Lancelot traveled to Dyfed, where Aglovale's family lived. She crossed the Severn River on a ferry and found a partly restored Roman villa made of stone. A thatched roof in good repair replaced the original one, which likely had been tile. Two boys came running as soon as Lancelot and her horse appeared within sight of the villa. They stared openly at Lancelot.
“Are you an angel?” the older one asked.
Lancelot laughed. “No.”
Aglovale came out of the villa and embraced Lancelot. A few hairs in his beard had begun turning gray, though he was young for that.
"I'm glad you've come. These imps are my children, Percy and Illtud. Boys, this is Lancelot, King Arthur's famous warrior."
"Will you teach us how to fight?"
Percy, the tallest, asked eagerly. "I've heard that you're the greatest warrior in the world, and I want to become a great warrior, too."
"You'll learn to fight in time, Percy," his father said with little enthusiasm.
"Lancelot also knows the forest better than anyone else, and he can teach you many things about that."
"Yes, the forest!" Illtud shrieked.
A gentle-faced woman with straying brown hair emerged from the villa.
"This is my wife, Olwen," Aglovale said. "My dear, this is Lancelot, my old commander from the war."
Olwen smiled graciously. "You are well come.”
The boys' eyes grew wide when they rode into the forest with Lancelot. For them, the world was full of wings and paws and crawling things, and it all enchanted them. They wanted to hold every insect and follow every bird and butterfly.
In the evenings, they came home exhausted, but not too tired to tell their mother everything they had seen, and their father, too, if he had not come with them, as he sometimes did.
Lancelot learned that going about in the forest with children needed its own rhythms. They moved about in great bursts of energy that exceeded hers, then suddenly became exhausted. Sometimes a particular rock or tree caught their attention for reasons that were not apparent to her, and she had to wait while they explored it.
Lancelot told the children stories about the creatures that lived in the forest. In the evening, sitting by the fire with Aglovale, Lancelot drank the barley beer that Olwen had brewed. Wandering in the forest was all very well, but it was time to broach the reason for her visit.
"The king would like you to live at Camelot and serve him there. It is a great honor that he asks this of you."
She smiled, pleased at giving Aglovale honor.
He shook his head. "I do not like being put in a position where I must refuse the king. My life is here, with my family."
"You could bring your family to Camelot. I should have made that clear," Lancelot said, a little surprised at how quickly he refused. Who could turn down the High King's own request? She never had.
Aglovale did not hesitate. "Then my sons would doubtless become warriors and spend their whole lives fighting. Percy probably will anyway, but Illtud might not if he remains here. And Olwen is fond of running her own house. I would far rather sit at the head of my own modest table than at the king's great one. And I have vowed never to fight again. This is the life for me."
Lancelot stared in disbelief. "That is what you said at the end of the war, but now you have had a chance to rest. Your home is a pleasant one, but do you know what an honor it is to have the king ask you to serve him?"
A smile crept over Aglovale's face. "An honor that you think I should accept. Thank him graciously for me, of course.
"Nothing is more important than family, Lancelot. You would know that if you had one yourself. My wife has a younger sister, a sweet girl..."
"Not you, too! Everyone tries to find me a wife," Lancelot exclaimed, jumping up from her bench, then flushing because she feared she had been rude.
"And why not? You'd make a fine husband. It would take only a day's ride to meet her, if you'd come with me."
"I came here to persuade you to change your life, not to have you persuade me to change mine!" Lancelot said, still standing.
Aglovale laughed. "If you will stop trying to persuade me, perhaps I'll stop trying to persuade you. Seeing how happy my life is here should be all the persuasion you need. Sit down and have some more beer."
"It's getting late. I should retire," Lancelot replied.
After retreating to the room where she slept, she thought for a long time on what it might be like to live in a place of her own with Guinevere, but she could not picture taking Guinevere to Lesser Britain, nor indeed Arthur permitting it.
The next day when Lancelot walked in the woods with Aglovale and his sons, they came upon a pond that was still, except for the occasional squawk of a heron or quack of a duck.
"Let's go swimming!" Illtud cried. "Won't you swim with us, Lord Lancelot?"
"No," Lancelot said, inwardly sighing. How often she had to decline swimming.
"Oh, please, it's so hot!" Illtud begged, and Percy chimed in.
"No," Aglovale chided them. "Don't argue with Lancelot, who is kind enough to take you into the forest and teach you many things. Lancelot does not want to swim."
Lancelot walked on ahead of them, and a moment later she heard Illtud say, "But, father, I've heard him say he likes swimming very much."
"Don't question him about it," Aglovale told the boys. "Perhaps he only swims alone. Perhaps he has battle scars that he doesn't want anyone to see."
Lancelot pointed out the tracks of an otter.
"Good!" said Percy. "Let's hunt it and get an otter skin."
"No," Lancelot said, for she was particularly fond of otters. "You'll be doing enough hunting later. Now you need to watch the creatures, and imagine how it would be to live in their skins. I'll help you find an otter, if you'll promise me that you'll just watch for now."
Of course the boys promised, and she found an otter – actually three of them – and they watched them diving and chasing, and were as full of joy as the otters themselves. The otters sometimes noticed them, then dove, stuck their heads out of the water, and watched the people before resuming their play.
"I do feel as if I've lived in the skins of the animals," Percival said, bouncing like an otter.
The next day Lancelot said Aglovale might take the boys swimming as they wanted to go so much. Meanwhile, she would rest. Aglovale said he would take them to the pond where they had found the otters.
But as soon as they had gone Lancelot went to the woods by another path and headed to a different pond, where she stripped off her clothes. Hiding them behind a bush, she slipped into the water. Swallows dipped around her, and she was glad. She did not believe the tales that said they visited the devil in hell.
Cooled from the day's heat, she rose from the waters and stepped to the shore. She put on her breeches, but just as she was putting on her tunic, she heard a gasp, looked up and saw Aglovale, fully clothed, walking on the path by the pond.
He stared at her as if she were a dragon emerged from the waters. Then he quickly turned and called out, "Not this way, boys. I know a shortcut," and hurried away.
Shaking, Lancelot pulled on her clothes. Her heart was heavy. She had no fear of Aglovale, but wondered whether he would still be her friend. She walked reluctantly back along the path without enjoying flowers or trees. She had no idea how welcome a guest she would be at his villa now, but she had to return to it.
It was dusk when she arrived.
Tentatively, she entered. "Supper is almost ready," Aglovale said in a tone much like his usual one. "The boys and I had a fine swim today."
She forced herself to look him in the eye and saw the same friendly smile that she had seen many a time in the war. He shook his head as if perplexed, but still he smiled.
The supper was ordinary enough.
When the children had gone off to bed, Lancelot sat near the firepit with Aglovale and Olwen as she had on other evenings. She marveled that a man sat in the evening with his wife rather than with other
men.
Taking up her embroidery, Olwen smiled at Lancelot. "It is good that you go out in the forest with our sons. But, dear husband, why don't I go out into the forest with Lancelot and our children? You can see that the cows are milked, the straw on the floor is clean, the mead is fermenting as it should, the bread rises, the clothes are mended, and the supper is prepared, and watch that the serving woman does not sleep all day or go off to visit her young man."
"Oh, no, my dear," Aglovale said hastily. "I could never do your tasks as well as you do them."
"No doubt it would be harder for you to learn them than for Lancelot to learn how to fight," Olwen replied, casting a baleful glance at him. She smiled again at Lancelot.
Lancelot tried to return the smile. So Aglovale had told his wife. "Be assured that neither of us will reveal your secret," Aglovale said, proffering Lancelot a cup of mead. "How did you ever manage to keep hidden during the Saxon War?"
"With great difficulty. I didn't bathe during the whole course of the war. I must have smelled rank," she said, looking to see whether he would agree.
"No worse than the rest of us, I'm sure, though we plunged into streams a few times. Our smell alone would have been enough to make the Saxons faint, if they hadn't smelled still worse." Aglovale downed some mead and Olwen wrinkled her nose.
The next morning, they all ate bread and cold meats. Percy looked with puppy eyes at Lancelot.
"Lord Lancelot, could I have an adventure with you alone?" he begged.
"Very well, if your parents agree," Lancelot said.
"A dangerous adventure," Percival insisted.
"Yes, dangerous enough for a boy of ten years," Aglovale said, smiling.
"I understand," Lancelot agreed. "Shall we go on the river in a boat?" she asked the boy. "Will that be a great enough adventure?"
"Will we have to fight anyone?"
"Probably not," Lancelot admitted.
"Well, I suppose a boat ride would be interesting," the boy acknowledged.
Lancelot took him to the river, and they found a dilapidated mud-daub hut with a small boat nearby. No one came to the door when Lancelot knocked, but they heard a weak moan from within.
"We should go in," Lancelot said, leading Percy inside.
The hut was only moderately clean, and it smelled strongly of fish. An old man lay moaning on a pallet. His face was pale and gaunt.
"Are you very ill?" Lancelot asked him. "How can we help you?"
"Please bring me some water," he begged.
"Get him some water, Percy," Lancelot said as she bent over the old man. Percival found an old tin bucket and left the hut.
Can that really be an old fisherman? Percy pondered as he looked for a stream. A stream would surely have purer, more life-giving water than the nearby river. No, the man's face was too noble. Many of the apostles were fishermen, so no one should be fooled if a saint took on a fisherman's garb as a disguise. After all, this was an adventure with Lancelot of the Lake, the magical warrior, so things were not as they seemed.
This was no ordinary fisherman, but a king in disguise. A fisher king. That look of suffering on his face was too profound to come from mere physical pain. No, the king suffered from some great spiritual wound, and if he was not healed, the land around them would be laid waste. The waters would dry up and the trees would shrivel. If the fisher king was ill, all of his people would sicken.
Percy found a glistening brook, darting merrily over rocks. It must come from an enchanted fountain. This surely was the very water that would heal the king. And what he carried was no ordinary bucket. Any fool could see that it must be a magical vessel, enchanted to look like a bucket so no one would steal it. He lowered it reverently into the water and filled it. It was a holy vessel, blessed by a saint.
Percy carried the brimming vessel back to the caer, for of course this was no mud-and-wattle hut, but a stone caer that was under a spell. No, not mere stone – it was gold and silver, but only the eyes of faith could see. To prove his worth, he must bring the water to the fisher king without spilling a drop.
He entered the caer, knelt before the fisher king, and offered him the waters of life.
"Thank you. You're a good lad," the old fisherman said, and Lancelot smiled at Percy with approval. That looked to be a heavy bucket, and the boy had brought it brimming full. But why was he kneeling to the fisherman?
Lancelot talked a while with the man, learned that he had frequent pains in his thigh, and promised to find a wise woman who would know what herbs would be good for him.
"I can't take you out in the boat," the old man said. "But you can take it out yourselves."
Lancelot didn't know much about boats, but she managed to row the little coracle out onto the water for a short distance, and Percy's brown eyes shown with delight.
The day had been fair, and Lancelot was not greatly alarmed when clouds appeared in the sky. Then the clouds darkened, so she decided to row back to the shore from which they had come.
But sooner than seemed possible, rain began to fall, driven by a sudden wind. Percival laughed at the rain, but Lancelot did not. She had let the boat flow with the current, and found that rowing back against the current was far harder. The waters would not take her where she wanted to go, but pulled her onward. A surging current smashed the little leather boat against a rock, catching Lancelot's mutilated left hand against the stone. She dropped the oar.
"God's mercy!" she cried out. How could she steer the boat back to safety with only one oar? The task had been difficult enough with two. She tried to row in the direction of the lost oar, but the water dashed it far away, carrying it down the river. The little boat spun out of her control. Rain pelted down on them, filling the boat.
"Bail out the boat!" Lancelot cried to the boy.
"Don't fear, I brought the holy vessel," Percy said, scooping the water out with the old tin bucket. "This boat moves by itself," the boy exclaimed. "The Lord is taking us on an enchanted journey, perhaps as far as the Holy Land." He seemed wild with delight.
Shuddering, Lancelot tried vainly to guide the boat towards the riverbank. It was unlikely that Percy could swim well enough to navigate the surging river. She could imagine the boy's young head sinking beneath the waters.
If the boat sank, was her swimming strong enough to save both of them?
She would rather die than tell Aglovale and Olwen that she had caused the death of their beloved son.
The boat dashed onto a rock. A great hole was torn in its side. Water rushed in, and the boat began to sink.
"If the boat capsizes, hold onto me," Lancelot ordered, trying to keep her voice calm. "I'll help you get to shore."
"The Lord will save us," said Percy, still apparently unafraid.
The current brought them a little closer to the bank.
Lancelot stretched out the oar, trying to dig it into the bank. The boat was swept along, and she dropped the second oar.
"No!" she gasped. Her heart seemed to stop beating. Blessed Mother, if you do not care about saving me, at least save this innocent child, she prayed.
A massive sycamore, the largest Lancelot had ever seen, hung over the riverbank. She reached up, grabbing for a branch, and held on. "Hold me, Percy!" she yelled.
The boy grabbed hold of her, and the boat spun on without them. Percy held her fast, and the bucket was slung over his arm.
"The bough will break! Jump to shore!" Lancelot cried.
The boy jumped. She saw him land on the bank, grasping at roots to keep from slipping into the waters. She jumped, and heard the branch crack just as she let go. She thudded against the bank, but she managed to get hold of roots and pull herself up. Percy still hung from the roots, but she grasped his arms and dragged him to safety.
The rain stopped as suddenly as it had started.
"I saved the holy vessel!" Percy said, picking up the bucket, which had spun onto the bank when he jumped. "The enchanted boat may go as far as the Holy Land. I wish we could go
with it, but I suppose I wouldn't want to leave my family without saying farewell."
The boat was carried out of their sight.
Lancelot thought it would soon sink, but she kept her thoughts to herself. She lay on the bank, gasping with relief.
"The Lord has cared for us." Percy still seemed unafraid.
Lancelot nodded, wondering whether he was saintly or just foolish. She staggered to her feet.
"Now we shall have to walk back. And pay someone to make a new boat for the fisherman. He may be too weak to build another himself," she said, feeling wretched at losing the man's source of livelihood.
"I must return the holy vessel to the fisher king," Percy said, smiling. "He must have known that the enchanted boat would leave him."
Keeping near the riverbank, they made their way through brush and bracken back to the simple hut.
They passed the hut of a crone, and Lancelot asked her to visit the old fisherman and bring him her best medicines. She promised to do so.
The sun shone again, and their clothes were half dry by the time they had visited the old fisherman, paid him for the boat, returned the bucket, and made their way back to Aglovale's villa.
Percival's words spilled out before Lancelot say anything.
"It was a great adventure," he told his brother and his parents. "We went to the caer of the fisher king, who lay sick. He needed a drink from a holy vessel, and I got it for him. Then we rode in an enchanted boat that moved by itself."
"But there was a storm!" Olwen protested, putting her hand out to feel his damp clothing. "Were you out on the river then?"
Lancelot nodded and sighed. "But we are safe now, thank St. Peter and all the apostles who were fishermen." She collapsed onto a chair.
"Change your clothes, Percy," his mother said.
"And you should, too, Lancelot," she added.
Guinevere asked Luned to bring her honeycakes, and the serving woman went off to get some. Fencha raised her eyebrows. She did not say that Guinevere had eaten very well at the round table only a little while before.
Lancelot- Her Story Page 36
