Lancelot lifted his head. He hadn’t quite followed what Gareth was saying.
“Oh, hello, Gareth. Good to see you again. What was that about Guinevere?”
“Oh, nothing. The ladies say she’s up in her bed now, crying herself ill because of Galahad. Isn’t that ridiculous? Galahad was a hero. He found the Grail. He won! She never did have much sense. Well, we’re rid of her. I’m glad you’re not tangled up in all that. There’ve been some strange stories going around about her. You escaped just in time.”
He leaned against the wooden pillar, smiling. He was unprepared to have Lancelot rise all in a motion beside him and grab his shoulders hard.
“Gareth, what are you talking about? Who’s with Guinevere now?”
“I don’t know. No one, I guess. Lydia is feeding the children and Risa is off somewhere with Cheldric. His nose has been out of joint since she took up with Modred. I guess while he’s gone, she’s making it up to him.”
Lancelot didn’t care about Cheldric’s nose.
“She shouldn’t be by herself. What’s the matter with them?”
He released Gareth and hurried out. Gareth sat in the dusk for a while, suspicion growing in him that Lancelot’s cure was not yet complete. In that case, it was up to him to see that his idol came to no harm.
There was an empty bowl on a tray outside the door but no one in the anteroom when Lancelot entered. He knocked on the chamber door.
“Please, I’m fine. I don’t need anything. I just want to be alone. I’ll be fine in the morning, I promise.” She sounded controlled, but only barely.
“Guinevere, may I come in?” He knew he didn’t need to identify himself.
The door opened and she was in his arms.
His fingers caught in the disheveled mass of her hair and jerked her head back. He looked into her red-rimmed eyes and forgot every vow he’d ever made. Without a word, he turned and barred the door.
• • •
Late that night, the guard on duty let in a group of men dressed in priests’ robes. It was irregular but they had a pass token from Sir Modred, and Sir Sagremore and Sir Perredur came to the gate and vouched for them. The guard had meant to save the token, in case he was questioned, but in the morning it was gone and Sir Modred denied ever issuing it.
Guinevere sighed and nestled more securely against Lancelot’s body. His fingers traced a spiral across her cheek and down her neck.
“He was our son, wasn’t he, Lancelot?” she asked.
“Yes. Only ours.”
“It won’t ever stop hurting, will it?”
“I don’t see how it can, but we can keep him always in our hearts. As we hold each other.”
Her arms went around him again.
“I couldn’t have borne it to lose you both.”
“He knew that. I wanted to go with him. But I realize now that, if I had crossed the portal, I would have had to come back for you, however long it took.”
“I would have been waiting at the gate.”
They lay quietly awhile, tired, but not willing to lose each other in sleep. The candlelight flickered over them as if leaving a benediction.
The door below them slammed and there was the crashing of a score of booted feet. Lancelot sat up, automatically untangling his legs from the blankets.
“What is it?” Guinevere’s voice shook.
“Nothing good. Where’s my sword?”
“You left it in the anteroom.”
He swore at himself. “All right then, here, throw this on!” He scrambled into his trews and was fumbling with the cords when the pounding came on the door.
“Open! Vile witch and seductress! We know you have your paramour in there! Open and face the King’s justice!”
“The King? Arthur wouldn’t . . .” Guinevere stopped in bewilderment.
“Of course not,” Lancelot snapped. “Don’t unbar the door. Blast! There must be at least a knife in here! Hurry! They’ve got an axe! Do you think you can climb down the trellis?”
She went out to the balcony and peered down. A cry went up.
“There are men down there, too. Lancelot, what’s happening?”
“Treachery. I can’t fight them all and they know it, but I can hold them off. You must get away.”
“Where? Who are they? Why are they calling me those names!” She was becoming hysterical.
He stopped his frantic search and held her. He was more frightened than he had ever been in his life, but he had to calm her. The axe was splintering the door; in another moment, they would be in. His brain was spinning. He wished someone had trained him for a situation like this. Gawain would have known. How could he have left his sword out of reach! Idiot! Their only hope was that the noise would waken others and someone would come to help.
The bar split under the axe and the door crashed open. Three men jumped at Lancelot, their weapons raised. He spun Guinevere away from him and picked up a small table to shield himself. He thrust it at them, so that they swung at it, hacking off the legs. He thrust again and the first attacker caught his sword in the wood and had it flipped from him with a jerk that snapped his wrist. Another swung at Lancelot and found himself sprawled on the floor.
Guinevere cried out, but he couldn’t see her in the melee. He was being pushed toward the balcony. The third man knew his business and, despite his efforts, Lancelot could not trick him into making a sudden lunge which might take him through the air and send him over the rail. The roses were at his back. He looked down. There was only one man there now, with a horse. There was nothing for it. He would have to jump.
Lancelot took a deep breath and threw the table at his adversary. At the same time, he leapt from the balcony, catching himself on the thorny vines on the way down. He landed hard, his naked chest and arms scratched and bleeding. The man knelt over him and he swung.
“No! Wait! It’s me, Lancelot!” Gareth dodged the blow. “I’ve brought Clades. You’ve got to get out of here or they’ll kill you! Hurry!”
“But Guinevere! I have to save her! Help me, Gareth!”
Gareth pulled him up and pushed him toward the horse. “No! There’s nothing you can do. Don’t worry, I heard them talking. They’re not going to hurt her. They’re taking her to Cirencester for trial. If you don’t go now, you won’t be able to help her at all! Please, Lancelot! Believe me. There’s nothing you can do. You’ll only make it worse for her. Now! They’re coming!”
Lancelot had mounted. He leaned down to Gareth. "All right. But you get to her. Tell her I’ll be back for her! Do you understand?”
“Yes, of course. Lancelot! Please!”
He slapped Clades’ rump and the horse sped off. Lancelot knew the gate would be locked and aimed for the lower fence overlooking the practice field. He leaned over the horse’s neck and whispered fiercely.
“You’re a magic horse, my Clades, and you’re as young as ever. You can do it.”
Clades tossed his head in agreement. He galloped up to the wall and, with a mighty leap, cleared it with inches to spare. By the time anyone could mount to follow him, he was through the maze and deep into the forest.
In her confusion, Guinevere only knew that he was away and safe. She was furious at these men who dared to break into her bedchamber and tie her with coarse ropes. But as long as they could not harm Lancelot, she wouldn’t worry. They were mad, of course, with their talk of witchcraft and trials. Arthur would see to them. She told them so.
“Arthur can do nothing about it, Witch,” the leader laughed. “We’re taking you to the Bishops and St. Caradoc. And don’t try to set your sorcery on us. We’ve all got cold iron next to our skins. You won’t be working any more magic on King Arthur, either. Britain will be a strong power again, once you’re destroyed.”
He would have continued, but Guinevere had given him one incredulous stare which had turned his knees to jelly and then she had fainted.
“There,” he said in triumph. “I knew the iron would work. Hurry, men. Get her down and tied to the horse. We’ll get to the Bishops and let God take care of her kind!”
Chapter Sixteen
“How could you just let them take her!” Arthur roared to the assembled group. “What kind of men did I leave to guard Camelot?”
He pulled off his muddy boot and threw it on the floor with reverberating force. The terrified guard inched forward and knelt cringingly before the King.
“We didn’t know what to do, my Lord. The men had a pass and Sir Sagremore and Sir Perredur were there to admit them and left with them. We thought . . .” he swallowed. “We thought that it was done with your knowledge.”
Arthur scrutinized the faces around him; frightened, alarmed, curious, some even secretly gloating. Of course with his knowledge. They had even hoped it was true that he had set a trap for Guinevere and Lancelot. Is that what Guinevere believed? Was that why she had not called for help when they brought her through the compound? Is that why Lancelot had vanished? The other boot hit the wall. How dare they have so little faith in him!
“Get out!” he ordered with a sweep of his arm. “Get out every one of you! If any harm comes to the Queen through this, I’ll have you all flayed, I swear it!”
They fell over each other shoving to get through the door. Arthur rubbed his temple and exhaled slowly. Only Cei and Gawain were left in the room. Arthur looked at them and shook his head.
“Will someone tell me what in hell is going on?”
As much as they could, they did, Gawain only omitting his suspicions about Modred. Arthur listened with escalating fury.
“Whatever Lancelot and Guinevere have done is no one’s business but mine. The Church has no right to interfere, and they know it.”
Gawain agreed. “It’s more than that, much more. Someone has woven a net of lies and half-truths around Guinevere, and I was too stupid to see how thick they had grown. They are also saying that she practices sorcery.”
“Nonsense! And even if she did, what of it? Most of the people in Britain try a charm now and then. Merlin certainly worked unmolested.”
“They may have thought him too powerful to challenge.”
“All right, what’s the penalty for sorcery, then?”
“Under Roman law, if she confesses, twenty-five gold coins.”
“Someone is trying to destroy my wife for twenty-five gold coins?”
Arthur was growing increasingly bewildered. Cei put a hand on his shoulder. In the past few hours he had gathered enough information to make him very much afraid. As Gawain had said, the net had been woven by a master. He didn’t understand, yet, all the possibilities involved.
“That’s if she confesses and repents. If she does not confess and is found guilty, the punishment is excommunication, branding, and exile.”
“No man would dare!”
“Wait! That is just the beginning. The bishops at Cirencester will try her for pagan sorcery, but now the word has gone out that a civil tribunal will also meet, and there the charge will be treason.”
Arthur looked from one man to the other.
“This can’t be,” he said finally and firmly. “It makes no sense. Who would conceive such an accusation and who would believe it?”
No one answered but he could feel the fear from the other two. Arthur looked around for his boots.
“We leave for Cirencester tonight. I will have this madness ended at once.”
Cei stepped in front of him. “You can’t go, Arthur. You must stay here. Anything you do to try and save her will only convince the people that the charges are true. What man would let himself be cuckolded and then not wish to see the woman punished? Only one who had been bewitched. They will believe it if you go.”
Arthur stood. “If we were not closer than brothers, Cei, I would have run you through for saying that.”
“I know,” Cei grimaced. “That was why I had to be the one to say it.”
They glared at each other a moment, then Arthur closed his eyes and rubbed his aching head. Gawain reached out to him, grief-stricken but bound to add his say.
“And if
you
go to Cirencester, dissolve the courts, and bring Guinevere back, what will that do to the system of laws and justice you’ve had us working on all these years? You’ve promised the people that no man, not even the kings or the bishops, can be above the law. Are you now excepting yourself?”
Arthur looked from one to the other, anger warring with incredulity in his eyes. He slammed his fist on the table.
“I wish I had never led an army or read a law or ridden more than a day from my own hearth. I wish I had let Britain be overrun by barbarians and that I had left all of my fine knights to butcher peasants in their own happy ignorance. I wish I had never cared about anyone, that I had looted the churches and raped and burned and taken whatever I wanted. By all the gods that ever laughed at man, I wish I’d been born without a soul!”
Gawain and Cei sat on the floor at his feet. They couldn’t bear looking down on him.
Gawain broke the long silence.
“Whatever happens, Arthur, we won’t let her be harmed. You know that. Cei and I will leave today. I’ll have them tie me to my horse again rather than waste time. We’ll be there in a day and a half.”
“It will be all right, Arthur,” Cei added. “No one could look at Guinevere and believe all the nonsense they’re saying about her.”
“No, of course not.” Arthur did not relax. “But if any harm comes to her at all, those power-hungry ‘saints’ and greedy kings will find that I have not sunk into my dotage yet. I will chase them into their warrens and burn them out to face my sword."
“If any harm comes to her,” Gawain said grimly, “we will be at your side until the last one of them is destroyed.”
• • •
Except for burns on her wrists from the ropes, Guinevere was not uncomfortable. They had not spoken to her on the hard ride to Cirencester and had served her with fear. Even Sagremore and Perredur, whom she had thought were her friends, stayed as far distant from her as possible. When she caught their eyes, the look in them made her feel shaky and cold at the pit of her stomach.
“This is ridiculous!” she told herself sternly. “I am the Queen. Moreover, I am a daughter of Rome, of a Christian family, bred to reason and to rule. They are mad or enchanted but they know better than to hurt me. Arthur will not let them. Soon, someone will come and rescue me; someone always has. I need only to be calm and wait.”