Lancelot- Her Story

by Carol Anne Douglas

  "What?" Lancelot mumbled, trying to sound as if she were drugged. "That cannot be. But I'll come." She climbed clumsily out of the window and staggered as she followed him to another house.

  "She's here, waiting for you," the man said, indicating the door.

  Lancelot stared blearily at it. "What can she want? I can't believe it." She hesitated. "Can it be true? Does she truly want to see me?"

  "Yes, my lord."

  "Go on, I'll enter soon enough," Lancelot said, pretending to be reluctant to open the door while the servant was watching.

  He left, and a man appeared from the shadows.

  "It isn't really Guinevere?" Lancelot asked Gawaine.

  "If it was, she'd kill me before I got anywhere near the bed, so I certainly hope it isn't." He entered the house, and Lancelot wandered off to find some hidden place to sleep.

  The next morning, she met Gawaine by the stables.

  He grinned at her.

  "The woman believed that I was you and thought I was with Guinevere for the first time. I kept saying how honored I was, how I couldn't believe she wanted me..."

  "That's enough," Lancelot said, interrupting him. "I don't need to hear any more."

  He chuckled. "Except that, toward morning, she spoke some sweet words to me. I gasped and cried, 'That's not Guinevere's voice! You aren't Lady Guinevere!' Then I jumped up, threw on my clothes, and ran out of the house."

  Lancelot shook her head. "What madness. So you don't even know what the lady looked like."

  "More to the point, she didn't know what I looked like, so she'll say I was you."

  When they rejoined their fine companions, Lancelot put on a dejected look, said little, and sighed a great deal, so they would believe she was miserable because she had lain with the wrong woman. She continued acting in this manner for a number of days.

  Lancelot and Gawaine were summoned to Arthur's chamber.

  Arthur did not invite them to drink as usual, or even to be seated. He shook his head. "This is a strange matter, Lancelot. Not so strange for other men, but it is for you. I asked Gawaine, too, because I thought you might want his advice, but you can ask him to leave at any time if you'd like."

  "Very well." Since she was not fond of speaking with Arthur alone, Lancelot thought that, whatever the matter was, she'd be glad enough to have Gawaine there.

  "A lady has asked a boon of me," the king said. "Bring her in, Tewdar," he told his manservant.

  In a moment, a lady entered the door. She was young, but not overly so, and pretty, with long brown hair and a heart-shaped face. She was well but modestly dressed, in a becoming gray gown. Her gray eyes were pleading, and she trembled slightly.

  "Pray repeat your request," Arthur told her.

  "My name is Etaine, daughter of the late Lord Menw of Dyfed," she said. "My lord, I beg you to ask your man Lancelot to marry me, for he is the father of my child." Etaine's eyes were watching Arthur, not Lancelot.

  "I am not!" Lancelot cried, all courtesy forgotten. "I never saw this lady before in my life."

  The lady turned to Lancelot. "I know you have not, but you made love to me in the dark that night at Camlach's dun."

  Lancelot gasped and drew away from her. This lady was nothing like the woman she had thought the men would have chosen for their jest. "I did no such thing."

  "I know you had had too much to drink, but you did come to me," Etaine said. "Now I am with child, and I beg you to marry me."

  "It is strange for Lancelot to lie with a woman whose face he had never seen." Arthur eyed her skeptically. "Why would he do that?"

  Etaine bowed her head. "Forgive me, Lord Arthur, but I pretended that I was Queen Guinevere."

  Arthur turned purple. "How dare you do such a thing! And how dare you come to me and ask me to help you, after you defamed my wife and struck a blow against my honor."

  Etaine went down on her knees to him. "I beg your forgiveness, Lord Arthur. I am punished for my sin. Please be gracious and hear my plea."

  Arthur's voice strove for calm. "If Lancelot did not even know who you were, why should he marry you? And if the room was so dark, how do you know it was he?"

  "It was Lancelot," the lady insisted. "He kept saying that he was overwhelmed at the honor of lying with me – that is, with Queen Guinevere. Those who claim they are lovers slander them, for they surely are not. He seemed so shy at first, but then... not at all." She blushed.

  "It was not I, my lady," Lancelot said, beginning to be sorry for her, but unyielding on the main point.

  "Of course it was you. The only difference is that you've shaved your beard," Etaine said, looking at Lancelot's face as if to drink in every feature.

  Arthur had begun to smile at her account of the night, especially when she said that Lancelot and Guinevere were not lovers, but now his eyes widened. "Lancelot has never had a beard."

  The lady gasped. "That cannot be."

  "My lady, it was I, Gawaine ap Lot," Gawaine said quietly, bowing his head to her.

  "That is the voice!" Etaine cried. Her hands flew to her mouth. "I am ruined! You deceived me."

  "But my lady," Gawaine said, keeping his voice gentle, "you were trying to deceive Lancelot."

  Tears streamed down the lady's cheeks. "I had hoped he would marry me. Now he never will."

  Lancelot felt pity, but not enough to approach the lady. "What a terrible way for a child to be conceived," she said, giving Gawaine a reproachful look.

  "But why did you go along with the scheme to deceive Lancelot?" Gawaine asked, touching Etaine's shoulder. She did not flinch at his touch. "Surely you would not have accepted money from the men who devised it."

  "No!" Etaine cried, sobbing more bitterly.

  "My lady," Gawaine said softly, "I think you knew you already were with child. One of the men who devised this plan was the father, but he was not in a position to marry you. He thought of this as a way to press Lancelot to do it, and you went along because you wanted a good husband, and Lancelot has such a fine reputation."

  The lady, so astonished that she stopped crying, stared at him. "That's true," she admitted. "I wanted Lancelot to be a father to my child. Oh, all is lost, lost!" She wrung her hands.

  "We will see that you and your child are always supported well and have everything you want," Gawaine told her.

  "You never have to lie with another man again, or you can choose any man you please. Perhaps someday you will find a husband. And you can say that Lancelot is your child's father, which is not as disgraceful as if some other man were."

  But Lancelot's sympathy did not go that far. "If it's so fine to say that someone is the father, you can say that Gawaine is."

  "No, I can't," Etaine objected, shaking her head vigorously. "I've already told everyone that it's Lancelot."

  "Don't deny paternity, Lancelot," Gawaine admonished. "How does it harm you to let the lady say you are the father?"

  "I won't go along with this plan unless you tell the child I am not its father," Lancelot demanded. "You must not deceive the child. I don't want it thinking that I am its father, but care nothing about it."

  "If you insist," Etaine said with evident reluctance.

  "A good solution, a kind solution," Arthur said. "Poor lady, desperation drove you almost to madness." He gave her a warmer look than he had heretofore. Then, as he glanced at Lancelot and Gawaine, he raised his eyebrows. "What I don't understand is how and why Gawaine became involved in this strange situation."

  "Of course I was concerned about protecting the queen's honor, and therefore yours. I'll explain it sometime," Gawaine said, shrugging.

  Lancelot thought he meant that he would obfuscate the matter as much as possible. And Arthur would be pleased to think that his honor had been preserved.

  "It would have better preserved my honor to simply say that there is no reason to imagine that my wife would lie with anyone but me," Arthur said stiffly.

  When Lancelot and Gawaine had left the room and were halfwa
y across the dark and empty courtyard, Gawaine said, "This is wonderful! Better than I could have hoped."

  "What's so wonderful about it?" Lancelot seethed.

  "Why this proves beyond doubt that you are a man." Gawaine grinned at her.

  Lancelot groaned. "So this is what it means to be a man! But what about the outcome for the poor lady?" Lancelot could be sorry for Etaine – at a distance.

  Gawaine reached down and scratched the ears of a dog that had run up to them. "Didn't you hear me say I'd support her whatever she did?"

  "No, I will." Lancelot's voice was firm, though she had just made up her mind. "That is more decent. Who's the father? Bedwyr, do you suppose?"

  Gawaine shook his head. "Nah, Bedwyr wouldn't hide a dozen bastards, and his wife's too meek to complain. Don't worry about who the father is. Someone who cares more about what his wife thinks, I suppose. Bedwyr's the one who bet the most on your virtue, or on Guinevere's. He thought you would fall if tempted, but she wouldn't."

  Lancelot grabbed his arm. "Bedwyr told you about the plan so he could win his bet."

  Gawaine shrugged. "That's true. He wanted to be sure of the outcome. He didn't want you stumbling into the lady's room and saying, 'You're different than you were the other night, dear.' Yes, he probably guessed that I would substitute myself and speak in a way that showed you had never been with Guinevere. But whatever his motives were, it's all gone as well as it could have for you."

  Lancelot winced. "None of the men cared if I was hurt. Do I have any friends?"

  "Obviously, you do," Gawaine grumbled.

  "Of course." Lancelot nodded, glancing at him. "I mean other friends."

  "Peredur wasn't involved, I'm sure, and of course Bors wasn't. And Bedwyr would bet on his own death. He can't help betting on everything." Gawaine moved his hand as if he were throwing dice. "I've never seen a day when he didn't make some wager."

  Lancelot turned away. "Will you make excuses for all the others, too? I have saved some of these men's lives. How could they try to do such a thing to me?"

  "They do like you, Lance. But they also envy you because you are too perfect."

  She sighed. "Far from it, if they only knew."

  "Not so far. Ah, here are some of our companions. Perhaps they'll congratulate you on your impending fatherhood." Gawaine hailed a group of their fellow warriors who, full of drink and talking loudly, were crossing the courtyard. "I'm going on a mission to Londinium tomorrow, so let's drink with them."

  Not eager to speak with them, Lancelot went off to her house.

  Not long afterwards, there was a knock at her door.

  Lancelot groaned inwardly. She wanted to go for a long ride, not to speak with anyone. If it was one of the men involved in the bedding scheme, she would have difficulty containing her ire.

  When she opened the door, she saw one of Arthur's guards. "The king wishes to see you in his chamber, Lord Lancelot," he said, inclining his head.

  "Thank you." Never had she been less eager to see Arthur, but she made haste to his room.

  Of course Arthur was alone. She had known that he would be. He had been looking out of the window, and turned when Lancelot entered. His face was unusually lacking in expression. He neither smiled nor frowned. His movements were stiff and formal.

  "You undoubtedly realize that this incident disgraces you," Arthur said, speaking in the voice in which he gave orders. "You must show yourself to be abashed. You should be ashamed to speak with Guinevere, so you should not address her or come close to her in public."

  Lancelot's heart constricted. She could not bring herself to say yes, my lord.

  "Indeed, you should go away. Not too hastily, but you should be gone for at least a month. I shall send you on a mission to Maelgon."

  Lancelot looked at the floor. She had to admit that Arthur was within his rights in asking her to go.

  "Now, don't sulk, Lance." The king's tone was milder. "I am angry at this situation, not at you. Remember that discretion is of the greatest importance. Do have some wine." He gestured to the wine jar on his table. "And pour me some as well."

  "Yes, thank you, my lord Arthur." She hated to thank him, but she knew that no other king – indeed, no other husband – would be as kind to her as he was. Perhaps she was wrong-headed to feel ungrateful, but his power over her made her feel like a prisoner. She poured the wine.

  Lancelot shook slightly as she climbed the hidden staircase. Etaine had been spreading the tale that she was going to have Lancelot's baby. Would Guinevere have heard the gossip yet?

  When she entered the room, she saw from the queen's narrowed eyes and tight mouth that she had.

  "Everyone is saying that you lay with a woman because you thought she was me, and that she is with child." Guinevere's tone was harsh. "Why haven't you denied it?"

  More cowed by Guinevere than by any enemy, Lancelot sighed.

  "Some of the men thought they had drugged me, but I really didn't drink much of their wine. They sent me to this woman. But Gawaine is the one who lay with her. Now, she is with child, but not by him. She already had been. And I am not denying that I am the father because the tale makes it seem that I am a man."

  Guinevere glared at her. The queen's face was as red as her gown. "I suppose it was that wretched Gawaine who persuaded you not to tell that you aren't the father. You actually let him lie with a woman who thought it was you? I can't believe you would go along with such a repulsive scheme. I've never heard of anything so disgusting. You've spent so much time with him that you're beginning to think as he does."

  It was just as well that Gawaine would be away for a while, Lancelot thought, hanging her head. "I know it's awful, but Gawaine meant no harm."

  "No harm!" Guinevere's voice was bitter. "And have you told that man that we are lovers?"

  "I have," she admitted, still determined not to worry Guinevere further by telling that he also knew she was a woman. "Forgive me. I let it slip out after he had just saved my life from a brigand in Gwynedd. But Gawaine is a true friend and will never tell."

  "A fine friend!" Guinevere spat out the words. "He's just a brute."

  The word struck like a blow. So Guinevere was going to attack Gawaine again. How could she dislike him so? Lancelot shook her head. "You don't understand. There are many good things about him. I know you hate for me to say it, and I sound just like a man when I do, but going through a war together makes a kind of bond."

  "The war, indeed!" Guinevere voice was almost a scream. "Arthur told me that Gawaine killed a girl during the Saxon War. Arthur claimed it was just an 'accident of war,' but how can a man kill a girl by accident? Despite all the jests, he's just a murderer."

  Lancelot felt as if she had been kicked in the stomach. She could hardly breathe. "Is that why you hate him?" She turned away and stared blankly at the wall. She had no right to keep silent anymore, even if she lost Guinevere's love.

  "There was a day," both Lancelot's body and her voice trembled, "when we saw something moving in the bushes, and thought it was another Saxon ambush, such as we had been through before. I struck out. But it was a girl, about thirteen or fourteen, a British girl."

  Her voice sounded strange to her, almost expressionless.

  "And she was dead, and I had killed her. I just stared at her and couldn't move." She saw again the bleeding body in the bushes and the stricken look on the dead girl's face.

  Guinevere gasped. "No!" she cried.

  Feeling as if she were facing her own death, Lancelot forced herself to continue. "Then Arthur came by and was angry, and Gawaine said that he had done it, but he hadn't. I said nothing. Nothing much happened. Arthur yelled at him.

  “No one would imagine that Lancelot could have done anything like that."

  "Yes, Lancelot's the kindest warrior in the world." Her voice was bitter. "Lancelot would never kill a woman."

  Guinevere took her hand. "I can hardly believe you could have done such a thing." Her voice shook. "Why did Gawaine say
that he had done it?"

  Lancelot turned to her and saw Guinevere shudder slightly, but she gratefully accepted Guinevere's hand. The queen's face was pale as snow. "Because he was afraid that I was suffering some kind of distress and was on the verge of madness. And he knew how much I would hate for anyone to know. But of course he didn't want anyone to think that he had killed a girl, either."

  "But you were mad at the time, weren't you?" Guinevere said, her voice quavering. "Doesn't doing such a thing prove it?"

  Lancelot sighed and shook her head. "I still knew what I was doing. I didn't have to slash into the bushes without seeing who was there."

  "The poor girl. Did her family recover the body?" Guinevere slumped into a chair as if her legs could no longer support her.

  "I don't know," Lancelot admitted. "I never asked. I've never spoken of it since I walked away, except to confess the sin, not even with Gawaine. And he has never mentioned it, either."

  Guinevere shuddered again. "And that is why you believe he's a friend? Men's friendships are built on such terrible things. A dead girl. That's grisly."

  Lancelot closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them. "You're right. It's not good. But there it is. To imagine that one can slaughter people left and right and come out pure and noble is just a dream for those who have never been to war.

  "There are nicer war stories, of course, about Gawaine coaxing me to eat when I would not. This one is no doubt the worst. I hope you won't hate me?" She scrutinized Guinevere's face, trying to discern its expression through the candlelight. As usual, affection was there, if a little mixed with other things.

  "Of course not, dearest! I know how good you are. I wonder how you ever recovered from that war."

  Lancelot let herself relax a little. "You know very well. The best thing in my life happened not many months after the war." She looked into Guinevere's eyes to remind her just what that had been. She was not going to lose Guinevere after all. It was a miracle.

  Guinevere rose from her chair and put her arms around Lancelot. They both wept. They rested on the bed, but they neither slept nor made love.