"Yes," Lancelot said, "she would."
"We had best play hastily. Gaheris might have told others to follow him. It's your move, noble Black Warrior."
They played as quickly as the game possibly could be, and then the Black Warrior won.
"The black queen has vanquished the red king," said Gawaine, smiling. "How appropriate!"
"You helped her make it come out that way!" Gaheris yelled.
Of course that was true. It had taken all of their combined but limited skill at gwyddbwyll to make Lancelot win, and in that manner.
Gawaine was slow to pick up the gwyddbwyll set. It was hard to say a proper farewell in front of the other men.
"The red and the black squares in this game board cannot be severed, and neither can the friendship of the Black Warrior and the Red Warrior," he said.
Lancelot stared at the gwyddbwyll set. "Stay away from Mordred," she said in a voice that was not like her own.
"I'll stay away when he's in hell. He's trying to seize the throne from Arthur. I'm going to kill him," Gawaine almost shouted.
He began to put away the game pieces.
Her face paling, Lancelot vaulted onto Raven. "Farewell, friend," was all that she said.
Gawaine was about to reply when Gaheris tore away from Bedwyr and Peredur and grabbed his shoulder.
"You aren't going to let her get away, are you?" His eyes were frenzied, like those of a wounded animal.
"Stop this shit," complained Gawaine, trying to shake him off.
"Won't you fight her? Not even an exchange of blows?" Gaheris begged, clinging to him. His voice sounded as if he was in pain.
"No, I won't. She defeated me at the game, and that's more than enough, when she didn't even kill Gareth. Agravaine did. Didn't you see what happened clearly, or did you lie to me? Did you try to persuade me to kill my best friend for no reason?" He shook off Gaheris and turned to say farewell, but the Black Warrior had disappeared into the trees. His heart sank.
"I saw her kill them! She was mad! Do you believe that crazy bitch's word over mine?" Gaheris protested, gesturing wildly with his arms.
"Indeed I do," Gawaine said coldly.
"Then I'm going to join Mordred." Gaheris turned abruptly away from him.
"Can you be such a fool as that?" Gawaine asked. “He's the one who is responsible for our brothers' deaths. Don't go.”
But Gaheris mounted his horse and rode away.
Gawaine didn't have the heart to ride after him. He had lost his best friend—he might never see her again—so why not his last brother, too? He felt hollow, as if he had nothing left.
He knew where Lancelot was, but he could not send to see her again, for every communication with her could endanger her, make it more likely that those who wished her ill could find her. He had been worse than a fool to have risked seeing her. Such a risk must not be repeated.
Lancelot rode off, reeling. When Gawaine was gathering up the game pieces, she had seen blood welling up out of the gameboard’s red squares, and the red warriors had been covered with gore. Fearing that Gawaine would die, she trembled. No, this must be a sign of returning madness, and so must her babbling about Mordred. Perhaps it was well that she would be shut up in a convent. She had to depart in haste so Gawaine would not see her confusion.
She felt bitterly alone at the thought of her friends riding back to Camelot without her. Indeed, she doubted that Bedwyr and Peredur were still her friends, for they had neither looked at her kindly nor spoken to her.
So had she always been alone, she told herself, and she had been foolish to believe otherwise. She was alone except for Guinevere. But wonderful as it was to have a great love, she wanted other friends, too.
Feeling wretched, she returned to the convent, where the Abbess Perpetua greeted her with open arms. Ninian laughed at the story of the gwyddbwyll game and chided her for imagining that Gawaine had wanted to fight her. Branwen smiled at her, and Maire had kept her dinner warm. And Guinevere was there.
Gawaine silently rode back through the forest. Never had a ride been sadder. He longed for the night, when he could shed the tears that welled up behind his eyes.
"I hope we'll never have to see Lancelot again," Bedwyr said. He pronounced her name with derision.
"Doubtless she'll return to her lands in Lesser Britain," Peredur said, no trace of sorrow in his voice. "I came only to prevent bloodshed. I have no wish that men should harm her, but I regret that she ever came to Camelot."
Gawaine almost fell from his horse. He suddenly realized that Bedwyr and Peredur had spoken not one word to Lancelot, and she had spoken not one word to them. Now he saw from their grim faces that they were disgusted that Lancelot was a woman—and, no doubt, that she had defeated them so many times in fighting contests.
"If she had never come to Camelot, all of us would have been long since dead, and so would Arthur," Gawaine retorted.
Bedwyr snorted. "If you wish to make a show of your own dishonor, so be it, but you will find that other men do not want to be reminded of theirs."
So it was dishonorable to have one's life saved by Lancelot! Gawaine's heart felt even heavier than it had before. He would have remonstrated further with them, but he knew that would not help. They would only believe—they probably believed already—that Lancelot was his mistress, and denials would be worse than useless.
Poor Lance! How could she bear to lose so much? And how could she endure living shut up in a convent? He hoped that Peredur's speculation that she would leave for her lands in Lesser Britain was correct.
When they returned to Camelot, several warriors ran up to them. "Did you fight Lancelot?" they asked Gawaine. "Gaheris told us you would."
"He slaughtered me at gwyddbwyll," he told them, silently cursing Gaheris for telling them that he was going to meet Lancelot. He would not admit to anyone but Arthur and Bors that Lancelot was a woman.
"Gwyddbwyll? You played a game with your brothers' killer? Didn't you want to fight a woman?" warriors clamored.
"Lancelot is not a woman, and he didn't kill Gareth," Gawaine said. "That's why I didn't fight him. Agravaine was trying to kill Lancelot, and slew Gareth instead."
No one appeared to believe him, though, except Bedwyr, Peredur, and Bors.
Gawaine cursed himself because the tale that he had played gwyddbwyll with Lancelot instead of fighting would only confirm the warriors' belief that Lancelot was a woman.
Alone in his room, he was too dispirited even to drink. He put Gareth's cloak on the chair where the young man used to sit.
When I was young, Gawaine thought, I wanted to be glorious, the most renowned warrior in the world. Then all too soon, I wanted only not to be a brute. Now I can no longer bear to be a man. Oh gods who have made me a man, if I am reborn, let me be a simple beast again, for they know fear, pain, and death, but not so many kinds of suffering. But are they so simple? A dog may break its heart when his master dies. There may be no way to keep a heart from breaking.
Mordred's warriors were gathered at a caer that was not many days' journey from Camelot. Mordred paced about the hill fort, which belonged to one of his followers, scarcely able to keep still. His passions were so fired that he had no need of wine.
His father had struck him publicly. His father must die. Mordred had done everything in his power to make himself a worthy son, had learned fighting skills and languages, had distinguished himself in fighting contests and in diplomacy with the Saxons, but nothing he did was good enough. He had unmasked those who betrayed his father, but his father cared more about the traitor Lancelot than about Mordred. King Arthur would pay for his indifference. Mordred would slay him. No one else could do the deed. Then he would take everything Arthur had. Camelot would be his own caer, and all the land would be his. The land needed a strong king, not an old, weak one who would let women make a fool of him.
He must not think of Guinevere.
She had scorned him, had failed to recognize his greatness. It was weak t
o care what a woman thought. She didn't matter.
Some warriors who had left the king to join him were balking, but Mordred found answers for them all, each according to his temperament. He sat by the fire in the caer's great hall, and the men came to him one by one.
"Can I really fight against King Arthur, whom I have sworn to serve?" Colles, the son of Arthur's former mistress, Gwyl, asked. He was pretty, like his mother, but dull. His usually blank face frowned with the effort of trying to think. "Are we all sinning by breaking our oaths to him?"
"Sinning? By leaving a man who raped his own sister?" Mordred replied in scandalized tones. "Rather, you are being pious and uprooting evil."
"Did he rape her? I never heard that. I thought she was an evil witch," Colles said dubiously, his eyes narrowing.
"She is, but who do you think made her evil? She's my own mother, and I know." Mordred patted him on the shoulder. These thoughts were too heavy for Colles's small brain. "And he abandoned your mother, didn't he?"
"He did," Colles admitted.
"And so you have a grievance against him, as I do for my mother," Mordred told him.
The young man went away nodding with satisfaction.
A little later Clegis came to the hall and said, "I admire Gawaine, and don't want to fight on the other side."
"Gawaine?” Why admire a man who clings so sentimentally to Arthur, though he could perhaps have snatched the throne himself? Mordred shook his head. "Didn't you know that he killed his own mother? How can you follow a man like that?"
"Killed his mother!" exclaimed young Clegis, staggering back. "I never even heard that the queen of Lothian was dead."
"News takes long to travel from Lothian," Mordred replied. "Especially when the messengers are killed."
"Why would he kill her? I thought he loved her dearly. Everyone says so."
"Exactly," said Mordred, sighing piously. "And he was jealous of her shameless doings with other men."
"What vile stories about the clan of Lothian. I have always respected them particularly," Clegis said. He began to turn as if ready to leave for Camelot.
Mordred touched his arm to restrain him. "You could hardly respect and love them more than I do." He spoke as if wounded and looked sadly into Clegis's eyes. "I am one of them. She was my mother, whom King Arthur deceived and wronged."
"His aunt? I thought it was his sister."
"It was both of them." Mordred sighed. "I am her youngest son. So Gawaine is my brother, and I know of what I speak. So were poor Gareth and Agravaine, who were murdered by the witch Lancelot." Mordred wiped his eyes.
"Are they truly your brothers? Then your grievance is great." Clegis clasped Mordred's arm and made no more show of leaving.
"I don't believe those tales about Gawaine killing his mother," said young Blioberis, who came to see Mordred later in the day. He was a little shrewder than the others, and his eyes scrutinized Mordred's face. "He is a great fighter, and it seems to me a good man also."
"Oh, he was the best." Mordred moaned. "Alas, poor Gawaine. Lancelot killed him in a duel, didn't you hear? If you want to avenge him, you should fight on my side, as Gaheris is."
"Lancelot killed Gawaine? How terrible!" Blioberis shuddered.
"What can you expect from a creature like that? She must hate all men. She has bewitched the king, and we must defeat him. I need your help." Mordred clasped his hand.
Still another young warrior, Gillimer, arrived later. Indeed, he usually rose late because he always managed to bed some wench before the night was through. "I heard that Lancelot killed Gawaine in a duel. I can't believe they'd fight each other. If he knew she was a woman, Gawaine wouldn't have fought her."
Mordred nodded. "Of course he wouldn't have. The bitch stabbed him to death in bed while he was sleeping."
Gillimer gasped, believing him.
Mordred did not confine his attentions to the men around him. He needed allies with warbands of their own. He sent messages to all of the lesser kings who might be discontented, especially Maelgon of Gwynedd, who was angry because Gawaine had helped his daughter elope. He needed the older man, who had the experience of battle that he lacked. Most of the warriors who had come with him had seen no more of battle than he had, but they were eager to prove themselves.
Nor did Mordred neglect the Saxons. He had forged friendships among their leaders, and now these might be put to use. He promised them more land, for they always wanted more.
He made his men practice with their weapons at all hours, and provided them with whores to cheer them.
For Gareth's followers, he secured a chaplain.
Although he was preparing for battle, Mordred found the time to ride to Londinium.
In a restored villa there, he entered the atrium of a woman who dressed in the style of a court lady except for a veil that covered her neck. He was not fooled.
"My lady." Mordred managed to keep almost all of the irony out of his voice.
"I have nothing to say to you, Lord Mordred," Gwynhwyfach said with a dignity that he found ludicrous. "Kindly leave."
"What, no gratitude for bringing you to the king? I'm the cause of all your good fortune and this fine house." He gestured around as if it were his. Can't expect gratitude from a whore. Her taste was good for a whore, though, he thought as he looked at the hangings on the wall.
"No gratitude. None." Her voice, as she said the word "gratitude," was even more ironic than his.
"Ah, how soon benefactors are forgotten, Lady Guinevere." He shook his head as if he were greatly disappointed.
"Don't call me Guinevere. Pray, leave."
"Such formality. You'd think I'd never touched you." He leered at her to indicate that he remembered her body well. "But I'm glad to see that you've acquired a little dignity, because you are Guinevere, or close enough for my purposes. Guinevere has run off with Lancelot, and you can be my queen. People will believe that you are Guinevere, or they'll pretend to. I'll defeat Arthur soon, and you can laugh at them from the throne. Just what every abandoned mistress dreams of, isn't it, my dear?"
Gwynhwyfach studied him quietly. In reflection, her face more strongly resembled her sister's.
"Very good. You have her look." Mordred gave her a smile of approval. How wise he had been to take the whore to Arthur.
Now that she had been to court, she could do a passable imitation of her sister.
"Indeed I do." Her voice now also resembled Guinevere's more closely. She stood straighter, appearing like her sister somewhat taller than actually she was.
"Lady Guinevere." He inclined his head slightly. "Come with me now. You must be seen with me."
"Of course, Lord Mordred."
They rode from the obscure neighborhood where Gwynhwyfach lived. Some of Mordred's men rode with them.
They came to a stone tower by the river that was guarded by the king's troops.
"Attention!" Mordred yelled at the garrison. "I am your new king. Even Queen Guinevere is with me. My father the king has fallen, killed by traitors. Accept me now, and give me command of the garrison."
The soldiers stared down from the gates and muttered among themselves. Some began to moan or weep at the news of Arthur's death. They evidently had not yet heard about the queen's near execution and escape.
"Let us in!" Gwynhwyfach demanded in Guinevere's voice. "Even now the traitors endanger our lives." She moved her horse to the gate.
They were allowed in, whereupon Gwynhwyfach flung herself off her horse and rushed to the man in the finest armor, the garrison commander.
"Save me! The king lives, and Mordred is the traitor, trying to force me to betray him!"
The soldiers immediately closed ranks around the small, dark-haired woman.
"Bitch!" Mordred yelled at her. "She's not Guinevere! She's just a whore."
"I'll never let you destroy the name of Guinevere," she cried out.
The guards attacked him, and he barely escaped. He never should have trusted a whore.
>
Arthur and Gawaine had been studying battle plans in the king's room, but Arthur rolled up the scroll and began to speak of other things. "So Maelgon of Gwynedd has joined Mordred. I hear that's your doing, Gawaine. Some foolishness about his daughter. That was very ill done, trifling with the daughter of an important ally."
Arthur knew full well that Keri had married Uwaine, son of Uriens of Rheged, but he and Gawaine had been much less cordial with each other since the morning when Guinevere escaped death.
Gawaine grumbled. "I only helped her escape with the man she had secretly married. The girl had no interest in me."
"I'm surprised that you'd admit that any woman didn't want you." Arthur tried to jest, but did not move his hearer.
"I have learned that not all do." He no longer cared what Arthur thought of him.
The king sighed, looking around the room as if trying to find something he had lost. Summer sunshine made patterns on the floor. "I have heard rumors that you fought a duel with Lancelot. Did you?"
"Of course not." He had not told Arthur about the meeting because he did not trust Arthur's intentions.
"I suspect that you know where Lancelot is." Arthur scrutinized his face.
"Indeed. She's on her way to Orkney, where my mother will give her protection." Gawaine spoke reluctantly, as if being forced to admit the truth.
"Orkney!" Arthur rapped the table with the scroll. "That's unbelievable. If she has sailed anywhere, it's to Lesser Britain, I'm sure of it. You're trying to put me off her track. You're not honest with me anymore."
Gawaine shrugged. "You can decide whether to believe me or not."
The king's forehead wrinkled. "You dare to speak to me like that because fortune is not favoring me. There is no one I can count on. Despite all the good I have done for Britain, I am alone. And I have no wife now."
Gawaine grunted. "No, you do not." And with good reason.
"Therefore, I might marry."
"No doubt the Church would give you some dispensation." He barely concealed his total lack of interest in the subject. Poor woman, whoever she was, to marry a man who had nearly burned his first wife.
Lancelot and Guinevere Page 44
