She longed to challenge Gawaine to a fight, but knew that she could not. When they left the table, she accosted him in the courtyard. The moon was bright enough to illuminate his face.
She grabbed his arm. "How dare you make up such a tale about me!"
Gawaine stared at her. "What ails you? It's a good tale. It flatters you, and there's nothing coarse about it."
"It makes me seem not human!" Lancelot's voice was low, but it showed her displeasure.
"Not human?" Gawaine shook his head. "Don't be foolish. No one could ever think such a thing. Why, I've told tales saying that I have been a selkie, changing to a seal and living in the sea off Orkney."
"Tell such tales about yourself, if you like, but not about me," Lancelot demanded, not calmed.
He shrugged. "If it matters so much to you, I'll cease telling the story about you."
"Pray do so," she said, and stalked away, furious that he had suggested she was different from the others, though he little knew how dangerous that could be for her.
Merlin paid little attention to Lancelot, or to anyone. He seemed to be communing with himself and whatever spirits spoke to him. He never looked at her when she sat at the table. Indeed, when he sat there, he generally stared into space. He ate little.
Was he just a seer of visions, who existed in some nether world, with no fleshy substance to him? Lancelot wondered.
Once Merlin encountered her walking about alone on the ramparts. Staring at her, he muttered, "Truly, no man is as brave as you are."
He shook his head as if he were in the presence of a mystery that was beyond his power of understanding.
She shuddered.
But to her relief, he did nothing worse. It might be that he saw that she was a woman, but if so, he apparently did not tell anyone.
Even though Lancelot did not speak much with her, Guinevere still rejoiced at the sight of the long, handsome face framed with black hair and the deep brown eyes that refused to meet her gaze.
The sound of Lancelot's voice was much sweeter than anyone else's, even when the warrior said only "God grant you good day, Lady Guinevere."
When she said "good day" in return, Lancelot often blushed. And often at the round table – and even at Mass – Guinevere would look up and see that Lancelot was gazing at her. Whether Guinevere pored over the tax records or did a little sewing with the ladies, she thought about how she could woo Lancelot. She would have tried charms or spells if she thought they could win Lancelot's love, but she doubted that they were any more effective than prayers. And surely she could not pray for success in adultery.
How could anyone possibly be as good as Lancelot? Guinevere wondered. So kind, so handsome. Many of the women and girls stared at Lancelot, but only Guinevere knew something of who Lancelot truly was. Therefore, Guinevere was not jealous of the others. Lancelot blushed only when Guinevere spoke, not when other women did. And when Guinevere tried to touch her, Lancelot almost jumped. The years did not change that reaction.
Sometimes Guinevere wished that Lancelot wore the clothes of a woman, for it would be easier to ask a lady of the court to share her room and then embrace her. But how could a lady refuse marriage? Guinevere could not imagine Lancelot married to a man, and certainly did not want to picture that.
16 A Most Courteous Warrior
Guinevere visited the stable ten times a day because her mare, Shining Star, was about to foal. The mare moved about restlessly, getting up and lying down, rolling, and then getting up and lying down again. On the night when the birth was expected, Guinevere left the great hall as soon as possible after supper and hurried to the stable.
Births frightened her. She always said extra prayers when one of her ladies or serving women was lying in. Now she feared for Shining Star because it was the mare's first birth.
Guinevere twisted her hands. Why did she allow her mare to be bred? She should never have let Arthur persuade her. Shining Star was old for a first birth.
Guinevere entered the dark stable, lit only with a few lanterns.
"How is Shining Star?" she asked Cuall, the grizzled stablemaster.
"Have no fear, Lady Guinevere. She is doing well."
Guinevere went to Shining Star's stall. The mare was sweating, so Guinevere rubbed her down and spoke to her.
There was a clamor in another part of the stable. The stablemaster appeared at the stall. In a breathless voice, he said, "One of our finest war stallions has had a fit of madness and injured two of my men. The stallion also hurt himself thrashing around. I have subdued him, but I must see to my men and the horse."
"Who will help Shining Star?" Guinevere's voice was frantic. Her heart pounded.
"Do not worry, my lady," said a familiar voice. "I have watched many mares give birth. I can do anything that is needed."
Lancelot stepped into the stall, approaching the mare slowly.
"Can you truly?" Guinevere had never been happier to see Lancelot, but had never felt so uncertain about Lancelot's skill.
"The Lord Lancelot has spent much time with the horses, your highness, and he has often visited your mare to see how she is faring. He will be equal to anything that needs doing," Cuall said. "By your leave, I must go." He turned away.
"Of course you worry about your mare, but I believe that all will be well." Lancelot actually touched Guinevere's arm, which gave her a warm feeling. She wished Lancelot had touched her at other times and offered more than reassurance.
The mare lay down and moved differently.
After a time, Guinevere said, "Her labor seems long."
"It is. A mare's labor is normally short."
Lancelot's voice was calm but serious. "The foal's position may be the problem."
Though Guinevere's every nerve tensed, she murmured soothing words and hoped that Shining Star noticed them.
Lancelot shoved up her sleeves, moved closer to the mare, and was midwife to her, thrusting her hands in to help. Guinevere feared for her mare, but she also worried that one of the hooves might strike Lancelot.
The foal began to emerge, hind legs first. Guinevere worried that it might die, but even more that her mare would.
The labor was long and long.
Finally, the entire foal emerged. It was a colt. Guinevere prayed that it would stand. She was so pleased that the birth was over that she scarcely noticed the blood smell.
Shining Star licked the colt, and after what seemed a long time, he stood. The mare rose also, and the cord broke naturally. She continued licking the colt and nuzzling him.
Lancelot looked at Guinevere and smiled. Guinevere, feeling weak, smiled with all her heart.
Lancelot washed her hands and arms in water from a bucket. "It will be some time before the afterbirth comes. I shall wait if you need to go and rest."
"I couldn't bear to leave her now. I shall stay until everything is completed."
"Very good, my lady." Lancelot smiled at her again and wiped sweat from her own brow. "Giving birth is worse than a battle," she said. "I am glad that I shall never have to do it."
"So am I," Guinevere said. "I had rather see this foal than an infant."
Lancelot's eyes widened. She stared at Guinevere, then looked back at the mare. "I am glad to be of service, my lady."
"I shall never forget your kindness," Guinevere told her.
The old stablemaster approached the stall. "Did all go well?" he asked in a weary voice. "How is the foal?"
"All is well," Lancelot said. "It was a difficult birth, but all is now done except the afterbirth."
"Ah, a fine colt." Cuall nodded. "Good work, Lord Lancelot."
"How are your men and the stallion?" Guinevere asked.
"Young Pwyll died." He paused.
Lancelot made the sign of the cross.
Guinevere exclaimed, "Dreadful!"
Cuall shook his head. "It is that. He was a good man. Gwynlliw suffered only a broken arm. And I had to put down the stallion."
"I'm so sorry," Guinev
ere said, thinking of the times the young stablehands had saddled her horse. "We must see that Pwyll's family has compensation."
"It is terrible. Such a fine young man." Lancelot lowered her voice. "I shall see Gwynlliw tomorrow. You should go and rest. We will wait for the mare to pass the afterbirth."
"Yes, you should rest," Guinevere said to the old man.
"I'll look in on Gwynlliw again. Then I will." Cuall went off.
Lancelot and Guinevere waited in silence.
After a time, Shining Star passed the afterbirth.
"It is done," Lancelot said. "Shining Star will be fine."
Guinevere sighed with relief. "My good mare. I shall never have her bred again. May she enjoy this foal, for it will be her last."
Lancelot nodded. "May I escort you back to your rooms, Lady Guinevere?" Her voice held less of the special warmth it had had that night.
"You may." Guinevere felt tears coming, but managed to hold them back. She could see Lancelot retreating, and she wanted to retreat to sleep herself.
The next day, Guinevere went to the stable at a time when Lancelot was likely to be there. Lingering by Shining Star's stall was no difficulty. Guinevere looked at her with more love than ever.
Lancelot came to the stall as expected.
She bowed and said, "God grant you a good day, my lady. Your mare is looking well, and so is the foal."
Guinevere smiled as warmly as she could. "Thank you for your kind help with the foaling. I want to give you a token of my gratitude." She handed Lancelot a pearl. "This pearl came from an ornament my father gave me." Guinevere wanted to convey that it had not been a present from Arthur.
Lancelot's face flushed. She accepted the pearl, but her hand did not clasp Guinevere's. "Many thanks, Lady Guinevere. I shall place it in the bag I wear around my neck that holds my mother's ring, a relic of St. Agnes, and a token given me by an old woman who was kind to me." She bowed and turned away.
Guinevere longed to bid her not to go, but that seemed futile.
A few days later Lancelot went away on a mission for the king.
Lancelot left the king's rooms and walked to her house. The hour was late, and she had drunk more than she wanted. Gawaine's stories about the ghosts of Lothian, though entertaining, had gone on far too long. She was eager to visit her chamber pot.
Soon after Lancelot relieved herself, there was a knock at her door. She groaned. Who would want to visit her at this hour? She had never encouraged visitors to come.
She opened the door to find Cai, wearing a cloak with a hood that covered him except for his handsome face.
"Pray come in," she said, trying to keep the astonishment out of her voice.
"Thank you." He entered, cast his cloak on her bed, and sat in one of her two chairs. "Your modest dwelling reflects your taste, no doubt, but are you sure you wouldn't like a wall hanging?"
He glanced at her plain wood table and chairs, bed, and chest. Her sword and shield hung on the wall. There was a fur rug on the floor and a similar coverlet on her bed. Candles, a pitcher, and a bowl stood on her table. Her slops jar was in a corner. That was all.
"Thank you, no."
The seneschal shook his head. "Catwal could do more to make this pleasant."
"He does all that I need." Surely Cai hadn't come this late to discuss her furnishings.
"As you wish." He ran his fingers through his well-cut hair. His smile faded. "I have come to ask you a favor."
"Yes?" She couldn't imagine what he might want.
"Would you please give me some lessons in fighting? I want to enter the next fighting contest."
Lancelot stared at him. She could not have been more astonished if he had told her that he planned to serve only bread for dinner at the round table the next day. "But why?" she asked. "You have so many other skills." Everyone knew that Cai lacked prowess at fighting.
"Some of the warriors mock me, and I've had enough. I just came back from Londinium, where I made sure the merchants who sell us imported goods are reserving the best for Arthur. Earlier today I was waylaid twice."
"Did robbers dare to attack you so near to Camelot?" Lancelot jumped up from her chair. "I'll take a party of men out to find and punish them."
Cai laughed bitterly. "Hah! If only it had been brigands. It was Arthur's own men, our dear companions."
Lancelot gasped. "How could they not have recognized you?"
Cai raised his eyebrows. "Don't you ever serve wine? Give me a cup, though I'm sure it's as poor as your furnishings. I'm sore from trying to fight those curs. And of course they knew me!"
"How dare they attack you? This is shameful."
Lancelot's pulse raced, but she poured the requested wine, which indeed was unlikely to be to the seneschal's taste.
Cai drank deeply. "It's worse than I thought." He grimaced. "Monks who have taken a vow of poverty drink better. I'm sending you something halfway decent tomorrow." He nevertheless drank more. "But I'm aching so much that I'll accept even this. Don't you know that the warriors belittle me?"
"I have heard slighting remarks, it is true." Lancelot tried to make her voice calm. "They value only fighting and fail to appreciate how much skill it must take to manage the caer as you do to make their lives comfortable. But I had no idea they would try to injure you. Why would they possibly do such a thing?"
Cai sighed. "I have always believed that you were woefully ignorant, but you are even dimmer than I thought. Some of them despise me because I like men."
"Oh." Lancelot stared at him. She realized that she had somehow known that Cai was different, but she had never understood the reason.
"Oh, indeed." Cai shook his head. "Oh, and again oh. Arthur finds it puzzling, but he cares about me as his foster brother. The men who hate me don't dare show it much at Camelot because that would anger him, but when I leave, they come after me and challenge me to fight. They know well that they will hurt me. At the moment, I am sore and sorely tired. I must prepare myself to challenge them and fight. It is the only thing they understand."
Lancelot trembled with anger. "How dare they attack the seneschal, who runs all things well! How dare they attack Arthur's foster brother! How dare they attack for no good reason a man whom they know they can easily defeat!"
"They do dare. I should see that they are served wine that all the servants have spit in, or worse. But that I cannot do. I must fight, and you much teach me to do better."
Lancelot paused.
"Do you think that is a hopeless task?" Cai asked, pouring himself more wine while making a face to say it was exceedingly poor.
"I have a better plan, if you will accept it," Lancelot said. "We are nearly the same size. Let me dress as you do, wear your armor, carry your shield, and ride your horse. Then if anyone challenges me, I shall fight in your place."
Cai raised his eyebrows. "And will they believe that I could fight like Lancelot?"
"I shall fight as much in your style as possible," Lancelot explained. "Indeed we shall have lessons, but I shall watch how you move and try to imitate you."
Cai laughed much more than seemed appropriate. "You are astonishing, Lancelot. Yes, I am sure you are capable of watching to see how another moves and imitating him. I am sure you are better at that than anyone else would be. Are you certain that you have no problem with pretending to be me? What if someone discovered it was you?"
"Why should I mind?" Lancelot found his excessive amusement puzzling. "I don't like men as you do."
At this, Cai choked. "I know that." He contained himself and shook his head. "You may pretend to be me and fight anyone who seeks to fight me."
Lancelot wondered whether he might perceive that she was a woman, but she said nothing about that.
They practiced in secret a few times, and she learned to move her arms as he did.
Then Cai announced that he was going on a journey to inspect cattle for purchase. Lancelot set out, wearing Cai's heavily braided cloak over his chain mail and doused with
perfume like his, though it made her sneeze. Fortunately his helmet fit her. She carried Cai's shield with a key as its symbol, and rode his horse, which he had dubbed Taxes. She disapproved of giving horses foolish names, but Taxes was a fine gelding.
She left Camelot a little after dawn, and by midday a horse and rider blocked her path. The rider was Sangremore, one of the members of the round table whom she liked little.
"Cai, I'm giving you another chance to prove you're a man," the warrior called. He sneered.
Lancelot said nothing, but let him attack and dodged his blow.
"Good at avoiding blows now, are you? You won't avoid this one, Cocksucker."
Lancelot's blood surged with anger, but she let Sangremore come close to hitting her a few times, then struck him with a blow that looked as if it might have been struck by chance, but unhorsed him.
Sangremore raised himself from the ground, but Lancelot rode away. She proceeded for about a mile, and Agravaine ap Lot rode up to her. He called her what Sangremore had, and many other names as well. He charged her, and she turned Cai's horse away.
"Coward!" he yelled, pursuing her. She stopped Taxes suddenly, so that Agravaine's horse almost ran into the gelding. While he was reining in his horse, she attacked him and cut his right arm more than a little.
"You cut my fighting arm!" Agravaine shrieked, following that with a flow of curses.
Lancelot doubled back to Camelot. She hoped that she might have prevented more attacks on the seneschal.
The ugly words used against Cai hurt her. She sympathized with his love for men. She had heard of such things, but no one ever said that a woman might love other women. She thought herself lonelier than Cai.
Lancelot sat on a bench in the great hall, close to the fire.
It was winter, so everyone crowded there to find warmth. She was enjoying mulled wine that smelled as good as it tasted.
A harper sang of Orpheus, who tried to rescue his wife from hell. When he had finished, Lancelot decided to go off to bed.
As she was leaving the great hall, Guinevere approached her.
They stood in the doorway, alone for a moment. "Some wives may live in hell, Lancelot," the queen said in a low voice. "Would you rescue such a one?"
Lancelot- Her Story Page 21
