfuge, Lancelot would be angry because she would think he was not good enough for the girl. And he would not anger Lancelot in that way.
Well, if nothing else, it was pleasant to know that such a fresh, honest girl existed.
On a hot summer day, Lancelot rode through some marshes to the East. They were not too far from Saxon territory, so she was a bit unnerved, and not just because of stinging marsh insects. Although the Saxons had sworn allegiance to King Arthur and were paying him tribute, she still didn't trust them.
She let her horse drink from the water. The croaking of the frogs reassured her that nothing terrible was about. She watched a marsh hawk swooping low, hunting with a grace that belied its deadly mission. The marsh smell both appealed to her and disgusted her. She wiped her forehead. Then the frogs stopped croaking, and a pretty, finely dressed British lady rode breathlessly up to Lancelot. The lady's dark hair flew about in a tangle and her face seemed drained of all its blood.
"Please help me, noble lord," she gasped, choking out the words with difficulty. "My husband believes that I have committed adultery, and he means to kill me."
"Of course I'll help you," Lancelot assured her. The lady's pitiful appearance roused her sympathy.
Then a large, well-dressed man on an elegant steed galloped into the marsh. The lady screamed.
"Hold up," called out Lancelot. "I am Lancelot, King Arthur's warrior, and I won't let you hurt this lady."
The man pulled up his horse just a slight distance from them. His face was red as some flowers that bloomed in the marsh, but not as attractive. "You don't understand, Lord Lancelot. This woman is my wife, and she has committed adultery. I have every right to punish her."
"I have not, I swear it," the lady insisted, trembling like the marsh grasses.
"You lie," the husband yelled at her. His eyes glowed fiercer than the marsh hawk's.
"It doesn't matter whether she is telling the truth or not, you have no right to harm her. I shall take her to a safe place. You should go home and forget her," Lancelot told him, putting her horse between the lady's and the man's.
The husband stared at Lancelot. "Not have the right to punish my wife for adultery? I can't believe that any man would say such a thing."
"Well, I have said it, and you should go." Lancelot used her military officer's voice.
The husband changed his tone. "How can I go and leave my wife? Perhaps I was too hasty. Won't you talk with me?" he coaxed the lady.
"No, I'm afraid of you now," she replied, shrinking from him.
"We should depart," Lancelot told the lady. "And you should let her go," she said to the man.
Lancelot and the lady started to ride, but the man followed, at only a slight distance behind them.
Suddenly, he cried out, "Oh, God's mercy, it's Saxons coming, and they look as if they mean to attack!"
Lancelot turned to look, and the man sped forward and slashed his sword into his wife's neck, almost cutting off her head, before Lancelot could stop him.
"How could you?" Lancelot cried in anger, doing the same to him.
She buried the lady's body, but left the man's unburied by the road.
She returned to Camelot with a heavy heart, regretting that she had been fooled by the man.
Lancelot told Arthur what had happened, and he shook his head and said, "You were too hard on the man. No one would have executed him for killing a wife who committed adultery. You're too ready to take the woman's part."
Lancelot shuddered, but could not bear to think further. This was the first she had heard of the king being harsh toward women who committed adultery.
When the leaves had fallen from the trees, Mordred returned from living with the Saxons. When the young warrior strode into the great hall, Arthur did not know whether to feel glad. It was difficult to look at anyone but this Mordred, who looked so much like Arthur's younger self. Arthur couldn't help wondering whether this might be his son after all. No, that was a foolish fantasy.
Mordred bowed. “I have learned much about the Saxons, my lord.”
“Very good. Come to my room and give me a full report,” Arthur said, trying to sound just the way he did when he spoke to any other competent man in his service. He rose and led the way to his private chamber.
Mordred gave a full report on the Saxons' armaments and their disposition.
Arthur nodded. “You have learned a great deal.” He had the strange feeling that it might have been just as well if Mordred had not returned.
Mordred smiled, but there was something insinuating about his smile. "Sire, I have a gift for you. Come with me to a small house in the forest near here, and I will show you."
Now this was passing strange, for young warriors did not presume to give gifts to the king, but Arthur went. He was curious to see what manner of gift Mordred had brought him. He rode out alone with the young man.
When they came through the forest to a small thatch-roofed house that was whitewashed with lime,
Mordred said, "Come inside and see my gift."
Arthur followed him inside, and saw a woman in a dove gray gown who looked just like Guinevere, save that her face was haggard, and her eyes, which were gray rather than blue, had a look that was colder and harsher than any he had seen in the queen's. And there was on her neck the mark of a Saxon iron thrall-collar.
He stood there, too surprised to speak.
"Here, sire, is a woman who says that she's the queen's bastard sister, and I think that's the truth. She was taken as a Saxon thrall when she was a girl, and later they sold her to a British brothel. I thought you might find her amusing." Mordred gave an exaggeratedly deep bow, and left them.
Arthur smiled at the woman. Here was a way to get revenge on Guinevere without striking her.
Mordred rode away, thinking he had been a fool to want to gain his father's esteem. Arthur was just an ordinary man, with the same low tastes—not that he admitted them, but that was ordinary, too.
Guinevere was different. How dare a woman be so proud? It would be interesting to lie with a woman like that. Lying with her sister had been a poor substitute.
We are an incestuous family, Mordred thought, chuckling to himself. But when he thought of the queen looking at him with contempt if she learned he had been raised in a brothel, he cringed.
Arthur and Gawaine rode through the bare woods on a gray day in late autumn. Gawaine scanned the branches for the birds that had not left for the year. He wondered whether he was withering like the bracken on the forest floor.
Arthur said, "I have something to show you."
He stopped at a small house and dismounted, and Gawaine did the same.
Arthur knocked three times, and a serving woman opened the door. They entered, and a woman who looked like Guinevere came up and threw her arms around the king. Gawaine stared at her. Gods, the likeness was amazing. The nose, the mouth, the chin, the hair—everything but the eyes was the same.
Arthur laughed and kissed her mouth. "Good to see you, sweeting. And here is my good cousin, Gawaine. Go fetch some refreshments for us."
The woman curtseyed to Gawaine and smiled. "Good day, Lord Gawaine. Yes, Lord Arthur. I'll just be a moment."
Gawaine nodded to her politely, then, when she had gone, asked, "Gods, who is that?"
"Gywnhwyfach, Guinevere's bastard sister, who was captured by the Saxons, then sold to a bawdy house. Mordred brought her to me."
"And not to Guinevere?" Gawaine had a sick feeling in his stomach.
"She has no love for Guinevere. I have a better use for her." Arthur laughed unpleasantly. "You turned down your chance for the queen many years ago when I asked whether you would get her with child, but I think this one would not refuse you. Would that amuse you?"
"No," said Gawaine sharply, thinking of the daughter he had long sought. If men recognized her as his, is this how they would treat her? And how could Arthur not think about how men might treat his own possible missing daughter? Above all, why would he make his wife's sister his mistress? Gawaine could hardly look at his royal cousin.
Someone knocked at Guinevere's door. Luned, who had been mending a torn hem, went to the door.
Wide-eyed, she turned to Guinevere. "My lady, it's the lord Gawaine. Should I let him in?"
Guinevere stopped reading Talwyn's Latin exercises. She put down the tablet and rose from her chair.
"Let him in." Her voice was full of frost. "What brings you here?" she asked, with cold courtesy. Gawaine had never knocked on her door before, except once years ago when she had summoned him, and she could see no reason why he would now.
The tall warrior hemmed and hawed. He lowered his head. "I have seen today a woman who could be your sister. She says she is, and she much resembles you."
"My sister!" Guinevere let herself hope, even though it seemed impossible. "I did have a sister, who looked just like me. I thought she was killed by Saxons when she was a child. Could this be Gwynhwyfach?"
He nodded. "That's the name she gives. It must be. This woman bears the mark of a Saxon thrall collar."
"Where is she?" Guinevere felt as if she had sprouted wings and was ready to fly. Gwynhwyfach had been her serving girl, and she had not known that her father had also fathered Gwynhwyfach until after the Saxon raid. Now she could make everything up to Gwynhwyfach and treat her like a real sister.
Gawaine colored. "She lives in a small house in the forest. She is Arthur's mistress."
Guinevere caught her breath. Her joy disappeared, replaced with icy rage. "I see," she managed to say. "Thank you for this news, Gawaine. You may go now."
He bowed and departed.
She almost ran to Arthur's door and demanded to be let in.
Arthur wore a fine white tunic, one of his favorite garments. His serving man, Tewdar, was folding the king's leather riding tunic.
"Can't you wait until supper to see me, Lady Guinevere?" Arthur asked cheerfully. His handsome face had never looked so ugly to her.
"Leave us," Guinevere said to Tewdar, and the man departed.
"Such eagerness to see me is most uncommon." Arthur smiled at her as if she meant what he must know she did not.
"How dare you keep my sister from me?" She choked out the words as if she were strangling. She longed to fly at him, to scratch his eyes. She had never before had such an impulse about anyone.
"So Gawaine told you. I thought he might. I thought the message might please you, coming from him, because you are so fond of him." Arthur smiled, not sweetly. "If you had been a real wife to me, I would not have gone to your sister. Do you believe that she wants to see you? I assure you, she does not. She blames her whole hard life, from Saxon thralldom to British brothel, on you."
This was the first that Guinevere had heard of the brothel. Her voice almost choked her. "She is my sister. You will at least have the decency to bring her here to live at court, not hidden away. She must be treated like any lady here, as Gwyl was treated, and as your mistresses usually are."
She took him by surprise. His eyes widened. "Not the ones who come from brothels. You can't want her here, Gwen. She looks just like you. People would make sport of the resemblance."
"She is my sister, and I shall acknowledge her as such." She spoke with all the dignity she could summon.
Arthur looked appalled. "You can't, she's just a..."
"Sister!" Guinevere snapped. "You will bring her here. I demand it. I'll go and fetch her myself if you won't. I must see her."
The king shook his head. "I didn't mean that you should have to see her. It won't be pleasant for you."
She took advantage of his retreat and seized the offensive. "Arthur, you will send someone to bring her here immediately, this very evening, or I shall send Lancelot and Gawaine to do it."
"Lancelot? Oh, for God's sake, leave him out of this," Arthur muttered, frowning. "I'll send Gawaine. But you will have no joy of her. After you've met her, you'll see how unsuitable it is for her to live here."
Guinevere could not eat a bite of supper. She sat for the shortest possible time at the great table, then retired to pace her room, and occasionally sob. At least she could tell Luned what visitor she expected.
Luned said Lancelot's serving man Catwal had told her that the king had sent Lancelot off on an errand for a few days, and Guinevere suspected that it was a punishment for her because she had demanded to see her sister.
She remembered the imperious little girl she had been, giving orders to Gwynhwyfach. Guinevere had noticed the resemblance, but never guessed that Gwynhwyfach was her sister. Then, when Guinevere was about ten years old and her parents had told her she was the most beautiful girl in Britain, she had objected that Gwynhwyfach looked just like her. After that, her mother had demanded that her father send Gwynhwyfach away to an old farm of his. The Saxon raid had come not long after and burned down the farm. Then Guinevere's old nurse, Macha, had told her that Gwynhwyfach had been her sister.
Guinevere had been haunted all her life by the b
elief that she was responsible for Gwynhwyfach's death. She had tried to make up for it, as much as she could, by befriending serving women.
Finally, the much-awaited knock came, and a hooded figure slipped into her room. Luned let her in and departed. The figure threw off her hood and cloak. It was Gwynhwyfach, wearing a fine crimson gown and a lapis brooch.
"Gwynhwyfach!" Guinevere had been telling herself that she must be reserved because Arthur had said her sister had no fondness for her, but she could not hold back. She opened her arms. "Thank God you're alive. I have so longed for you these many years."
Gwynhwyfach spat on the floor. "Longed for me, have you? Haven't you had enough servants to fetch your things? I haven't longed for you." Her eyes blazed with hatred.
Guinevere tried to hide her own pain, because Gwynhwyfach's had been so much greater. "You'll never be a servant again, dear. Forgive me for treating you as one. I had no idea that you were my sister. All that has changed now."
"You bet it has. Your king loves me now. That's why he sent for me. Don't pretend it's not." She sneered.
Of course she could not tell Gwynhwyfach the truth, that Arthur had not wanted her at Camelot. "You must live at court now, Gwynhwyfach. A room has been prepared for you. I can understand that you have suffered too much to like me now, but I hope that after a time..."
Gwynhwyfach laughed bitterly, showing the lines in her face. She had a few more lines than Guinevere, not surprisingly, but her hair still was coal black. "You bet there's a room here for me, but I know that he's the one who wants me, not you. You're just pretending to make the best of it. Look at these jewels he's given me. This is how much your husband likes me." She indicated the brooch, and an amber ring on her finger.
Guinevere nodded. "I don't care about that. I am only glad to see you and to know that you're alive after all."
"Alive? I wasn't so thankful for that when the Saxons took me, after they killed my mother because she was too old to suit them. I had to wear a weight of iron around my neck for years." A veil had covered her neck, and she pulled it loose, showing the scar.
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