"It's not fair, Talwyn," Felicia complained. "All of us have said which warrior we like best, but you haven't. You have to say."
To quiet her, Talwyn gave what she believed was a mysterious smile and said, "I'm saving myself for the best and bravest warrior of all." In truth, she had never before had such a thought.
The girls all giggled.
"Do you think the king will marry you to Lancelot?" Felicia asked, choking with laughter. "What a dreamer you are!"
"The queen wouldn't care much for that," Gralla said with a sly smile. "You think well of yourself to want the most eligible man at Camelot."
"Gawaine is the most eligible man!" exclaimed Lavinia, patting her hair. "And I'm sure he's better at what we're not supposed to talk about." She giggled.
"When I was a young girl, I dreamed of marrying Gawaine, but I haven't in a while," Talwyn admitted. "He's awfully old now. Besides, I realized that even if he wanted me, Queen Guinevere would never permit him to marry me because she dislikes him."
"And he wouldn't be faithful," Felicia objected. "Lancelot would."
"What difference does that make?" Lavinia demanded. "Gawaine will probably be king of Lothian and Orkney, and his wife will be a queen. He is by far the best catch at Camelot."
But Talwyn stopped listening. What would an Amazon look like? She stared at Lancelot and Gawaine, who were commencing their match. An Amazon would have to be tall for a woman, but surely not as tall as the tallest men. She would have to be sturdy, though she might be thin. She couldn't let herself be struck often, so her blows would have to be better aimed than the men's blows.
An Amazon's face would be weathered, but of course she wouldn't have any hair or stubble on it. She would have impressive muscles, although not as large as those of a man like Gawaine.
Talwyn watched Lancelot fight Gawaine. How fast Lancelot was! How justly called Lightning Arm!
Lancelot evaded all of Gawaine's blows, and Lancelot's own blows were so well aimed.
Talwyn gasped. It couldn't be. Lancelot had no stubble, never any stubble on those weathered cheeks. Lancelot had never married, and did not carouse or flirt with anyone except—except that Lancelot seemed closer to the queen than anyone else. But the queen didn't much like the other warriors.
Talwyn stared at Lancelot. Talwyn's vision was hazy, as always, but the features that she could not see clearly, she remembered.
An Amazon might look like Lancelot. Talwyn caught her breath. Many others in the crowd stared at Lancelot and Gawaine, so Talwyn's scrutiny would go unnoticed.
Lancelot defeated Gawaine. He and Lancelot clapped each other on the back, and, because the fighting was done for the day, all of the warriors were clapping each other on the back and trading jests and mild insults. Talwyn's gaze followed Lancelot. Then, as the warriors approached the royal stand and were given their prizes, Talwyn looked up at Guinevere, whose eyes were fixed on Lancelot. Guinevere leaned towards Lancelot, as if she wanted to leap out of the stand and embrace the warrior. The queen moved her fingers in an odd gesture. For an instant, Lancelot returned the queen's gaze, and also made a strange move with her fingers, as if she were returning a signal from Guinevere.
Talwyn realized that she had learned much more from Guinevere's lessons than the queen had intended to impart. Lancelot was a woman, and yet the queen looked at her the way women look at men they love. Strange, especially since they both seemed old to be in love.
Some days later, when she had brought Guinevere a little essay on Ceres and Persephone, Talwyn made bold to begin, "Lady Guinevere..."
"One moment, Talwyn." The queen raised her eyes from the essay. Her jeweled hand pointed at a word. "Your use of the past tense in this sentence is not correct. And you shouldn't use the ablative here." Guinevere pored over the wax tablet on which the words were written. "But your idea that Persephone missed her mother even more than her mother missed her is plausible." She smiled with pride at Talwyn.
The queen's cat appeared and dropped a mouse at her feet.
Talwyn jumped back slightly, but Guinevere did not flinch. She patted the cat's head. "Good Grayse. Luned!"
The serving woman, who had been mending one of the queen's gowns, jumped up, swept up the mouse with a broom, and carried it out of the queen's room.
Talwyn decided to seize the moment while Luned was gone. "Could I write my next essay about the Amazons? They interest me the most." How could she be bold, but not so bold as to irritate the queen?
"Mmmm." Guinevere lowered her eyes and mumbled. Such a signal of displeasure would usually be enough to deter those who disagreed with her, but it did not deter Talwyn.
Talwyn leaned closer to the queen. "Could there be Amazons in the present day? I mean, outside Ireland?"
"I hardly think so." Guinevere's tone was cool. Holding the tablet before her face, she said, "You must take more care with your sentences."
"I suppose there aren't any. Except for Lancelot of the Lake."
Talwyn had made her feint, and now she held her breath while she awaited the response.
Guinevere turned pale. "What nonsense is this?" she snapped, but the tablet in her hand shook as if it were vellum.
"I'll never tell, I swear it," Talwyn averred. "I spoke only because I want so much to learn just a little about sword-fighting. Do you think she'd teach me?"
Guinevere glared like a wild creature whose cub was threatened. Talwyn had never seen so little tenderness in her face nor heard so little in her voice. "Do you know what men would do if they learned about her? Never speak of this, not even to me."
"Oh, Lady Guinevere, you can't think I'd tell." She backed off as if struck.
"I can't think it, and you can't think of it either." Guinevere slammed the tablet down on the table.
"I don't want to hurt her, I just want to be like her. Just a little bit. Just to know how."
But Guinevere put her off. "Not just now. Perhaps at some future time. Now read your Virgil." She gestured towards the large book.
Talwyn scanned it more reluctantly than usual. Tales were all very well, but discoveries about the people you knew were better.
Luned returned and took up her needle. There would be no more dangerous discussions that day.
The shyness Talwyn had felt toward Lancelot in recent years vanished. She plotted her course.
One morning Talwyn required herself to rise early for Mass, one place where it was quite decent for a girl to go alone. As luck would have it, Lancelot also attended the Mass, and no one else did. It was raining heavily, so Talwyn had gambled that the warrior would not be off in the forest. The Mass was short, as it tended to be when there were so few in attendance.
Talwyn barely listened to the Latin words. The incense made her want to sneeze as it always did, but she tried to hold back.
Before Lancelot could leave the nearly deserted lime-whitened chapel, Talwyn met her at the door.
Even as Lancelot murmured her usual, "God grant you good morning," Talwyn was ready with her words. She stood directly in front of Lancelot, blocking her retreat.
"It would be a better day if you would speak with me as you used to, Lord Lancelot. You played at swords with me when I was a child. I would that we could renew those exercises."
Cornered, Lancelot had to answer, not without coloring. Yes, Lancelot blushed much too often for a man. "I am sorry to say it, Talwyn, but it is not considered proper for you to do such things with a man, even one who sees you almost as a daughter."
"Not with a man, of course." Talwyn nodded, advancing even closer to Lancelot. "But couldn't I spar with you?"
Before Lancelot could catch her breath, the girl added, "Wouldn't it be good for me to be able to fight in case I am ever in danger?"
Lancelot paled under this unexpected onslaught. "Take care what you say." Her voice trembled. She seemed ready to plunge out into the rain.
Reading the fear in her hero's face, Talwyn almost regretted her foray, but not quite. "Of course. You
have always been so kind to me. I'd never let anyone know, not if they tortured me for weeks!"
Lancelot smiled faintly. "You have my leave to reveal it under the slightest hint of torture. I hope that no one ever will threaten you in any way, but if you would feel safer, perhaps a few lessons would not be amiss. Now let us brave the rain." She gave Talwyn her crimson cloak as they dashed across the flooding courtyard.
It was not long before Talwyn came to Guinevere's room, and so did Lancelot. They clashed with wooden swords while Guinevere and old Fencha watched. Lancelot was more serious about the lessons than she had been when Talwyn was younger. "Your stance is terrible," she said. "No, that angle won't do."
When they paused for a moment, Guinevere remarked, "What a strict teacher you are!"
"But a woman warrior, mirabile dicta," Talwyn exclaimed.
"That's mirabile dictu," Guinevere reproved her instantly,
Lancelot laughed. "Now who's the strict teacher?"
Talwyn tried not to giggle and pretended not to notice the look that passed between the two.
On Talwyn's birthday, Lancelot gave her a real sword and some of her old chain mail. Talwyn spent much time learning to handle the sword, which seemed astonishingly heavy.
The chain mail, which had been loose on Lancelot's chest, was snug on Talwyn.
5 TO THE CONVENT
Lancelot rode through a forest and spied a caer. She smiled, for she was hungry and had eaten nothing but salted pork, which she had now finished, and stale bread. The caer's stones looked to be in good repair, so the food might be worth eating. She could almost taste roasted fowl.
She had no reason to believe the caer was held by an enemy, so she approached it and hailed the guards. "I am Lancelot of the Lake, a warrior of King Arthur's," she said. "Pray open your gate to me."
"Lancelot!" someone called out. "Open the gate for the hero!"
Although Lancelot had received such greetings before, she always felt her cheeks flush with embarrassment.
Guards opened the gate, and a man she remembered well rushed out to her.
"Antonius!" she exclaimed with pleasure, for he had fought well in the Saxon War years before.
Antonius was still well-favored in his looks, Lancelot thought. His cheeks were still clean-shaven. She rejoiced that not all men grew beards. The spreading fashion to grow them made her more conspicuous.
It bothered her only a little that Antonius bore the name that had been hers when she was young and was first disguised as a boy. What would her life have been like if she had remained Antonius and stayed close to home at the villa in Lesser Britain instead of becoming Lancelot the warrior? Would she have become morose like her father? She shook her head. She had already become morose living with the ghosts of her parents, and that was why she had left.
Antonius welcomed her to his caer and brought her to the table even sooner than she could have hoped. The hall was clean, its floor covered with straw that was almost fresh. His men at arms were cordial and joked among themselves.
His mead was good, and so was the cold beef that was served. She devoured her portion. The aroma of baked pears let her know that more food was coming.
Antonius apologized that he had not had time to order a meal cooked for Lancelot, but she assured him that she had rather eat sooner than later.
There was no evidence of a wife. Lancelot said the dwelling seemed well managed for a place with no woman to care for it.
Antonius frowned. "There is indeed a lady who manages my household, but she is not my wife. If I introduce you to her, I trust that you will treat her with respect. She is a fine woman."
"Of course," Lancelot assured him. She wondered why he had not married the lady if she was so fine.
Antonius sent a serving man to bring his lady, and soon a lady of about thirty years entered the hall.
She was comely, tall, and dignified. A veil covered her hair.
"This is my lady, Branwen," Antonius said with a note of pride in his voice.
Lancelot rose and bowed to her. "I am honored to meet you, my lady," Lancelot said.
"Thank you, lord Lancelot. Of course I have heard of your deeds. You are very welcome here." Branwen spoke in a quiet, refined voice.
She sat with them. Branwen entered the conversation and spoke of many subjects, especially concerning theology and Roman poetry, of which she knew far more than Lancelot did. Branwen told how Rome had decided the teachings of Pelagius were heretical. Lancelot had heard the name, but knew little more.
Lancelot was more perplexed than ever that Antonius had not married Branwen.
The next day, when Lancelot had risen from a good sleep and was on her way to the hall, Branwen approached her.
"Lord Lancelot, would you be good enough to speak with me in private?"
The lady's face showed no signs of flirtation, but Lancelot was astonished and wondered about the lady's character.
"Of course, my lady," she said, as courteously as usual.
Branwen bade her come to an empty room, and Lancleot followed. The room appeared to be used to store jars of preserved food.
"Pray do not think ill of me, Lord Lancelot." Branwen blushed. "But I have heard of your noble character and wondered whether you might help me. Would you please listen to my story?"
"Of course, my lady," Lancelot said, wondering greatly.
"When I was young, I took vows as a nun." Branwen looked at the ground.
Lancelot tried to keep her face from showing her surprise.
"I was happy in the convent. It was the Convent of the Holy Mother. Have you heard of it?"
"Indeed I have," Lancelot said warmly, for she had a good friend there, a kind old nun.
"One day an injured warrior was brought there. He had taken the wound fever and was sorely ill. We cared for him. It was Antonius.
"When he recovered, he wooed me, and I came to love him." Branwen blushed. "He persuaded me to leave, and I did. I have lived with him ever since."
"He should marry you!" Lancelot's voice was sharp. Making it gentler, she said, "Of course I shall try to persuade him to do so, my lady."
Branwen shook her head. "At one time I wanted that, but no longer. It hurt me deeply that he laughed at the idea of marriage and refused to wed me because I had no living father or brother to force him. He said I had come with him willingly, and that he would look foolish if he married a woman who had openly lived as his leman. I have borne him no children, and I fear that someday he will marry a woman who can. I have been humiliated for years at being his mistress. All I want now is to return to the convent. I do not know whether the sisters will take me back, or if they do, what penance they will ask me to perform, but I was far happier there than I have been with Antonius."
Lancelot paused and considered what Branwen had to say. Lancelot could imagine feeling the same way if she were in Branwen's position, but then Lancelot had never loved a man.
"Are you sure that you no longer love him, my lady?" she asked.
"I am certain that I no longer want to live with him."
Branwen's voice was low but steady. "I have told him that I want to return to the convent, but he only laughs at me and refuses to listen. Would you help me leave? I know no one else who would take me back to the convent."
Lancelot's estimation of Antonius plummeted still further. "If you truly wish this, I will do so, but if I help you leave, it might look as if I were running away with you. I would not want to fight Antonius."
"No, of course not," Branwen said. "It is true that he might fight you if he caught me leaving with you. But I would do anything to get back to the convent. It was so peaceful there."
Branwen's firmness impressed Lancelot. "The women of that convent are so good that I believe they will take you back. How can I best escort you?"
"I have thought of a plan. You could not take me as Lancelot. But monks come to pray at the caer's chapel. I have told them what I wish to do, and they have said they would bring two monks' r
obes if I could find a good man to escort me back to the convent. One monk could enter the chapel and bring two robes. He could come at the time the guards change watches. We could slip in through the sacristy, and don the robes. He would remain there a long time and pray, and the new guards would not know that only one monk came while three left."
"That plan might work, my lady." Lancelot knew that her friendship with Antonius would be over, but she no longer wanted it.
The plan worked well enough. Lancelot left her horse outside the caer's walls, and the monk had left a horse for the lady outside as well.
Lancelot much admired the brave lady who rode away beside her. Branwen said little and looked only at the path ahead of her.
How strange it was that love could fail, Lancelot pondered, sure that her own never would. But how could Antonius ever have loved Branwen if he did not care if she was humiliated? It was base not to marry her because she had no male relatives to force him to do so. If Antonius was leaving himself free to marry a woman who could bear him children, Lancelot had little sympathy for that scheme.
Lancelot and Branwen rode hastily through the forest. Fortunately the convent was only two days ride away from Antonius's holding.
It was spring, but warm for the season. At night, Lancelot made a fire and spread out her horse blanket for the lady to lie on. Branwen had brought bread and cheese from the caer for them to eat.
The lady went early to rest.
Lancelot could not sleep. She worried that Antonius might follow them and challenge her to fight. The forest looked less beautiful than usual therefore. She watched the stars appear and thought of Guinevere. If only Guinevere were the one who wanted to leave the man she lived with.
The next day, Lancelot heard a noise and believed someone followed them, but it was only a herd of red deer. She sighed with relief. She had no wish to shed Antonius's blood.
Just as she and Branwen arrived at the stone wall that surrounded the convent, they heard the sound of horses' hooves and Antonius appeared behind them.
Lancelot and Guinevere Page 5
