Lancelot- Her Story

by Carol Anne Douglas

  "Lot was so angry that you went over to Arthur," Morgause said, raising her head and looking her son in the eye.

  Gawaine tensed. That had been years ago. Why did she want to mention it now?

  "I told him that he should not curse his first-born son, but he did." Morgause touched Gawaine's cloak, as if he were still a child and she wanted to wrap it tighter around him. "He demanded that I never speak with you again. I said, 'You should not seek to separate a mother and son, but you are my lord. I must obey your orders. I will never speak to Gawaine again during your lifetime.' Then I ordered a fine dinner for him. He ate and drank heavily, as he so often did. The next morning he did not awaken. He didn't have time to call his men together and disinherit you."

  "Gods, Mother, I should have killed him so you wouldn't have felt you had to!" Gawaine gasped.

  "No. People should know you as Gawaine the Good, not as a kinslayer. It's far better for any blame to fall on Morgause the Witch." She pressed his hand.

  Gawaine returned the pressure. "Poor brave Mother," he said, his voice trembling as hers no longer did.

  Of course, Lamorak would never hear about what she had just told him.

  10 The Barren Queen

  Guinevere could scarcely hide her delight whenever she received packages of books from the convent. She already had read every book that was to be had at Camelot, almost all of which were about war. Caesar she knew too well, and Thucydides, Tacitus, and Plutarch's lives of the Roman emperors and the noble Greeks. The Roman writers insulted the Celts in ways that angered everyone who took the trouble to read them, but Arthur said it was important to learn about their tactics nonetheless.

  The Greek plays were more to Guinevere's liking. When she spoke with Arthur about Homer, he beamed at her.

  "How clever you are, my dear," he said, kissing her cheek as they talked alone in his room. "I'll never leave you alone as much as Odysseus, but I have no doubt that you'd be as faithful as Penelope."

  Seeing that she was in his favor, she made bold to say something that she had pondered for a long time.

  "Women need rules to live by, my Lord Arthur, so that the Penelopes can counsel their sisters. I have heard that in Ireland there is a council of women, who decide women's matters only, of course." She thought it better not to mention that Irish women also joined their clans in councils at which matters such as taxes were discussed.

  The king frowned. "What foolishness. They just gather to gossip, no doubt."

  "Oh, do you think so?" Guinevere asked, struggling to keep the disappointment out of her voice. "But aren't there some subjects that are too trivial for men to ponder, that women could discuss with profit?"

  "And what would they talk about but men and children, and they could not make any decisions concerning those." Arthur's voice was disdainful. "You are so intelligent, my dear, but few women are." His arm pressed against her. "I count on you to see who will always serve me and who might not, and to help me bear the burdens of the throne."

  "I am glad to help you, my lord," Guinevere replied. She was pleased to help him, for he was a good ruler. But it was difficult to be resigned only to be a helpmeet, not the ruler herself. She must not imagine what was unlikely, she told herself. She had far more power than any other woman, except Queen Morgause and some abbesses. She had to become inured to the aspects of the marriage that she disliked.

  Guinevere did not want to hoard the pleasures of reading, like a miser's gold. She asked Lionors, the lady she liked best, whether she wanted to learn to read, but Lionors only laughed and said a mother had no time for such distractions.

  Guinevere watched the unmarried girls to see who among them was clever. She called Ailsa, a girl who made no mistakes in her few Latin phrases, away from her spinning and asked whether she would like to learn to read.

  Ailsa shook her head. "Lady Guinevere, many of the warriors cannot read. I am afraid that I would not find a husband then. I had rather listen to the tales the bards tell in our own language."

  So Guinevere left her alone. Someday she would find women who wanted to read Latin books with her, she vowed.

  What she liked least about being queen was that her body was the subject of discussions, increasingly frequent as the years passed and there was no sign of a child. Every man and woman in the kingdom felt the right to stare at her stomach and silently sigh. Only the women commented to her, of course, expressing their sympathy or proposing charms or remedies, but she knew that the men talked about it too.

  Lionors was one of the most insistent. "Don't go to pagan women with their terrible charms, Lady Guinevere," she ventured to say when she saw the queen alone in the room where the ladies did their sewing. "But you might eat plenty of eggs. I am sure the Blessed Mother will hear your prayers someday."

  "No doubt," Guinevere said, smiling the required smile.

  Guinevere still shuddered at Arthur's grisly reason for not wanting a son, and she still took the potion in addition to the means he used to prevent conception.

  Guinevere wondered whether someday Arthur might present a child that some mistress had produced for him, or whom he claimed the mistress had. Guinevere hoped that he would just adopt the child and proclaim it legitimate, not put her aside and marry the mother. She vowed she would be a kind stepmother, and perhaps she could be regent if Arthur died.

  11 Before the Journey

  One winter's night after a long and quiet dinner, Father Matthew cleared his throat and looked sternly at Lancelot. "Perhaps you should give your lands to the Church, and turn this villa into a convent, where you could live a suitable life."

  Lancelot spilled her wine on her tunic. "I have no thought of doing such a thing." Never would she let herself be confined behind four walls. She was so irked that she soon went off to bed.

  Though the land was now hers, Lancelot had little interest in the fields. But she did make certain that in good years her farmers stocked up what they could for years when harvests were poor. She knew the farmers' labor fed her, so she let it be known that they could snare whatever game they wanted. On feast days, she ordered that pigs or oxen should be roasted to feed all of the people on her lands.

  On a spring day Faustinus, a friend of her father's whose lands were near, came to visit, and Lancelot of course asked him to stay and rest. Faustinus had long, graying moustaches and a nose that ran like a stream — it always had, Lancelot recalled — and a mouth that ran just as readily. They dined on quail, and she gave him the best wine from her father's stock.

  "Good old Marcus. I'm sorry he's gone. I never saw a more pious man in my life," Faustinus mused, wiping his nose with his hand. "There's too little good in this world, young man. You seem to take after him, and that's a good thing."

  "Many thanks. There is nothing I would rather hear." Lancelot threw some bones to the hounds that waited around her chair. She told herself it was unkind to be disgusted by the old man's perpetually running nose, but her appetite was not as keen as usual.

  "They say Arthur of Britain is a good king," Faustinus told her. "He's called Arthur the Just because he cares about his people, not only his own power. He's gathered together a warband of the finest men, like the famed Gawaine of the Matchless Strength. They're more than a match for the Saxon Sea Wolves. A good Christian army is just what this world needs. The so-called Roman Empire has too many men from savage tribes to suit me."

  "So King Arthur is looking for good men to serve him?" Lancelot asked, wondering whether there was a place where she could do something other than gather dust at her own villa.

  Faustinus looked into Lancelot's eyes. "Are you thinking of venturing out from these shores? Consider it carefully. Your uncle left you all that you need, all that any man could want." He gestured around the room, which indeed was a good one, with a fine tapestry of the Marriage Feast at Cana from her parents' wedding still on the wall and clean rushes, somewhat disarranged by the dogs, on the floor. Some of the plates were red Samian ware, a good stock. "But I kno
w young men often want to see new lands, and your uncle, God save his soul, served in Britain under Uther, who wasn't such a bad king either. They say that Arthur's the son of King Uther, although there's been some question about that."

  Lancelot sipped her wine. "I am of course grateful for the bounty of being my uncle’s heir. This land is dear to me, but I think I might be of more service elsewhere, if it is God's will. If I go, would you see that this land and the people on it are protected?"

  Faustinus laughed, coughing and choking a little as he did. "I was a friend to Marcus, and I know he would have wanted me to. It's natural for a young man to be restless." He leaned closer to Lancelot. "But perhaps a wife would keep you at home."

  Lancelot gasped.

  "Now, don't tell me you're going to be monkish like your uncle. Remember, he was married before you knew him, and was mad about his wife."

  Lancelot sucked in her breath at the mention of her mother.

  "I wanted you to marry my daughter, but Marcus wouldn't hear of it," Faustinus continued, sighing. "Our lands are so close together. She was married long ago, as you know, but I have a niece...”

  Lancelot turned to throw scraps to the dogs. "Please, say no more about that subject. I am monkish like my uncle, as you said. Pray tell me more about King Arthur."

  Shaking his head at Lancelot's folly in refusing his niece, Faustinus nevertheless obliged by telling tales of daring.

  After he had left, Lancelot thought much about Arthur the Just. Perhaps her skill at fighting could be more useful in Britain than at home. Besides, she thought it might be pleasant to be in another country. She liked the idea of being in a place where no one had ever heard of her. And perhaps if no one knew how much land she had inherited, men would be less eager to marry their daughters to her. She hated to admit it, but she even liked the thought of being in a place where her parents had never been, where she could escape her memories at times. Perhaps she could gain fame like that of Gawaine, so someone would remember her when she was dead.

  To make her disguise more complete, she began rubbing her cheeks with pumice every morning so they would look raw, as if she had shaved. When she was preparing to leave, Lancelot spoke one last time with her old confessor.

  Father Matthew made the sign of the cross over her. "May the Holy Virgin keep you. You must stay pure, living around warriors. If you ever find that you are tempted to lose your innocence, you must enter a convent."

  Lancelot had no intention of ever being so confined. "Oh Father," she said in a scandalized voice, "of course I shall be pure. I've never even been tempted not to be. None of the men I have seen has seemed the least bit tempting, and I cannot imagine that the others I meet will be any different. I am not made for such earthly things."

  The priest cleared his throat. "It is rare for anyone to live a whole lifetime without temptation. Don't become arrogant about your purity. It is only through resisting sins that attract one that one becomes virtuous. There's no virtue in not doing what you don't want to do anyway."

  She smiled, which she rarely did with her stern confessor. "It's true, there's no virtue in being pure, because I want to be. Don't worry about me."

  He handed her a small scrap of bone encased in wood. "Here is a relic of St. Agnes. She died to preserve her virginity, and you should do the same, if you must."

  Lancelot took the relic reverently and nodded her assent. She felt like a bird about to fly off for the first time, with only instinct to guide her on a path she did not know. She trembled when she parted from Creiddyled at her hut. The old woman moved so much slower now. Perhaps she would never see Creiddyled again.

  "Do not try to come back," Creiddyled told Lancelot while pressing her hand. "Your future does not lie here. Your mother's soul and mine can fly anywhere to watch you." She scarcely paused to allow Lancelot's kiss to brush her cheek.

  "Won't men soon discover that I am a woman?" Lancelot asked anxiously, before she mounted her horse.

  The old woman shook her head. "To them, man is strength, so as long you are strong, you will seem to be a man. Most people see things only as they seem to be. As you seem, so you shall be, in their eyes." Creiddyled held out a black feather. "Keep this raven's feather in memory of me."

  "I shall." Lancelot took the feather as if it were a jewel and put it in a small bag hanging from a chain around her neck, where she carried a ring that had been her mother's and the relic Father Matthew had given her. As she set off, Lancelot tried to keep her mind on prayer, but she feared she just imitated her mother's prayers without any piety of her own. Life was no doubt a vale of tears and human beings were poor, weak creatures who had to try for unachievable perfection. She tried to feel the unimaginable essence of God, but, as was usual when she prayed, she thought of her mother. She would begin by picturing the Christ on his cross, as she had been taught to do, but as soon as she thought of the wounds she saw her mother lying on the pine needles. Lancelot feared she was less than truly religious because even when she thought of Mother Mary, the Blessed Mother had her own mother's face.

  12 The Reluctant Warrior

  Gawaine stared through the window at the rain-drenched courtyard. He played at dice with Bedwyr, but the game was not on his mind.

  "The fighting contest shouldn't have been postponed because of rain," Gawaine grumbled. "Have Arthur's men become weaklings, that we can no longer fight in the rain? We did so often enough in the war of succession."

  Bedwyr took a swig of ale and stretched. "As for me, I'm glad to be indoors. We can fight tomorrow."

  Of course Bedwyr would rather gamble than fight. Indeed, there were jests that he even preferred gambling to bedding women. Bedwyr was not the most interesting of companions, but he was devoted to Arthur, Gawaine thought. All of them were, of course, but Bedwyr had never fought in any other warband and never would, even if, the gods forbid it, Arthur died. Gawaine made a sign to ward off that evil.

  Merlin appeared, noiselessly as always.

  Are you willing to cease dicing, Gawaine? Arthur would like to speak with us." Gawaine jumped up.

  "My luck was just going to turn," Bedwyr complained.

  A private interview with Arthur at midday, much less in Merlin's company, was no common occurrence. As they crossed the damp courtyard to Arthur's quarters, Gawaine's heart raced. What troubled the king?

  The door to the king's chamber opened. Arthur sat at his small carved table and bade them to join him. He smiled cordially, and Gawaine relaxed. At least no attack was imminent. The wall hanging depicting warriors fighting was the only hint of the king's martial strength.

  Arthur's body servant, Tewdar, poured them ale. Tewdar, who limped, then cleaned up a puppy’s mess and carried the puppy outside.

  "I suppose you wonder why I wanted to talk with you." Arthur spoke in a matter-of-fact manner, as if the subject did not concern him too closely. "I have wondered whether I should put Guinevere aside and marry another woman, who might not be barren."

  "Poor Guinevere," Gawaine said without pause, although he little liked her. She clearly enjoyed being queen and discharged her duties with great dignity.

  Arthur shook his head. "But no other woman has had a child that is believably mine. So perhaps the fault is not Guinevere's. What do you think?"

  Gawaine looked away. He had, of course, sometimes thought of that, but he never would have mentioned the subject to his cousin. "True, that is very strange. If you put away Guinevere, and married some other woman, and that one also failed to bear a child, she would go to some other man so she would not be put aside also. It might be better to leave things as they are."

  "Guinevere certainly won't go to another man," Merlin said.

  "No man would be fool enough to try to seduce her, and if he did, he'd be rebuffed sharply." Gawaine added, downing his ale. He hoped the discussion was ended.

  Arthur smiled. "Yes, Guinevere is the woman least likely to commit adultery, and of course I'm glad of that. But I need an heir." He looked i
nto Gawaine's eyes. "The only solution is to ask some man, one related to me..."

  Gawaine spluttered, nearly falling out of his chair. "The idea's mad. Put it out of your mind. Guinevere would never agree."

  Arthur remained calm. "But perhaps she might be persuaded."

  Gawaine thought of trying to bed Guinevere while she looked at him with contempt. The picture was far from pleasant. And why must he be the one? His two wives had died in childbed, and they had both been larger than little Guinevere. Was he supposed to kill her, too?

  He was still pained by thoughts of the son who had been born dead when his first wife had died and the daughter who had lived only a day after his second wife's death. Having a child he could not acknowledge, who looked to Arthur as a father, would tear the heart out of him, and having his son become High King was no compensation. Nor did he wish to have a daughter raised by haughty Guinevere to be just like her. But he did not want to tell Arthur those reasons. Arthur had never been a father and would not understand.

  But it was only too plain that Guinevere would refuse, Gawaine thought, so he should stop this plan before she heard of it. He shook his head. "What do you think you're talking about? Horses? Guinevere's not a mare." Nor was he a stallion, much as he liked to present himself as one, to breed at another man's whim. "She doesn't even like me."

  "Of course she doesn't like you, that's all to the good." Patting him on the shoulder, Arthur spoke as if to a child. "If I thought my wife was mad for you, do you think I'd encourage it? Do you think I like the idea? But I'm talking about kingdoms, which are more important than likes and dislikes. Guinevere thinks about kingdoms, too, as much as a woman can, so she might agree. She's a sensible woman, not the kind who falls in love."