WHEN I STEPPED OUT OF CAMP THIS AFTERNOON, and sat with my back against a weather-beaten stanchion beside the canal, and unwrapped my stone, I saw jealousy and scheming and treachery as bad as Count Simon de Montfort’s.
“Disgraceful!” exclaims Sir Agravain.
Many knights turn their heads and listen.
“It’s disgraceful that day after day and night after night Sir Lancelot beds the queen, and we do nothing about it, and allow the king to be shamed.”
“Enough!” says Sir Gawain, Sir Agravain’s brother. “I want to hear no more of it.”
“Neither do we,” say their brothers, Sir Gaheris and Sir Gareth.
“But I do,” says Sir Mordred quietly.
Sir Gawain’s mouth tightens. “I can well believe it,” he says. “You always make bad worse.”
“Whatever becomes of it,” Sir Agravain says, “I mean to tell the king.”
“And cause conflict? Many knights will side with Sir Lancelot.” Sir Gawain puts his right hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Don’t forget Sir Lancelot has often come to the king’s rescue. He rescued me from King Carados; he rescued you and Mordred from Sir Turquine. Do his kindness and courage count for nothing?”
“Sir Lancelot knighted me,” says Sir Gareth. “I won’t hear another word against him.”
“Here comes the king!” Sir Gaheris says. “Keep your voices down.”
“I will not,” says Sir Agravain.
“Neither will I,” Sir Mordred says.
“Then because of you and Mordred,” Sir Gawain tells his brother, “not because of the queen and Sir Lancelot, our great gathering of knights will splinter and split.”
King Arthur approaches them. “What a hubbub!” he says.
At once Sir Gawain, Sir Gareth, and Sir Gaheris bow and walk away.
“What are you arguing about?” asks the king.
“Mordred and I,” Sir Agravain says, “we’re the sons of your own sister, and we can hide it from you no longer. Sir Lancelot and your queen are lovers. He is a traitor.”
Arthur-in-the-stone lowers his eyes. Is he thinking of Merlin’s warnings? “Love can be blind.…Don’t say I haven’t warned you.”
“If what you say is true,” the king replies gravely, “then yes, Sir Lancelot is a traitor. But if he is accused, he’ll fight and prove his innocence. No one can match him.”
“Sire,” says Sir Mordred, “it is true.”
“I must have proof,” the king insists. “Sir Lancelot’s my knight of knights. He has honored me by serving me.”
“When you go hunting tomorrow,” Sir Agravain says, “send word you’ll stay overnight in one of your lodges. I’ll catch the rat. I’ll bring him to you alive or dead. Mordred and I will have twelve knights with us.”
“That may not be enough,” the king says grimly.
Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere: Their sin is hot—it is the strength of their love and the weakness of being unable to resist it. But Sir Agravain and Sir Mordred? Their sin is hate, not love. It is cold. They don’t care about protecting their king. They want to ruin Sir Lancelot. What Sir Gawain said is true: Because of them, the Round Table will be shattered.
I can see a small chamber hung with chains of flowers. A bed. Sir Lancelot and Guinevere lying on it. Sir Lancelot’s sword is on the floor beside him.
There’s a loud knocking at the door.
“Sir Lancelot!”
“You traitor!”
“Come out or we’ll come in!”
“We’re lost!” cries the queen.
Sir Lancelot sits up. “My lady,” he says, “is there any armor in here?”
“None!” the queen cries.
Guinevere is shaking, and Sir Lancelot wraps his arms around her. “There’s nothing to fear,” he said.
“There is everything!” says the queen.
Sir Lancelot holds Guinevere close.
“You cannot fight them all,” Guinevere whispers. “You’ll be killed. I will be burned.”
“And all because I’m not wearing armor,” Sir Lancelot replies.
Now the knocking and shouting begin again.
“Come out!”
“You scum!”
“Dear Jesus,” says Sir Lancelot. He draws Guinevere to her feet. “My lady, my queen,” he says, “I have loved you from the day I first saw you. Can you remember what I said when you belted on this sword?”
Guinevere trembles.
“‘Who can fully live unless he’s ready to die?’”
“No!” whispers Guinevere.
“Guinevere! Guinevere, you will not be burned. My nephew, Sir Bors, Sir Lavaine or Sir Urry, one of them will rescue you.”
“If you die,” the queen whispers, “I will be ready to die.”
With his arms still wrapped around the queen, Sir Lancelot leans back and looks at Guinevere. “I’ll sell my life dearly. But I’d rather have a suit of armor now than be ruler of Christendom.”
“My love and my life,” Guinevere whispers.
“Jesus, be my shield!” Sir Lancelot says. “Jesus, be my armor.”
“Let us in!”
“We’ll spare your life.”
“And take you to the king.”
Sir Lancelot wraps his cloak around him; he picks up his sword, and unbars the little door, and a large knight bends his head and steps in. His sword is drawn.
“Sir Colgrevaunce de Gorse,” says Sir Lancelot. “Welcome!”
At once Sir Lancelot slams the door and bars it again.
Sir Colgrevaunce jabs at him, but Sir Lancelot steps sideways and thwacks the side of his helmet. The knight falls over sideways.
With Guinevere’s help, he puts on the dead man’s armor.
Sir Lancelot looks longingly at Queen Guinevere. He swings round to the door, unbars it again, and steps out.
Sir Lancelot roars and, with his first stroke, he kills Sir Agravain. With eleven more savage blows, he fells eleven men. Only Sir Mordred is able to escape.
Slowly Sir Lancelot turns. He stoops and steps into the queen’s chamber. He is breathing deeply.
“It is true,” he says. “This is the end.”
Guinevere bows her head.
“I have given my king cause to become my deadly enemy. We must leave, here and now, and I’ll protect you. That is best.”
“That is not best,” replies the queen. “You’ve done harm enough. Go now to your own chamber.”
Sir Lancelot sighs.
“But if, tomorrow,” Guinevere says, “you see they mean to burn me—”
“I will rescue you,” says Sir Lancelot. “With all my heart, I swear it. For as long as I draw breath, I am your knight.”
They breathe; they gaze at one another. There is nothing more to say.