“Why, that bitch! How dare she!”
“You see what I mean? Is that natural?”
“You think she traffics with the old ones, too? The daughter of Leodegrance and Guenlian, those paragons of Roman Christianity? The fog here must have gotten into your brain.”
“Think about it! She doesn’t age, doesn’t bear children, and we know, don’t we, that neither her husband nor her lover is impotent. She does nothing special, and yet everyone adores her. I’ve seen perfectly sane men practically come to blows over who will escort her to dinner. Even the women have nothing bad to say about her. And I know that envoys have come to Camelot determined to win concessions from Arthur and, after one evening with Guinevere, have given him anything he wanted. Is that natural?”
“No, I suppose not. But it doesn’t seem possible that she could be doing it herself. Do you know,” Morgause added with rising excitement, “it sounds like something entirely different. It’s the sort of spell that the old priestesses used to put on the children they intended for sacrifice, so that they would not be damaged before it was time for the offering. If that’s so, then somehow the time passed without the sacrifice being made. This is fascinating! I never really believed that they worked. Although, certainly it should not last so long after the appointed time. It must be wearing thin by now. Yet, it might account for her looking so young.”
“Do you think she knows about it?”
“I doubt it. Innocence in the victim is necessary for that kind of ritual. Something has gone askew. I really must contact some of my friends about this.”
“Yes, and ask them what we can do about it. It may be the way to deliver the final blow to Arthur. If we can remove Guinevere and her influence . . . ah, my dear, I’m beginning to get an idea.” Modred rose with a suddenness that sent Morgause to the floor.
“Get up from there!” he snapped. “We have work to do.”
• • •
Gawain and Lancelot had decided to travel together, at least at the beginning. Gareth had taken it with bad grace. He said that Gawain’s infirmity would slow them down, especially as summer waned, and that he wasn’t serious enough about the quest anyway. But he really meant that Lancelot and Gawain were such good friends that Gareth would be left out, relegated to building fires and fetching water. However, Lancelot’s decisions were unquestionable in Gareth’s mind so he endured his brother’s good humor and flamboyance as best he could.
They set off into the western mountains. Among them were hundreds of uncharted valleys. If one wanted to hide a castle in one of them, it could stay hidden for centuries.
Late one afternoon, they entered one of those valleys. It was lush with summer growth. There was a cluster of huts at one end and a large stone-and-wood castle at the other. In between were small plots of grain, roped off to keep out the horses which seemed to be free to graze anywhere else they wished.
“What beautiful animals!” Gareth exclaimed. “Arthur should know about this place. Perhaps we can do some trading here.”
“It looks pleasant enough,” Lancelot agreed. “Shall we risk asking for a night’s lodging at the castle?”
“Why not?” Gawain yawned. “The worst they can do is turn us away. But let’s hurry; I don’t want to spend another night sleeping in a nettle patch.”
Gareth cringed. “I said I was sorry. It was so dark when we stopped that I couldn’t see what kind of plants they were. I tried to put you someplace comfortable.”
Their welcome at the castle was more than they hoped for. Arthur’s fame had spread far, and even the names of Lancelot and Gawain were well known. To Gawain’s embarrassment, the story of the Green Knight had been told there recently, by a wandering bard.
“Of course, of course!” their host chortled. “Goodness! You’re even bigger than the stories say! Well, have your slave take the horses to the stable and I’ll show you to the dining hall.”
Gareth stiffened and looked to Lancelot for aid, but Gawain was even more indignant. It was one thing to ignore one’s brother in the family but quite another to have him insulted by a stranger.
“We have no slaves!” he thundered. “This is my brother, Sir Gareth, a most respected and worthy knight of the Round Table. You should beg his pardon immediately, before we are forced to take umbrage!”
As Gareth gaped in amazement at his brother’s sudden defense and wondered what the hell umbrage was, the startled lord bustled around wringing his hands and stammering his apologies. Coming to himself, Gareth graciously forgave him and amity was restored.
The food was excellent, fresh game and vegetables with honey-dipped fruits and breads to end the meal. Their host was eager for news of the outside world and their quest for the Grail. But he shook his head sadly, when asked if he had heard of it.
“We know little of what happens outside the valley. Traders and storytellers pass through in the summer and we learn what we can from them, but no one has mentioned anything like that magic. And if anyone less distinguished than yourself had told me of it, I would have dismissed it as just another tale.”
At the end of the meal, as was the custom, the lady of the house showed the knights to their rooms. Gareth and Lancelot were left in a small room near the main hall. Gawain was barely able to stumble after the lady as she led him to a richly furnished corner room, with elaborate wall hangings and large windows, facing east. He mumbled his thanks and fell onto the bed, leaving the poor woman to assume that, for all the tales told about his feats, the great Sir Gawain could not hold his liquor. She mentioned it to her husband.
“Why couldn’t we have chosen Sir Lancelot?” she demanded. “I don’t like sending her in there with a drunk.”
“There’s no way he could harm her,” her husband remonstrated. “And Sir Lancelot insisted on staying with Sir Gareth. He seemed afraid that we would board him with the animals otherwise.”
“Well, I might have. That Sir Gareth certainly doesn’t look like a knight. And I don’t believe for a moment that he’s really related to Sir Gawain. Oh, I do hope it works this time! I just hate the mess of it all. And it would be nice to be connected to the rulers of Cornwall.”
Dawn touched the windows of Gawain’s room the next morning. He opened his eyes, knowing there was no way he could sleep a little longer. But he was sure that no one but the kitchen drudges would be awake so early. He sighed and stretched, wondering why his host had chosen to decorate the room by hanging a three-foot sword directly over the bed. As his arm came down, he struck something soft. There was a muffled yelp.
Cautiously, he turned his head to see what was lying next to him. His brothers and friends had put some odd things in with him before, from a suckling pig to a snake. Slowly, he peeled back the covers.
“Hello!” The girl smiled at him, but it took him a moment to notice. The first thing that caught his eye was the fact that she was stark naked. It didn’t look like one of Gareth’s tricks. The girl made no effort to cover herself but went on talking.
“You certainly are a heavy sleeper. I’ve been trying most of the night to wake you up. I got all your clothes off and you didn’t even blink.”
Gawain sighed. That was the way things had been going for him, lately. There was no point in explaining.
“Well,” he said. “I’m awake now.”
“That’s true,” she replied, and pressed against him. Gawain’s eyes lit up. Perhaps his luck was changing.
He had only just rolled on top of her when he heard a snap. Grateful, for once, for his morning strength and agility, he managed to deflect the falling sword with no more than a gash on his arm.
“Oh, are you hurt?” the girl asked calmly. “That was very good. Why don’t we tie up your arm and finish what we were doing before my father comes?”
Gawain started to protest and then shrugged. Good offers didn’t come his way as often as they used to.
He became so enthusiastic that he didn’t hear the door open an hour later.
“My God! Alia! What are you doing?”
Gawain looked up. He looked down again.
“Are you Alia?” he whispered. She nodded.
Yes. Life was going normally after all.
In a few seconds it appeared that everyone in the castle had heard the news and managed to squeeze into the room with them. Alia had cravenly taken the blanket to wrap around herself and so Gawain was left trying to get into his pants and answer the outraged questions of her father and mother. He got a glimpse of Lancelot, looking embarrassed and highly confused, and Gareth, looking smug.
“My poor baby!” the lady moaned. “How could you come here and take our hospitality and then seduce my sweet child? Oh, how awful! Her virgin blood all over!”
“Wait a minute!” Gawain hollered. “That’s my blood! She certainly wasn’t any . . . And that reminds me. What do you mean by hanging a whacking great sword over the bed where it could fall and kill someone?”
“Gawain, how could you complain? After all those things you said to me?” Alia started to cry.
“Lancelot! Help!” Gawain yelled.
Lancelot was trying to understand what was going on. At first, knowing Gawain’s reputation, he was inclined to believe that he had brought this on himself. Then he remembered the accusations which had followed after he had been drugged and lured into bed with Elaine. Gawain had taken his part then. He could do no less.
“My Lord.” He pushed through the crowd to Alia’s father. “I’m sure there’s some misunderstanding here. Sir Gawain could not have . . .”
“Oh, yes he could! I saw him, myself. Furthermore, the sword didn’t kill him the way it did all the others, so, clearly,* he was meant to marry Alia.”
“Marry!” Gawain yelped.
“What others?” Lancelot asked at the same time.
“It’s a family tradition. If a man can lie all night with my daughter and not molest her, then he’s worthy to be her husband. But if he tries anything, the sword immediately falls upon him and kills him. Sir Gawain is the only one who survived. And, since it is clear that he and Alia have already consummated the match, it only remains for me to marry them, this afternoon, in the main hall.”
The next moment everyone, including Alia, had left to prepare for the wedding. Lancelot and Gareth looked at Gawain, who was still struggling back into his clothes.
“This is worse than the Green Knight,” he said flatly. “Then I only thought I would lose my head.”
“Look, I can sneak around to the stables, get the horses, and we can be gone in half an hour,” Gareth offered.
“What do you think?” Gawain asked Lancelot.
“You know very well that’s what I did in the same situation.” Lancelot was profoundly uncomfortable. “I think you’ve been tricked here as cruelly as I was then. You got the horses for me, as I remember.”
“It isn’t the same, old friend.” Gawain swung his boot from hand to hand as he thought. “I made no vow of chastity and no one drugged me. I woke up. The girl was there. I had an hour before breakfast. It was nothing that hasn’t happened before. Hell, she seems nice enough, and I’m getting old for this. If I can take her back to Camelot with me, I guess I may as well marry her.”
He laughed at the dropped jaws in front of him.
“Come on. See if you can find me something proper to wear and then some food. I want a last meal.”
Even though Lancelot assured the people of the castle that their prize was not going to run, they hurried through the fastest wedding ever devised. Gareth and Lancelot stood dumbfounded as they watched Gawain and Alia take their vows. Afterwards they were persuaded by the happy couple to wait until the next day to continue the search for the Grail. Gawain, of course, had to take his bride back to Camelot before he could go on.
The next morning Alia’s parents wept as she bade them good-bye.
“I thought we could keep you forever,” her mother sniffed. “The sword seemed invincible.”
“Mother! Do you know what it was like having men sliced to death on top of me? Some of those stains never came out. You should be happy for me, married to practically the greatest warrior in Britain.”
Gawain mentally vowed to visit his in-laws as little as possible.
“Gareth and I are going to Llanylltud Fawr, to see if St. Illtud knows anything about the Grail,” Lancelot told him. “If you decide to follow us, go there first. We’ll leave a message for you there. Good luck, Gawain! And to you, Alia!”
After they left the valley, Gawain noticed that his new wife seemed preoccupied. She couldn’t seem to keep her mind on what she was doing when they made love after the noon meal. She kept looking around, as though expecting something to jump out at her.
“Poor thing,” he thought. “She’s never been away from home before. It must all be very frightening for her.”
But, late in the afternoon, a horseman appeared, riding from the opposite direction and galloping toward them. He carried a very sturdy-looking spear and had a sword at his side. Alia screamed as he came closer, his arm raised to launch the spear at Gawain.
The spear didn’t worry Gawain; he could tell from the way the man threw it that it would go wide. He drew his sword reluctantly, though. He didn’t really feel like killing anyone today.
The man made the mistake of waiting to see where the spear went and Gawain was on him at once. He had wanted only to disarm his attacker, but he was stronger than Gawain had anticipated and he had to parry a few clumsy strokes first, before the man was unhorsed. From the ground, he continued to make a determined, if inept, effort to skewer Gawain. But, finally, the sword clattered down and Gawain raised his to demand surrender. He started to bring it down when Alia, whom he had completely forgotten, threw herself in front of the robber. With a wrench, Gawain managed to turn the blade.
“What are you doing?” he asked her reasonably.
“How dare you try to hurt him! You horrible bully! You think because you’re one of Arthur’s knights that you can do anything you want!”
Gawain shook his head to clear it, but still nothing made sense. Alia was trying to remove the man’s helmet, to check for bruises. Gawain’s opponent was trying to get up.
“Stop it, Alia! He didn’t hurt me!” The man brushed her away. He reached for his sword, but Gawain’s foot was there first. He tapped it against the metal as he considered the pair.