Lancelot and Guinevere

by Carol Anne Douglas

  Priests visited the convent, of course for Mass, and then they joined the nuns for a meal in the refectory. At one such meal breaking fast after Mass, Anna sat still and uncomfortable while a thin, sharp-nosed, young priest talked about the tragedy of the death of King Arthur. She had insisted on sitting far down the table, away from Guinevere, because the priest was there.

  Anna kept her left hand under the table, because not many nuns were missing two fingers on their left hands.

  "Our great king was brought down by treachery," the priest intoned in a nasal voice. "Earthly kingdoms, even the greatest, are fragile."

  "Even one evil man can bring down a great kingdom," he proclaimed, looking with narrow eyes at Guinevere. "Such a one was Lancelot. He betrayed his king and killed many of his companions, even the great Gawaine of the Matchless Strength, who fought him because Lancelot killed his brothers."

  Anna gasped, jumped up, and ran from the refectory. Could people possibly believe that she had killed Gawaine?

  She rushed to her room, threw herself on her bed, and wept, and soon Guinevere came to join her.

  "I told the priest that you were a kinswoman of Gawaine's and he had distressed you by referring to his death," she said, taking Anna in her arms. "And the abbess said that I had repented and was living a life of atonement, so he should not talk about Arthur's court any more. Because she far outranks him, he bowed his head in submission."

  "The world knows that I'm an adulterer and a traitor," Anna sobbed on Guinevere's shoulder, "and that I killed some of my fellow warriors. But saying that I killed my best friend, too, is just too much. All I did was defeat him in a board game. Will the ignominy never end?"

  Guinevere wiped away her tears. "You'll at least be remembered for saving many lives. There's nothing you can do about the tales that will be spread. Anyone who knew you knows you would never have killed any friend, much less Gawaine, and it's not believable that he would have tried to kill you either."

  Anna did not stop weeping. "Of course he wouldn't have." She looked into Guinevere's eyes. "But I did kill Arthur."

  Guinevere jumped back as if she had been struck. "I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "You wouldn't have, except if you had to, to save my life."

  "I did," Anna choked, no longer weeping but looking at the white-washed wall. "Mordred had given him a mortal wound, and he couldn't bear the pain. He asked me to end his life." Would Guinevere find her repulsive now?

  Guinevere pressed Anna's hands tightly and exclaimed, "The wretch! He wanted you to suffer even more."

  "That's true," Anna said, more quietly, daring to look at her again. Guinevere's eyes were wide with amazement, not disgust at what Anna had done.

  "He wanted the death of Arthur to be the end of everything." Guinevere frowned.

  "He wanted me to never be able to..." Anna felt her face grow hot.

  "To love me again. Well, he didn't succeed." Guinevere pressed Anna to her bosom. "It's just as well that no one knows this," she added. "You may think it would have been worse to have killed Gawaine than to have killed Arthur, and I agree with you, but other people would not. Let us put out the story that Bedwyr died after Arthur and was the last person to see Arthur alive. He was Arthur's first warrior, so people would like to hear that he was the last one also. It's so symmetrical."

  "If we can do that, can't we put out a different story about Gawaine's death, such as the true one?" Anna ventured.

  "We can, but men love stories about men killing their best friends, so I doubt that we can change it," Guinevere told her, stroking her white hair.

  Sunlight poured in the window, and Anna marveled that Guinevere still loved her.

  "You neither hate me for killing your husband nor are pleased that I did?" She had so longed to ask Guinevere outright whether she wanted her to kill Arthur, but she had dreaded the answer.

  Guinevere cried out. "I spent a year keeping you from killing him, to protect you from harm. Have you no idea how he treated me in the last year of his life? He learned that I had helped a girl to prevent bearing a baby that was his. I didn't know it was his until afterwards, but Arthur didn't believe me and he hated me for it."

  Anna gasped and gripped the bedstead.

  "He did all that he could to make me miserable. He threatened to have me killed in an apparent accident, and though I didn't believe it, I was never easy after that."

  Anna grabbed Guinevere's hands. "Holy virgin! That's horrible. Why didn't you tell me? We should have left immediately."

  "I didn't dare tell you, for fear that you would attack him and be killed. And Arthur threatened to pursue and kill you if we ran off. That's why I wouldn't go. I feared him, but I couldn't show it." Guinevere's voice trembled as it seldom did.

  The fear in Guinevere's tone wounded Anna's heart. "You were afraid for a year or more and I didn't see it." Tears formed in her eyes. "He tried to poison my mind against you, and God help me, he did do damage. Forgive me."

  "I do." Guinevere put an arm around her.

  Guinevere told Anna a great deal, and Anna embraced her again and again and blamed herself for not seeing what had been hidden. She had imagined that Guinevere might be a murderous wife, while instead she had been a persecuted one.

  Guinevere told the reason why she had been sobbing when they first met, because Arthur had urged her to lie with Gawaine to conceive a child, and that was why she had so disliked Gawaine. "After my first burst of anger, I saw that it was all Arthur's idea," she said, "but Gawaine I could snub, and Arthur I could not."

  Anna pressed her tightly. "How awful! Why didn't you tell me?"

  "You were so proud to serve a good king. I didn't want to disillusion you. And you couldn't have taken me away without risking your life," Guinevere told her.

  In the days after that, Anna told her all of the parts of her life that she had left out in previous tellings, the adventures that were just a little too dangerous, the things that people had said that she hadn't wanted to repeat, and even the time that she had slept in Drian's arms—not when she was ill, but earlier, when it was a substitute for lying with her in another way.

  When all was told, Guinevere smiled and said, "Your tales are all very innocent. I'd have forgiven you for far more—in fact, anything."

  "It is better not to have too much to forgive, but I'd have forgiven you anything, too," Anna assured her.

  "And done so in noble suffering that would have been unendurable," teased Guinevere.

  Anna smiled a little in return. "Am I really that bad?"

  "Yes, you are." Guinevere tousled her hair.

  In the night, Anna woke and could not return to sleep. She felt Guinevere touch her forehead.

  "What thoughts now, dearest?" Guinevere asked her.

  "Above all, I'm glad that you're safe, and angry that I didn't see you were in danger." She held Guinevere tightly.

  "But there is more," Guinevere prodded her.

  Anna sighed. "I thought I was helping to build a lasting peace, or at least a lasting kingdom. But the king was not as good as I believed, and the peace did not last. Nor did the kingdom."

  "No, it did not." Guinevere sat up. "Perhaps it is my fault because I did not bear an heir. But who knows whether I would have had a son, whether the son would have been wise, or whether he would have been able to defeat challengers and keep the throne? Who knows how long he would have lived? We can never know these things. You have done what you have done. You have saved lives, you have been part of things that were good. You have tried to change the world. Who can say more? Who can do more than try?"

  "We have both tried." Anna clasped her hand. And so did others at Camelot, she thought. She did not have to say that, because Guinevere knew it. How strange it was to live after Camelot.

  Talwyn lingered in her bed and only sometimes ventured downstairs, although her wound was healed. Guinevere gently prodded her to get up, but Talwyn said she wasn't well enough. She cared about nothing.

  Old Mother Nini
an joked with Talwyn, but no jests moved her.

  Once when Anna visited her room, Talwyn ventured, "Perhaps I could become a warrior. But I should swear an oath to someone. Now that I have shown that I can fight, can I swear an oath to you?"

  Anna shuddered and reached out her arms, as if to shield her. "No! I no longer believe in fighting, so I cannot accept such an oath."

  "But I would not be like men. I would be different from them, as you are," Talwyn protested, tossing her head.

  "Different? Perhaps, but not different enough. Women, too, can learn to be brutal." Her eyes evaded Talwyn's.

  "You could never have been brutal, and I wouldn't be, either," Talwyn insisted, almost rising out of the bed.

  "No wolf in the forest would do to its kind what I have done to mine," Anna replied in a solemn voice. "If you must swear an oath, go to Camelot when you are strong enough and ask Dinadan or Cai. I suppose they would accept it."

  But Talwyn decided that perhaps being a warrior wasn't worth getting up for after all, and she stayed in bed. She cared not whether the sun poured in through the window or the rain splashed in the garden. She had no life anymore.

  31 GALAHAD

  Morgan looked out towards the sea, but she did not see the water, or the gulls that flew over it. An oystercatcher landed on a rock near her, but she scarcely noticed it.

  When she looked down at the water, she saw Elaine's poor frail body lying in the pond. The rocks invited her. Why live when her child was dead?

  "Mother!"

  She found herself in Galahad's arms, clinging to her remaining child. She had not seen Galahad coming down the rock causeway to her caer.

  "You're alive, you're back." She touched the homely face as if it were the most beautiful that she had ever seen.

  Galahad kissed her.

  "I have heard that my father died." Galahad's voice and face were solemn.

  Morgan paused, then said, "Yes, your father died." She trembled. "I can hardly bear to say it, but your sister died, too." Great tearing sobs shook her, and Galahad cried also.

  They sat on the rocks and watched the crashing waves, gulls keening while Morgan told the tale of Elaine's death.

  "She loved, and her lover left her. Then her foster father wanted to cast her out, and sent for me. She must have heard us talking, and went riding so fast that her horse threw her and killed her."

  Galahad's eyes filled with rage. Her hand clutched the hilt of her sword. "Who was this lover? I'll fight and kill him."

  Morgan saw her mistake. "No, you won't, you mustn't."

  "I will. I swe..."

  "Don't swear," Morgan interrupted. "You don't understand. It was Lancelot. Of course you won't fight her. I know you're fond of her. I have been angry at Lancelot, but she was ill when she met your sister and I don't think she meant to hurt her."

  "Lancelot!" Galahad gasped. "How could she? She's never cared about anyone but Queen Guinevere." Subdued, Galahad wept. "No, I can't fight her. She's alive, then? I worried about her."

  "She is." Then Morgan explained that Lancelot had gone mad for a time, and Elaine had healed her. She admitted that it might have been Elaine who had asked Lancelot to love her. She was a little ashamed of raging at Lancelot, but she didn't tell about that.

  Her voice full of regret, she gazed out over the sea. "Perhaps I should have sent Elaine to Guinevere when her foster mother died, rather than leaving her in that lonely place. But I was afraid that Arthur would find out who Elaine was if she went to Camelot, and I didn't want her to be married to some man who was trying to gain favor with him. Nor could I bear to think of Arthur seeing more of her than I could."

  "Poor Elaine," said Galahad again, rubbing her eyes, "but I am glad to know that Lancelot is alive."

  Morgan felt a pang in her heart, but she reminded herself that Galahad after all had known Lancelot much longer than Elaine.

  "I have heard rumors that she was, but I didn't know for sure. Did any other warriors of Arthur's survive?" Galahad asked.

  "As far as I know, only Cai, who never went to the battle."

  Galahad asked hesitantly, "Gawaine died, then?"

  Morgan's hands flew up to her mouth at the mention of that name. Why him, in particular? "Yes, we buried him."

  Galahad began to weep again in great choking sobs. "I know I shouldn't say this, but I liked him even better than my father."

  Morgan took Galahad's hand and looked at her daughter's tear-stained face. Perhaps she should tell what she had never revealed. "That is impossible."

  Galahad pulled her hand away. "It's not. Will you make me speak in pieties? I did like him better."

  Morgan stroked Galahad's red hair. "Gawaine was your father."

  The surf crashed below them. Galahad stared at her. "Why didn't you tell me? Why did you tell me it was King Arthur? I wish I could have told Gawaine. I wish he had known." Then Galahad paused a moment and exclaimed, "I think he did!"

  "He couldn't have," said Morgan patiently. What a foolish fancy her daughter had.

  "Yes, he knew as soon as I told him you were my mother."

  "You weren't supposed to tell anyone," she said, but her chiding was only half-hearted. Keeping the secret no longer mattered, for she no longer wanted Galahad to try for Arthur's throne. She had lost one daughter and had no wish to risk the other one.

  Galahad was half crying, half laughing. "As soon as I told him that you were my mother, he began to be kinder than ever to me. And when I said I feared I wouldn't be able to marry the girl I loved because I had no known kin, Gawaine told me I could say that he was my father. Oh, he knew. I'm glad, but I wish I had known then, too."

  Morgan waited while Galahad laughed and wept. When Galahad stopped, and just looked at her inquiringly, she began to speak. "Don't be angry at me, child, I couldn't bear for you to turn from me. Elaine really was Arthur's daughter. You are not her twin, as I told you, but were born a year and some months later. After I gave her away to my cousin, I wept constantly, and thought of her all the time. I could not take her back, because my cousin also loved her desperately. I wanted to have another child.

  "There was another reason, too, I must admit," Morgan added. Why not tell Galahad all? "I was disappointed that she was a daughter and most likely could not rule after Arthur. I wanted another chance to have a son, and say that it was Arthur's."

  "You wanted me to be a son," said Galahad in a heartbroken voice, looking down at the rocks. More tears dripped down her cheeks.

  "Yes, but I would have loved you no matter what you were like, dear one." She took Galahad's hand again, and Galahad let her. "So, I sent a message asking Gawaine to come and stay with me a while. I liked him well enough, though with no great passion. He was Arthur's cousin as well as mine, so it wouldn't have seemed strange if the child looked a little like him. I didn't tell him about Elaine, or about you either. Then I took you to the convent, as you know, and that was a place where I could visit you, much more often than I could visit Bagdemagus's dun and see Elaine. And you always knew that I was your mother."

  "I am glad of that." Galahad embraced her, and Morgan could breathe again. Her daughter was not angry at her.

  "I could not have endured it otherwise. Not a second time." She clung to Galahad. When had she ever clung to anyone before? She wondered. Perhaps never. "So when I saw what your disposition was like, I did not discourage you from dressing like a boy and acting like one."

  "No, I'm very glad you let me. I always wanted to." Galahad held her tighter.

  The gulls' cries now sounded happier to Morgan. She stroked Galahad's hair.

  "By that time, I had heard enough reports of Guinevere to think that she could be a great queen, so I thought of your ruling only if she could not. And of your perhaps succeeding her after she died. But now I hope by all that's holy that you do not want to try to rule." Morgan shuddered. "You would have to fight for it and I could not bear to risk losing you in some terrible battle. The sight of the dead from the battle of
Camlan will stay with me always." She clutched at Galahad and looked into her blue eyes.

  Galahad sighed with relief. "I would not fight to be a king, no matter what you wanted, so I'm glad that we are in accord."

  They looked at each other, as if they were just becoming acquainted, and knew that they were.

  Morgan wondered how she had ever borne a child who was so homely—and so gentle-hearted. So little like herself. She was just as glad that she didn't have to deal with a daughter who was as proud and fierce as she was. "My seal girl," she said caressingly, not adding that Gawaine had called her by that name many years before.

  After a short time, Galahad ventured, "I can understand why you were angry at Arthur, but you had no reason to be angry at Gawaine.

  “I still wish you had let me know."

  Morgan shook her head. "I knew you would never have pretended to be Arthur's son if you didn't believe that he was your father."

  Galahad shrank back on the rocks. "No, of course not"

  Morgan trembled a little at seeing her child pull away from her. No one else could have made her tremble. "Like Arthur, Gawaine never thought about whether there might be a child. Why should I have cared what he might have felt if he had known? He undoubtedly fathered others, too. I had no idea that it would matter to you. I never knew my father because King Uther killed him before I was old enough. It never seemed to bother you overmuch that Arthur didn't know. You never said you wanted to tell him."

  Galahad's eyes widened. "Why, that would have been like claiming a throne. I didn't want to be like Mordred. Telling Gawaine would have been entirely different. I would have told him just because I liked him. If it had been a man I didn't like so much, I wouldn't have wanted to tell. But Gawaine must have thought I was his son. If I had known, I might have told him the truth, that I was his daughter. He might have understood." Galahad sighed.

  "That's hardly likely, dear. How could a man understand such a thing?" Morgan kissed Galahad's cheek. "I'm sorry if I made mistakes, but you're alive, you're alive, you're alive!"