"Perhaps," Guinevere said. She went to see the woman's body, and saw that it was Gwyl, Arthur's pleasantest mistress. She decided that Gwyl would like the idea, so she assented to it. "Ah, yes, she cherished a pure and hopeless love for him, so she is fitter to be buried with him than I am," Guinevere proclaimed, as if with regret.
The monks gave Guinevere and Lancelot small rooms, of course separate ones. Anna did not want to sleep on the pallet in her cell. She prayed for the many dead—some in particular—then slumped and drifted off while still kneeling. She was by the river again, and saw Arthur's wraith crying, "Follow me and die."
Then another wraith, tall and pale but still red-bearded, stood by the river's shore. "Live, live, live," he called out. "Remember the once and future quest. Think of the once and future jest. Life is but a jest, so it should end with laughter." A ghostly laugh echoed.
"Stay, stay," she begged, but Gawaine was gone.
After they had returned to the convent, Anna went off to her room and sobbed and would not leave it. Her hair had turned completely white, though her eyebrows still were black.
Guinevere's own hair was now entirely gray. She did not mind that now. She feared for Anna.
After three days of Anna's seclusion, Guinevere stood by her bed, took her hand, and appealed to her, "I am frightened. Is some of this grief at being in the convent? Arthur can no longer pursue us, so we don't have to live here. I don't care whether I call you Lancelot or Anna. I don't care whether you are a warrior or a nun, dress in chain mail or black robes, or whether we live in a convent, or in Lesser Britain, or anywhere else. I only want you to live."
Anna looked at her miserably and seemed to force herself to speak. Deep circles made her large eyes stand out from her pale face. "I am not Lancelot. I never want to fight again, and I don't care about the rest."
Choking back tears, Guinevere pressed her hand. "This indifference is most unlike you. I don't want to imprison you. I have envied you for having the freedom of a man, but I don't want to punish you for it now. I haven't wanted to pose as man and wife, but if that is what you need, we could."
Anna returned the pressure on her hand, but weakly. "If I should be punished it is not for having the freedom of a man, but for using it as they did." She closed her eyes. "I can't bear to talk about it. I love you dearly, but please let me be for a while."
"For how long?"
"I don't know."
Guinevere went to the abbess and Ninian, who were speaking in the abbess's office. They turned gentle faces to her, but Guinevere was not cheered. "What can I do? All she does is weep. She does not want to go outdoors. That is strange, for Lancelot—Anna."
"Let her grieve," Ninian said in a tone that suggested that she knew grief very well. "Let her stay in her room a few weeks if she wants."
"Weeks?" Guinevere gasped. Could she bear seeing this strange, pale Anna for so long?
The plump old nun nodded, her wrinkled face soft with compassion. "Yes. Then you and I will take her out, bit by bit, and make her walk in the forest, even if she does not seem to want to. That will revive her."
The abbess took Guinevere's hand and said, "You have been through terrible things, too. Come and talk with us whenever you want to, and we shall do what we can. Even queens can grieve."
Guinevere returned the pressure of the stately woman's hand. Ninian went off and brought Valeria, who spent many hours both listening to Guinevere and being quiet with her.
After some weeks, Guinevere saw Ninian in the garden and clutched her arm. Dead blooms rose from the flowers' stalks, and Ninian was cutting them off. The browned petals littering the ground reminded Guinevere of the field of the dead, and she shivered. But she felt she could speak to this old woman without shame. "Anna still doesn't want to kiss me. She says she cannot because her mind is so full of horrible things. Does she love me still?"
Ninian put an arm around her. "You should not doubt her. Of course she does."
"But why won't she let me comfort her?" Guinevere spoke reluctantly, hating to say what she feared. "Is she in love with someone who is dead? I can't compete with the dead, because a golden haze surrounds them and blurs every fault."
The nun shook her head. "Do not be jealous of the dead. She has always loved you more than anyone else. It is not love, but horror that has taken over her mind."
Lying in her hard convent bed, Anna did not even want to look out of the window at the thick forest, but stared at a blank wall. Sunlight streaming into the room seemed to mock her sorrow. When Ninian entered her room, Anna forced herself to turn her gaze to the old nun.
"I couldn't save Gawaine, nor any of my old companions," Anna moaned.
Ninian nodded. "That's right, you couldn't. Why think that you should?" Her voice was less gentle than usual. "They had to carry their own burdens as you have had to carry yours. In trying to save them, you nearly lost yourself. You must not play at being a saint any more. Or at being a man. Your disguise served its purpose, but after all, you didn't really want to be one."
Anna shuddered and wrapped the covers around her. "Far from it, and it's hard to believe that they did. When I was young, all I wanted was not to be a woman. Now all I want is not to be a man. But, even though I was an adulterer, I did want to be a saint."
"That's not such a good ambition, either," the nun admonished her, nevertheless stroking the hair from her forehead. "Why should everyone look to you for help? Aren't love and friendship enough? Fortunately, Guinevere doesn't see you with a halo, or she cared no more about your halo than you did about her crown."
"Can we go on and still love? I am so afraid. I keep dreaming that she has died, too." She put her hands over her face. She could still smell the rotten stench of the battlefield.
The old woman's voice sounded soothing. "I shouldn't tell you the future, but I shall. You and Guinevere will be together for many years. Now you must think of cheering her. She worries so about you. You must forget your suffering enough to remember hers."
Anna looked into the sweet, wrinkled face and wanted to believe. Did Ninian truly know the future, or was she just inventing tales to reassure her? Anna sighed.
"I shall try, but it's so hard. It's not just that my friends died—Lancelot died also."
"Then you must learn who Anna is," Ninian told her. "And who is Guinevere? Is she just a pretty woman who touches you, or just a former queen? Do you understand her?"
Anna shook her head. "Not her, or anyone."
"Don't you want to? Or are you so full of your own grief that you think nothing of hers? It's time that you did. Her husband nearly killed her because of her love for you." The old nun frowned.
Shamed by the reproach, Anne protested, "I have stayed alive only so as not to abandon her."
"Did you ever happen to think that Guinevere may have stayed alive only so as not to abandon you?"
Anna groaned. “I’m not worthy of her love.”
“That’s only another way of avoiding her.” Ninian walked to the door. "You must learn to ask for her to help you. And she must admit that she needs your help also.”
When Guinevere next came to Anna’s room, Anna forced herself to look into her eyes. “Please help me,” she said, feeling that the words hurt her mouth.
Guinevere trembled. “I will. Please help me, too.” She took Anna’s hands in hers.
So Anna let Guinevere and Ninian take her into the forest. She tried to smile a little at the squirrels that dashed about gathering nuts, but her heart felt as heavy as ever.
Then they walked to the nearest pond, and Anna wept when she saw it.
She had swum in the pond in other times. It looked so tranquil and innocent, not stained with blood.
Ninian said, "Why don't you both go in it?"
The summer was turning to autumn, but the air still held some warmth. A wren sang, only a part of its song, but sang nevertheless.
"Wouldn't that be dangerous?" Anna asked. "I might chance it, but how could I ever let Guine
vere risk taking her clothes off in the forest?" The only time they had made love in the forest, years before, she had been so overcome that she hadn't thought about it.
"There is no danger for miles around," the old woman assured her. "Just this once, believe that I can cast a magic spell that will protect you. I'll keep watch on the path, but it isn't needed." She folded her arms and stood as if she were a guard at a caer's wall.
They undressed, and went into the water. Guinevere had never learned to swim, but she walked out to the deepest part where she could stand.
Anna swam a little, and Guinevere teased her, calling her by the names of many water creatures. She called her otter, and Anna wondered whether she could be like such a playful creature despite all of her killing. She had thought of herself as a wolf, never as an otter. Then when Anna came close, Guinevere embraced her.
They embraced in the water, and then on the mossy bank. Guinevere's body was softer than the moss.
Anna rested in Guinevere's arms. "I love you so. I can't believe that it's possible to feel this good again."
"I know that you have seen hell, and I have seen it, too," Guinevere said, holding her tight. "But the story that people can never return to the garden after they have lost their innocence is a lie. Sometimes we can find the way. What we can't do is stay there and be innocent always, and it's wrong to try."
Feeling downcast, Percy rode up to the old villa that he had called home. His mother, his brother, and his father came running out to meet him. All of them screamed and threw their arms about him, in such a tumult that it seemed almost like a battle. But then, he had never seen one.
"You're alive!" they screamed. "You're alive!"
"But I heard from a merchant I met on the road that King Arthur is dead." He could barely speak the words. He had not fought for his king, had not tried to save him! "What about Uncle Peredur?"
"He's dead, too, and so are nearly all of Arthur's other warriors," Aglovale said, and Percival could see that all of their eyes were red.
Percy found tears in his eyes for many reasons. "I missed the battle. I'm so ashamed. The fisher king kept saying that he was dying, and I couldn't leave the bed of a dying man. I must have sat there for days. Then finally he said that perhaps he wasn't going to die just now, and I could leave. But I missed fighting for King Arthur to stay with the fisher king! It's terrible. I've never been so ashamed." How had he dared imagine that the poor old man's life was worth as much as the king's?
"Your fisher king has saved you!" Olwen exclaimed with delight, embracing him.
"You don't understand. I'll be ashamed all of my life," Percy moaned.
There was a faint grin on Aglovale's face. "But you'll have a life."
"Why didn't any of you care about the old man? You live so near that I'd think you'd visit him," Percy demanded.
"Don't be a goose, Percy," Illtud chided. "Of course we visit him, and any of us could have gone this time. But it was your turn to go."
Percy was nearly speechless. His own family had deceived him! "You kept me from fighting."
"It wasn't us, it was you," Aglovale said, giving him one of his warmest smiles. "You decided that you cared more about comforting the fisher king than about killing for King Arthur."
Percy groaned. He had lost his honor, and they didn't even care. "Did any of the other warriors survive?"
"Lancelot did, and sent me a message," his father told him.
Percy felt stirrings of joy at that. "Good news. And he's kind enough to forgive me for missing the battle."
Olwen clung to his arm. "No doubt. I hope that he'll come to visit us again. But don't be disappointed if you find that he's changed from the way you remember him."
Aglovale and Olwen laughed heartily at that, and Percy shook his head again over his strange family.
30 LIFE AFTER DEATH
Guinevere entered the abbess's study. A cat raised its head in sleepy greeting, but Guinevere refrained from patting it, for she had a grave matter to discuss.
"Holy Mother, will you shrive me?" she asked. For an abbess could hear the confessions of her sisters, and though Guinevere had taken no vows, she was surely under the woman's care.
"I will," said the abbess in a tone of the utmost gravity.
So Guinevere knelt down and confessed all the years of love for Lancelot as she never had to a priest. Bowing her head was easy, for she did not want to look into the nun's eyes. At some parts of the telling, she trembled. What if the abbess would not forgive her?
When she had finished her account, she dared to look up.
"You loved Anna dearly, did you not?" the older woman asked, her face and tone solemn.
"Far more than my own life," Guinevere assured her.
"In your case, that is no exaggeration." The abbess nodded.
"Your husband had mistresses, did he not? He did not grieve overly because you turned from him?"
“Since the beginning of our marriage, he lay with other women. I did not care. I was relieved. He never minded my lying with Lancelot until the last couple of years, when he was angry with me." She then confessed her other hidden sin, her years of taking the potion to prevent childbearing. She also told of helping Enid.
The abbess forgave her, and said nothing about ending her loving.
"I love Anna still," Guinevere made bold to say.
The abbess nodded. "I know. You would not be the only one within these walls to love another who is here. I think such love is unchaste only if it keeps one from loving God and this community. Take care that it does not," she admonished.
Guinevere almost wept with gratitude, but her lifetime habit of restraint stayed with her. "Indeed, I give prayers of thanks for Anna every day. I have always seen her as my greatest blessing, not as a temptation. I am sure that loving her has made me a better person. And I can never say how much your good community has meant to me. You have saved us, body and soul."
There was a knowing look on the abbess's face. Her hands remained folded in her lap. "So now you can tell Anna that I will shrive her also. That's what you truly wanted, isn't it? She longs for absolution more than you did, I think. But you came to me first because you wanted to learn whether I would tell her to stop loving you. Never fear."
Guinevere felt her cheeks grow hot. "You see much, Reverend Mother. Yes, I will tell her. She will be glad."
The old abbess nodded. "Guinevere, I have plans for you. I want to train you to take my place when I die." She sounded as if she thought her own death was of far less concern than the convent's future. "I think you could rule this convent well—if the nuns chose you, that is. Would you be willing?"
Guinevere gasped. "Of course I would! You would trust a sinner like me?"
"Don't boast about your sins to me." The abbess continued to speak in her voice of command. "I am thinking about your capabilities. Perhaps the Lord sent you here for a reason. But don't become proud again too soon. It might do you good to be humble for a while." Although her voice was stern, she touched Guinevere's hand for an instant.
Guinevere bowed her head and tried to keep her voice steady. "I shall do whatever you say, Holy Mother." She backed out of the room as if she were leaving her sovereign.
Anna was shriven, and wept for joy for hours, but she still feared that her past sins weighed down her soul too much for heaven.
She felt the strangeness of long skirts constricting her legs and a veil on her head, though no longer having to bind her breasts was an unspeakable relief. The robes seemed awkward, but they were much lighter than chain mail. Standing in Guinevere's room, she slipped out of them, carefully putting aside the dagger she carried concealed in the folds of her garment. It was a relief that no one called her out to fight, but she could never quite believe that it was true.
She feared that Guinevere would no longer want her when she was Anna, dressed in long skirts, even though Guinevere had said she would.
Guinevere reached out to embrace and reassure her. She kissed Anna pa
ssionately, and Anna glowed with warmth. Away from the king and the court, Guinevere's affection seemed to grow greater than ever, and she was almost never angry. They still made love in Guinevere's room, perhaps because they had always done so.
Her room was not as plain as Anna's, but very simple compared with what Guinevere had had at Camelot. One green embroidered covering lay on the bed and one hanging with a forest design hung on the wall. Both were gifts from the abbess.
While Guinevere combed Anna's white hair, Anne turned, looked in her eyes, and said, "I was afraid that you loved only Lancelot. Didn't you love the victories at fighting contests, the fame?"
Guinevere took Anna's face in her hands. "So I did love Lancelot, as Lancelot was a part of you, but I knew that that was only one aspect. Did you love me because I was a queen, and could command many to do my bidding?"
"No, of course not. Is my having been Lancelot as little to you as your having been a queen is to me?" Joy suffused her. She felt as if she were floating on air.
"Yes, just as little. What matters is that we are together. You still taste just as sweet." And she kissed the neck that had been Lancelot's.
Anna rubbed her cheek against Guinevere's. It was a relief that she no longer had to scrape her cheeks every morning so they would look more like a man's, but the years of so doing had made the skin rough.
One day a messenger brought a letter from Cai. Anna eagerly broke the seal and unfolded the vellum. She held the letter so Guinevere could read along with her.
Dear Lancelot and Guinevere,
I am glad that you have survived.
So have I, though they tried to roast me, and, insulting to relate, without herbs or other seasoning. Therefore, I was not in the great battle, and I am glad of it. I am thankful that Dinadan, who is dear to me, was far away trying to persuade lesser kings to fight for Arthur and is now safely returned.
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