"I am Lancelot of the Lake, a warrior of King Arthur's, so any acts against his law are my business. What are you doing with this young lady?"
"Help me, Lord Lancelot!" the girl cried.
The girl's father inclined his head to Lancelot. "There is nothing amiss, my lord. I am Cornelius, and I own this land. Myfanwy, my daughter, is foolish and willful. This is our neighbor, the noble Flavius. Her mother and I have arranged for her to marry him. He is most prosperous, the finest husband possible. But Myfanwy has been stubborn. We locked her up in her room and allowed her no food, but still she refused to give her consent. We feared that she would starve from stubbornness, which would profit no one, so I told her I would take her out riding. I arranged for Flavius to meet us and take her away. Once she has gone off with him, no one else will wed her, and she will have to marry him. It's all for her own good."
"You mean you would let him rape her." Lancelot was enraged.
"If that is necessary. But he will marry her, as I said. All will be well. Please let us be." Cornelius nodded to Lancelot, as if in dismissal. Disgusted with him, Lancelot turned to Flavius.
"The lady does not want to go with you. Let her go!" Her voice and her face showed that her command was also a threat.
"Her family has consented. This matter has nothing to do with you." Flavius started to ride away, forcing Myfanwy's horse to go along.
The girl moaned, as if she had lost hope.
"Halt!" Drawing her sword, Lancelot rode after him. "Stop in the name of the king."
"Why, the king has no laws saying parents cannot arrange good marriages for their daughters," Cornelius argued. "She'll consent soon enough now." He put his hand on his purse, as if suggesting that he would bribe Lancelot to leave.
"I won't marry Flavius! Everyone knows that his first wife died from his beatings!" Myfanwy cried.
"Silence!" Flavius yelled at her. He reached for his sword.
"Let her be, or you must fight me." Lancelot's voice was like the steel of her sword.
"Come at me, then." Flavius drew his weapon.
Lancelot attacked. As she rode at him, she remembered she was not wearing chain mail, and swerved so his sword cut only the cloth at her shoulder.
Before Flavius had again raised his sword arm, Lancelot had cut through it, not severing it but wounding him sorely. His sword clattered to the ground and he dropped the reins of Myfanwy's horse. Flavius stared unbelieving at his bleeding arm. "You're a madman," he cried to Lancelot.
"Come with me," Lancelot told Myfanwy. "I'll take you to Camelot, where you'll be safe."
"Don't listen to him!" Flavius clutched his arm. "He just wants you for himself, to abuse and abandon. I'll marry you."
Myfanwy rode to Lancelot's side. "I'll go with you," the girl said, her eyes wide with fright as if she were unsure it was wise to follow Lancelot.
Apparently not daring to get too close to Lancelot, Cornelius chided his daughter. "Foolish girl, this will profit you nothing. Going with this man will destroy your reputation just as surely as going off with Flavius, and you'll have to marry Flavius anyway, because he's the only one who will have you after that. But your marriage will be far less pleasant than it would have been."
Myfanwy shuddered.
"Don't listen to your father," Lancelot exclaimed. "I won't hurt you, and you won't be forced to marry anyone."
"Go with him then, you little fool," her father said, starting to help Flavius bind his wound. "But you can't take the horse. The horse is mine and isn't disobedient like you."
"You can ride with me," Lancelot told Myfanwy, dismounting to help her get down from her horse and ride behind on Arrow.
"The king won't let you stop a man from marrying off his daughter," Cornelius called after them.
"But the queen will," Lancelot murmured to the girl.
"Thank you." Myfanwy's voice trembled, and her body shook for the entire ride back to Camelot.
When they rode through the gates, they encountered Bedwyr, who called out, "Lancelot, I see you've finally gotten a girl for yourself."
Ignoring him, Lancelot took Myfanwy as quickly as possible to Cai's office, where Guinevere was likely to be working on tax records.
Both were poring over piles of vellum.
Cai raised his eyebrows.The queen hastened to the side of the girl, who looked as if she had been brought back from the dead.
Myfanwy tried to curtsy, but she shook so that she almost fell. Guinevere put an arm around her.
Lancelot told how Myfanwy came to be there.
"Her own father would have let that man rape her, then would have forced her to marry him." Lancelot spat out the words.
"Monstrous." Guinevere held Myfanwy. "You were very brave to go off with Lancelot. I promise you, you won't have to go back. You might lose your inheritance..."
"I don't care," Myfanwy gasped.
"I shall provide for you, never fear." Guinevere's voice was kind but resolute, and Lancelot had never admired her more. Her heart filled with pride that she served such a good queen.
"It seems that you need provisions as soon as possible," Cai said to Myfanwy. "I'll have some food sent to you. Not too much at first, though, or it could sicken you." He hurried off on that errand.
"Are you strong enough to go to the king now?" Guinevere asked. "It is better that we make your case before your father makes his." Myfanwy nodded.
"And you must come with us, Lancelot."
"Of course."
When they came before the king, Guinevere stood majestic and let Lancelot tell the tale, and Myfanwy confirmed it.
Then Guinevere spoke. "I ask an unusual boon, my lord, perhaps the most important I have ever asked you. I ask you not to send this girl back to her family. I know it is legal for them to try to starve her to press her to marry. But my heart goes out to her. Have mercy on her, and let her stay as one of my ladies. I shall provide a dowry and find a better husband for her in time, after she has recovered her strength. It will grieve me greatly if you do not grant this." She looked him in the eye.
Arthur frowned. "The last time you asked such a boon, the girl was a servant. But taking a lord's legitimate daughter – an heiress – away from his control is a different matter. The king cannot be involved in deciding every marriage."
"But, Lord Arthur, Flavius killed his first wife!" Lancelot exclaimed.
Arthur twisted his ring. "That would make this a question of the girl's safety, not merely her wishes. But we have only her word that Flavius injured his wife."
"Great king!" Myfanwy begged. "Please inquire in our village. The people will tell you the same."
Arthur addressed Myfanwy. "I shall make inquiries. You realize that if you continue to defy your family's will, you will lose your inheritance thereby, and the man you may marry may be much less prosperous than Flavius."
"Yes, your majesty. I understand fully." Myfanwy's voice was firm, but she went down on her knees before him.
"Very well. At the queen's request, I grant this boon. We will find you a suitable husband."
"A husband she wants," the queen said.
"A marriage you will consent to," the king said.
"Her father will claim that she was dishonored by riding off with Lancelot," Guinevere reminded him.
"Nonsense. That charge will bear no weight with me. Lancelot wouldn't take advantage of a whore, much less an innocent girl." Arthur smiled at Lancelot. "Her father won't change my mind. It is decided."
"Thank you, my lord." Guinevere inclined her head to him, Lancelot bowed deeply, and Myfanwy almost prostrated herself on the floor.
Lancelot's heart nearly burst with love for the queen. Nevertheless, Lancelot strove to keep from showing her feelings. She merely bowed and said, "Thank you, my Lord Arthur. Thank you, Lady Guinevere."
"I am glad you have so much concern for women, Lancelot," the queen said, smiling at her. "We share that concern. Myfanwy deserves to make her own choices. I do so admire brave women."
Lancelot bowed again. "I must go and tell the men not to be overly friendly to Cornelius." She turned and departed. She wondered whether an open love could possibly hurt as much a covert one. Every moment that she was near Guinevere, Lancelot feared that the queen would catch her off guard and she would reveal the love that must be hidden.
Later that day, Guinevere stopped her walk across the courtyard to speak with Lionors, who had a child in tow as usual.
Lancelot passed them, and Guinevere smiled warmly.
"Good afternoon, Lady Guinevere, Lady Lionors." Lancelot bowed her head.
"Lancelot rescued a girl just this morning," Guinevere said, trying to keep her voice as warm as the occasion required but no warmer. She wanted to kiss Lancelot's cheek.
"How splendid!" Lionors exclaimed.
"It was merely what needed to be done, my ladies. I must go to fighting practice now." Lancelot bowed her head once more.
Guinevere watched her walk away.
"Don't put that in your mouth, dear," Lionors said, taking a fruit that someone must have dropped on the cobbles from the small girl whose hand she held. "How handsome Lancelot is." She inclined her head in the direction the warrior had just gone. "And such a good man. Which of the girls do you think would make a good wife for him?"
Guinevere sucked in her breath. "I cannot think of any. I'm sure he can find a wife for himself, if he wants one."
"Not inclined to be a matchmaker, are you?" Lionors wiped her daughter's face, which needed it. "I've almost given up trying to find a wife who would suit Gawaine, but I thought Lancelot might be easier to please."
"I doubt it." Guinevere shook her head. "How are you, little one?" she asked Lionors's child. It was certain that Lionors would gladly turn the conversation to children.
The child pulled a fistful of crushed flowers from her apron and handed them to Guinevere. Guinevere smiled at her and banished the thought of Lancelot loving anyone other than herself.
As he crossed the courtyard, Gawaine laughed at the sight of a couple of serving boys fighting each other with broomsticks.
"Reminds you of your childhood, doesn't it?" he said to Lancelot, who walked beside him. Lancelot walked a bit stiffly, as usual.
There was no glimmer in Lancelot's eyes. "I never played with boys."
Gawaine felt a surge of pity and averted his face so his feelings wouldn't show. He remembered many games with his brothers on the shores of Orkney and in the hills of Lothian. No wonder Lancelot was so solemn. A good man, but not very lively, almost more like an old man than a young one.
He grabbed Lancelot by the shoulder. "Let's challenge each other, always at unexpected moments. It will be good practice for hidden dangers."
Lancelot nodded, though his face still showed little expression. "Very well, if it's good practice."
The boys saw Cai approaching them, dropped the broomsticks so he wouldn't scold them for denuding the brooms, and scampered off around a corner.
"Just don't interrupt me when I'm with a woman," Gawaine added, though he was sure Lancelot would never do such a thing.
"But Gawaine, that's nearly all the time," Lancelot said, finally with a faint trace of a smile.
"How true." Gawaine fingered his beard and sighed as if being with women was a great burden that he shouldered reluctantly.
"You should spend a little more time with them yourself. Many of them steal glances at you."
Paling, Lancelot shook his head.
Poor Lancelot probably was shy with women because he feared to show he was circumcised, Gawaine thought. True, not every woman would be understanding.
That night when Lancelot was descending the stairs from the king's room, Gawaine stepped out of the shadows to issue a challenge. Lancelot leapt into a fighting stance, and they fought up and down the stairs. Other warriors wanting to use the stairs stood grumbling at the top and the bottom, but Gawaine laughed at them.
The next night, Gawaine had drunk enough mead to make his step a little less steady than usual – which was a great deal of mead. Lancelot challenged him as he left the great hall.
"So you would be proud to defeat a drunken sot," Gawaine jested, drawing his sword. The game had necessitated wearing a sword at times when he normally would not.
Lancelot smiled and appeared to be on the brink of laughter.
Gawaine staggered, pretending to be more affected by the mead than he actually was, and fought in that manner.
The serving people carrying trenchers out of the great hall ducked around them, but some stopped and cheered.
His brother Agravaine complained to him that such play-fighting was undignified for one of the king's warriors, but Gawaine merely laughed. He knew he had proved himself too often to have to worry about dignity, which was a concern only for mediocre warriors like Agravaine.
On another day, Gawaine had gone to get a little pie before supper, only to find that Lancelot had followed him. As they leapt around the kitchen, the serving people stopped their work and called out, "Get him, Lancelot!" "Pummel him, Gawaine!" Even the young man turning a haunch of mutton on a spit stopped turning, letting it burn on one side. A burned smell mingled with the scents of baking honey cake, roasts, and stews. Lancelot backed Gawaine into an open sack of flour, and a white cloud of the stuff flew up, covering him.
Cai burst in and shouted, "Are you warriors or fools? Take your games out of the kitchen!"
They stopped their fight, but Lancelot was laughing so hard that tears dripped down his face.
Gawaine was pleased that he had achieved his purpose. He wiped flour off his sleeves.
Finishing her mutton flavored with mint, Lancelot listened to the conversation at the table. The night was bitter, so she was glad to be indoors near the great fire in the hall. Mulled wine warmed her. She had to take care not to imbibe too much of the hot, spiced drink.
"Let's play gwyddbwyll," Gawaine said, turning to Lancelot.
"Very well," she agreed. Her plate was now as empty as his, though his had been piled much higher.
Everyone had plenty of food at Camelot, Lancelot thought with satisfaction. Even many of the serving people were plumper than those she had seen elsewhere.
In the evenings and on the worst days of winter, the warriors sometimes played at board games. Lancelot was not good at them, because she tended to see each piece taken as a man who was killed or wounded in battle, and she became too upset.
Gawaine saw the pieces in a different way. As he played, he devised ribald jests to go with each move. His tales started by saying, "This warrior had a beautiful daughter. . ." or wife, or mistress. He made the stories a little tamer when he played with Lancelot or Bors.
"Don't be disturbed when you see the warriors taken," Gawaine told Lancelot while he made his first move. "They aren't real men."
"Of course not, but I think of how many die in battle," Lancelot sighed." Though if we keep the commandments, we may hope for a better world to come."
To her surprise, Gawaine laughed at that. "I doubt that your Christian heaven would want me, so I must hope that I shall be reborn. I got baptized for Arthur, because the bishops pressed him to have all of his men become Christian, but I care nothing about it. My brothers did the same. Not everyone who converts wants to do so." He looked at Lancelot as if he were asking a question.
Lancelot gasped at the thought that anyone could treat baptism so casually.
"Surely religion should not be a mere matter of pleasing the king, or any man."
Gawaine shrugged. "I know you care about it. If I cared about any, it would be the one my mother taught me. I go to the Masses at times, but I would never tell my so-called sins to a priest. And I have never taken the bread because I would not profane what is holy to others. But I suspect that the gods just laugh at the forms we use to address them. Let us hope they see us as more than these game pieces."
A harper began to sing, and the warriors paused to listen. The songs now told of Lancelot the Swift or L
ancelot of the Lightning Arm, as well as Gawaine the Strong. She felt the blood rush to her cheeks when the harpers praised her, but the words filled her with pride.
A bard told the tale of a king who had fooled a giant and stolen the giant's treasure. The men at the table roared their approval. "Some of us can tell tales as well as a bard, or better," Bedwyr cried in a drunken boast. "Gawaine can. Show him, Gawaine."
Flushed with pleasure as well as mead, Gawaine put down his drinking horn. "But I cannot sing; I can only speak."
“Go on, cousin," Arthur said, settling back in his chair. "Show what you can do. Tell that new tale about Lancelot."
Lancelot stiffened. What sort of tale could Gawaine have devised about her? Too many of his stories ended with the man –frequently Gawaine himself – bedding a woman.
Gawaine touched his beard, which was shining red in the glow from the many rushlights. "I shall do the best I can with my poor tale. Lancelot is such a handsome man that no one will be surprised to hear that he was a handsome infant – so handsome, indeed, that all the women wished that he was their son.
"One day his family was traveling near a lake – a large lake, shimmering in the sun. Lancelot's nurse put him down for just a moment because she had to go behind some bushes.
"Then out of the lake came an enchantress, beautiful but ageless. She appeared to be young, but in fact she was several hundred years old.
"She saw the handsome baby and knew that she must have him to raise as her own. She snatched him and carried him down beneath the lake's waters, to a magical land that she ruled. Of course she put a spell on him so that he could live beneath the lake. There he grew, far from the world, in an enchanted realm. But when he was a man, he learned that there was another, larger world, above the surface of the lake, so he left the grieving enchantress and came to live in the world of men. And that is why Lancelot is a little different from the rest of us."
"A fine tale, better than the bard's!" Arthur exclaimed, thumping Gawaine on the back. The warriors cheered.
Lancelot's face was so hot that she thought it would scorch any who came near her.
Lancelot- Her Story Page 20
