CHAPTER 53

How long did they have on Avalon? Afterward she could never say. Love’s time is not like other days and weeks, and even then they knew they lived a lifetime in he time they had. By day they roamed the island, seekng out its hidden corners and thickly wooded ways. At noon they would lie in groves of whispering beeches, or rest on the soft white sand at the edge of the Lake. Those who lived on the Sacred Isle, Goddess worshipers and Christians alike, led lives of work and prayer with little time to spare. Day after sunlit day, they had the place to themselves.

Slowly the island ripened into spring. As the days lengthened, they spent all their time out of doors, not returning to the little white guest house till the night mists rising off the Lake drove them indoors. As the dusk drew in, they would sit hand in hand by the fire, savoring the sweet smoke of burning applewood and watching the shapes in the flames. They made love as freely as breathing, without thought. But above all, they talked.

They spoke of their boyhood and girlhood, both growing up with love, but in the deep loneliness that royal children know. She told him about her mother, Maire Macha, the great Queen her people called Battle Raven, and for a while the dead Queen lived again in all her beauty, her loving, quicksilver ways, her undying smile.

Lancelot’s face in the firelight lost the hard contours of manhood as he recalled a youth spent with no thought of tomorrow, only the eternal boyhood of the livelong day. He was an only son, and his mother, like Guenevere’s, had gone to the Goddess before her time. He was lucky then to be fostered by the Lady of Broceliande. Like her sister the Lady of the Lake, her spirit walked the world between the worlds, and taught his spirit how to grow.

They talked of everything and anything, the topics of all lovers, great and small. But always they came back to the thing they could not change. With each “I love you” came the cry “What are we to do?” The sadness that had seized Lancelot on the Tor was with him still. She could not console him, for she felt it too.

He gripped her hand and stared into the fire. “You are the Queen of the Summer Country,” he said at last. “What you do is above reproach. Your people have had thigh-freedom since time began. And as Queen, you may take a chosen one at will.”

Her eyes flared. “I do not follow my will. The Queen of the Summer Country takes a chosen one for the good of all. She must maintain her vigor, when her vital life is the life of all the tribe. I don’t choose for myself.”

“No?” He grinned with all the confidence of youth and ran a knowing hand over her body, reveling in the effect of his touch.

Sharply she pushed him away. “A Queen marries her country, not one man. Champions fall in battle, men grow older, their flesh fails. So the Queen takes a new consort to restore herself. It is her duty to renew the marriage of the sovereignty with the land. And more—it is her right!”

His laughter fell away like summer snow. “True,” he sighed. “You may take a new knight when you please. But I have no right to enjoy your love. As Arthur’s knight, I am betraying my lord. As his comrade in arms, I break the fellowship of the Round Table by loving you.”

“Don’t talk to me of fellowship!” she cried. “The love of men and women is far above the love between men. Men together make only war and death.”

“Untrue!” he hissed in a passion. “For men like my cousin Bors, the brotherhood of the knights of the Round Table is life itself.”

“But not for you!” she protested.

“True,” he agreed reluctantly. “Oh, madame, I cannot live without you, I know that now.” He drew a ragged breath. “And I will never leave you from now on. All the suffering, all the separation we have endured has taught me this, that our love is as enduring as the earth.”

Suddenly he was on his feet, seizing her hands and pulling her toward the bed. “Ask yourself, lady,” he demanded heatedly, “why would I leave the best love in the world?”

He threw her none too gently on the bed, and kissed her passionately. His hands went swiftly to the front of her dress, as his lips brushed the tears from her face. “Where would I find another Guenevere?”

“Oh, Lancelot,” she wept, “I swear—”

He laughed like a boy, and kissed her on the mouth. “No more words, lady. You need loving now.”

SO THE DAYS passed, and on the mainland Beltain came. For three days and nights the sound of revelry reached them across the still waters, and one by one the bloom of the bonfires turned night into day. Sweet wisps of wood smoke mingled with the first warm breath of spring. A moon of hope lit the heavens, and bright stars danced in the ripening sky.

The tribes had gathered from far and wide for the feast. By day they drummed and sang, laughed, feasted, and made games to celebrate the life the Goddess gives. At night they crept into the warm shadows of the roaring fires to join with the Mother in the making of new life.

Safe in the shelter of their little house, Guenevere and Lancelot listened as the rising wind brought its hope and comfort, along with the sweet gurgling cries and moaning in the dark. Their own yearning quickened as the faint echo of soft sounds and sighs came trembling through the dark. Time and again they found themselves in each other’s arms. Afterward a vast love possessed them in its peace. At these times they passed together into the Beyond, floating through the astral plane, where two souls become one. And as the barriers dissolved between their worlds, they became more strange and lovely to each other with each new dawn of knowledge, hope, and trust.

“You are the traveler from the Otherworld, shining in the night,” Guenevere said. “You are the one I have looked for all my life.”

“And you—” Lancelot could hardly speak. “You are the woman of the dream. Our love encompasses this world, the Otherworld, and the world that is to come. If I lost you, I would search all three worlds to find you again.”

The hours went by so swiftly that she hardly knew where his being ended and hers began. Their bodies, too, were like halves of the same whole. The days slipped by as sweetly as pearls on a chain. But all the time they knew that it must end.

The knock came late at night, when the fire had burned down. Nemue stood at the door, her face pale and set, her eyes huge in the light of the little lamp she carried in her hand.

“The Christians are coming tomorrow to claim the Hallows,” she husked. “The Lady says you must leave the island tonight.”

THE NEXT HOURS passed in a dream of misery. Numbly Guenevere prepared herself to leave, and watched as Lancelot did the same. Both moved through their tasks without protest, even with an occasional fleeting smile. In a calm beyond calm, they left the island with Ina, slipping silently from the stone jetty in a barge poled by Nemue alone.

They landed on the mainland in the silver haze of dawn. Through the half-light she could see a small group of Lake dwellers standing with their horses and mules and guarding a long wooden box, stoutly corded and lying on the ground. Inside, she knew, must be the Hallows, wrapped in silk and buried in a bed of straw. A new fear awoke in her. Plain as it was, a box of that size would make Lancelot the target of any outlaw or wayside thief.

Nemue read her thought. “He must travel by night.” She turned to Lancelot. “Sir Lancelot, this is your task.”

Lancelot heard the wind of loss and separation gathering force. For a moment he strove madly against his fate, his spirit beating against its unseen bonds. Then he struggled to settle his soul, and reached out to grasp Guenevere’s hand.

“I am ready, lady,” he said to Nemue. “What is your will?”

Nemue seemed to grow, gleaming with power, as she spoke. “You must take the Hallows, and guard them with your life. You will travel far before you find them a home. They will not be safe wherever the Christians hold sway. But you will come to the place, and know where they must remain.”

She took a step back and held up both her hands, palms outward, as if to ward him off. “And when you do, tell no one where they are. The Lady is giving the Hallows back to the Great One as freely as She gave them to us. Their fate must lie in other hands than ours. When the Christians come for them, we must say in perfect truth that we know nothing now.”

She gave a furious sigh. Tears as hard as diamonds stood in her eyes. “The soul of Avalon goes out with them. For a thousand years, we have worshiped in this place. Now we must lose it all for a handful of brutal men.”

In the silence they caught the distant sound of a storm tearing through the mountaintops, destroying dwellings and uprooting trees. It raged by, gathering force, and swept on.

Guenevere pressed Lancelot’s hand. “But good men can keep the faith.”

Nemue bowed her head. “Or else we are all lost.”

A silence fell. All around them the forest breathed lightly in its sleep. Only the soft jingling of the horses’ harness came to them through the trees.

“So then, this is my quest. I must take to the road while you return to Camelot.” Lancelot looked away. How would he ever find the strength to leave? “Bid me farewell, my Queen.”

A cold pain gripped her heart.

Farewell?

A wild protest mutinied in her soul and died. Fate spins as it will, and even the Mother cannot turn back the wheel. Farewell, my love, until we meet again.

“Lancelot—”

She turned toward him and kissed both his hands. “Go with the Goddess, wherever She may lead. Wherever you go, my soul will be with you. You are my knight, my true love and my life. One day we may hope for a better world than this. One day I know we will be together again. Till then, every day of my life I shall give thanks for you, and the love the Goddess gave.”

He fixed his eyes on her. “I will fulfill this task, however long and hard. But understand, my Queen, that you are my true quest. I go to learn how to be worthy of you. Each day I will strive to live and love as you would wish. Every dawn and evening I will pray to you.” He gave abroken smile. “Honor and dignity wait for us both apart. And service to the Great One who loves us all.”

He brought her hand to his lips, and turned away. She watched numbly as he crossed to the Lake dwellers and supervised the loading of the Hallows onto the strongest of the mules. Others were making his own horse ready for him, and behind them she could see mounts being led up for herself and Ina too. He is going, her mind tried to tell her, and soon we will be gone. Treasure these last precious seconds, and prepare.

Prepare to live a life of love apart.

She could not weep. No tears, no fears, not now. You have a love stronger than life itself. You have the faith of the best man alive. You have a Joy most women never know. You are blessed among women, Guenevere, take heart.

With these and a hundred loving thoughts she tried to armor herself against what lay ahead. But nothing could stave off the moment when Lancelot had to say the words she was dreading to hear.

“So, lady, the time has come. One kiss, and then we part.”