Lancelot and Guinevere

by Carol Anne Douglas

  Guinevere moaned. "Oh, my poor dear." She extended her hand, but her sister pulled away from it.

  "None of that, don't pretend that you care. They raped me for years, then sold me to a brothel, where the British men had their way with me, too. Everything's been done to me, but now I can live." There was a note of triumph in her voice.

  "Do you want to live here? I hope you will, but if you prefer, you can go anywhere you want. I'll give some jewels so you can lead an independent life." It occurred to her that Gwynhwyfach might not really be so fond of Arthur.

  Her sister threw her head back and laughed. "Sure you will. You want to buy me off. Well, you can't. I'm here to stay. Make the best of it."

  "No, you don't understand. I want you to stay." Guinevere tried to explain, even though it seemed hopeless. "Pray be seated, and have some wine." She indicated her finest chair, the one she usually sat in herself.

  Gwynhwyfach ignored the chair. "Sure you want me. Well, you soon won't. I'm not calling myself Gwynhwyfach. I know that's no court lady's name. I'm calling myself Guinevere now." She was like a warrior who had conquered a foe.

  Guinevere made her voice gentle. "Don't, dear. It will be harder for you if you do. People will always compare us then. What about Guinlian? That sound more patrician."

  "You mean you'd prefer it. I'm Guinevere now, and I'll take everything that's yours." She gestured around the room, as if to say that it would be her room soon. "I've heard about your Lancelot, and I'll take him, too. He'll like me better, just as the king does. I know how to please men. They're all the same," she gloated.

  Guinevere shook her head. "Please, dear, let me help you find your place at court. The way that you have chosen will only lead you to grief."

  Gwynhwyfach tossed her head so violently that her braids jumped. "You'll be the one who's grieving, and I'll be glad. Let me go, Sister Dear. I'm dead tired. There's no point in this talk. You have to take me as I am."

  "I shall. You will be shown to your room," Guinevere said, her voice weary. She could see that Gwynhwyfach had suffered so much that she had walls that might have no gates.

  When her sister was gone, Guinevere slumped in a chair and fought back tears. It was too late to love her sister. If only Guinevere had known the truth when they were children.

  So Gwynhwyfach called herself Guinevere, and everyone started calling her False Guinevere, although Guinevere demanded that they not do so.

  After Lancelot had been away for a few days on a mission to inspect a watchtower, she returned late at night and slipped off to her own house because Guinevere would not be expecting her.

  But to her surprise, an old lady named Brisane who was new to Camelot followed her and whispered, "Lord Lancelot, have some of this wine. The queen sent it for you and bade you to come later to her room. I'm to knock on your door when the time is come."

  This message was odd, but Lancelot felt too tired to wonder. She had not heard that Guinevere had taken Brisane into her confidence, but the woman was surely too old to dissemble. Lancelot drank the wine and went off to rest before she saw Guinevere.

  She was sleeping soundly when a knock on her door woke her. Lancelot staggered up and followed the old woman down passageways. She wondered why Guinevere would want her to come through her door rather than the secret stairway Lancelot always used, but she was so tired that she accepted it. The passage seemed unfamiliar.

  She entered a darkened room. Strange, Guinevere usually had candles burning. Lancelot pulled off her boots and climbed into the bed, where Guinevere sat in her shift.

  "Love," Lancelot mumbled incoherently, put her arms around her and gave her a sleepy kiss. "I'm too tired to undress." Strangely, Guinevere did not answer, so Lancelot sprawled face down in her usual sleeping posture and almost instantly fell asleep. When she woke, the gray light made it seem that dawn was on its way.

  "I had best go, Love. I'll see you tonight." Planting a kiss on Guinevere's cheek, she pulled on her boots. She was so groggy that she could not find the tapestry that hung in front of the secret passage. Praying for good fortune, she stumbled out of the door through which she had entered. There were no guards in the passageway.

  Guinevere was breaking her fast in her room when Luned announced, "Your sister, Lady Guinevere."

  The queen rose as if she were greeting someone of equal station. "Well come. Will you join me, sister? I have wheaten bread and dried fruit."

  Gwynhwyfach smirked. "No, I'm much too happy to eat. Your handsome warrior joined me in my bed last night. He thought I was you. He's a fine swiver, Gwen. I told you I'd have him."

  Guinevere found the lie pathetic. "He is indeed a fine lover. Too fine to betray me. Don't try to deceive me."

  "He's the one who'll try to deceive you. No doubt he'll say he did nothing, but you're a fool if you believe him." Gwynhwyfach tossed her head, laughed, and left.

  Guinevere sent Luned to summon Lancelot.

  Lancelot appeared a little later, looking tired and heavy-lidded. "What does this mean?" she complained. "I must be off training the young men. I cannot come hither at your beck and call during the day. Surely you know that."

  "I do. I merely thought you should know that I was not the one you slept with last night." Guinevere was not pleased that Lancelot had been deceived, though it was obvious that her beloved had done no wrong.

  Lancelot flushed with anger.

  "It surely was you. What game is this? I have no time for such foolery. Are you angry that I slept and barely spoke to you? I have been strangely weary."

  "In fact, it was not me. My sister is alive, come to the caer, and hates me. This was a shabby little game indeed, but not mine." She spoke softly and extended her hand.

  Lancelot gasped. "Not you! By the Virgin, what did I do? I kissed her cheek only. You must believe me."

  She looked so distraught that Guinevere quickly took her hand and kissed her mouth. "I know you did nothing, dearest. Gwynhwyfach still thinks you are a man."

  "But how could she hate you? Why?"

  So Guinevere explained.

  Gwynhwyfach still cast soft glances at Lancelot, followed her down passageways, and said, "Lord Lancelot, wouldn't you like to try my bed again?"

  Lancelot sighed and said, "Of course not, my lady. Your sister loves you. Can't you see it? She has told me many times about the Saxons killing you, as she thought they had, and she has wept bitterly. Can't you forgive her for being your father's lawful child? She had no more choice about her birth than you did about yours."

  But Gwynhwyfach rolled her eyes and said, "Her tears didn't do me any good, did they?"

  Lancelot dared not say anything to the king about Gwynhwyfach, but went about puzzled.

  Arthur called Lancelot aside and took her by the arm. "Embarrassing about this False Guinevere, isn't it? At first I thought she was the true Guinevere. I was deceived."

  Lancelot knew that was a lie, but said nothing.

  Gwynhwyfach stroked the elegant saffron gown that she wore. She sat back in a chair that graced her room. Never had she felt so comfortable. Good food, fine clothes, nice furniture. Only one man she had to lie with, though she wouldn't mind trying Lancelot too. If she felt tired, she could rest. Servants did her bidding. She tried not to remember all the Saxon men and women who had struck her if she didn't obey them quickly enough. She wished that Arthur would kill them all.

  Brisane knocked on the door and brought an old woman to her.

  "I have a new silver mirror that the queen sent for, and I must put it in her hands," the old woman said. Her clothes were poor and she was bent with age, but her voice was proud.

  "I brought her straight to you, highness," Brisane said.

  "Thank you, good woman," Gwynhwyfach said, inclining her head. No one else believed that she was the queen, but she was pleased to fool even this poor old woman.

  The old woman pulled a sealed vellum from her bosom, and gave her that as well as the mirror.

  Gwynhwyfach could no
t read, but she thought the message must be from Lancelot. Or perhaps Guinevere had another lover, for why take the risk of sending a message when Lancelot could see her at any time?

  That night, Gwynhwyfach delivered the packet to her visitor. "Dear Arthur, someone is sending messages to your wife. Very improper. You should know about it."

  Arthur broke the seal and scanned the vellum. He exclaimed in anger.

  "Poor Arthur. Yet another lover?"

  He frowned. "No. It is from my sister, Morgan, who is my enemy. Its words show that it is not the first. So Guinevere betrays me by exchanging messages with the one I sent away. Say nothing of this to her, or anyone. Ever." There was no affection in his voice, but Gwynhwyfach smiled with satisfaction nevertheless.

  Luned bowed to the king and of course had to let him into Guinevere's room, but she stayed, as she had been instructed to do if he ever came there.

  "Tell your woman to leave us," Arthur said, frowning at her. "I have come to talk about your sister." He spoke the last word contemptuously, almost spitting.

  "You may leave us, Luned." Not glad to see her depart, Guinevere waited for his words.

  Snow fell past her window, but Arthur's face was colder than the day.

  "She's an embarrassment. I won't have here any longer. I'm sending her away." His voice issued a challenge, as if he expected Guinevere to protest.

  "You must tell her yourself. I shall send for her," Guinevere said. She did not argue, but her heart felt heavy. Gywnhwyfach had brought her no joy, yet it would be sad not to see her anymore.

  Arthur sent a servant to bring Gwynhwyfach.

  While he was thus occupied, Guinevere slipped jewels into a packet for Gwynhwyfach.

  "You're not giving her all those!" Arthur protested, turning and seeing her.

  "I am."

  She did not look at him, but continued wrapping the packet in white linen.

  "Giving presents to a woman who hates you is foolish. I didn't think you were a fool, at least."

  Guinevere did not deign to reply.

  When Gwynhwyfach came, her eyes widened at the sight of the king standing beside Guinevere.

  "Arthur, sweet," she said, moving towards him and opening her arms.

  He pulled back. "No more of that. All things must end. You must leave here today."

  She stopped in her tracks, then turned on Guinevere, screaming, "You tried to turn him against me! Don't believe her, Arthur. I care more about you than she does. I'm a better queen to you than she is."

  "Nonsense, I won't have a whore for a queen, or even as a mistress living in my caer. I would never have brought you here except that Guinevere insisted on it." He looked at Gwynhwyfach with disgust. "Guinevere is a lady, and has a brain, while your best features lie elsewhere."

  Gwynhwyfach shrieked, "You sister-fucking bastard! Everybody knows that the sister you like best is your own!"

  "How dare you!" His arm trembled. Apparently ready to forget his vow never to strike a woman, he made a move towards her.

  Guinevere placed herself between them, her voice commanding as if he were a serving man. "She is my sister, and you will treat her with respect. Leave us."

  Arthur relaxed his arm and nodded. "I shall leave, but make sure that I never see this creature again."

  Gwynhwyfach still screamed at him. "If you send me away, I just might start a house of my own, and call it the Queen's Arms."

  Arthur's glared as if she were a captive Saxon. "If you dare to do anything more to embarrass me, you'll wish that you still wore the Saxon thrall collar." He stalked out.

  Gwynhwyfach paled, but she gave a barking laugh. "I should have known better than to believe a man."

  "Yes, dear, you should have," Guinevere said gently. "I have a packet of jewels for you, and you shall have the best villa in Londinium to live in. That's far enough from Camelot so that Arthur will never have to see you and be reminded. But you had better live a quiet life, or he'll be angry."

  "I see that. I'm not a fool, or I'd never have survived." She grabbed the packet from Guinevere and examined its contents. She gasped at their obvious value.

  "Of course you're not a fool. I'm glad that you survived. I wish that we could have known each other in a different way," Guinevere said to her, making one last try.

  "So do I, Gwen, but it's too late," Gwynhwyfach replied, in a softer voice than Guinevere had heard from her before.

  Guinevere put an arm out to touch her, but Gwynhwyfach cried out, "I can't feel anything, Gwen, don't try to make me feel," turned, and fled.

  15 THE GRAIL

  The priest came to shrive Arthur in his own room, as befitted a king. Arthur smiled at how mild the penance was. Father Donatus, who had been at Camelot for years, did not dare give a penance that would be too difficult, Arthur reckoned. It would be easy to give more money to the poor and attend more masses.

  Arthur spoke in a confidential tone.

  "Good Father, I see that my foolish mistake may have hurt the conscience of my court. How can I turn their minds to things of the spirit?" And away from the scandal of the False Guinevere.

  Seldom honored by a request to advise the king, the aging and gentle Father Donatus seemed too overwhelmed to worry about whether there was true repentance. He bowed his balding head.

  "It is well that they should ponder things of the spirit, and whatever turns their minds to that is good," the priest ventured.

  Arthur smiled. This priest would give him no trouble. When he was young, he had listened too much to priests, even sending away his sister and making all his men get baptized.

  Now religion would serve him, for a change. He would produce a miracle. Let no one say that his reign was sinful. He would prove that his court was the holiest in the world.

  "Father, what if the cup that was used at the Last Supper were found? Would that be a great thing?"

  The priest gasped with amazement. "Indeed it would. Have you heard of such a vessel?"

  "That may be. And it may come to Camelot." Arthur made his voice reverent.

  "And may I see this wonder?" The priest's face was all aglow.

  "Indeed, we should all see it." Arthur smiled at the priest's guilelessness. The world had praised him for being a good king, but those praises had become routine. He wanted more honor; it was scarcely possible to have enough. He wanted to know that his name would live forever, that he was more than just another king, however good. He was the one favored by God to rule.

  He had asked a goldsmith to fashion a cup that was like no other, and to let no one know from whence it came.

  But it should not appear at Mass like an ordinary chalice. Its appearance must seem miraculous. It should be borne by a woman, a woman who could seem mysterious. Nimue came to mind, so he sent for her to be brought secretly from the forest.

  On the day of the Christ Mass, when the court was gathered for feasting, a sudden stillness came over the great hall. Fewer torches than usual blazed from the walls, so the hall was filled with mysterious lights and shadows. Music of an almost unearthly quality, played by an unseen harper, wafted around the court. Arthur was pleased with the effect. He wore his finest purple cloak, trimmed with ermine, over a snow white tunic.

  A woman with the austere look of a nun, bearing a chalice that gleamed in the dark, like marsh lights, swept through the hall, and was gone. Bors was not the only one who gasped. No one seemed to see that it was Nimue, much thinner than she had been. The evening was proceeding just as Arthur had hoped.

  Arthur stood solemnly and held up his sword in a patch of light, so that its shadow appeared to be a cross on the wall behind him. Many gasped again. After a long pause, he sheathed his sword and was seated again.

  "Could that cup have been the holy grail, the vessel Christ used at the Last Supper? Legend says that Joseph of Arimethea brought it to Britain, but that it was lost," Arthur asked Bors, who had been honored with a seat beside him. Arthur's voice was deep enough to be heard throughout the quiet hall. Of
course he had just made up the legend himself.

  But Bors seemed too moved to speak.

  "How can it be that my humble court would be favored with a vision?" Arthur asked, again in the deep voice, shaking his head. "Let us all keep in mind that we are a Christian court doing the work of the Lord."

  "If that is the grail, we must go forth and seek it!" Bors exclaimed, and several other warriors cried out the same.

  Surprised, Arthur told them, "Who among us can hope to see it more than once in his lifetime?" He did not want them to leave his side on a fruitless journey.

  But he had triumphed. Now they would think of the court as a holy place, and stop talking about his sin with Gwynhwyfach. And the tale of miracles at his court would spread far and wide.

  Lancelot had seen that the woman bearing the cup was Nimue, and she thought the sight was no vision. She sat silent while Bors marveled at the glowing cup.

  Lancelot saw the way the light reflected from Excalibur. She had seen the sword covered with the blood of Saxons. How could it be holy?

  She looked around the hall, and saw other faces lit up with joy.

  She knew that they wanted something wonderful, perfect, and beautiful. She saw ecstasy on Percy's face, and Galahad's. Gareth had left his seat and knelt on the floor. She had no wish to destroy their dreams.

  But she saw the hall filled with blood, with the bodies of Saxons, with the bodies of Britons, with the bodies of Arthur's warriors.

  Would all these warriors who sat around her be cut down? Would the young hearts stop beating? Would their bodies be trampled? Would they live, but be haunted by those they had killed, as she was haunted by those she had killed?

  What was she doing, training boys to be killers?

  What was Arthur doing, leading men to be warriors?

  Was his talk of a grail an attempt to repent, to create something beautiful?