Lancelot and Guinevere

by Carol Anne Douglas

  Gawaine's stomach sank. "This is mad. You can't do this to your wife."

  "I can." Arthur's voice was grim. His face looked harder than it had in the Saxon War. "Come with me or stay here."

  Gawaine felt desperate, as if his own life were threatened. He could not let Lancelot's sweetheart die. He pictured Lancelot mad as she had been at Bagdemagus's dun. Or taking her own life. "You once made me swear to defend all women. I have done only a spotty job of it, but now I recall that 'all women' includes Guinevere."

  "You're not supposed to defend her against me! I'm her husband," Arthur said, scowling at him.

  "Nevertheless, I am sworn to defend Guinevere," Gawaine repeated, "although I would do the same even if I had sworn no oath." He grabbed the king's arm, detaining him. He imagined what it would be like to be known as Gawaine the Cruel, the man who deposed Good King Arthur. And no one would believe that it was for Guinevere's sake, least of all Guinevere herself. Well, no, for Lancelot's sake. "I won't let you kill her. If that means taking power from you, I'll do it."

  Arthur tried to shake off his arm but he could not. Turning red, he exclaimed. "You're mad! This is treason! You can't save her now. They've already lit the fire."

  Gawaine turned his gaze to the window. The flames were indeed lit. He tightened his grasp and drew his dagger. "Stop them. Yell out of the window if you value your life."

  Arthur cried out, "God's blood, someone is trying to take Guinevere down from the scaffold! And there is Lancelot riding to the field."

  It was true. There was conflict among the men near Guinevere, and, in the distance, Lancelot was riding there to rescue her.

  Gawaine dropped Arthur's arm.

  "I shall do nothing about your actions. I can't afford to charge you with treason, too," the king said. "You're my heir, and I need you." He rushed downstairs.

  Gawaine hurried after him, almost tripping over the wolfhound that had wakened and was bounding down the stairs. Lancelot was not mad, Lancelot would save Guinevere. Would he be too late to help Lancelot?

  “Don’t pursue Lancelot and Guinevere,” Gawaine warned.

  Arthur paused. “If I don’t, will you promise to stay with me?”

  Gawaine paused only an instant, and pushed past him. “Yes, for a time.” He didn’t say how long that time would be.

  "They are safe, then—as long as you stand beside me."

  So he would be hostage for Lancelot again, Gawaine thought as he hurtled down the stairs and through the door.

  Wearing a fine black gown, Guinevere walked with her guards to the scaffold. Her wedding ring was no longer on her hand and her gold torque was no longer around her neck.

  The pyre was to the west of the door she had left. She resented that because she could not see the final rays of the dawn, the last she would ever see. She did not want to turn her head because that might make her look afraid. She had not taken the potion that Father Donatus had given her because she did not want to appear drugged.

  A muttering crowd watched her. Guinevere could not tell whether their noises meant the people disapproved of what she had done or of her punishment.

  She saw swallows flying high over the caer. She would never hear birdsong again. Although she had not thought as much about such things as Lancelot did, she realized they had mattered to her. A crow cawed, and she was grateful to hear that sound at least.

  The day promised to be fair, and Guinevere wanted to see it. She would never again see the full sun of midday, or the glowing sunset.

  Guinevere suppressed a sob. She must be strong. She must die like a queen.

  Should she look among the crowd for her ladies? No, she did not want to see people's faces, which might be unkind. Most of those gathered were men, and they might be leering at her because of the adultery. She hoped they did not know that Lancelot was a woman.

  She prayed that Lancelot had recovered her senses and had gone on her way to Lesser Britain and to safety. Or that Gawaine had searched for and found her.

  Father Donatus approached and tried to pray with Guinevere, but she refused. The priest paled when she spurned him. She was still determined to die without repenting her love for Lancelot. She held her head high, daring the spectators to watch her. She made no pleas, and was determined not to let the pain make her scream. She hoped that she could manage that.

  After looking at the pile of faggots that would be used to burn her, Guinevere climbed the ladder of the scaffold. To her disgust, she saw that the executioner wore a dark hood. No doubt he was ashamed to show his face. No one would know who the man was who killed a queen. But it didn't matter, she thought. He could be any man. Strangely, he smelled faintly of perfume. Did he want to stifle the smell of burning flesh?

  As he bound her to the stake, he whispered, "The ropes are loose enough so that you can slip out of them when the moment comes. I'll grab your hand when it's time." It was Cai's voice!

  "No, don't," she whispered back, not daring to say more lest the spectators see her conversing with him. How many lives would be lost in a rescue?

  "Bors, Gawaine, and I have planned to save you," Cai told her. "Of course we would not watch you burn. Never fear, I made sure that the wood was green. It won't burn fast."

  She felt a thrill of hope. Bors and Cai had always been her friends. And Gawaine? Did he truly want to save her? Why hadn’t he gone after Lancelot?

  Guards lifted the torches that would light the wood. She waited for the sound of sizzling faggots, for the smoke.

  In a moment, Cai had cut the ropes that bound her to the stake and was helping her down the ladder, past the pile of sticks. A guard struck him, shoving him into the fire. Cai's cloak burst into flames and he shouted in pain, trying to roll away from the pyre.

  "No! It's Cai!" Guinevere screamed.

  Instantly, two guards grabbed him and tried to beat the flames out.

  Guinevere wanted to rush to him and help, but her hands were still bound behind her.

  Men, both warriors and guards, surrounded Guinevere, but in the din she heard a shout, "Saxons! Vile Sea Wolves!" and saw Gryffyd and another warrior, this one visored, slashing out at them. The men around her began to fall. Bors rode a horse and tried to press through the crowd to her.

  The guards succeeded in putting out the fire that had enveloped Cai.

  Someone flew at one the guards, knocking him down, but he drew his sword and fought back. Soon his assailant was on the ground, blood gushing from the chest. The guard pulled open the visor, and Guinevere saw that it was Creirwy. She nearly reeled. Tears for the loyal Creirwy poured down her cheeks.

  More bodies were falling around her. Gryffyd was down, but he had struck down many men around him. The warrior who fought beside him was suddenly close to Guinevere and reaching for her when a blow from behind knocked the would-be rescuer down. The visor flew open, and Guinevere saw who it was.

  "Talwyn!" she howled, seeing blood pour from the girl's back, and wished she had died herself instead.

  A black horse thundered up to Guinevere, seeming about to trample her, but Lancelot's arms pulled her up and they were off. Lancelot rained blows on the men who opposed them.

  Guinevere slumped against her. Was this truly Lancelot, or had she fainted? Was this a dream, or a nightmare?

  Lancelot felt a rage greater than she had felt in any other battle. She had never hated a Saxon as she hated the men who tried to burn Guinevere. She had heard of blood boiling, and had thought it was an exaggeration—until now, when hers surged hot in her veins. Her sword felt like part of her. She was a blade, cutting down any obstacles to Guinevere's freedom.

  Crowds of people who had come to watch the execution screamed and ran to get out of the way of the fight.

  Most of the men who thrust themselves around Lancelot's horse were her students, so she knew their weaknesses and was able to kill them easily. There was Camlach, who never could parry blows from the left, trying to get his hands on Guinevere, so Lancelot slashed his left side. Cil
dydd, who was slow, grabbed at her horse's reins, but she cut him down before his sword could come near her. Ergyriad, who was overconfident, jumped in front of Lancelot's horse and she rode right over him.

  Kicking at the armed men with her hooves as she had been taught to do in battle, Raven carried Lancelot and Guinevere away.

  27 TO THE CONVENT

  Arthur and Gawaine finally reached the field. Gawaine saw Lancelot ride off. “Don't let them pursue Lance, or I'll proclaim myself king,” he demanded.

  "Don't pursue Lancelot," the king shouted. "Stop fighting."

  Some of the older warriors, led by Bors, blocked the younger men from pursuit. The battle had ended. It had lasted only a short time.

  Mordred stood over the bodies on the ground, and kicked Creirwy's. "Slut," he sneered. "So Lancelot was training an army of whores to fight the king's men."

  Gasping at the sight of Talwyn’s body, Gawaine bent over her. "Gryffyd's daughter lives. Where's the surgeon?" He cradled her head in his arms. He had thought that Cai and Bors would get Guinevere away, and had no idea what Talwyn and the serving woman were doing in chain mail. He begged the gods to let Talwyn live, especially for Galahad's sake.

  Mordred's look and tone were insolent. He made no pretense of speaking as he usually did to the king. "Will you stop us from pursuing the bitch Lancelot? Why? Is she your mistress? Perhaps you had them both together. I didn't know you had such exotic tastes."

  Arthur struck him in the face. "You will not disobey my orders, or question them."

  "Thank you for your gift to me, Father. It will always be remembered." Shaking with rage, Mordred did not strike back.

  A guard bowed to Arthur. "Beg pardon, Lord Arthur, but you should know that the Lord Cai tried to help the queen and was burned by the fire. He's been carried off to his room."

  "Not Cai!" Arthur moaned. "Why would he? Why all this concern for that cursed queen? May she rot to a hag!" He shook his fist.

  Gawaine followed the men who carried Talwyn to the surgeon. All he could do at the moment was try to save her.

  Creirwy lay on the hard ground, with men milling about her. Pain suffused her. It seemed more like the Christian hell than like Annwyn. But it might be that she was alive. She'd better not let them know. There were even worse deaths than being shoved into the earth while still breathing.

  Luned's voice said, "Pick her up, Cathbad."

  Arms held Creirwy not ungently, but the pain made her long to scream in protest. Still she kept silent.

  She was being lifted onto a horse, then someone got up behind her and put his arm around her.

  The stablehand Cathbad's voice said, "We'll be hanged for the horse."

  His wife Luned protested, "No, it's the queen's, and the lord Cai will know it's what she'd have wanted. You'll return the horse after you've taken Creirwy to safety."

  Then Creirwy was away, aching like one great wound. She lost consciousness, thinking she might never wake.

  Creirwy was falling. She woke, and felt that she was being taken down from a horse and carried inside somewhere. She was put on a bed.

  Fencha, Guinevere's former serving woman, bent over her, trying to ease Creiwy's body into something resembling comfort. Fencha had shrunk and looked as ancient as she probably was, but she smiled.

  "There, child, they brought you to me. We couldn't get you down from the horse too easy. These old arms aren't so strong any more." The old woman was stroking the hair back from Creirwy's face.

  Creirwy's eyes managed to open and she saw that they were in a hut with herbs hanging from the thatched roof. The scent from the herbs filled the air.

  "There, dearie, you'll heal, you'll be safe," Fencha crooned, lifting a flask of wine to her lips.

  Creirwy drank, then muttered, "Can't be. Our kind never gets saved. Only the nobles are."

  "This once, you are. Rest, now, my girl." Fencha began to peel back her clothing to see to her wounds.

  Lancelot and Guinevere sped through the forest, where Lancelot had concealed a horse that she had stolen along the way for the queen to ride. She clasped Guinevere tightly and helped her dismount. Then she cut her remaining bonds. The sight of Guinevere's hands tied with rope made Lancelot shake with rage. They glanced back to look for pursuers, but saw none.

  Lancelot grabbed Guinevere's hands and kissed them again and again. “Poor, sweet hands,” Lancelot said, choking.

  The first thing Guinevere said was, “You’re not mad, thank heaven.” But tears streamed down her cheeks.

  “Forgive me for leaving you. That was mad indeed.” Lancelot choked.

  “Too many lives lost. If only I had die instead. No one should have tried to save me." Guinevere’s voice sounded hollow.

  Lancelot, her body tense from the fight, could barely speak. "There was my mother. And Elaine. I couldn't let you die alone."

  Guinevere clutched Lancelot’s hand. "Talwyn died trying to save me. She'll never laugh again. Creirwy died, too, so young. And poor Gryffyd."

  Lancelot moaned. She reeled more from this news than from the fight. She slumped onto her knees. "Not both girls! Oh, Holy Virgin, why did I ever train the girls to fight? How could they think they'd defeat men with years' more training?" She wanted to beat the ground with her fists.

  Guinevere clasped Lancelot's hand. "It's not your fault. You could never have imagined that Arthur would try to burn me. You never thought that they would be killed."

  "You were nearly killed, too, because in my madness I left you. You can never forgive me for all of this slaughter.” Lancelot looked away.

  "They would have killed you if you had stayed. I would have gone with you, but I felt I had to stay behind to distract Mordred. I never thought Arthur would go so far. I cannot bear to hear you berate yourself. Please do not." Guinevere leaned over Lancelot and put an arm around her.

  Lancelot moaned. “You are far braver than I am.”

  "Cai disguised himself as an executioner and tried to save me," Guinevere told her.

  "He was burned by the fire, but I don't know how badly."

  Lancelot gasped. "Poor Cai! All men said that he was a poor fighter, but he was full of courage after all. May he be healed!"

  "He said that he and Bors had planned to rescue me—and he said Gawaine did as well, though I did not see him." Guinevere's voice was different when she said Gawaine's name than when she named the others.

  Lancelot clasped her tightly. "We did have friends after all." Some of her tears were now shed in gratitude. She had not killed Gawaine. Some men were truly friends.

  “We should leave now,” Guinevere said, looking at the trees as if they concealed Arthur's men.

  “Agreed.” Lancelot helped her mount and they rode on, away from Camelot.

  After a long silence, Lancelot asked, "Shall we go to Lesser Britain?" She had no great desire to see her native land, only to escape.

  "No! Arthur would follow us anywhere to salvage his honor," Guinevere warned. "We can stay at the Convent of the Holy Mother. The nuns there are our friends."

  Lancelot thought of Mother Ninian and was relieved. There at least was a sensible plan, if they truly were not followed. "Will we endanger them?"

  "I doubt it." Guinevere shook her head. "They can say they took me out of charity. Arthur won't attack a convent."

  "But can I stay there?" How could a warrior live in a convent?

  "Of course you can, Anna." Guinevere looked into her eyes. "No one will know that you have been Lancelot."

  The words jolted Lancelot. She grabbed Raven's neck to keep from falling. She had not been Anna since she was a child. So she was to be Anna now. She had no idea how to be Anna.

  "I should put aside my chain mail?" That sounded like cutting off her right arm. Why, if she could not use her arm to fight, that was almost the same thing.

  "If you want to live with me," Guinevere said firmly, with a nod to accentuate her words. Queen or not, she still had a commanding air. "Arthur won't let us live op
enly as Guinevere and Lancelot, even in another country. What else can you do unless you leave Britain by yourself?"

  Lancelot turned her gaze away. She missed her mail coat, her second skin. Could she make such a sacrifice, even for Guinevere?

  "You want to still be a warrior, while I am no longer queen," Guinevere continued angrily, her eyes blazing. "Don't you understand how few choices we have? Can you still believe that Arthur is benevolent?” Guinevere trembled, perhaps with anger, and perhaps because of the terror she had been through.

  Lancelot looked into those defiant blue eyes, the eyes of a woman who had almost been burned to death because of their love. "Let me be a woman, then. If you can stop being queen, I can stop being a warrior. It will be a struggle greater than the fiercest battle, but I won't leave you." The thought of wearing women's clothing and putting away her sword seemed like death. Being within four walls with Guinevere would be like being in a tomb together, but she would rather be so entombed than lose her.

  "It won't be so bad being in a convent." Guinevere's voice was uncertain, however.

  "Thy people shall be my people," Lancelot said, trying to smile.

  "My people already are thy people, Anna," Guinevere replied, clasping Lancelot's hand. "You are a woman, too."

  Clouds covered the sun, and rain began to drip on them as they rode to the convent. When they arrived, it was late at night. The plump and smiling sister porter answered Lancelot's knock on the old convent's heavy door.

  "Oh, you've come. We thought you would. Please enter, Lady Guinevere, Lord Lancelot. Please rest here while I bring the abbess." She beamed at them as if they had come for some happy reason.

  Shortly afterwards, the Abbess Perpetua entered the hall, passing the statue of the Virgin. Thinner and seemingly taller than ever, the abbess took Guinevere's hand. "Sister," she said. She extended the other hand to Lancelot. "Sister," she repeated.