Lancelot and the Wolf

by Sarah Luddington

  He half turned in the cell, “Let her go, Geraint.” I heard muffled curses and suddenly a small, strong body hurled itself toward me. I gathered Else up in my arms and kissed her head where it lay against my chest. The spell ignited, making us both groan and fight for control. We sank to our knees and I held her face in my hands as I kissed her eyes, her nose, her brow, her soft lips. She wept quietly.

  “Let her go, Lancelot,” Geraint said from the door. “If you don’t it will be harder on you both.”

  “You don’t seriously believe this rubbish,” Arthur snapped, pointing at us. “This is just a pathetic manipulation.”

  Geraint sighed, he looked as tired as Arthur, “You’re wrong this is very real. You send her back to Stephen and they will both die long before you have the opportunity to hang your best friend.”

  There were clearly some very unpleasant things happening I didn’t know about. Arthur knew about Else and the threat but obviously didn’t believe it. He just as obviously wanted me dead.

  “Then it will save me the cost of the hangman,” Arthur snapped. He grabbed Else by the scruff of the neck and pulled her out of my arms. “That is the goodbye I promised you so you would go to your damned brother quietly. Get her out of here, Geraint.”

  My big friend held Else gently and she sobbed with uncontrolled grief. His eyes begged my forgiveness as he led her away.

  “Arthur, what the hell are you playing at?” I felt so shocked I didn’t know how to react. I had never seen my friend manhandle a woman.

  “What am I playing at?” he dropped to his knees before me, so we were face to face. “You left me,” he cried out in anguish.

  I opened my mouth, now more confused than ever and then snapped it shut. I tried again, “You banished me.”

  “Because it was the only way I could save your life. I thought you were dead,” Arthur rocked back on his heels and buried his face in his hands. His knuckles turned white, his fingers began to pull his hair. I had never seen anyone so wracked with anguish.

  His own pain made mine a pale reflection. He said through gritted teeth, “I couldn’t find you. Geraint couldn’t find you. I thought you had died. I found a nunnery a farmer said you’d been in but they denied knowing you.”

  I silently blessed Sister Eliza. Arthur looked at me, his eyes haunted, tragic, “I lost my sword, the one thing which gave me the strength to be king.”

  He hadn’t called me that since we were squires. He’d once said, as I had lain in a field with my head on his chest, ‘Lancelot, you are the blade, the sword I shall use as my strength to carry the burden of kingship when the time comes. While you stand beside me, I know I will have the strength to go on and do whatever is necessary to protect Camelot.’ That had been more than fifteen summers ago. I vowed that day I would always be at his side to hold him safe and protect him, as a weapon should, strong and reliable, able to go wherever he pointed me.

  Later that year, during Yuletide, I met Guinevere and life changed for us both because Arthur’s father died.

  I watched Arthur collapse before me. I wanted to reach out and wrap him in my arms. I said quietly, “Then let me go, Arthur and I will become your sword once more. I have never stopped loving you, my friend.”

  He laughed bitterly, “If I do that, it will cause civil war, Lancelot. Stephen wanted your head even before he knew you’d been fucking his sister.”

  “In my defence I didn’t know she was his sister until after I fell in love with her,” which was sort of true.

  “Somehow I don’t think that’s going to matter,” he told me sharply. I watched the king descend over the man and my broken friend vanished inside the bitter exterior of the leader. “I have no choice but to give the Court what it demands, Lancelot, and it demands your neck. My enemies will not allow us to become strong again.” He rose in one smooth movement and stood over me. His eyes cold and hard. “I am sorry, I know you have sacrificed much for this Court but it will have all of you before it is finished.”

  Speaking of his own world in the third person made me realise Arthur’s home, his seat of power had fractured beyond his ability to control. There were factions, which ran too deep to stop, pulling his world asunder.

  He turned to leave and I tried to stop him. The chains snapped tight, the noise made him flinch, “Arthur, please, don’t do this. Don’t give in, we can win, I know we can. The white hart must survive.” I hadn’t meant to say the last part, with his hand on the door to my cell, he froze but didn’t turn.

  Arthur said, “The white hart is dead.”

  He left and closed the cell door himself, turning the key slowly. The room suddenly felt so empty without Arthur there, his blonde curls bright against the red of the torches and his emotions so strong. I leaned back against the wall, lowered myself to the mouldy straw and sat trying to understand the last few minutes of my life.

  I realised almost instantly either Arthur lay under a terrible spell or he’d lost his mind to grief. I thought about what I knew, Arthur would willingly sacrifice Else and I to the whims of his political enemies; he didn’t believe in the attack of the fey; and he remained deeply hurt by my actions.

  Arthur clearly did not want to forgive me and I would die in this mouldy straw. If I didn’t manage to force him to listen to me this would be my end. The great Lancelot, slain finally in a dingy dungeon by his best friend because he couldn’t control his damned cock.

  Self loathing is an emotion I am all too familiar with and it burned in my guts like the foul brew used in a tanner’s yard. I even tried to ask myself if it had been worth it, the betrayal, the lies, the pain I had caused. Yes, Guinevere may well have led the seduction but I didn’t have to give in. I should have left Court sooner and stopped her becoming so close. I should not have betrayed my friend.

  The torch outside my cell guttered and began to die. I hadn’t eaten or drunk in hours and everything in me ached for Arthur and for Else. It would take Stephen two full days to reach Camelot if he rode from Chester. Else had two days to escape. I prayed she would run, that she wouldn’t stay and plead my case. I realised that was a faint hope, knowing Else as I did. Time wore on and I dozed in my upright position, my hands slowly going numb because of lack of blood and my body growing colder.

  A faint noise woke me instantly, “Great, rats,” I said, my voice surprising me I’d been quiet so long. No, I thought, not rats, something outside the door. I heard the key turn and a single sheltered candle showed the figure of a man once more.

  “Tell me about the white hart,” came Arthur’s voice from the door. He sounded scared. I had never heard those tones from him before.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  I spoke then, slowly and carefully, describing each of my dreams in detail. Talking about the wolf and how I knew he was me. How I realised the doe represented Else and the mighty stag, my King.

  “The enemy you face,” Arthur said after I’d fallen silent. “What is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly, “But I do know it’s bad and it’s going to become stronger. I believe it is the fey who wish you off the throne of Camelot and we have to find Merlin to help us defeat them.”

  “And to free you of the spell holding you and Eleanor under its control,” Arthur said.

  “Yes,” I replied.

  “Why is she a doe and not another wolf?” Arthur asked.

  I had asked myself the same question and tried not to think about the answer, “I don’t know that either.”

  “Does she?”

  “No, I don’t think so, but she’s not always very forthcoming with information,” see I can be tactful.

  “Does it hurt to be away from her?” Arthur asked still in the doorway.

  “Yes, but I have grown used to the worst of the pain. It is as though I have a broken limb and no chance of it healing without her contact.”

  Arthur walked in, his hand shook, “I had the dream. I had the dream where the stag killed the doe and turned on the wolf in his madne
ss. As the wolf died on the antlers of the stag the world became dark. The trees died. The fields shrivelled. Camelot fell and thousands perished.” As he spoke, he came close and knelt before me once more. “Forgive me, my friend.”

  He knelt closely, within arm's reach. I moved my legs slowly so I didn’t startle him and rose onto my knees. I took the candle from his hand and reached for his neck with the other. My palm brushed his skin. Arthur groaned and threw himself into my arms. Despite the restrictions of the chains, I held my King to my body. He shuddered in relief, having released himself from his burdens and begun to follow his heart.

  “I love you,” Arthur mumbled into my shoulder.

  “I know, I have always known. And you have always been the centre of my world, my King,” I told him.

  His hands were hot on my cold back and his musky scent filled my head. I felt his heart pounding against my chest. I kissed his tousled hair without thought, just seeking comfort for us both. We’d been apart so long.

  Arthur lifted his head from my shoulder and we were less than a feather’s width apart. Memories raced from the deepest part of my mind, overwhelming commonsense.

  “I,” Arthur uttered the word on a breath, which tickled my swollen lips.

  I stared into the most perfect dark blue eyes I had ever seen and promptly forgot everything in the world but Arthur. “I,” I managed, more articulate with a sword than a word. “I love you,” I breathed. The context differed from the many other times I’d spoken similar words as his vassal.

  Arthur closed his eyes as if that were all that mattered to him. He withdrew himself from my arms and reached into his doublet, taking out a key. With shaking hands, he unlocked my shackles and helped me stand.

  “I hurt you,” he said touching the bruising on my face.

  “I think it’s the least of our worries,” I said smiling, or trying to anyway.

  “Come on, you need to eat and clean up before we leave.”

  “We are leaving Camelot?” I asked.

  “We have a wizard to find,” Arthur said firmly.

  I grinned and then groaned because it split my mouth again. I followed him out of my cell and knew I cheated death once more.

  We walked up. Arthur had slung me into the deepest part of the castle. After the first set of stone stairs, my legs weakened and my breathing came in shorts gasps. The cold and hunger finally defeated my body. Dehydration is dangerous to all warriors, but to me it is a killer. I work hard and sweat hard. I needed water.

  “Arthur, hang on,” I said, I leaning against a smooth stone wall. We’d reached the part of the keep with dressed stone. He came back to me instantly.

  “Is it Else?” he asked as he placed his hand on my back.

  “Partly,” I said. I didn’t tell him it was because I’d almost frozen to death, my face hurt from where he’d hit me and he’d starved me for the day. I pushed off the wall and Arthur slid his shoulder under my arm. I leaned into my King. His strength felt so good. We were almost the same height. Arthur is just an inch shorter than I am, broader and wiry, whereas I am more heavily muscled. His skin is light and freckles slightly in the summer. We made slow progress, but he took me up narrow staircases and along corridors until we reached his suite of rooms. I wondered who slept in my room just down the hall.

  There were guards at various points but they ignored us and Arthur’s rooms were bare of soldiers. He opened the large oak door and a wall of heat washed over me like a comfort blanket. He helped me into his most casual suite. His bedroom lay next door and a washing room. Here, he is at his most relaxed, where he discusses plans with friends and sits quietly when he wants to be alone. He helped me to a large wooden chair covered in tapestry cushions right in front of the fire.

  I shivered uncontrollably. He poured a glass of wine and thrust it into my hand. I stared at the dark liquid, “I’m not drinking,” I said.

  “You need it,” he replied. “Is this because of Else, Lancelot? You look terrible.”

  “I don’t know, I can’t tell anymore, please, Arthur, if she is here let her come to me.” My hand trembled as I raised the wine to my lips. The fire in the huge hearth warmed my skin but not my bones.

  Arthur touched my head briefly, “I’ll go and find her. She’s nearby. I’ll only be a few moments.” He didn’t wait for a reply he just swept from the room.

  I sipped the wine with my elbows resting on my knees, my head down. I heard the door open, expecting to see Else or Arthur, I stared dumbfounded at Guinevere.

  She ran toward me wearing her hair down over her shoulders. It flowed around her waist and a dressing coat of thick tapestry coloured red and gold. It lay tight to her waist, but her legs flashed bare as she approached.

  She dropped to her knees in front of my chair, “Lancelot, my love,” she reached up to my face, “we have but moments. Arthur has gone to find that funny little thing you arrived with.”

  I blinked slowly several times, I thought she meant Ash, then realised she meant Else. I gathered my wits quickly, allowing Guinevere the upper hand would be dangerous.

  “That is my wife, my Lady,” I said slowly, watching those large pale blue eyes carefully. I withdrew from her hands and sat upright in the chair.

  Guinevere frowned and rested her hands on my filthy knees, “Don’t be ridiculous, Lancelot. You can’t be married to her, she dresses like a boy and she has a foul mouth,” she said it so firmly I almost believed her myself. As for the foul mouth, I’d had some cracking arguments with the Queen and she could let rip when she wanted.

  I stuck to my principles, “I am in love with her, your Majesty,” I tried to stand so she couldn’t touch me. Using her title helped maintain distance between us in my head. She pushed me back with surprising strength.

  “She isn’t beautiful enough for you to love, Lancelot,” her repeated use of my name displayed her need to own me.

  “Guinevere,” I wanted to manhandle her out of my way, but I also wanted to avoid contact. “Don’t be rude.”

  “My love,” she clutched my hand, avoiding the issue of Else. “Please, this is more important than some wife you’ve acquired.” That’s Guinevere, all heart, “Please, I must tell you, Arthur is mad, quite mad, look how he beat you today. And he,” I watched her eyes fill with tears, “has beaten me,” her voice became a whisper.

  My heart froze in response to her words. “Leave,” I said coldly. I took her hands off mine and rose, moving around her, “Leave, Guinevere and I will forget your foolishness and lies.”

  She stared up at me stricken, “I am not lying. He has beaten me. I need you, my love.”

  “I am not your love and Arthur may well have pushed you in an argument but he would never beat you.” I didn’t know how much more of this I could take.

  “You are Queen’s Champion,” she snapped when she realised she would not provoke me into believing Arthur hurt her.

  “I am the Queen’s fool,” I retorted just as Arthur walked in holding Else firmly by the elbow.

  Else wrenched herself from Arthur’s grasp and ran to me. I helped to cross the distance and pulled her into my body. The magic flared and the pain eased instantly. I held her in my arms, my hands buried in her hair. I sighed heavily unaware of Arthur or his wife.

  Arthur however, once he’d checked on us was not unaware of his wife, “My Lady, it is late for you to be roaming the keep.” His voice might have cut steel.

  Guinevere went white. Even her lips drained of colour. “My Lord,” she inclined her head formally.

  I stared at husband and wife and realised their marriage lay shattered on the floor around us, sparking light into the air to burn and blind the unwary. The hate writhed between them, its tentacles reaching out to yank in the innocent. I pulled Else around me slightly, protecting her from the possible backlash.

  “You have no business in my chambers, Madame,” Arthur said.

  “I wished to see to the comfort of my Champion,” the Queen announced. Now, as subtle moves go t
hat one resembled a war hammer.

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed. I opened my mouth to intervene. Else pressed her finger to my lips and shook her head. Arthur moved around Guinevere, clearly avoiding an adder in the grass.

  “My friend,” he said with his back to his Queen, “I have a question for you.”

  I glanced at Guinevere and then focused on Arthur.

  “Sire,” I said warily.

  “You have been thrown from Camelot. You are currently a knight without a master, am I right?” Arthur asked. His eyes were cold, a winter’s day before the snow.

  “My Lord, I have always been yours to obey,” I said. Else melted from my arms and moved away from me. I stood straight before my King, my heart pounding. Would he return to me that which I most valued?

  “Then,” Arthur said turning to Guinevere. “I reinstate your title, Lancelot du Lac and as such, name you as a new knight. All previous ties have been broken so I decree you shall become the King’s Champion. Do you accept this title, Knight of the Court of Camelot?”

  I dropped instantly to my left knee and offered out both my hands, pressed together palms upward as though holding a cup of water, “I will accept this gift, my Lord and I will protect your honour as though it were my own. I promise on my faith that I will be faithful, never cause you harm and will observe my homage to you completely. I will preserve you against all persons in good faith and without deceit.” My head remained bowed. I felt Arthur lace his fingers into the tangled mass of my hair.

  I did not hesitate. I did not think through the consequences. I obeyed my King. I heard Guinevere hiss in response to losing me for good.

  “This isn’t over, Sire,” she said with more derision than I thought possible. “You may have your knight back but your love for him is a foul thing which turns you both into monsters. You are unhealthy and that has made me barren. You disgust me, Arthur.”