Lancelot and Guinevere

by Carol Anne Douglas

  Lancelot's heart nearly stopped beating.

  The early summer night was chilly, so Guinevere was wearing a bedgown, but Lancelot was naked. She jumped up, pulled on her breeches, and grabbed her sword, which hung on a nearby chair. She must protect Guinevere.

  She could dimly see Gareth, with others following him.

  Gareth howled. "Witch! Changeling! Monster!" he screamed, slashing at her with his sword. His eyes were like those of an attacking wolf.

  "Gareth, stop," Lancelot demanded, blocking him with her sword. How had he come here? She didn't want to hurt him. His usually solemn face was so distorted that he seemed to be a different person entirely, a man gone mad.

  "You're a demon with breasts! By God's will, I'll smite you down!" Gareth yelled. He lunged at her, aiming for the heart.

  "I'm no demon, just Lancelot." He was the one who seemed possessed. She warded off the blow, but hesitated to strike back although Gareth continued trying to stab her. She just kept on blocking him, saying, "Gareth, Gareth, you must stop," but he persisted in trying to kill her. Perhaps she should wound his sword arm.

  Slashing with his sword, another man threw himself at Lancelot. For a moment, Lancelot froze in horror, for it seemed to be Gawaine. How could he so betray their friendship? His face looked frankly brutal, contorted with a snarling expression she had never seen on it, not even in battle. For an instant, she wanted to die.

  Then the man screamed, "You filthy sluts! You deserve to die."

  She knew from his voice and his words that it must be Agravaine, and she was willing to kill him. Her veins almost burst with rage. She tried to strike out at him, but Gareth was in the way and she was not willing to kill the addled, pious youth.

  Agravaine's sword, thrust over Gareth's shoulder, cut her left arm. Blood streamed from it, but in her agitation she felt nothing.

  Gareth cried out, "You're bleeding! You're human!" He quickly turned to Agravaine and tried to block his sword. "You can't kill her, she's a human woman!"

  But Agravaine was lunging forward, and his sword slashed into Gareth's chest.

  Lancelot’s sword cut Agravaine’s neck, and he fell.

  She looked down at the bodies at her feet. There was Gareth, his youth gone forever. And the other body, with staring eyes…

  Lancelot reeled. Gawaine’s body was lying before her and she held a bloody sword. She must have killed him. She knew not where she was or what had happened. She cried out. “No! Gawaine! I've killed Gawaine! I’m truly mad!” She turned her sword on herself.

  Someone grabbed her arm. “Gawaine is alive. Gawaine is not here.” The voice sounded like Guinevere’s. “It’s Agravaine, who attacked us. Gawaine never would have. Go, go, you must flee!”

  A man’s voice said, “Yes, you’re mad, Lancelot. We’ll lock you up and take you away so you don’t harm anyone else.”

  She lowered her sword, as if to give it up.

  “Flee, Lancelot, flee!” the woman’s voice urged her. A woman shoved Lancelot’s tunic and boots into her hands. “Go now!” The woman opened a door and almost pushed her through it.

  Holding her things, Lancelot stumbled down a stairway that seemed familiar. The door closed behind her. She pulled on her tunic and her boots, then began to run. It was Guinevere’s secret staircase. As soon as she was out in the courtyard she knew where she was.

  She was mad. She had killed Gawaine. Who knows whom she might kill next? In her madness, she might even murder Guinevere. She must run far, far away from everyone. Almost blinded with tears, she rushed to the stable, waking astonished stablehands, saddled her horse, called for a guard to open the gates, and rode plunging down the hill and off towards the forest. The world had ended.

  She had killed her best friend. She was worse than any of the men she had fought. Guinevere was better off without her.

  But perhaps the woman—was it Guinevere?—had been right. Perhaps she had not killed Gawaine. No, that was a false hope.

  Guinevere snatched her dagger from under her pillow. She faced Mordred and Gaheris.

  “Don’t try to follow Lancelot,” she demanded. She was lost herself, she believed. Her only thought was to save Lancelot.

  Gaheris slumped down by his brothers’ bodies. “My brothers!” he moaned, as if unconscious of anyone else in the room.

  Mordred faced Guinevere and lowered his sword. “What do I care about Lancelot? She’s powerless now. Whoever would have guessed she’s a woman? You have exotic tastes, my dear.”

  “Don’t talk to me that way,” Guinevere demanded.

  “You’re the one I want,” Mordred said in an insinuating voice. “Wouldn’t you like a real man for a change? If you’re nice to me, I won’t even tell anyone that Lancelot’s a woman. Don’t worry about Gaheris.” He looked at the sobbing man, whose back was turned towards him, and made a gesture indicating that he could silence Gaheris forever.

  “No more killing. Stay away from me!” Guinevere jabbed out with her dagger at Mordred, who was slowly advancing on her. At least she was distracting him from pursuing Lancelot.

  “A spitfire, aren’t you? I like that. I’ll enjoy taming you,” he said.

  He came too close, and she cut his arm, but Mordred only laughed. “That madwoman can’t protect you now. I’m your only hope. I can say that Agravaine and Gaheris planned to attack you, but poor Gareth wanted to stop them and asked me to help him. We can leave Lancelot out of it.”

  “You think I believe you’d be silent about Lancelot?” Guinevere’s voice showed her scorn. “I’m not plotting with you.”

  "You're pretty in your bedgown." He coaxed her, as if she were a puppy that could be won over with a pat. "I'd like to try my father's wife. I'll be good to you."

  "Stay away from me," she demanded, maintaining her hold on the weapon.

  Cai and Bors burst through the open door.

  "How dare you enter the queen's room!" Bors yelled at Mordred and Gaheris, menacing them with his sword.

  "Are you hurt, Lady Guinevere?" Cai asked breathlessly, a sword in his hand.

  "Lancelot was in bed with the queen," Mordred said calmly, as if no one held a weapon. He sheathed his sword. "We thought to tell the king about the treachery, but Lancelot has killed Gareth and Agravaine and fled through a secret passage in the wall." He gestured to the door, which Guinevere had not had chance to hide with the tapestry.

  "Not so! They burst in and tried to rape me, and I have defended myself," Guinevere exclaimed, not expecting to be believed.

  Mordred sneered. "What a tale! Who would rape the king's wife? Certainly not Gareth. And could she have killed two large warriors? And why is Lancelot's cloak lying near the bed?" he asked, pointing at it.

  "Leave the queen's room at once!" demanded Cai. "We shall take care of this matter."

  "Who listens to you, Cocksucker?" Mordred snapped. "You had better board up that door by the wall hanging, so Guinevere doesn't escape."

  Gaheris simply fled the room, and Mordred more slowly followed. Bors ushered him out.

  Cai looked at the bodies. "Put down your dagger, Gwen." She put it under her pillow. She began shaking, now that she did not have to hold off Mordred.

  Cai looked at her with sympathy, all sarcasm for once gone. He patted her shoulder.

  Bors returned.

  "Have you gotten rid of them?" Cai asked. "Then get some help and carry Gareth to the chapel. And Agravaine too, I suppose."

  They took away the bodies. Cai sent men down the secret passage, and told them to guard the outside door, which he had to do now that it was known, and ordered others to stand guard outside the queen's usual door. "And guard the queen better than you have this night!" he chided the guards.

  He bade servants to clean up the blood on the floor.

  Finally, Guinevere was alone and she felt a great emptiness. She thought she would never see Lancelot again.

  Let Lancelot be safe, she prayed. Let her find herself again and be healed in the forest. Let her go
back to Lesser Britain and live in peace.

  The room had died. Where she had seen a kind of home, there was only cold stone. Her room had been reddened to a battlefield. She had been roused from her bed by an assault. Her lover had been surprised naked, and forced to fight, and had become maddened.

  Guinevere tore her hair. Lancelot, her woman of iron, had shattered like the most fragile glass.

  What hope could there be? If only she could have left with Lancelot, but she had to hold back Mordred. Now Guinevere was guarded, locked in. She felt as if she were in chains. She longed to follow Lancelot. She would dive after Lancelot to the bottom of the sea, if only she could.

  She slumped in her chair and laid her head down on the table.

  She wished that she had died then, and did not have to live alone. She still had her dagger—but no, that would be cowardly. Lancelot should never have to hear that she had done such a thing.

  As long as she could be defiant, she would live.

  She saw that no room was safe, nor was any forest or mountain top. Safety is a dream we have, she thought.

  Arthur would decide her fate. It was fruitless to wonder what that would be. What if he chose to execute her? She had said she loved Lancelot more than life, but was that true? Would she prove it? No, it was base to think of her own life when Lancelot rode off in madness.

  Her prayers were for Lancelot rather than herself.

  The only forgiveness Guinevere wanted was for urging Lancelot to stay at Camelot. She had put Lancelot to unbearable tests. Why had she failed to imagine how their affair would end, that they would be caught? She had betrayed Lancelot by keeping her. She should have driven Lancelot away, given her up like the mother who came before Solomon.

  Other people loved Lancelot, though no others loved me, Guinevere thought. Lancelot is more lovable than I am. I should have left her for someone else to love. I asked more of her than I should have asked of anyone.

  If I knew that our love would drive her mad, would I have embraced her anyway? In defying Arthur, I have risked my life and my sanity, but did I have any right to risk Lancelot's?

  Guinevere finally went to bed, but she could not sleep. She wondered whether a great love was too much to ask of anyone.

  25 SORROW UPON SORROW

  On a misty morning, Gawaine rode through the forest. He longed to see Camelot. He heard a party of men in the distance and recognized their voices. He hurried his horse, and came upon Arthur and a party of his warriors. They exchanged hearty greetings, clapping each other on the back as they usually did after weeks or months of separation.

  "I killed a boar yesterday," Arthur boasted, indicating a huge beast that was being borne by huntsmen.

  "Not bad for a man whose hair is turning gray," Gawaine teased, proud that he could speak to the king in a way that no one else could. He was also not above boasting because his own hair was still entirely red, although Arthur's had only a little gray. It was good to be home in familiar forests with his friends. It would be even better when Galahad returned.

  The songs of thrushes filled the forest as harpers' music would fill the great hall at supper. Gawaine looked forward to eating roasted boar that night. But he was not so eager to tell Arthur that he had angered Maelgon of Gwynedd by helping his daughter run away.

  They rode together joyfully, swapping stories of long past hunts. When they approached Camelot, a single rider emerged from the great gate and moved down the hill towards them. It was Cai.

  Gawaine stared at him. What trouble could have prompted Cai to hurry towards Arthur before they entered the gate?

  Cai rode up to his foster brother. Wrinkles stood out on the seneschal's face.

  “Grave news, Arthur,” he said softly, but Gawaine could hear him.

  Arthur's mouth tightened.

  “The brothers Lothian broke into Guinevere's chamber last night.” Cai's tone was flat. “They discovered Lancelot there. Lancelot has fled.”

  Gawaine's heart sank.

  “What fools!” Arthur's face purpled. He glared towards the caer. “Is it possible to keep this quiet?”

  Cai shook his head. “Mordred led them. He lives, and so does Gaheris.” He turned to Gawaine. “I grieve to tell you. Gareth and Agravaine are dead.”

  “Not Gareth!” Gawaine moaned. He put his hands to his face. His head spun.

  A man ran through the gate and made a mad dash to the party of returning warriors. It was Gaheris, screaming, “Gawaine! Gawaine! Our brothers are killed! Lancelot killed our brothers!”

  Arthur shook, apparently with rage, but he moved closer to Gawaine and put a hand on his shoulder. “My poor cousin. I’m sorry for this terrible hurt. But keep that fool Gaheris away from me.”

  Gawaine dismounted, and Gaheris rushed up and flung his arms around him.

  Gawaine returned the embrace. No matter how much of a fool Gaheris had been, he was his one remaining brother.

  “Lancelot is a woman!” Gaheris screamed, loud enough for the whole party to hear. “The bitch killed our brothers!”

  Gawaine shook him. “Hush. You're raving.”

  The warriors had been muttering, and now the sound of their muttering increased.

  “Silence your brother, Gawaine,” Arthur commanded. “He has gone mad.”

  Gaheris looked at Arthur. “We did this for you, Lord Arthur.” His voice shook. “Lancelot and the queen were in bed together. They committed treason.”

  “And do you think acting without asking my leave is not treason? The damage you have done is incalculable.” The king regarded Gaheris as if he had destroyed Camelot, and perhaps he had, Gawaine thought. “Tell no more deluded tales.”

  Unnoticed in the turmoil, Mordred approached. “All that he says is true. Lancelot is a woman. We saw her breasts.” He smirked. “She has deceived us all.”

  “Silence!” Arthur thundered, glaring at Mordred. Arthur's hands clenched into fists. “How dare you take matters concerning the queen into your own hands instead of going to me.”

  “But, but, the outrage!” Gaheris stammered. “But our brothers are dead!” He began to sob.

  “Come to my house,” Gawaine said, taking his arm. “We can weep there.” He handed the reins of his horse to one of the guards. Between his fears for Lancelot and his grief over his brothers, he could hardly walk, but he had to lead Gaheris.

  “Let everyone behave in an orderly manner,”Arthur ordered, still mounted and leading the way back through the gate.

  “Aren't you grateful that we found the traitors out, sire?” Mordred asked him.

  “Wipe that smile off your face.” Arthur's voice cut like a sword. “If Lancelot was not as he seemed, no one must speak of it, lest I be made sport of by the lesser kings. Can't you see that this insane raid on my wife damages me and threatens my power?”

  “I had no intention of doing that,” Mordred said meekly.

  Then Gawaine walked out of earshot. Tears spilled down his face. "But what happened to Lancelot?" he asked Gaheris, dreading the answer. It would be too much to bear to lose Lancelot, too. "Was he hurt?"

  "Not much, worse luck." Gaheris spat on the ground. "Lancelot’s completely mad. When she killed Agravaine, she thought it was you and ran away raving.”

  “Gods!” Gawaine moaned. He must find poor Lancelot.

  “We must take revenge on her!” Gaheris cried. “Revenge!”

  "Have a drink, calm down. Lancelot's not a woman." Gawaine pulled out his flask and extended it to Gaheris. "Our brothers' deaths have unhinged you."

  "Lancelot's a woman, by Lugh. I saw her body. She must be a witch to have defeated us all these many years," Gaheris insisted, taking his brother's flask and downing the wine in it. “We must avenge poor Gareth, who idolized the creature.”

  Gawaine led him into the house. “Rather, let us weep for our brothers.”

  Gaheris drank from Gawaine's flask. "We can get a group of men together and deal with her."

  Gawaine drew back from him. How coul
d Gaheris say such a thing about Lancelot? "What, rape her? Do you forget that Lancelot has saved all of our lives? And, if Lancelot is a woman, I swore to the king that I would defend all women."

  "Surely the king would let you off that oath this time," Gaheris begged.

  “Stop this talk of revenge. You were a fool to try to take Lancelot in bed. Who wouldn't fight back then?” Gawaine slumped into a chair. He who was called Gawaine of the Matchless Strength felt almost too weak to stand.

  "It was foolhardy," Gaheris admitted. "But admitting that does not bring them back. Our brothers, our poor brothers," he moaned.

  And Gawaine moaned with him.

  Gaheris flung himself on the bed and sobbed.

  Pouring himself a cup of whatever drink was nearest, Gawaine thought of the boys who had grown up playing on the sands of the North Sea. All of them had looked up to him. Could he have led them better?

  Even Agravaine had had his pleasant moments as a boy. They had dragged up strange masses of kelp from the sea together and examined them for creatures that might or might not be fit for the cooking pot, but always were full of interest. They had ridden for hours across the rocks of Orkney and over the hills of Lothian. Agravaine had never admitted being tired, even when he was nearly falling from his horse with exhaustion. They had practiced fighting with wooden swords, and even though Gawaine had always won, Agravaine had fought back gamely. When had the brave boy become a cruel man?

  Angry as he was at Gaheris, Gawaine thought of the little boy who had trailed after him. When he had gone to Camelot, Gaheris had then followed the second brother, Agravaine, and Agravaine had been the only friend that he had had.

  When Gareth was a little boy, he had looked up to Gaheris, and was the only person who had ever done so.

  Doubtless it had been hard for Gaheris to come to Camelot and soon learn that Gawaine preferred to spend time with other warriors, particularly Lancelot, rather than with his brothers. He had always known that this behavior bothered Gaheris. And that had left Gaheris to Agravaine.