The Chessboard Queen (40 page)

When they had gathered, Gawain sitting on the windowsill and Gareth and Gaheris side by side on cushions on the floor, Agravaine rose, cleared his throat a few times and, at signs of impatience from his brothers, began.

“I have called you all here on a very serious matter which I feel we must discuss thoroughly.”

Gareth shifted on his cushion. “Aunt Morgause is up to something and you think we should do something about it. Can’t you get to the point? I have a lady waiting for me.”

There was a burst of laughter from Gawain. “You! If you do, I’ll bet it’s only because she wants you to take a note to Modred.”

“What would you know about it?” Gareth bristled. “The last time a woman sent you a note, you were too sleepy to read it!”

Gawain flushed angrily and started toward his brother. Gareth had been asking for a lesson lately. Agravaine intervened.

“Stop it, Gawain. We’re not in the nursery anymore. Damn it, man! This is serious.”

Gaheris had been leaning against the wall, eyes closed. Now he sat up.

“It is serious. Morgause has always hated Arthur. We all know that. Why is she staying so long and being so nice to him?”

They all stared at him. It was the longest speech they had ever heard him make.

“Right. That is the question.” Agravaine was trying to regain control of the meeting. “May I presume that none of us shares her feelings?”

“Of course we don’t, Agravaine,” Gawain sighed. “Don’t be so pompous.”

“What about Modred?” Gareth interjected.

“He isn’t here.” Agravaine ground his teeth. “Does anyone want to send for him?”

No one did.

“All right, then. The question is, what do we do about Aunt Morgause? Someday we are going to be asked to take sides in this. I know we have all sworn loyalty to Arthur, but—”

“But what if we have to choose between hurting him or Mother?” Gaheris finished.

“I don’t want to hurt either of them,” Gareth said plaintively. “Can’t we just stay neutral?”

Gawain pounded his hand into his fist carefully. “No, we can’t, Gareth. We know too much of what might happen. We’ve all seen Aunt Morgause in action.”

They shuddered in unison.

“I agree.” Agravaine gave a curt nod. “We have to let Arthur know that we are on his side and we ought to prove it by finding out what our dear aunt’s plans are before she unleashes them.”

Gareth shook his head. “I suppose you are right. But I would just as soon Aunt Morgause never found out about us.”

“You don’t still think she can turn you into a toad, do you?” Gawain sneered.

Gareth shrugged. “I don’t want to put it to the test, that’s all.”

Gawain turned to Agravaine. “I told you we shouldn’t have included them in this. They’re too young.”

Gaheris spoke up again. “I wish you would stop referring to Gareth and me as ‘them.’ I have an opinion, too.”

“Well, Gaheris,” Agravaine asked, “what is it?”

“I think we have no choice but to stay with Arthur and fight for him if we must. Aunt Morgause and Mother want to do more than hurt Arthur. They mean to destroy him.”

All four were silent then, trying to gauge how deep an ancient hatred might reach. In their hearts they were forced to admit that Gaheris spoke the truth. They had always known it.

Gawain spoke for them all. “If I must decide where my allegiance lies, even if it means thwarting Mother, I choose to stand with Arthur.”

They made a pact to do so, swearing as they had done when children. No one hesitated, but Gareth took his oath quickly, glancing over his shoulder at the closed door behind them as if expecting to be discovered and punished.

• • •

Guinevere was able to come downstairs again for the Christmas observance and the midwinter festival that went with it. Arthur and Lancelot seemed to have an unspoken pact to protect her from Elaine, although neither one could have said why they thought she needed protection. If anything, Elaine was the one being attacked—not by Guinevere, who simply acted as if she did not exist, but by the court, a fickle audience at best. Guinevere’s reputation for goodness was restored by her obviously wholehearted willingness to take the child Galahad as a fosterling. It was better than what Elaine deserved, they all agreed.

Elaine did not see it that way. When told of Arthur’s generous offer, she cried and wailed and took to carrying Galahad with her everywhere, as if afraid he would be snatched away from her if she should put him down. She pleaded with Morgause to take her home.

“Haven’t you any spine at all?” Morgause scolded. “Are you going to let them chase you away? I said we would stay until after Christmas and we shall. If you will stop sniffling and cooperate, I might think of a way to get Lancelot to come back with us.”

Elaine’s eyes lit up. “Oh, my Lady, are you sure? I will do anything you say. Do you hear that, Galahad? Your father is going to come home with us!”

At Caerleon, where there were dozens of tiny rooms created by the legions for some forgotten purpose, it was easy to have a place of one’s own. Lancelot had a cubicle tucked against one of the long passageways from the council hall to the main living quarters. He enjoyed having the place, however small. Here he could continue his private devotions without embarrassing anyone. He could pace all night, wrangling with his conscience, and bother no one.

It was early Christmas morning when he came to bed, having fasted and watched until midnight. The long, quiet hours had left him calm and chastened, able to see his suffering in perspective. He felt more at peace with himself than he ever had. The hour was so late that he did not bother to light a candle in his room. He dropped off his long robe and unbelted his tunic. Then he sat down on the bed to pull off his boots.

There was a yelp and the bed moved under him. He was caught off balance and thudded to the floor, one boot half off.

“Oh, Lancelot, I’m so sorry! You sat on me! Here, let me help you. I have the bed all warm for you now.”

He felt a hand under his elbow and started to get up when he realized whose it was. He wrenched the boot off, throwing Elaine back onto the bed at the same time.

“How dare you sneak into my room!” he roared in blind fury. “Get out of here! At once!”

“Lancelot, please!” she wept. “I will do anything for you. I love you!”

“Get out!”

A light shone in from the doorway.

“Lancelot?” Guinevere’s voice called. “Are you all right? Arthur wants you. I thought I heard. . . .”

She looked from Lancelot standing, boot still in his hand, to Elaine lying on the bed, her arms open, waiting for him. The candle fell to the floor.

“Oh, excuse me. I thought . . . excuse me!”

“No, Guinevere.” Lancelot reached out to her. “I didn’t ask her here. I don’t want any part of her.”

“That’s not true,” Elaine cried hysterically. “He begged me to come. He doesn’t need you! You can’t have him. Lancelot! Tell her the truth.”

Guinevere stood there, confused, betrayed. Lancelot could read the doubt in her eyes. He looked from her to Elaine, who was still swearing that he had brought her to his bed. In another few minutes everyone in Caerleon would be there. What could he tell them? His glance darted back and forth between them as he tried to gather his thoughts.

Guinevere was angry at him. He had lied to her, made a fool of her. She wanted to yell and scream like any fishwife who had been deceived. Why didn’t he say something? He seemed to be losing contact with her, to be withdrawing from both of them.

“No!” she screamed. “You can’t do that again! I won’t let you go!”

She held his face still and forced him to look at her. “You mustn’t leave me again, Lancelot. I believe you. I believe everything you say. You must stay sane. You can’t love me if you’re mad!”

His eyes focused on her. He smiled. “I have no intention of going mad, Guinevere. Not if you love me.”

He took Guinevere’s hands from his face and kissed them before letting go. She turned her eyes away from him.

“You are quite safe. I have never loved anyone in my life as I do you. But now you must go to Arthur.”

The candle Guinevere had dropped in her haste had landed on the cold stone, flickered a few minutes, and gone out. By its last light Elaine saw Lancelot take Guinevere in his arms. She heard their whispers as they went from the room, but she no longer cared. While she thought he belonged to no one she could hope to bind him to her. Now there was nothing left but Galahad and they wanted to steal him too. She cried all night, with deep burning sobs of anguish. But no one came.

“How could you have been so clumsy!” Morgause berated Elaine. “If there had been anyone else I could have chosen for this, I never would have brought you.”

“I wanted him to love me,” Elaine whispered.

“That only confirms your stupidity,” Morgause continued. “Never mind. You at least managed to distract them while I worked. I have found out what I wanted to know. Morgan will be very pleased with me. She never could have done it. All right, girl, stop that eternal weeping. Gather your things together. We leave today.”

Arthur was relieved to hear she was departing, but he had to tell her that the snow which had fallen in the night made it almost impossible for anyone to leave.

“I really must go today,” Morgause insisted. “Can’t you command some of your men to clear the road for us? They have nothing better to do.”

She was swathed in furs so that her face was almost completely hidden. Her arm appeared from between the pelts and gestured what she thought of Arthur’s men. He fought the impulse to flatly deny her order.

“I will ask if any are willing to do it. I do not command people to do such work.”

She pushed back her hood and pouted at him. “Ah, but which of your people would volunteer to help us? They have not been terribly hospitable.”

Arthur thought everyone had treated her very well, some better than he would have liked. But it would still be hard to find men who would spend the day clearing snow for her benefit.

“If you must leave us today, then I will accompany you as far as Monlyth. We will see that you get that far by tonight.”

Morgause thanked him profusely and went to prepare. Arthur wondered how she had managed to maneuver him into going with her, then gave up, deciding that it was worth it to be rid of her. He sent for Gawain.

“I will be taking your aunt on the first part of her journey to Cornwall,” he explained. “I would like you and Lancelot to stay here with Guinevere. You both can sleep in the anteroom. Most of the other men will have to go with me to make a passage. What’s the matter?”

Gawain was obviously upset. “I would rather go with you, Uncle. Gareth will stay here. Or Lancelot could come with you.”

“No.” Arthur was firm. “You can’t work long enough in winter to be of use and Lancelot must be disassociated from Morgause and Elaine as much as possible. What’s wrong? You never objected to staying with Guinevere before.”

Gawain could think of no argument. He could not imagine why Arthur was doing this.

Pressing his fingers to his eyes, Arthur tried not to think of what might happen. He knew he could stand it no longer. He had to trust them now or spend the rest of his life watching them, afraid of catching them. Sometimes when he saw them together, he hurt more for their misery than for his own. “Let them have this one chance,” he decided grimly. “It may be enough and then Guinevere will be mine again.”

Gawain would have given anything to be able to keep watch that night. He wanted to have it out with Lancelot beforehand, but Guinevere ate with them and then suggested a game of chess with Lancelot in the anteroom. His last waking image was of the two of them on opposite sides of the board, sitting as stiff and taut as the carved pieces they moved.

They finished the game without speaking. Guinevere lost. She bade him good night and went to her room. Lancelot heard the bar drawn across the door with a mixture of relief and despair. He put out the lamp and lay down on his makeshift bed.

The room was heated only by a small brazier, but Lancelot was sweating. It was growing late. Gawain had been asleep for several hours and the rest of Caerleon seemed to have settled down for the night, too. There was only silence on the other side of the door. Guinevere was also asleep. She must be. He wanted her to be asleep. He told this to himself again. But he could not keep his eyes from the door.

The only sound was the soft sizzle as the coal burned itself to ash. Lancelot began to relax. Then he heard it, the scrape of the bar being lifted. He sat bolt upright as the door swung open. There stood Guinevere, draped in a blanket, holding a small oil lamp. The polished brass reflected the gold of her unbound hair.

Like a man in a dream that he is powerless to stop, Lancelot went to her. When the door had been barred again, she hesitated and then handed him the lamp.

“Hold it high, Lancelot. Don’t blow it out.”

She moved a few paces away from him, swallowed, and dropped the blanket to the floor.

“I know of your vows, Lancelot. I won’t ask you to break them, but you must look at me now, because I never, never again want you to mistake another woman’s body for mine.”

His first reaction was one of exultation. He had known her body would not disgust him. The lamp shook in his hand.

When he made no move toward her, Guinevere’s courage ebbed. She gathered up the blanket again and held out her hand for the light.

Instead of giving it to her, he set it carefully down on the table. To Guinevere, each separate movement was painfully slow. She had been so sure of him, now her breath stopped as she waited.

“Guinevere.” His voice started an erratic beating in her throat. “There is no vow that could stand against my need for you now. May I stay with you the night?”

“Yes, Lancelot, oh yes!”

They touched each other, shyly at first and then more surely, with a growing sense of wonder and excitement. In the last moment before Guinevere forgot herself entirely, she felt a stab of regret for Arthur.

“This is what we never had. This is the difference—not love, but joy!”