"God grant you good evening, Lady Calpurnia," Lancelot said in a voice that was polite but held no warmth. "I am on my way to the chapel to pray." She had not been, but she had no objections to doing so.
"Would you like company there, Lord Lancelot?" the lady persisted, smirking.
"I want no company when I pray, my lady." Lancelot's tone was cooler. "I am sure your husband would be glad to pray with you." She bowed her head and walked off. The lady's boldness irked her. How many wives at Camelot were unchaste?
She wondered. Such incidents happened with various ladies until Lancelot made it clear that she would always be politely disinterested.
"Arthur is a great king, is he not?" Lancelot said to Bors one misty morning when they were leaving the chapel.
"Of course," Bors said in a voice only slightly less reverent than the one he used to refer to the saints. "There was a time when his wicked sister had him bewitched, but other than that he has been a good Christian ruler." He crossed himself. "He redeemed himself by renouncing her and letting the bishop proclaim that she was a witch."
"What did she do that was evil?" Lancelot asked, not eager to believe that a woman could be.
"She bewitched him, as I told you," Bors said a little irritably, as they walked on cobblestones into the mist.
Lancelot simply stared at him. She was stunned at the thought that the king would let his own sister be denounced as a witch.
Reluctance evident in his voice, Bors added, "She seduced him, you know. Only a witch would seduce her own brother."
Lancelot gasped with amazement that the king would lie with his own sister. Was her own high regard for him misplaced?
Lancelot had heard that the rule of the Irish Church drawn up by the holy Bishop Patricius said that there were no witches and excommunicated anyone who brought such a charge until he withdrew it. However, she saw that it was not a prudent subject to mention at Camelot, so she simply walked off to the stables in the swirling fog. Perhaps the fogs at Camelot were enough to make anyone believe in witches. But she was left with the feeling that king was perhaps not as noble as she had believed after all. She wondered what his sister was truly like.
15 The Courtly Life
The rushlights in the great hall blazed bright as the company dined on trout and roasted fowl. Queen Guinevere was seated next to Arthur, all too close to Lancelot. Lancelot had difficulty concentrating on her food, and almost choked on a fishbone. Embarrassed, she took the bone from her mouth.
Guinevere smiled at her. "Would you accompany me on my ride tomorrow morning, Lancelot?" she asked.
Lancelot managed to refrain from gasping. "My lady, I fear that I have so many duties..." she began.
"But you will be courteous and attend to me despite them," Guinevere said, before Lancelot could finish her sentence. "Thank you for being so kind."
Lancelot choked more on this unwelcome duty than she had on the fishbone. Why must the queen require her company? She could hardly ignore Guinevere if they had to ride together. Did the queen see how affected Lancelot was by her presence and mock her because of it? She was not a jewel to be hung around a lady's neck or pinned to her cloak – yet what good was a jewel, if such she might be, lying in the dust in solitary splendor?
The next morning, Lancelot walked to the stables much more reluctantly than was usual for her. The day was fair, with only a few clouds in the sky, but Lancelot did not rejoice in it.
The queen was prepared to ride. She wore the same riding breeches and simple brown overskirt that she had worn on the unlucky day when Lancelot had first seen her. Even in her plainest clothes, the queen dazzled Lancelot.
"God grant you good morning, Lady Guinevere," she said, as graciously as she could manage.
"God grant you good morning, Lancelot." The queen's voice was far merrier, and she seemed to smirk with pleasure at forcing Lancelot to ride with her.
Instead of helping Guinevere to mount her horse, Lancelot hung back. Cuall the stablemaster hurried to assist the queen.
They rode past golden fields of grain, but the queen wanted to ride in the forest. Unsmiling, Lancelot entered the great woods with her. Her heart beat fast at returning to the place where they had met. She tried to stay as far from the queen as it was possible for a guard to ride.
Her hands ached to touch Guinevere, but she must banish such thoughts. A thrush poured forth its song, but it did not distract Lancelot from the queen's overwhelming presence.
"What ails you, Lancelot? Why must you look so solemn? What heavy thoughts burden your mind?" the queen asked, holding back her horse so that she would be closer to Lancelot.
"A Christian must always worry about salvation," Lancelot said, frowning at having to speak.
The queen laughed and shook her head. "Have I asked a priest to ride with me? Come, let us give our horses a chance to gallop. That may chase such gloomy thoughts from your head."
She made her mare go faster, with a pace that soon built to a gallop, bursting ahead of Lancelot and Arrow.
"My lady, this speed is not safe in the forest!" Lancelot cried, pursuing her. How willful the queen was – and how splendid, what a fine horsewoman. But what if Guinevere's horse stumbled on the roots, and the queen fell?
Arrow sped close to the queen's horse, but Guinevere would not slow her mare's pace. Ducking branches, they flew along, and covered a considerable distance. When Guinevere finally paused to rest her horse, she was still laughing.
"You could have fallen!" Lancelot exclaimed, pulling her horse up beside the queen's.
"Nonsense. I never fall." The look in Guinevere's blue eyes seemed far merrier than it did at court.
"Anyone can die in a fall from a horse," Lancelot protested. "My father did."
The queen stopped laughing. "I am sorry, Lancelot." Her voice was softer.
Lancelot looked away from Guinevere's sympathetic expression. "I did not intend to say that, my lady."
"The words we do not mean to say may be the truest," Guinevere said, reaching out her hand. But Lancelot did not move any closer.
Drops of water began to fall on them. Lancelot looked up. She had thought only of the queen, and had not noticed that the sky had darkened. The rain poured down at an ever faster pace.
"My lady, you will get wet! We must find shelter," Lancelot said, far more distressed by rain than she ever had been before.
"I shall not rust," Guinevere observed. "Your chain mail is in greater danger than I am."
She drew her cloak's hood over her head, but not hastily.
"If we leave the forest by this path, we shall come to a tavern," Lancelot told her, turning her horse.
The morning had been warm, so Lancelot had not worn her cloak. The rain soaked her, and nearly blinded her as well.
The ride to the tavern seemed long, but not as lengthy as the ride back to Camelot would have been.
The thatched-roofed tavern was in good repair, but Lancelot flushed with embarrassment at taking the queen to such a place.
"I fear this is no fit place for you, my lady," she said as she helped Guinevere from her horse. "There may be drunken men."
"I see drunken men often enough at the round table," the queen said, pressing Lancelot's shoulder more closely than seemed necessary. "Are commoners so different at their drink?"
Trembling from Guinevere's touch, Lancelot opened the tavern's door. A good fire greeted them, and no drunken men were to be seen at the trestle tables.
Indeed, there appeared to be no other customers, only the bald tavern keeper and a couple of serving girls. The place smelled of mead and grilling meats, and fortunately not of anything worse.
"The queen seeks shelter from the rain," Lancelot said, in the unlikely event that the tavern keeper had not yet recognized Guinevere.
Although he was neither slim nor young, the man bowed so deeply that his head nearly touched his knees.
"It is a great honor, your highness," he said. "I fear that our food is very humble, but w
e have good hot mead."
"Hot mead will do very well, thank you." Guinevere glided to a bench and seated herself.
She beckoned for Lancelot to sit next to her, and of course Lancelot had to do so.
Water dripped from the queen's dark braids. Even when drenched, she was beautiful.
Men had carved their names on the old wooden table. Some of the warriors from Camelot, who would not dare to anger the king by marring his table, had put their names on this one. Some ruder words had also been carved, and Lancelot rested her arm over one so the queen would not see it.
One of the serving girls quickly brought the mead. Lancelot was so agitated that she almost spilled hers. Guinevere sipped daintily.
Another serving girl moved nervously by the fire and muttered to herself. "What ails you, my girl?" Guinevere asked her in a gentle voice. "You seem troubled."
The girl turned to them. Her long, brown hair was fine, but her face was haggard enough for a woman of fifty though she seemed to be about thirteen. There was an air of hopelessness about her.
"Now I'll have to wait longer to get hot mead for my master, and he'll be angry," she said, cringing.
"Are we drinking the mead that was heated for your master? Is he cruel?" Guinevere scrutinized her face.
The girl threw herself on her knees before the queen. "He uses me cruelly. I fear he will get me with child, and then what will become of me? Please let me work for you, highness. Please take me away from him."
Guinevere put her hand on the girl's shoulder.
"What is your name?"
"Luned, highness."
"I shall do my best for you, Luned," the queen promised.
So the queen cared about serving people. She was good as well as beautiful and learned, Lancelot thought.
A large man with a brown beard burst into the room. He was dressed in fine clothes and wore a sword at his side. "Where's my mead?" he demanded, his slurred voice showing that he had already had his share of that drink. Then, seeing the girl on her knees, he cried, "Luned, what foolishness is this? Come here and serve me." His tone was the sort used to admonish a straying dog.
The girl jumped up to get him mead.
"You had better speak more respectfully. This is the High Queen, sheltering from the rain," Lancelot warned him.
The man nearly jumped. "Pardon, highness." He bowed his head. "I am Melwas, a lord who fought for the High King in his war of succession."
Guinevere gave him the barest nod of acknowledgment. "Melwas, I like your serving girl. I want her to come to work for me, by your leave."
The anger returned to Melwas's eyes. "What have you been saying, girl? You should not dare to speak to the queen at all." He shook his finger at Luned, drunkenly. "She is my daughter, highness, a mere bastard by a serving woman, but I shall keep her in my household."
Lancelot gasped. Could it be true that the man abused his own daughter? But how could she doubt the words of a girl with such misery in her face? Lancelot felt rising nausea at the thought of such a horrible crime.
The queen's eyes narrowed. "Your daughter, indeed? Where is your mother, child?"
Melwas answered her. "She's dead, but I am willing to care for the girl."
"Now that you no longer have the woman to use, you use the daughter." Guinevere shook with rage.
"Did she tell you that? The lying little wench! What have you been saying, girl?" Glaring at the girl, he raised his hand as if to strike her.
Luned shrank into a corner.
Her fear only increased his anger. "Come with me, now!" Melwas commanded the girl.
"You're not taking her anywhere!" Lancelot leapt up from the table. She grabbed the hilt of her sword. "We're taking her to Camelot."
"Are you mad? She's my daughter, I tell you." Melwas stared at Lancelot.
"We are taking her, nevertheless, so you cannot injure her any further." Lancelot's voice shook. She wanted an excuse to strike at him.
"So the little whore can be used by all the men at Camelot?" Like many people who have had too much to drink, Melwas leaned forward as if his listeners could not hear him otherwise. "Of course she opened her legs for me. She'd open them for anyone, if I'd let her. You won't take her." Drawing his sword, Melwas lunged at Lancelot.
She pulled her sword, and returned his blow. Their swords clashed. Lancelot moved to strike at him again, but he aimed a kick at her groin. She dodged it. She could not afford to take a blow that would show that she was not a man. She kicked his sword from his hand, and Melwas fell back against a table. His head struck the bench, and he appeared dazed. Hot with fury, Lancelot menaced him with her sword.
"Stop!" Guinevere commanded. Lancelot froze.
Guinevere leapt up from the bench. "Would you slaughter him in front of his daughter? Even if he is an unnatural father, such a sight would haunt her for the rest of her days. We shall leave him and take her with us."
"Yes, Lady Guinevere." Reluctantly, Lancelot sheathed her sword.
"I'll petition the High King to give her back to me," Melwas said, clutching the table and pulling himself up. "He'll listen to me."
"Yes, the king will decide this question," Guinevere said in a voice that was like ice. "Come, Luned."
The girl ran to her.
Her arm around the girl, Guinevere swept out of the door. Luned did not look back at Melwas.
"Do not dare to threaten us on the road," Lancelot warned him, and followed the queen. Melwas glared at her.
The rain had ceased.
"You shall ride behind Lancelot, Luned. Don't worry, you'll be safe," Guinevere told her. "Lancelot is as concerned about girls as I am."
As they rode back through the forest and the fields, Lancelot heard the girl sobbing behind her.
Melwas arrived at Camelot soon after they did.
It was not long before they all were in Arthur's private chamber, for the queen had said that was where this matter should be decided. Guinevere had changed from her damp clothes, but Lancelot had not. Luned hovered behind the queen.
Arthur looked his most magisterial. He sat in a chair that was not much less grand than the one he used in the great hall, and it had more cushions.
"What is the question here, Lady Guinevere?" he asked in a formal tone.
Before Guinevere could speak, Melwas broke in. His voice no longer showed the effects of heavy drink. "Majesty, I bring a complaint. My foolish little daughter has persuaded the queen to take her away from me. She's only a bastard by a serving woman, but I have raised her and I am willing to feed and clothe her for the rest of her life."
"My Lord Arthur, he uses her as a father should not, and he admitted as much to us, probably because he was too drunk to be careful with his words," Guinevere said in her most regal voice. Holding herself erect, she seemed much taller than she had before. "The girl is terrified of him. She asked to serve me, and I have brought her here to do so. Melwas attacked Lancelot to prevent her from going with us."
Melwas's face reddened. "It was Lancelot who attacked me. The Lady Guinevere misunderstood me. I was angry that they tried to take my daughter away. Of course I have not lain with her. The girl tells lies about me, but I won't punish her too severely. I pity her."
Arthur frowned and twisted his ring. "Lancelot, did you hear him say that he had used his daughter?"
"I did!" Lancelot cried. "Incest is the vilest of all sins!"
Arthur flinched.
Realizing what she had said, Lancelot sucked in her breath.
Guinevere cleared her throat. "Nothing is worse than a father who misuses his daughter," she said, as if to clarify that Lancelot was not casting the king's sins up to him.
"I did not!" Melwas bellowed. Arthur turned to the girl, who seemed to be trying to hide behind the queen.
"What have you to say, Luned?" the king asked. "Is this accusation true?"
Luned nodded and covered her face with her hands.
"Ungrateful slut!" Melwas yelled at her.
"S
ilence!" Wrinkles stood out on Arthur's face, making him look older. His posture was much more rigid than usual. "You are guilty, Melwas. The girl will stay here. My only question is how I should punish you."
"He should be executed!" Lancelot shouted.
Melwas paled. "My Lord Arthur! I have fought for you!"
Arthur did not hesitate. "You have fought for me, and therefore you will only have to forfeit one-third of your lands to the crown."
Melwas gasped. "My Lord Arthur! You would beggar me on the word of a serving girl, a bastard?"
"I punish you because of your own words, which the queen and Lancelot witnessed. Go, now." The king gestured for him to leave.
Guinevere put an arm around Luned.
Melwas tensed for a moment, as if for a fight, then stalked off. He did not look at his daughter. At the doorway, he growled, "One day, someone will pay for what has been done to me."
Lancelot could almost feel his sword cut into her flesh.
She stared after Melwas with disgust. She thought the punishment too light, but she knew it was more severe than many another king would have given.
Lancelot went off thinking that she served a king with a better sense of justice than most. And a queen with a kind heart.
Lancelot did not want to admire Guinevere too much, but she did. It was easier to think of Guinevere's noble heart than to ponder how terrible Lancelot's own life could have been if her father had been a different sort of man. The thought came unbidden, and she dismissed it with a shudder.
When she was going to supper in the great hall, Lancelot saw Guinevere in the courtyard and bowed to her. "God grant you good evening, Lady Guinevere," she said more heartily than usual. "I am proud to serve you, and King Arthur, of course. What other king would care so much about a poor serving girl?"
Guinevere had smiled when she saw Lancelot, but the smile disappeared. "That is true," she said. "How nice that you like us both so well." The queen's voice was less warm than it had been earlier in the day.
Lancelot bowed and commended herself for refraining from saying that the queen was the most wonderful woman in the world. Lancelot almost envied Luned because the girl would now be able to spend a good part of every day in the queen's presence, and perhaps even help dress her. Lancelot must not think of that, she chided herself. She should do penance for even having such a thought. She must learn to rein in her heart.
Lancelot- Her Story Page 18
