"I have no plans to do so," Lancelot replied, annoyed that he had asked.
"Very wise, O Lancelot of the shining honesty." Gawaine burst out laughing, which irritated her still more. She said little the rest of the evening.
Lancelot prepared to sleep about thirty feet from him, rather than her usual distance of about fifteen feet.
"It's much safer to sleep thirty feet from a man than fifteen feet from him," Gawaine said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. "You could put a sword between us. That's what they do in tales."
"If I didn't trust you, I wouldn't travel with you," Lancelot grumbled, sure that he knew well that the distance was symbolic only. Obviously it would make no difference in safety while she slept.
"Of course not," he agreed. "Stay as far away as you like in summer, but in this season you should sleep nearer to the fire. Or would you like me to help you build another fire? If so, we should start collecting more wood, because it's getting late."
Building two fires for two people sounded foolish. Lancelot moved her things to the side of the fire opposite Gawaine.
Over the next few days they talked a little more, but far less than they had on previous journeys. When they drew near to Camelot, Gawaine said, "I'll take the road to Cornwall so I can ask Morgan to keep your secret."
"Thank you," Lancelot said, though she doubted that his request would help much. The mere thought of what Morgan might say made her shudder.
30 The Sword
When she returned to Camelot, Lancelot hastened to Arthur's chamber. Her scabbard held a sword that was far more precious than her own. She kept her hand on the pummel so none should see the tell-tale amethyst.
The king sat reading a wax tablet. One of his hounds lay at his feet. Fires in several braziers burned to keep away the winter chill. Arthur leapt up at the sight of Lancelot. "Did you find it?"
"Yes." She pulled the sword from the scabbard.
"Victory!" he cried. In an instant, he was across the room. He took the sword and held it high, as if he were a priest elevating a chalice. "It is Excalibur! I knew you wouldn't fail me. I knew you would bring back the sword to preserve my honor." He ran his finger along the blade and caressed the purple stone. Then he hung the sword in its accustomed place on the wall. Turning to Lancelot, he embraced her.
Lancelot squirmed under his embrace, pulling away as soon as she could. "Cynlas took the sword to Uriens. Uriens captured it, and me, for a time, but his son Uwaine retrieved the sword and freed me."
"Uriens dared to steal my sword!" Arthur yelled. "So all his oaths to me were false." His face reddened and his eyes blazed with rage. "And he dared to imprison you?" His hands formed fists.
"I am well, nevertheless," Lancelot assured him. "What will you do?" Not war, she prayed, not war.
The king laughed without mirth. His hands relaxed. "Let him worry about what I might do. And if the Irish raiders come to his coast, he can fight them by himself. No doubt he will beg off the Pentecost celebration next year. When he finally does come to Camelot, he will try to act as if nothing had happened. I shall just be cold, very cold."
"That's wise," she said with relief. Her good king would not wage war without great cause.
Arthur took hold of her arm. "So you were captured! Sit down, rest, have some wine, and tell me about it." He led her to a chair as if she had difficulty walking.
The king's dog padded over to Lancelot and wagged his tail. She ruffled the dog's fur.
She looked about the familiar room, with its hangings of a battle and a hunt. How often would she be allowed here, if Morgan told the king that Lancelot was a woman?
She accepted the wine that Arthur poured with his own royal hands and told the story of her fortunately brief captivity.
Morgan gritted her teeth as she read Guinevere's message.
She sank back into a chair and looked out of the window at the pounding surf. She had just received a message from Uriens –written by some scribe because he could not write – saying the sword had been stolen but Lancelot had retrieved it for Arthur. She had more than enough letters.
If only Guinevere had remained under her influence! How irritating that the queen had found Lancelot and they cared only about each other.
Morgan took up a fresh sheet of vellum and began to write.
My dearest sister,
I never intended to wed old Uriens. How could you imagine that I would?
Nor did I ever intend to reveal your friend's secret. I said only that I might, but your friend was too agitated to hear me. Have no fear.
Your devoted sister
She ran her fingers through her red-gold hair. Of course she would never have told that Lancelot was a woman. She had her own reasons not to tell.
Gazing through a west-facing window, Morgan watched the sun drop before its evening plunge into the sea. The gulls' cries were like songs from the spirits, daring mortals to try to understand them.
A knock at the door interrupted her reverie.
"Come in," she said with irritation.
"Lady Morgan, the Lord Gawaine ap Lot is here to see you," a serving man announced.
Morgan was glad that she hadn't turned around. The servant couldn't see the surprised look that must be on her face. She tried to keep the astonishment out of her voice.
"Show him in."
It had been so many years since she had seen Gawaine – long enough for the daughter he knew nothing about to be nearly grown.
Fortunately, the girl was far away and none of the servants would dare to tell him about her. Morgan remembered how well he had made love – although of course he was not Arthur – and was not displeased that he had come to visit her.
Certain of her beauty, Morgan did nothing to adjust her hair or her gown, but remained as she was.
"Greetings, Cousin." Gawaine strode into the room.
"Greetings, Cousin," she echoed, studying him. The boyish look was gone and his face, now battle-scarred, hinted at so many different dispositions that she was not sure which predominated. The warrior, the lover, the man who liked jests? He was somewhat thicker, but there was no trace of gray in his hair.
"It's true that you're an enchantress, for you've stayed as beautiful as ever," he said, bowing to her, but there was little warmth in his voice.
"If so, that's no doubt because I am a witch," Morgan replied. She wondered fleetingly whether the sunset at the window was the best frame for her beauty, then decided it was. "You look the seasoned warrior, and perhaps seasoned at other things as well."
"Perhaps too seasoned." Gawaine did not smile. "I know about the sword. Lancelot has returned it to Arthur. But you must not tell her secret."
"You've come too late to persuade me." She was annoyed that his flattery had been so brief, and at the reason for his visit. "I've already sent a letter to Camelot."
"No!" He put out a hand as if to stop her. "Who was the messenger? I must catch up with him."
Unfortunately, Gawaine seemed so determined to act that she couldn't play with him for long.
"The letter was to Guinevere, who demanded that I not tell, and I have told her that I will not."
Gawaine exhaled with relief. "The gods be praised, and the goddesses, too." His eyes narrowed. "Why did you have to suggest otherwise? I have come here in vain, but I am glad that is so."
If he thought she would let him go easily, he was much mistaken. "But I could change my mind, Gawaine. I want you to persuade me to keep Lancelot's secret." She touched his arm. "Why do you care so much? Is that strange woman warrior your mistress?"
"No," he said more forcefully than seemed necessary. "But she is my friend and has saved my life many times."
"So she is a virgin still," Morgan purred. "How very nice."
Gawaine frowned. "She is much too kind to tell your secret, so you should be kind enough not to tell hers."
"Oh, I won't, especially if you are good to me." She looked him up and down. "I've missed you."
His face bec
ame unreadable. "I might have believed that if you hadn't sent Cigfa to me. I don't believe you want me particularly."
"I thought you might prefer a young girl. Or listen to her more."
"You were mistaken. It was wrong to send the girl on such a mission." Gawaine looked her in the eye, not as affectionately as Morgan thought he should have. "So now you want me to lie with you to keep you from disclosing that Lancelot is a woman?"
"You put that so baldly, Gawaine. Let us say instead that I want your company. Wouldn't that please you?"
"Of course, my lady. I am honored." His voice was mocking, but he approached her and took her in his arms.
Knowing he would be better in bed than any man she had been with in a long time, Morgan relaxed. Gawaine would never know that he had given her a daughter, because that girl was being groomed to appear someday as King Arthur's son. And that was why Morgan would never dream of telling that Lancelot was a woman. If one woman's disguise was revealed, another's would be also. Morgan smiled to herself and wondered what she would do with Arthur's daughter.
Lancelot came to the queen's room, and saw that far more candles were blazing than she had ever seen there before.
Guinevere's face glowed more than the tapers. In an instant, she rushed across the room into Lancelot's arms.
"Morgan will not tell! She never intended to tell!" She waved a piece of vellum at Lancelot.
Holding Guinevere with one arm, Lancelot snatched the letter from her and stared at it. The words made little sense. It was too good to be true. Her heart beat fast, but she shook her head.
"Can this be true? She threatened me! Can we believe her words now?" Tears formed in her eyes. She desperately wanted to believe that her secret would not be revealed.
"It's true, of course it's true. She was only toying with you. She is not kind, but not vicious either." Guinevere held Lancelot's face between her hands and kissed it. "Be glad, be glad. No one else will ever know your secret."
Lancelot collapsed into a chair and sobbed. Guinevere stood beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.
She would still be Lancelot, warrior sworn to King Arthur. She would always be Lancelot. No one would take her life away from her. No one would take her love away from her. She buried her head in Guinevere's breast. Never could she bear to lose this love. Never could she tell Guinevere that she was unworthy of it, that she had killed an innocent girl.
The sister porter told Ninian that Lancelot had come to see her. They sat in the room for visitors, where the chairs were none too comfortable. A tapestry of the angel appearing to the Virgin Mary spread across one wall.
When she heard that Morgan had threatened Lancelot, Ninian gripped the arms of her chair. "Why didn't you come to me and tell me about Morgan?" she exclaimed, letting anger show in her voice as she seldom did. "I would have ordered her to give up her foolish plans and stop tormenting you. I was more advanced in the Old Ways than she was and she would have had to obey me."
"I didn't know that," Lancelot said, looking at her with wonder. "I wish I had told you."
Poor Lancelot turned so pale when speaking of Morgan that Ninian didn't have the heart to scold her more. "Trying to replace Arthur as High King is nonsense. It would only hasten the death of the Old Ways, not preserve them." Ninian shook her head. "Morgan has lived in exile too long. The isolation has dimmed her wits. And she was always too willful for her own good. How did you escape from Uriens's dungeon?"
Lancelot told the rest of her tale, and Ninian was much amused. "I would not try dressing as a woman too often," she cautioned.
"I have no intention of doing so," Lancelot vowed fervently.
When Lancelot said that Gawaine had promised to persuade Morgan to keep silent, Ninian suppressed laughter. Lancelot did not seem to guess what means of persuasion Gawaine would use, but Ninian did. Well, such things would not harm either Morgan or Gawaine.
As Lancelot was riding away, Ninian saw a slender red-haired youth dressed in breeches and tunic almost hanging out of an upstairs convent window. Ninian darted inside the convent and hurried up the narrow stairs to gently pull back her charge.
"It's not yet time for you to meet Lancelot," she scolded, panting from her rush upstairs.
"Why not?" the youth demanded, nevertheless obeying her command and backing away from the window. "I can't wait."
"Not until you go to Camelot, your mother says. Settle down, Galahad. Would you like to play a board game?" Ninian's tone was conciliatory.
Galahad laughed, merry blue eyes sparkling. "Nah, that's too foolish. All of those people just letting someone put them in squares and move them around. Why would they? It makes me laugh."
Ninian chuckled. "You'd make a terrible soldier." She patted Galahad's shoulder approvingly.
"Does that mean I won't have a place at the round table after all?" Galahad asked, suddenly anxious. "I want to be at court with King Arthur the Just and Lancelot of the Lightning Arm."
"To be sure you will. You'll be one of Arthur's warriors, but you will never fight in a war. Remember, there are others at Camelot besides the king and Lancelot," Ninian said in an admonishing tone, "such as Gawaine of the Matchless Strength, who is nearly as great as Lancelot."
"Oh, yes, he's a cousin of the king's." Galahad nodded. "My mother never speaks much of anyone except King Arthur."
"No doubt," said Ninian with a hint of disapproval. "Do you want your fighting lesson now?" She smiled indulgently.
"Oh, yes, please." Galahad rushed to get a wooden sword.
In only a few moments, Galahad stood in an empty room with the large Sister Darerca, who had rolled up her sleeves and tucked her black skirt in her belt and was menacing Galahad with a wooden practice sword.
"Step lively, now, Galahad. I may be old and I may be a bit heavy, but didn't I fight for Queen Maeve herself, and don't I have Maeve's own fighting spirit in me? And didn't I learn to fight from the great woman warrior Scathach? And wasn't Cucuchlain himself a student with me? A bit of a bully in class, he was, but I showed him that he had to respect me."
Galahad choked with laughter.
Ninian, who sat on a stool in a corner, laughed also. "Never mind her patter about legendary heroes, Galahad. Her father's holding was often under attack, so all of the girls were taught to fight, very sensibly so."
Darerca flourished her sword in Ninian's direction, then turned to the youth. Pushing back her black veil, she yelled, "Dare to defy me! I, who have the spirit of Maeve herself, will make you regret it!" She lunged at Galahad, who dodged, then parried her attack.
After the sparring was done and Galahad left for dinner in the refectory, the two nuns lingered. Darerca wiped the sweat from her face and let down her skirt.
Ninian fidgeted with her own veil, which made it looser than it had been. "It's wrong to deceive Galahad as Morgan does. She should know her true father," Ninian said.
"Have you such great sympathy for men? I never noticed it before," Darerca replied, moving to fix her friend's veil.
Ninian submitted to Darerca's efforts. "I don't think a woman needs to say who helped the goddess give her a child. But if she tells the child a name, it should be the true one." She smiled. "It pleased me to hear that Gawaine acted well on learning that Lancelot is a woman. Perhaps he will be worthy someday to learn who his daughter is."
"You were not overly kind to let him think she was in a brothel," Darerca reminded her.
Ninian shook her head. "Why not? I told him that she was in a place with many women, and if he thought immediately of a brothel, not a convent, that showed that he had much to learn, and perhaps he is learning it. I hope that Galahad will discover one day who her father is and be proud of him, but it must not happen until he is wise enough to be proud of her."
The room was darkening as the day's last light faded, but they did not light a lamp.
"Well, I've heard it said that Gawaine's a reincarnation of the great Cuchulain, so he can't be all bad." Darerca adjusted her ow
n veil, which was askew from sparring. "Cuchulain wasn’t that much of a bully in the fighting class."
Ninian laughed, but her laughter soon ended. She bowed her head. "Gawaine at least wanted to find a daughter he thought was in a brothel, but Arthur did not. I was so angry when Arthur said he did not want a daughter who was in a brothel that I left. In the heat of my rage, I did not tell him that it was his son, rather than his daughter, who was in one. No matter how angered I was, I should have told him. I should have thought more about the boy's need to be saved and less about whether Arthur deserved to find him.
I saw the boy only dimly, in a vision at the bottom of our well, but I am sure he was the king's son. I have tried to summon the sight again so I could learn where the boy is, but I cannot. If only I could find him. The poor boy was suffering so terribly." Her voice broke and she covered her eyes with her hands.
Darerca put an arm around her for comfort.
It was raining not a little, but Gawaine had been walking about on the rocks. Morgan was sitting comfortably by the fire in her great hall when he burst in on her. He shook himself like a dog, and droplets of water flew everywhere. She didn't mind. She was used to dampness.
The perpetual cries of the gulls flying around the caer were so loud that even the rain didn't drown them out. But she was fond of the gulls and their calls.
"You wanted me to stay here so that if Arthur ever heard about your plot, it would seem that I was part of it," Gawaine accused, taking off his cloak and setting it near the fire.
"How perceptive you are, dear Gawaine." Smiling, Morgan gestured for him to be seated in a chair close to hers. "But your riding here in the first place, while Lancelot was bringing the sword back, was enough to give that appearance. I wanted there to be as many reasons as possible for people to keep silent about my role. The thought that you could be suspected should help ensure your silence, and no doubt your dear friend Lancelot's, too."
"Guinevere is not my dear friend. I wouldn't want her to know I was here." He looked into the flames, not at Morgan.
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