"Anyone who loved you before you were ill will love you still," Gawaine said, using the quiet, serious voice that disturbed her.
"Perhaps." Feeling that tears were beginning, she looked away.
"Are you sure you're well enough to travel?" There was anxiety in his voice. "Shall we rest a little longer?"
She rose and strode over to Raven. "Nonsense, I am quite well."
As their journey progressed, they entered the forest, which Lancelot loved above all things. Bluebells filled the woods like bits of sky fallen to earth. Despite her nagging guilt about Guinevere and Elaine, Lancelot was newly moved by the spring's beauty, which seemed greater because she had been sick and was now healed.
Joy sprang to her heart like the flowers that sprang from the earth. Guinevere was alive, Guinevere was safe. Arthur was still on his throne. No changelings had replaced them. The world was as it had been. It had not been perfect, but perhaps the faults were all in herself. She had been granted another life, and a chance to do better.
The true Gawaine was riding beside her, smiling as if she had done something remarkable, rather than just being healed of madness.
That night Gawaine actually asked whether she was well enough to sleep under the stars and she hooted, reminding him how many times she had.
When they had made their camp, he took out his game board. “Would you like to play gwyddbwyll, Black Warrior?”
Lancelot shook her head. “Are you trying to see whether I have wits enough about me for that, Red Warrior?”
“No, I can see that you do.”
She looked up at the stars, which were real enough. She did not imagine them. “How I fear going mad again.” Lancelot shivered.
“You mustn’t live in fear of that.” His voice was kind. “Now that you know what madness is like, thinking people are not who they seem to be and such, perhaps you can reject it.”
She couldn't see Gawaine well in the dark, but his presence reassured her. She would have liked to have a friendly arm around her as well, but she knew that would be unwise. What a pity that he wasn't her brother. But then Agravaine might be also. “If I do go mad again, please take me to Mother Ninian at the Convent of the Holy Mother. I think she could help me—and she wouldn’t expect me to devote the rest of my life to her in repayment.”
“Of course I’d take you there. But it won’t be necessary.”
The thought of madness was too much for her. “I’m tired, and want only to sleep.” She rolled up in her cloak and, praying that there would be no evil dreams, fell asleep.
The next day they found a simple mud-daub chapel in the woods, and a great light poured from its doors. Beautiful music spilled out into the air, joining with birdsong. The birds, in turn, seemed inspired to pour out their songs.
Lancelot looked at the chapel and wished that she were innocent enough to pray there without shame.
"If you're still feeling so guilty about Elaine, why not go in and be shriven?" Gawaine suggested.
Lancelot turned her horse away from the chapel. "I have not been shriven since Guinevere and I became lovers. A priest would say that my sin was in loving Guinevere, not being unfaithful to her. I cannot be at peace until I have made my peace with Guinevere."
"Well, then, let us make haste to Camelot," Gawaine said, encouraging his horse to go faster, and Lancelot's did also.
Lancelot groaned. “What if she does not forgive me? What if she does not want me anymore? I’ll go away again, as far as I can.”
Gawaine put his horse in front of hers, as if she were trying to flee. “Don’t go away alone so soon after your madness. If you go, let me go with you. We could travel to Lothian. You would much enjoy its mountains and lochs.”
Lancelot sighed. “Perhaps. I suppose I shouldn’t travel alone for a while.” She paused. "I might want to go to Lothian if Guinevere didn't forgive me. But I wouldn't want to go back to Camelot."
"Then neither would I," Gawaine said quietly.
"But you love to be with Arthur." Lancelot could hardly speak the words. "You would leave his service for my sake?"
"Of course," Gawaine said, as if that went without saying.
He would do what Guinevere would not. Lancelot felt close to tears. But, she reminded herself, Gawaine could be a king in Lothian, while Guinevere had no such fine prospects if she left Camelot.
"I think I would look for Drian instead." Lancelot felt she had to tell Gawaine that.
He gulped. "I would help you to find Drian, or to visit the old nun, or to go anywhere you wanted."
Too moved to look at him, she choked. "You are indeed a friend."
"Of course I am. But talk no more of being rejected. I think Guinevere won’t give you up so easily.”
“I hope not.”
Lancelot looked off in the direction of Camelot.
20 THE REUNION
Guinevere almost started to weep when she heard guards shouting that Lancelot had returned. It was fortunate that she was seated in her chair near to Arthur's throne, for she might have collapsed if she had been standing.
Lancelot entered the great hall. Gawaine accompanied her. She wore her crimson tunic, much faded. Her step was more hesitant than Gawaine's wide paces.
Guinevere could hardly restrain the way she looked at her beloved. Gray had spread through Lancelot's dark hair. Her pale face told that something had befallen her.
A harper ceased playing a tune about a maiden and struck up a song that he had composed years before in honor of Lancelot.
"Lancelot! Well met!" Arthur called out, standing up as if he were meeting kindred or royalty. "Are you well?" His arms enfolded Lancelot in a great embrace.
"I was mad for a time, and am recovered, thank the Lord and the Holy Mother."
A gasp went through the hall and many eyes stared at Lancelot.
Arthur frowned, though he should not have been surprised that Lancelot was honest as usual. "There is no need to speak of fevers."
"A little madness seems to have done Lance no harm," Gawaine said, grinning at Lancelot and poking her arm.
"You might try going mad yourself to see what it's like," Lancelot replied, poking his arm in return.
Guinevere was impatient for the men to finish speaking. She merely said, "Well come, Lancelot," but she felt desperate to be alone with her.
Guinevere's own black hair now had strands of gray. Would Lancelot mind?
Lancelot said only, "God grant you good day, Lady Guinevere," formal as always.
Guinevere picked at her gown with nervousness and drank more wine than usual at supper. She could barely eat, though roasted mutton with mint was usually one of her favorite dishes. She longed to run away with Lancelot, and see only Lancelot's face at her table. But Arthur would never let them flee in peace.
Lancelot was almost as frightened of being alone with Guinevere as she had been the first time she had gone to the queen's room. Guinevere was more beautiful than ever, with soft gray hair interwoven with the black. As soon as Lancelot was in the cherished room that night, she began to speak in a faltering voice.
"I have been unfaithful with Bagdemagus's daughter Elaine, who healed me. I love you dearly and I hope that you will forgive me."
Before she could say any more, Guinevere threw her arms around her and embraced her tightly. "You're back, you're well, you love me, nothing else matters." Guinevere kissed her passionately.
Guinevere's beloved scent was the same, her mouth was as sweet as ever. Lancelot wanted the kiss to last forever. Tears streamed from her eyes.
Finally, she pulled away to wipe her cheeks. "I thought you and all the court were gone forever, under a spell, with false people pretending to be you," she choked.
Guinevere sucked in her breath. She also had tears in her eyes. "Oh my poor love," she said, gathering Lancelot once more into her arms. She made love to Lancelot more ardently than before she had gone away, with no hint of reserve or restraint.
Lancelot was at the same time compl
etely excited and completely comfortable, and marveled that such a thing could be. Guinevere's tongue drove her mad, but this madness was entirely pleasant.
She wept and held Guinevere tightly. The grail meant different things to everyone, no doubt, but for her the search began and ended with Guinevere. She moved down, touched Guinevere, and drank.
They slept with both arms and legs entwined, as if to say that no one could part them.
In the middle of the night they woke, and Guinevere began kissing Lancelot's shoulder, but the handsome warrior said, "I have something to tell you."
Guinevere shivered. "Nothing more, I beg you."
Lancelot held her hand. "But I must tell you that Bellangere tried to poison Gawaine in order to get revenge on me for killing Sangremore. Bellangere wanted the blame to fall on you."
Guinevere fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes. She was vindicated, not just saved with a suspicion hanging over her head. "I knew that a man must have done it," she said in a sharp voice.
"You were right, dearest," was all that Lancelot said. She pressed her lips to Guinevere's hair.
But Guinevere knew she could never forget that Lancelot had suspected her. "I fail to understand how anyone could have imagined that I would have poisoned Gawaine."
"No, of course you couldn't have. But please never speak slightingly of him again. He suffered when I was mad and did not recognize him. When you have defeated a worthy opponent, you should not belittle him."
Guinevere's stomach knotted. "And have I defeated him?"
"There could be no contest," Lancelot said, although her words suggested there had been one. "I love you, and as long as you love me, I'll never give encouragement to anyone else."
Lancelot began to make love to her. Guinevere felt tears beginning to swell in her eyes, but abandoned herself to Lancelot's embraces.
The next day Arthur sent for Lancelot to come to his room.
The room was the same as ever. One of Arthur's dogs, an Irish wolfhound pup, rolled on the floor and the king laughed.
Lancelot looked out of the window. Arthur's view showed more of the tilled fields and the town than some of the others did. She knew the king liked to look down on his people much better than on the forest, where the beasts might be indifferent to him.
"Lance, are you truly healed?" Arthur pressed her shoulders.
As always trying to keep from flinching at Guinevere's husband's touch, Lancelot replied, "I am."
"Nevertheless, you seem a little worn. Rest yourself." Arthur sat on a fine carved chair and indicated that Lancelot should sit on a similar one.
She sat down, but there was little of repose in her. Her muscles still were tense.
"It was Bellangere who poisoned the apples so he could kill Gawaine and blame Guinevere, because he was angry about Sangremore's death. He attacked me in the forest, just before I sank into whatever spell or madness came upon me. He is dead now," Lancelot told the king. She did not want to mention Bellangere's taunts about her madness.
"The traitor! Let his name be stricken from the list of my warriors forever!" cried Arthur, pounding his table with his fist. "Thank all the saints you survived." He smiled at Lancelot. "This is no time for anger. I am right glad that you have returned."
"This is my place," she said.
"Now what about the young lady who healed you? There are all sorts of rumors. I suppose she is not the woman Etaine who pretended to be Guinevere a few years ago?" Arthur asked in a tone of man-to-man congeniality and poured himself some ale. He motioned for Lancelot to pour some for herself, but she did not.
"She is not," Lancelot said briefly. “Her name is Elaine, and she is nothing like Etaine.”
"Will you marry her?" He leaned closer to Lancelot. "Bagdemagus's daughter is not such a great match for you, but Gawaine told me that she is devoted to you. He said that you don't want to marry her, though, and that I shouldn't urge you to, but of course I will."
Lancelot felt herself flush. These questions were totally unexpected. Surely he knew why she would never marry. There was no room in her heart for anyone but Guinevere. "I have no plans to marry, my lord."
Arthur grimaced. "Now, now, don't talk to me with those formal 'my lords.' Save that for God. He may appreciate it more than I do. You aren't getting any younger. It's time you had children. You'll be sorry if you don't. Of course I know you want to stay here, and I want you to stay. But you could bring her to Camelot and live here. There's nothing to stop you. We'll welcome her, of course. Or any other girl you want to marry." Arthur drank some ale and lifted up his cup as if to toast a possible marriage.
What torture for Guinevere, Lancelot thought. "I will never marry. The Lady Elaine is a good woman, but I cannot marry her."
"Perhaps she's not quite good enough, eh?" Arthur asked with a sly smile. "You needn't be so stiff. You can talk about it with me."
Lancelot wanted to strike him, but she kept her voice formal. "No, my lord, I cannot. Please say no more about it. I am afraid that I am still a trifle unwell. May I have leave to rest?"
Arthur shook his head. "Still determined to speak purely, are you? Go and rest. We need you to be well."
Lancelot rested on a carved bench in Guinevere's room, with her head in Guinevere's lap. The queen stroked her hair and told her how sweet her face was from that angle. Lancelot was nearly dozing, and thinking about what they would be doing later that night.
"Have many people asked you about the grail yet?" Guinevere inquired. Her braids dangled over Lancelot's face and tickled her nose. "The more pious men all started talking about it after you left. Bors insisted on going in pursuit, and took young Percy with him, and Gareth tries looking for it when he is on his way back from rescuing widows or maidens or whatever he's doing. I suspect that some of the others sneak off and look for it, too. Men love this idea of chasing after some mystical thing."
"Why not?" Lancelot asked, not wanting to think about anything except Guinevere, but making an effort to do so. How pretty Guinevere's chin was, and the blue gown she wore matched her eyes. "I suppose they could be doing worse things—or better, too, more practical. I don't imagine that anyone is looking for it in a peasant's hut."
"Of course they aren't. It does make me wonder whether I am giving Talwyn enough of a vision. Reading the Roman works. Will those sustain her?" Guinevere wrinkled her forehead.
Forced to think, Lancelot sat up beside her. "I don't know, and I often wonder whether we are giving the young warriors enough ideals. Defending the country and others who are in need of help, is that enough?"
"I don't know, you're the one who lives by doing that. Is it?" Guinevere looked as if she really wanted to know.
"In a way it is, but I would be very sad if I didn't have our love and I don't think I could keep on if I didn't have companions who were trying to do the same thing." Lancelot remembered what it had been like when she was mad and had imagined she would never see her friends again. Guinevere's cat jumped into her lap, and Lancelot was glad to hear its familiar purr.
Guinevere sounded less sure of herself than she had been not many months before. "I'm not certain of anything, except what is wrong. I'd like to try to put things right, but I don't want to chase grails. Do you? Did you begin to find the idea appealing?"
"Of the grail? It's a little tempting, especially because it's so vague." Lancelot tried to smile at herself. She ruffled the cat's fur. "It's so much easier to say that you are looking for that than to say that you want to feed all the poor or end all killing. What about you, love?"
Guinevere shook her head. The candlelight made the silver in her hair shine. "It may be enough of a grail to try to hold up my head, and be your lover. And to encourage other women who are brave enough to hold their heads up, too. There may be battles to keep Talwyn from being married off to someone she doesn't want. Arthur has strange ideas about suitability. He keeps mentioning sons of Bors and Bedwyr who are much too dull for her."
Remembering Ela
ine, Lancelot stiffened. "I must do something about Elaine. Her father may be trying to find a husband for her because he thinks that I got her with child. I must return there soon and see if she needs to get away. I did ask whether she wanted to enter a convent, but she declined. She may change her mind if her father tries to marry her off, though. I'm ashamed at how easy it is to put her out of my mind. It's only been a matter of days."
"I suppose I'm fortunate that you remembered me." Guinevere retreated into sarcasm. "Perhaps if Gawaine hadn't appeared it would have taken you several more months."
Lancelot looked into Guinevere's blue eyes. They were not the blue of the lakes or the sky, but their own dear color. "No, I never forgot you. I was looking for an excuse to go."
"That's a beautiful sentiment." Guinevere's tone was not entirely sweet and her gaze was not entirely warm.
Lancelot was even more abashed, but she clasped Guinevere's hands. "How can I say beautiful things when I'm thinking about how I wronged you? You can see that I'm here, instead of helping her out, as I probably should be."
"Yes, you should. She shouldn't be married off. Just come back to me." She pressed Lancelot's hand.
"There's no doubt about that." Lancelot returned the pressure and kissed her mouth. Although she thought she should go back to help Elaine, she made excuses to herself for staying with Guinevere a little longer. They had been apart so long, and surely Elaine's father couldn't marry her off yet
When Lancelot went to the stable for her morning ride, she saw Gawaine examining his horse’s hooves.
“I should have him shod again before I go,” Gawaine said.
“Off again so soon?” Lancelot raised her eyebrows.
“I’ve asked Arthur to send me off on a mission. I’m in no mood for court life,” her friend said, patting his horse’s neck. “But it seems to suit you. You’re looking well.”
“I feel well indeed.” Lancelot grinned, unable to say more about her delight in Guinevere for fear of being overheard. “Will you be back for the Pentecost contests?”
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