Their eyes held for a moment. Then Rhience shrugged. "Nothing for it, then. I'll go back to my father's estate and manage the lands that I'll inherit one day." He added reflectively, "And about time, too. I've been away from home only a couple of years, but when I was back this week, it near made me cry to see what things have come to. Father hasn't put a penny back into that land since I left."
Luneta's father's interest sharpened. "Short-term leases?" he asked.
Rhience nodded glumly. "That and a steward who's grown too old for his job."
Gawain interrupted quickly. "Before the two of you begin talking land husbandry and putting the rest of us off to sleep, I want to ask a question. Is anyone here interested in escorting Lady Philomela back to her friend's home? Arthur wants to send a knight or two along to make sure she arrives safely."
"Where is she going?" Ywain asked.
"Lady Laudine's castle, of course," Luneta said. For a moment, Ywain's face grew empty, and Luneta's heart ached for him. He still loved her. To draw attention away from his pain, Luneta spoke rapidly. "Didn't you know? She and Laudine have struck up a true friendship. Philomela already sees herself as Laudine's chief companion and confidante, which I never was. It's a good arrangement for them both, I think—especially since the magic of the Storm Stone requires that the lord of the castle has to stay there all the time."
"The Storm Stone," Ywain muttered angrily. "I've grown to hate that thing."
Luneta's father spoke suddenly. "I've been thinking about that Storm Stone, actually, ever since Luneta told us about it the other day. As I understand it, it's the center of a magical spell that requires the lord of the castle to stay in one place and to fight anyone who pours water on it. Am I correct?"
Luneta and Ywain nodded.
"I suppose someone has already tried to just smash the blame thing?" Luneta's father asked.
Ywain looked at Luneta, who looked at Rhience, who looked at Ywain. After a long silence, Ywain said, "I'll take Philomela back to Laudine." He smiled at Rhience and Luneta. "You coming?"
It was a pleasant, chattering group that left the next morning to escort Philomela back to Laudine. In addition to Ywain, Rhience, and Luneta, Luneta's parents had decided to come along, and Luneta had never had a more pleasant journey. She rode with Rhience much of the way, but she also spent hours with her mother, talking about the properties of the various herbs that they passed. At those times, Rhience rode with Luneta's father, and Luneta left them alone. One could never tell when those two would begin comparing notes on the best way to drain a swamp or something oppressively boring like that. The only thing that marred her enjoyment of the ride and the company was the occasional glimpse that she had of Ywain's private pain. Every so often he would grow grimly quiet, and as they neared Laudine's castle, these moments of bleak silence grew more frequent.
Once they came to the Storm Stone, Ywain's silence grew so fierce that Luneta could almost feel it as a thickening of the air. He said not a word when they came to the clearing, or when he pointed his sword at Laudine's guards and sent them scurrying away, or when he took out the great iron maul he had brought with him and smashed the stone basin to rubble. All the others waited on their horses, respecting and sharing Ywain's silence. No one offered to help; all knew that this was Ywain's task. When he was done, he scooped all the remnants of the smashed stone into a canvas bag, tied it closed, and then straightened up.
"Shall we go on in?" he asked calmly.
"Sure you didn't leave anything?" Rhience asked.
"I'm sure," Ywain said. He mounted his horse, then put on his helm and closed the visor. He turned to Lady Philomela. "My lady, may I ask a favor from you?"
"Of course, Sir Ywain."
"I hate to ask you to do this, but I need you to conceal something from Lady Laudine. While we are there, I ask you to speak of me only as the Knight of the Lion, and not by my name. Once I am gone, then you may tell her what you wish." Lady Philomela agreed, though clearly she did not understand the request.
A few minutes later, the guards at the gate were announcing their arrival, and Laudine was hurrying across the courtyard to welcome them. For several minutes all was confusion and delight as Laudine first greeted Philomela, then Luneta's mother, then Luneta and Rhience. After that, Philomela had to describe to Laudine how she had turned down her inheritance, preferring to come and live with her dearest friend Laudine, which led Laudine to embark on another whirl of excitement, embracing Philomela ecstatically and telling her how pleased she was and how everything had turned out better than she could ever have hoped.
Through all of this, Ywain sat immobile on his horse, his face hidden behind his visor. At last, Philomela turned and said, "And Laudine, this is ... but you've already met the Knight of the Lion, haven't you?"
Laudine rushed forward and gripped Ywain's gauntleted hand. "Indeed, I thank you again, Sir Knight, this time for defending my friend. Please, will you come inside—oh, goodness, I'm all a-flutter today, aren't I? Receiving you out here in the courtyard like a hoyden! Please, come in! You've been traveling and are in need of refreshment! Rufus!"
Laudine's ever-competent steward appeared at the main door to the castle keep, bowed slightly, and said, "My lady. I have taken the liberty of having refreshments sent to the green salon, if you would like to take your guests there. The hostlers will see to their horses."
"Thank you, Rufus," Laudine said. She turned back to the traveling party and said, "Er, and this lion?"
Ywain didn't answer. Even from the side, Luneta could sense the hungry force of his gaze on Laudine. At last Rhience said, "If you don't mind, I believe the lioness should come with us. She won't hurt anyone."
"Er ... of course," Laudine replied uncertainly, and then they all dismounted and followed their hostess into the castle to the green salon. Ywain brought the canvas bag containing the smashed fragments of the Storm Stone.
Once they were in the salon, everyone sat but Ywain, who walked up to Laudine and stood before her. "Sir Knight?" she said inquiringly.
Ywain dropped the sack before her, then spoke softly, using a raspy whisper. "It is yours, my lady."
"This sack?" Ywain nodded. Laudine untied the string and looked inside. "Gravel?"
"It is your Storm Stone," Ywain whispered hoarsely.
For a long moment, Laudine only stared. Luneta watched as the realization of what this meant slowly began to dawn on her. "Then the curse is broken?" she asked.
"Broken or just circumvented," Rhience said, stepping between Luneta and Ywain. "And by the simplest and most obvious of all means, too. The Knight of the Lion smashed the stone a little bit ago."
"You did this for me?" Laudine asked Ywain.
He nodded. "I had heard how this stone imprisoned you. Now you are free."
"So I can leave the castle whenever I wish?" Laudine said.
Ywain nodded again. "And marry whomever you wish." Laudine's face grew still, and she stared blankly at the floor. Ywain took an audible breath, then said heavily, "You see, I know that you once felt you had to marry someone who would defend the stone. Now you can marry whenever and whomever you want—or not marry at all."
Laudine's eyes stayed on the floor. She nodded once, slowly. "I think ... I think that I shall never marry," she said at last.
Luneta looked at Laudine's bleak and rigid face, then at Ywain's stiff, armored figure. They loved each other. Nothing could be more obvious, except that they were going to let their chance slip.
"I can hardly repay you, O Knight," Laudine said, forcing herself to smile, with fairly ghastly results. "But may I give you any token of my gratitude?"
Ywain shook his head in solemn silence. Luneta looked between them once more, then took a breath and whispered to Rhience, "Sorry. I wasn't going to interfere, because I know I always make things worse, but things can't be worse than this." She stepped forward and spoke clearly. "Actually, there is one thing you might be able to do for the Knight of the Lion. I mean, Lione
ss."
Ywain shook his helm at her vehemently, but Laudine looked up. "Whatever is in my power, I shall be glad to do. A horse? Gold?"
"Only your influence as a woman," Luneta said. "I must explain to you that the Knight of the Lion is in love with a beautiful lady, but he has been separated from her." Laudine looked sympathetic and started to speak, but Luneta pressed on. "The break between him and the lady is his own fault, as he'll be the first to admit. He betrayed her trust. He did it out of foolishness, not from ill intent, but it makes no difference. Now he is too ashamed even to ask for her forgiveness."
Laudine looked seriously at Ywain. "But how can your lady forgive you if you do not ask?"
Ywain hesitated, and Luneta said, "Would you, as a woman, help him? Will you take his cause and plead for him?"
Laudine nodded decisively. "I will. I promise you this, O Knight, that if it is in my power to procure your forgiveness, I will do so. Who is the lady?"
Slowly, Ywain sank to his knees before Laudine. Then he reached up and, with trembling fingers, removed his helm. "Her name is Lady Laudine," Ywain said. "Can you forgive me?"
Laudine's eyes grew round and bright. "I have been waiting to do so for an eternity."
After that, everything was kissing and murmuring apologies and tender nothings to each other. It was appalling stuff, for the most part, and Luneta had to turn away and concentrate hard so as not to hear any of it with her inner ear. As soon as they could break in, she and the others made their excuses and left the lovers alone, even taking Lass with them. Out in the hallway, Luneta sighed with relief. "Whew!" she said. "I can see it's going to be excessively dull around here for a while."
"Oh?" Luneta's mother asked. "Do you find love so uninteresting?"
"Don't you?" Luneta said.
Luneta's father took Luneta's arm. "You put your mother in an awkward position," he said. "Even supposing that she agrees with you, she can hardly say so in front of me. It would hurt my feelings."
"Oh, you know I don't mean that," Luneta protested. "I meant all that snuggling and kissing that young lovers do."
Her father's lips quivered, but he managed to control his countenance as he replied, "I see. Whereas the sort of love that decrepit specimens like your mother and I might have is less disgusting to you." Luneta started to answer indignantly, but he waved away her protests and led them out of the hall and into another room. "It doesn't matter, really, my dear. Because I agree with you—we should leave Ywain and Laudine as soon as we are able. But I was wondering, where would you like to go?"
Luneta hesitated. Knowing what she wanted and saying it aloud were two different matters.
"Because," her father continued, "I thought I might invite your friend Rhience to come back to Orkney with us to see the estate, and it would be nice if you'd come along to help us entertain him."
A warm feeling filled Luneta's breast, but the pleasant sense came abruptly to an end when Rhience said, "Very kind of you, Sir Gaheris, but I'm not sure that I can accept."
"Oh?" Luneta's father asked, surprised. "You've other plans?"
Rhience nodded. He looked apologetically at Luneta and said, "You see, I've a secret that I haven't told anyone in all the past months when I've been cavorting about in my fool's clothing."
"Something terrible, I imagine," Luneta's mother said placidly, sitting in an armchair.
"Indeed, I almost think it is, Lady Lynet," Rhience said. "At least in light of some recently expressed opinions. You see, my lady, I—like my friend Ywain—am in love."
Luneta's heart shrank and withered, and for a moment she felt dizzy. "Really?" she asked brightly. "But you never said anything about this lady at all."
"Fancy that," Luneta's mother murmured.
"No, I didn't," Rhience said. "I thought it might cause some awkwardness as we rode."
"Of course," Luneta said. "It would have been cruel to speak of love in front of Ywain."
"Just so," Rhience said soberly.
Feeling the need to keep talking so that her own despair wouldn't show, Luneta said, "And who is this lucky lady? Does she know of your love?"
"I don't think so," Rhience replied.
"Well, does she love you?"
"I've never seen any sign of it."
A faint hope rose in Luneta's breast: maybe this unknown lady, whom she already hated, would turn Rhience down. But she forced herself to continue speaking calmly. "Well, haven't you learned anything from Ywain? If you love this woman, you should tell her so."
"Ah, but that's where my problem comes in. Terrible shy around ladies, I am. So I was wondering...," he trailed off hesitantly.
"Yes?" Luneta asked.
"I thought maybe I could get you to put in a good word for me. You see, you did such a good job just now getting Ywain and Laudine together—in fact, you've done it twice."
"I thought you disapproved of my interfering in other people's lives," Luneta said quickly.
"But I love this lady so much," Rhience said. "I don't know what I'd do if she turned me down. No, I won't think of it. The idea's too horrible."
Luneta swallowed. This was Rhience, and if she could do something to make him happy, then she would. "All right," she said in a small voice. She looked at the floor between them, and with an effort said, "I'll do whatever I can for you."
Then, to her surprise, Rhience took her hand. Startled, she looked up. Rhience's eyes were glowing as he looked into hers. "Do you promise?" he said softly.
The world began to whirl, and Luneta nodded, suddenly understanding but unable to speak for joy. The silence was broken by her father. "Lynet, my love, I believe it's time we went to the other room."
"Don't be ridiculous, Gary. It's just now getting interesting."
"All the same, I think we are in the way here and should go away," Luneta's father said firmly.
Her mother sighed. "But I wanted to see my hoity-toity daughter snuggling and kissing and all that boring stuff," she complained as she rose to her feet. "Oh, well—I'm sure I'll have other opportunities."
Then Rhience kissed Luneta, who found it not at all dull. When they parted, she looked up into Rhience's face. "I love you," she whispered.
"Excuse me," came the voice of Luneta's father from the door. "We're just leaving, I promise, but I was wondering, would you like me to take the lioness out with me?"
"Which one?" Rhience said, his eyes still on Luneta but his lips curving into a gentle smile.
"The four-legged one, of course," Luneta's father replied. "The other one's far too dangerous."
* * *
Author's Note
The great writers of the ancient world didn't go in for love stories much. The epics of Homer and Virgil are really just elaborate adventure stories for boys, and their female characters are like the women in modern action movies, mostly disposable. This literary attitude didn't start to change until around the eleventh century, when the minstrels of southern France began to compose stories in which women had a more important role. These singers still told of brave warriors duking it out, just as Homer did, but these new heroes—now, knights in armor—were fighting for their adored ladies, and the stories ended not just with victory, but with requited love.
I don't mean to say that these love stories were exactly like the ones that we're familiar with today, though. For one thing, the lovers hardly ever got married. In fact, usually the lady was already married to someone else. But to the French minstrels, this wasn't a problem. You see, in the eleventh century, marriage didn't have anything to do with love anyway. Marriage was an economic agreement between families, usually arranged by people who didn't have to live with either of the principal characters. People got married in order to form alliances between families and to have offspring. Love? That would just complicate things. This is why the great love affairs of Arthurian literature are between Lancelot and Guinevere and Tristram and Iseult, not one of whom was married to his or her beloved.
The greatest writer from th
is tradition—although he was rather more than just a minstrel—was the court poet Chrétien de Troyes, and in several of his works he celebrates the typical extramarital love affairs of his time. In his greatest poem, though, he does something surprising and new. In this marvelous poem, called The Knight of the Lion, Chrétien brings together two people whose love actually leads to marriage. The tale of Ywain and Laudine's complex love affair, including mistakes and misunderstandings and finally forgiveness and reconciliation, is centuries ahead of its time.
In my own retelling of this tale, I've used as much of Chrétien's original as I could. Of course, by telling the story through the experience of Luneta, I've changed some of the focus, but I didn't invent my heroine: Chrétien also tells of a smart, willful lady working behind the scenes to bring Ywain and Laudine together—twice. I did add the character of Rhience the Fool and change Ywain's lion to a lioness, but most of what is left came in some form from the wonderful original story.
You ought to read it someday.
—Gerald Morris
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