Lancelot and Guinevere

by Carol Anne Douglas

  "So are you, thank whatever god or goddess," said Galahad.

  They looked at the sea, and the crashing waves held no menace, but the promise of more years to know each other.

  "Are you still so fond of the girl you told me about when you went off on your quest?" Morgan asked. When Galahad nodded vigorously, she had to say that Talwyn had been wounded, but was safe, and tell where she was. Morgan held her daughter while she sobbed again.

  After a time, Galahad walked to her horse and, much to Morgan's astonishment, took down a set of northern pipes and went by the sea to play a wail of mourning.

  Morgan went to the kitchen to bid the cooks to make a fine meal for Galahad. When she returned, she saw a strange sight.

  As Galahad sat there with her pipes, a raven swooped down in the sky before her. It dove and tumbled again and again, as if it were going to fall, then caught itself, seemingly at the last moment. Galahad laughed. Then the raven landed on a rock not far from the young warrior, cocked its head in a comical way, and hopped to a closer rock and a still closer one.

  Galahad smiled at the bird.

  Morgan walked out towards her again, and the raven flew further away, but not too far.

  "Did you see that bird? It came so close to me."

  "It's probably one of the two that have been flying close in recent weeks," Morgan said, pointing to another raven in the sky. "This one, which isn't quite as large, flies often close to me. And the larger bird seems to have taken a fancy to you."

  Anna walked in the woods. The bare trees and sunless sky did not sadden her. She had seen a fox earlier in the day, so her thoughts turned to the vixen.

  A figure in breeches appeared before her on the path. Tensing, Anna put her hand in the place where her sword should have been.

  But the newcomer called out to her, "Lance, is it really you?"

  It was Drian, as handsome as ever, with a little gray in her hair, leading a fine chestnut mare.

  Anna threw her arms around her friend. "Drian! I've never had a chance to thank you for saving my life."

  "I'm not used to being hugged by a nun. Should I kiss you?" Drian did not wait for an answer, but kissed Anna most impiously on the lips.

  "I have taken no vows. I just wear these clothes, and call myself Sister Anna."

  "And live in a convent. No doubt you cause quite a stir there. What a lot of women!" Drian pretended to be nuns swooning over Anna.

  Anna laughed and led her along the path. "You're still the same as ever. I'm glad to see you. How did you come to these parts?"

  Drian grinned and ran her fingers through her hair. "Why, to see whether you were alive, of course. I heard that nearly all of the warriors of the round table were killed in King Arthur's last battle, but some said that Lancelot wasn't in it. People said that the queen had gone to this convent, so I guessed that you might be here, too. I'm glad you're looking sound, if a little feminine."

  Much of Anna's happiness faded at the memory of Camlann. "It was a terrible battle. I didn't arrive until it was over, and I saw Arthur die." She couldn't bring herself to add what her part in that had been.

  Drian spoke up in a teasing voice. "And, if you were gone, I thought I'd comfort the beautiful widow. Perhaps Guinevere would have decided she liked me after all."

  Anna stared, then laughed. "You're still incorrigible."

  "And was the young warrior called Galahad in this terrible battle?"

  "No, I think he was still away on a quest, thank the Virgin. So you've met him, and decided that not all men are bad?"

  Drian roared with laughter. "If all young men were like him, I'd like them very much."

  Anna saw no reason for merriment. "Too many died. I regret the deaths even of those who weren't so good."

  Drian's laughter abruptly ceased. "Did your friend Gawaine die?"

  Tears formed in Anna's eyes. "Yes. I found his body, and helped to bury him." She could say no more. How could Drian, who had disliked Gawaine, care?

  Drian put an arm around her. "I'm sorry. If he kept your secret, he was a true friend."

  "He was," Anna choked.

  "I'll compose a song about him. There are many others, but this will be different."

  "Not about the fighting," Anna said. "About how he could jest."

  "About his jesting," Drian agreed, wiping the tears off Anna's cheeks. "Speaking of jests, how did they get you in those clothes? Why don't you put on some breeches?"

  "That would look a little strange when I'm living in a convent. I don't care anymore. Another life, another disguise." She made a dismissive gesture to show that all such worldly things were behind her.

  "Don't care, indeed! I wouldn't let anybody put me in a skirt."

  Anna laughed. "Surely no one would try." She tried to picture Drian in a skirt and failed.

  "But can I greet the wondrous Guinevere? Don't worry, I doubt that I can steal her from you, but I'd certainly like to try." Drian winked.

  Choking back laughter, Anna said, "Very well, you can, but I'm not sure she'll like you any better than she ever did."

  "I'm not suitable for her, am I?"

  "You are a little different. She has lived only in caers and convents." Anna wished that those two had never met before, or at least that Drian had not openly flirted with her in front of Guinevere. It would be good if Guinevere could like Drian now.

  Just walking beside Drian made the sky seem less gray. Even the air was not so cold. Jackdaws' cries seemed as pleasant as the songs of other birds.

  They came to the convent gate and tied up Drian’s mare. Anna brought her friend to the great oaken convent door. The sister porter giggled at Drian's winks.

  "Perhaps I should live here myself," Drian said.

  Anna couldn't restrain her laughter. "I hardly think so, especially if you won't give up your breeches."

  "Oh, I'd take them off often, every time I was asked to."

  Stifling a laugh, Anna said, "Hush. Guinevere is probably in the library."

  She led Drian to the library, where nuns were reading and copying manuscripts, then to the table where Guinevere was perusing a faded scroll.

  Guinevere looked up and stared.

  "Guinevere, do you remember Drian?"

  Drian grinned at Guinevere and devoured her with her eyes.

  Guinevere smiled and rose from the table. “Of course I remember Drian. I thank you very much for saving Lancelot’s life.” She inclined her head and extended her hand.

  Drian seized the hand and kissed it. “Thank you, most gracious highness, still the fairest lady in Britain.”

  Guinevere took back her hand. “I am queen no longer. The sisters are trying to read and copy manuscripts, so we should be quiet. But perhaps you could play for us all later? I think the abbess would permit us to hear a harper. With suitable songs, of course."

  "Of course, nothing bawdy," Drian promised. "I've never had a chance to play at a convent. It would be a great honor."

  "Best confine your playing to the harp," Guinevere said with the faintest of smiles. She resumed her seat. "I am indeed glad to see you. I know that Anna has always had a fondness for rogues."

  "I think you may be the greatest rogue of all, Lady Guinevere." Drian bowed as if presenting a great compliment.

  Anna barely managed to hold back laughter, and could see that Guinevere was doing the same.

  "For many years, I have been composing verses," Guinevere said. "I cannot own that they are mine, but perhaps if I told you some, you might sing them."

  "I would be honored." Drian's smile was genuine.

  Anna guided Drian out of the library, past the nuns who were surreptitiously staring up from their books and scrolls.

  As they emerged into the courtyard, Drian laughed. "God's eyebrow, Lance! This is too funny. You're the feminine one. She's the one who should have been the warrior, and you should have been the lady."

  "Nonsense, there is no such thing between us. Feminine, indeed! I have been the greatest war
rior in the world." Anna was irritated, especially because she had to stand there in those black robes.

  Drian just kept guffawing until they were in the convent garden. A blue tit flew across a bed of faded plants.

  They sat on a bench.

  "Sorry if I've embarrassed you. I'm just not cut out for a convent."

  "No, you certainly are not." She tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to be cool. Seeing that Drian was the same as ever made her happy. "Where will you go now? I hope you aren't still stealing jewels."

  "No, I'm too old for that." Drian shook her handsome head. "I need a quieter way to live. I've heard that Cai is lord of Camelot now. Do you think he'd let me live there, as long as I don't steal anything?"

  "No doubt he would. I'm sure he'd find you entertaining." Yes, Cai would be amused.

  "Can I say that I'm your friend?"

  "Of course, as long as you don't then jest about how feminine I am."

  "I don't know whether I can resist that, dear sister nun. What a pity you aren't wearing clothes that show your legs a bit more," said Drian, nudging her in the ribs.

  "Well, visit me sometimes, but not too often," Anna told her. "I'm afraid that Guinevere will fall in love with you if she sees too much of you."

  "She's not the one I'd try to seduce," Drian replied, looking into her eyes.

  Anna's tone became more serious. "Guinevere is everything to me, now more than ever."

  "I know, that's the only reason I'm looking elsewhere," said Drian, kissing her on the mouth.

  Anna put her arms around her and pressed her tight.

  "You saved me when Bellangere attacked me. I owe my life to you. How can I ever thank you?"

  Drian stroked her cheek with weather-worn but gentle hands. "I won't even try to answer that one. I'm glad you're well."

  Another letter arrived from Cai, now Constantine.

  Dear Lady Guinevere, or is it Sister Guinevere?

  You were my foster sister-in-law, so I suppose that in either case Sister Guinevere is the correct form of address.

  Soldiers from the garrison of Londinium tell the tale that Mordred tried to force you to marry him, but you escaped to their garrison, locked yourself in the Tower, and did not depart until you heard that Mordred was dead. No doubt it was your sister, Gwynhwyfach.

  Apparently she is living a quiet life in Londinium now. The soldiers say she was the purest lady imaginable when she stayed in their garrison and called herself Queen Guinevere.

  Cai, now Constantine

  Guinevere rejoiced that her sister had not trusted Mordred and had escaped from him, but she sighed over the impossibility of being close to Gwynhwyfach.

  Talwyn barricaded herself in a plain convent bed with no draperies around it. She felt too dispirited to go and rest under the bare trees in the garden, which even in the brown, damp winter was fairer than the convent room. However, Guinevere had found some pretty things to brighten it up for her. Cai, now Constantine, had sent a few of their favorite coverlets, hangings, and gowns, entirely unbidden—somehow he had known what their favorites were. Or perhaps the serving women knew and chose them.

  With only a slight knock, Galahad walked through the door and shut it.

  Talwyn pulled up the covers. She wore only her woolen bedgown. Her delight in seeing Galahad was dimmed by the thought of how bedraggled she must look, for she had been desultory in combing her hair.

  She tried to sound indignant, though her heart beat fast. Galahad's face was browner, but Galahad otherwise looked not much different. "What do you mean by walking in this way? I haven't seen you in a year, and you walk into my room as if you belonged here. I can't believe that I'm not safe even in the convent. How did the nuns ever let you come in here? Go to the room for visitors and wait for me to come and see you. I don't want any man to see me like this, not even you."

  Galahad bowed to her and did not leave. A rare ray of winter sun lit the young warrior's red hair. "Pardon me. I just arrived, and I have heard that you had been wounded. I couldn't bear to stay away, or even to wait for you to come to the visitors' room. I had to come and see you. You look to be healed. Are you?"

  "Yes, it doesn't hurt much now." Talwyn pulled the covers up even further, but she felt less embarrassed. If Galahad truly cared about her, her looks at the moment would not matter. But nevertheless she wished that she was wearing a pretty gown and her hair was combed.

  "I'm sorry that your father died." Galahad spoke quietly and touched Talwyn's arm.

  "Thank you." Talwyn tried to hold back tears. At least Galahad did not say, as some people at Camelot had, that it was just as well because he was mad. Or tell her like some of the nuns that it was because God had wanted him.

  "My father died, also." The light in Galahad's blue eyes faded. "And so did my sister."

  Poor Galahad! Talwyn reached out and clasped the young warrior's hand. “That's terrible. The sister who pretended to be a man?"

  "No, she didn't. I'm the one who does that." Galahad looked at her inquiringly.

  Talwyn nearly jumped at hearing these words. The subject had been much on her mind. "Is it possible? You look more like a man than Lancelot does."

  "I'm not a man, though. Once you said that nothing I could tell you would make any difference in how you felt about me. Is that still true?" Galahad's voice quavered ever so slightly.

  "Probably. But now I don't know what to believe. You'll have to drop your breeches and show me." Talwyn grinned. Far from embarrassment, she felt as if she were playing some pleasant game.

  "What a thing to say after you haven't seen me for a year. 'Drop your breeches.' I'm too shy." Galahad nevertheless returned the grin and appeared to be holding back laughter.

  "If you don't, I'll touch you. I must know." She laughed.

  "Is that supposed to be a threat? Go on, Talwyn, do your worst." Galahad leered with delight and moved closer to her.

  "You shameless thing!" She touched Galahad's leather breeches, but pulled her hand away quickly. The verdict was unmistakable. "You are a woman!"

  "You didn't touch me for long," Galahad whined in a voice like a child wanting another cake.

  Talwyn laughed again and, pretending to be coy, pulled her hair over her face, then smoothed it back again.

  "You'll have to kiss me for a while first. You're just as bad as a man."

  "Of course I want to kiss you. I'm just jesting." Galahad sat on the bed with her, and they hugged and kissed, laughed and jested, and touched in other ways as well.

  The convent's bell rang, and its sound was joyous, but no more than they were.

  Talwyn felt warmer than ever before. But was Galahad truly pledged to her? "You said that your sister dressed as a man so that she could marry a woman. Have you done that?"

  "No. I only intended to. And I still do, unless you still object to marriage." Galahad wrapped her arms around Talwyn.

  "Where's the need for it," Talwyn asked, "if you'll let me dress like a man, too, and go on quests with you?"

  "How frightful! A woman dressing like a man. How could I ever permit such a thing? Of course you can, who's to say you can't?" She eyed Talwyn wickedly. "But it will be a little harder to conceal your shape than mine."

  "You're terrible! Have you at least been true to me?" Talwyn asked, running her fingers through Galahad's red hair.

  "Almost." Galahad nibbled Talwyn's neck, hiding her own face.

  "That's not so bad when I wouldn't make any promises, but you must do better in the future," Talwyn admonished, and Galahad assured her that she would, and said that after all they would be traveling together.

  The next morning, many kisses and other touches later, they dressed.

  "I can't bear to see you cover yourself up," Galahad groaned.

  "It won't be for long," Talwyn assured her. "I am also attached to the sight of you," she said, nuzzling Galahad's shoulder.

  While Galahad pulled on her tunic, Talwyn asked, "Who gave you that pleasant face, anyway? Who were your
parents?"

  "My mother is the Lady Morgan of Cornwall." Galahad said this a little tentatively, as if Talwyn might object.

  "The notorious Lady Morgan! How exciting!" Talwyn exclaimed, delighted until she thought that Galahad's father must be King Arthur. She tried to keep her face from showing what she thought of that.

  "And my father was Gawaine."

  Talwyn smiled. "How wonderful!" He would have been a good father-in-law. And—and he knew it! She remembered Gawaine telling her that she might someday meet a daughter of his. He must have known about Galahad. That's why he had been so concerned about Talwyn. "I have a message for you. Gawaine asked me, if I ever met a woman who was his daughter, to tell her that he loved her and wished he had done more for her. He knew I loved you. That's why he gave me the message."

  Galahad grabbed Talwyn's arm. "Are you sure?" Her eyes were wide. "He knew that I was a woman? He knew that I loved you, and he cared about me nonetheless?"

  Talwyn nodded. "Indeed he did. Your father told me several times that you loved me. He warned me that the king wanted to marry me, and helped me flee so I could marry you. Your father arranged your marriage!"

  "So he did!" Galahad laughed and cried, and Talwyn held her. "Why didn't he tell me that he was my father?" Galahad asked, still sniffling. "Or that he knew I was a woman?"

  "Perhaps he thought that your mother had the right to tell you what she wanted, and he didn't want to contradict her." Talwyn did not truly think that this was so. She thought it likely that Gawaine had imagined that Galahad would rather believe she was King Arthur's child, and hadn't wanted to see her disappointed to learn that she was not. But Talwyn did not want to say that, because she thought Galahad would brood about it for years and be sad. She was a little surprised that Galahad seemed readily to accept the unlikely story of Gawaine believing in the mother's right to tell whatever she wanted about the father, true or false.

  Talwyn thought about how Galahad had said that night that she had loved her for years and been afraid of being rejected for being a woman, and that Lancelot had been afraid of Guinevere for the same reason. Talwyn thought that Gawaine had also been afraid that Galahad wouldn't love him as a father, and she marveled at how afraid people were of those they love. As for herself, she might have been bold enough to tell Galahad how she felt if she had known that Galahad was a woman, but she had been sure that it would be foolish to declare her love too readily when she thought that Galahad was a man.