Lancelot- Her Story

by Carol Anne Douglas

  Gawaine smiled at her.

  Then he looked at Lancelot intensely, as if he were a teacher trying to instruct a slow pupil. "Women are not always kind, Lance. I fear that loving a married woman so much will lead you to suffer," he said gently.

  Shaking her head, Lancelot smiled. "Some other married woman might hurt me, but Guinevere would not. And when did you start worrying about women getting hurt by love?"

  "Today," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders.

  "I thought so." She tried to frown, but couldn't help laughing. "Loving a woman will never be safe for me. But it's worth the risk."

  She wondered whether she was returning to Guinevere's love, or was she going to lose all that she valued, that love most of all, when Morgan told Arthur her secret?

  As they rode on, they passed through hills and fields covered with a few inches of snow. Lancelot hoped that Uriens's men were nowhere near to see their tracks.

  When they were riding through the hills, Gawaine stopped his horse, dismounted and went behind some rocks.

  Realizing why he did, Lancelot laughed.

  Gawaine emerged and glowered at her.

  "There is a slight change in your behavior," she said, grinning.

  He glared at her, but it was a mock glare. "I had thought I wasn't going to tell you that I knew your secret, but you would have guessed quickly enough."

  "If you suddenly started going behind rocks and trees, I surely would have known." Lancelot couldn't restrain her laughter at the thought. "I've never understood why men aren't more modest with each other."

  "If we guessed there were women disguised as men among us, we would be. You could have warned me." He still frowned.

  "Told the greatest secret of my life just to protect your doubtful modesty? Not likely."

  She finally succeeded in subduing her mirth.

  "I thought you were a converted Jew," Gawaine said as he remounted his horse.

  "Why?" Dropping her horse's reins, Lancelot stared at him.

  "Soon after you came to Camelot, Cai told Arthur and me that you must be a Jew and didn't want to show that you were circumcised."

  Lancelot laughed with astonishment. "Circumcised! What an ingenious explanation! So Cai always saw through my disguise. I thought he might have. He must have been certain that you and Arthur wouldn't tell others you believed I was a Jew. I've heard there are places where Jews are treated badly." She felt a little ashamed because she hadn't thought much about that ill treatment. But it was far away.

  "Cai also said that Jews have difficulty growing beards," Gawaine said.

  Lancelot laughed again. "I saw Jewish merchants in Lesser Britain, and they all had beards. Cai can tell a tale as well as you can."

  After a short pause, Lancelot speculated.

  "You thought I didn't tell you I was a Jew, and you didn't mind that. So why should you care that I didn't tell you I was a woman?"

  Gawaine looked at her as if she had made a particularly foolish jest. "It made no difference to me if you were a Jew."

  "Then why should it make a difference that I am a woman?"

  Gawaine snorted, as if the comment was too ridiculous to merit a response.

  Not long before the sun would start to set, they came to a crossroads. "Someone has been following us," Lancelot said. "Only one rider, I think."

  Gawaine nodded. "I've known that for a while. I think it's your friend. I doubt that a lone warrior of Uriens's would dare to take us on."

  "I wondered about that, too, but why would Drian follow us?"

  Gawaine rolled his eyes. "Can't you guess the answer? Do you want me to leave for a while so you can speak with Drian?"

  Amazed at his tact, Lancelot said, "Why yes, in fact, that might be best. You can meet up with me again later."

  "Don't be surprised if the harper takes some time to join you. When I leave, she'll follow me."

  "Why should he?" Lancelot asked, emphasizing the "he" because that's how she thought Gawaine should refer to Drian.

  "Because he doesn't trust me." When Gawaine called Drian "he," he rolled his eyes. "I'll bet you a drink that's what he does."

  "Surely not." Lancelot shook her head, but she admitted to herself that Gawaine might be right.

  "I don't like the idea of going off too far when it's still possible that you might encounter Uriens's men. But I'll keep far enough away to not worry your friend. If he knows so much about tracking people, he would know if he was being followed."

  "I'll be safe. We can meet again tomorrow, near the next set of hills."

  "If I don't catch up with you by noon, I'll go searching."

  "Fair enough. Thank you." She nodded, pleasantly surprised at his thoughtfulness.

  "You might be more careful about the women you like," Gawaine said, adjusting his cloak. "Your so very attractive Drian stole some of Agravaine's jewels as well as his betrothed."

  Lancelot suppressed a laugh.

  "You are not surprised." Gawaine raised his eyebrows more than seemed possible. "You don't mind that he's a thief?"

  "Of course I do," Lancelot muttered. Her face was hot with embarrassment. Then she glanced at Gawaine's wrists, where the armrings had been. "You took those gold armrings from Saxons you killed."

  Gawaine's face reddened. "I took them. I did not steal them." He raised his voice. "They are trophies of war. The Saxons would have taken my jewels if they had killed me."

  "Of course," Lancelot said. "They are trophies. Perhaps Drian takes trophies, too. Would it be better if she killed the men she had taken them from?"

  "You defend him! You really are smitten. It does no good to warn you," Gawaine grumbled. "At least you should realize that when you are side by side, it is more obvious that you both are women."

  "Guinevere has said the same," Lancelot admitted. If Guinevere and Gawaine for once told her the same thing, it likely was true. "I'll see you tomorrow."

  Gawaine directed his horse onto the other rode. "Find a nice girl and get married!" he called over his shoulder.

  She wasn't sure whether he was jesting.

  Lancelot's mind was unquiet. Even the golden winter light illuminating the meadow did not soothe her, nor did the magpies charm her. Gawaine would not betray her, but was he still as much a friend as he had been? How angry was he at her deception? Why did he refrain from clapping her on the back? Would they ever again have peaceful evenings jesting beside a campfire?

  It was dark and Lancelot had camped for the night in a thicket near a stream and made a bed of broken branches. Apparently Drian had not been following after all, for Lancelot had seen no sign of the harper. A fire warmed Lancelot somewhat and she was beginning to drowse off to sleep when she heard a rider approach. She leapt up.

  "Lance?" a voice called.

  "What are you doing here?" Lancelot asked, thinking it better not to let Drian know they had realized she had followed them. "I thought you were many miles away by now."

  Drian dismounted and darted over to squeeze her shoulder. "And leave you to the mercy of that man? I followed you both. When Gawaine went off, I followed him to make sure he wasn't going to double back and attack you. When I figured he wouldn't, I came on."

  Lancelot hugged her and tousled her hair. "Gawaine backtrack and attack me? Not likely. You didn't need to worry about me. Surely you can see by now that he's a friend. And even if he had not been, I can fight at least as well, if not better."

  "And you think there's nothing I could have done to help," Drian grumbled. "I have a bow and arrows. He may have a thick hide, but I doubt that arrows bounce off it."

  Lancelot backed away from her. "Say no more. Gawaine is the last person who would ever hurt me."

  "I'm thinking that when the last person who would ever hurt you, does hurt you, it pains you worse than anything." Drian's eyes were fixed on the campfire.

  Suspecting that Drian spoke from experience, Lancelot touched her hand.

  Drian turned to her and grinned. "There are some good th
ings about your friend, I admit. He wears very fine gold." She pulled up her sleeve and looked at an armring, "And jewels, far more jewels than he needs."

  "Drian!" Lancelot exclaimed, dropping her hand. "You mustn't try to steal anything of his."

  "Don't frown at me – I can't bear it," Drian said, lowering her face in mock contrition. "I'll be content to have his gold."

  "You'd better be." Shaking her head, Lancelot sighed. There was no chance of reforming Drian.

  "But if he thought that gold was going to buy me off so I'd leave you to him, he was wrong. Not all the gold in the world would be enough for that." Drian put her hand on her knife.

  "Drian!" Lancelot gasped. "That's not what he meant at all. The gold really was a reward for retrieving Arthur's sword."

  Drian took her hand off the knife. "Maybe. But you'd better not talk to a man about his cock. Since Gawaine knows you're a woman, it sounds like a challenge."

  "I'm sure he knows that's not how I meant it," Lancelot said. "I'm just relearning how to talk to him."

  "Better learn quickly," Drian warned. "Any mistakes could be dangerous."

  "Yes, he's very dangerous." Lancelot bristled at the implication that she was a poor judge of people. "He's told me to find a nice girl and get married."

  Drian shrugged. "Probably because he thinks anyone else would be better than I am."

  "Very likely."

  "You don't believe he's dangerous, but you didn't see the look on his face this morning when he meant to kill me." Drian's voice shook.

  Lancelot put an arm around her. "I have seen him kill, many times. Always enemies and brigands. Always when I was killing them, too. When he challenged you to fight, why didn't you send a message to me to come and help you?"

  "And risk your life? I wouldn't."

  "Oh, Drian." Lancelot held her close for just a moment. Then, afraid she was going to be untrue to Guinevere, she pulled away.

  "Have you had any food?" Lancelot asked, going over to her bag and getting out some barley bannock she had bought in the last town. She certainly wouldn't tell Drian that she was meeting up with Gawaine again the next day.

  "Thanks." Drian took a piece and munched. "And perhaps we might sleep together again?"

  Lancelot looked away. "No, I'm too tired."

  "Too tired to sleep?"

  "Too tired to do anything else. Besides, I really love Guinevere and I don't want anyone else." She let her voice show she was a little weary of saying so.

  "You shouldn't love a married woman that much, Lance," Drian protested.

  "You don't know Guinevere." Lancelot bent to stir up the fire.

  "True." Drian paused. "Please, let's just sleep in each other's arms again."

  The light from the campfire made Drian handsomer than ever.

  "Very well. But just one more night and that's all."

  "Is it so difficult to resist me?" Drian cast an appealing look her way.

  "Perhaps."

  They both laughed. Then they stretched out their cloaks and curled up spoon fashion, both clothed, and did nothing more. But, remembering that Gawaine could have killed Drian, Lancelot held her tighter than she otherwise might have.

  The stars in the winter sky were so low that they seemed not much higher than a roof. Lancelot lay awake for a long time. She sensed Drian was awake, too, but feared to say anything.

  Finally, she asked, "Drian, who betrayed you?"

  "My father." Drian's voice choked. "And my brother. Both of them."

  "Oh, Drian." Lancelot held her tight.

  "I told you I was able to outrun all the men who've pursued me, but that wasn't true."

  "I was afraid that was so." Lancelot stroked her hair. Tears streamed down both of their faces. Being true to Guinevere felt like being false to Drian. But no, it would be even worse to make love to Drian and then leave her. Lancelot wished she could heal every wound. Why was there so little that she could do?

  After a long time, Lancelot heard Drian breathe the breath of sleep. The next morning, Drian kissed her cheek in parting and said, "When we next meet, will I save you, or will you save me? Or will we just entertain each other?"

  Lancelot was not so pleased at seeing her go off alone, for it was uncertain when their paths would cross again. And saddest of all, Drian might never meet someone who loved her as Lancelot and Guinevere loved each other.

  Was it ever difficult for Guinevere to love? Lancelot wondered. Did Guinevere, living a life of luxury and safety, understand what it was to be fond of someone else and forgo that for love?

  Lancelot decided she might tell Guinevere that Drian had helped her escape from the dungeon, but thought it would be better to leave out the part about spending two nights in Drian's arms, and not to mention anything about encountering Gawaine. Guinevere would not be pleased that Gawaine knew Lancelot was a woman. How strange it was that Guinevere distrusted him so much.

  Guinevere tried to read one of her books, but the words blurred on the page. What if Morgan, before she received her letter, had already sent Arthur a message saying that Lancelot was a woman?

  Nothing would ever be the same. Arthur would treat Lancelot very differently, and he would treat Guinevere very differently.

  Likely they would have to leave. Where would they go? Probably to Lancelot's home in Lesser Britain. What would it be like?

  They would probably have to leave in haste. Would Arthur pursue them? Even though he would know Lancelot was a woman, it would appear that a man was running away with his wife, and Arthur might feel he had to pursue them to avenge his honor. Would Arthur or his men kill Lancelot?

  She dismissed that thought as too terrible. She should make a plan in case one was needed. She would not be able to take her books, nor would she be able to buy many others, because books were costly and she would be much less wealthy than she had ever been. She would take the jewels she had inherited from her mother, but should she take any that Arthur had given her? She didn't want to, but Lancelot was not rich, and they might need to sell the jewels.

  Guinevere's Grayse rubbed at her ankles. She would not be able to take the aging cat.

  In the corner, Fencha was humming while she worked on a new cloak for Guinevere. Fencha was too old to flee with them. Guinevere sighed. She would miss Fencha, and Fencha would miss her. What would it be like to no longer be queen? And worse than not a queen. Everyone would see her as Lancelot's whore. Men would leer at Guinevere when Lancelot wasn't looking, and no woman would befriend her.

  What would she do? There would be no girls to find husbands for, no ladies to comfort in sickness and chat with. There would be no tax records to study – yes, she would actually miss that. No Cai sitting across the room to make witticisms. No one would ask Guinevere's advice about policy, or about anything.

  "Lady Guinevere, I didn't finish the chapter you assigned me," Talwyn said, bouncing into the room. She pretended to hang her head, but her voice had a lilt to it.

  Talwyn could not come with them! Guinevere sucked in her breath. She would have to leave Talwyn. She couldn't bring herself to look at the girl, and could barely speak to her.

  "That's good. Sit down and work on the chapter now."

  How would Talwyn bear such desertion? Who would comfort the girl? Who would see it to it that Talwyn was not married off to a man she did not want? Guinevere wished she could call on Lionors to look after the girl, but she could not tell anyone there was a chance she would have to flee. Lancelot's sex would still be a secret, so Lionors would never know why they had run away. Talwyn would never know why she had been abandoned.

  Forgive me, Talwyn, but I love Lancelot more, Guinevere thought. Her hand tore the vellum she was holding.

  Lancelot would miss Camelot so much. Lancelot was used to having so many companions. Lancelot would be lonely. Would she be bored if she had only Guinevere? Would Lancelot tire of their love?

  If Lancelot had to leave, was it possible that she would not want to take Guinevere? The thoug
ht brought a stab of pain through Guinevere's whole body. No, if Lancelot left her, that would be too much to bear.

  Guinevere jumped up from her chair.

  "It's nearly mid-day, so the morning's chill must have dissipated. We should get some exercise. Come, Talwyn, let's go to the stables and ride."

  "It's still cold, Lady Guinevere," Talwyn whined. "And you said I should work on this chapter."

  "A sound mind needs a sound body. Come." Guinevere swept across the room. She could sit and think no longer.

  As they rode out, the wind blew through their hair. Guinevere rode into it, pleased at any distraction.

  "My face will be red, and I'll get the ague," Talwyn complained as she tried to make her horse keep up with Guinevere's.

  "Nonsense, a little fresh air will improve your health."

  Someone was riding far behind Talwyn. Guinevere saw the horseman who had long followed her. How dare he pursue her when Talwyn was with her! Guinevere wished she had a spear and was able to cast it at him. Without letting Talwyn know what she had seen, Guinevere said they could enter the woods to escape the howling wind. As usual, the horseman did not follow her into the woods.

  As promised, Gawaine appeared around noon. "The harper did follow me," he proclaimed. "You owe me a round at the next tavern."

  "With as much you drink, that will probably cost me all the money I have," Lancelot answered.

  "The harper..."

  "Don't say another word about Drian!" Lancelot cried.

  "I shall be silent." This time, Gawaine moved his horse ahead of hers and urged it to go faster than Raven.

  He said nothing about Drian, and not much about anything else, for the rest of the day. Lancelot felt less than cheerful.

  That night they camped by a stream, but they did not jest while they ate what little food they had left.

  "Will you tell Guinevere that I know you're a woman?" Gawaine asked, wiping crumbs from his beard.