Page 8 of The White Knight

The gods must know how much Guinevere means to me, how much I need her. They made her for me as they made me for her. We cannot possibly live without the other. So why would the gods separate us for so long? My mind torments me with these thoughts. In my solitude, thoughts and memories are all I have. I have no one to talk to. No one to put some sense into my mind.

Tears run freely down my face, burning against the cool breeze. The agonizing pain of losing Guin is too much. I fall down onto the roughly carved wood of the boat. Perhaps I should lie here and let destiny do what it wants with me. Kill me or bring me back to my love. I close my eyes, blocking out the bright sun, and fall into a deep sleep.

When I awake, I hear male voices shouting all around me. A large sail looms above me and long oars threaten to decimate my frail little boat. I grab the oars I had tossed inside the boat earlier and row a safe distance away. A man toward the rear of the ship spots me. Is this man my savior? Or will he enslave me, rob me, kill me? What chance do I have?

I put my arms up and wave, yelling, “Hello! I seek safe passage to Britain.”

The man runs away, bringing my hope with him. I slump back down on my little boat, defeated. “Oy! You are a long way from home, brother!”

Another man appears at the rear. A man whose words I can understand. I cannot help but laugh. “Yes. A very long way from home. May I come aboard? I have goods I can trade for passage.”

“We are not headed to Britain. I have not been out that way in years. But if you have something of value you can offer me, I might be swayed to change course.” The man holds out his hand to me. I grab my sack and furs, accepting the hand he offers.

Chapter 6

Guinevere

When Arthur and Iarrived back at Camelot two years ago, he announced me as his wife. Two short weeks later, I became his queen. And now we are celebrating Galahad’s seventh birthday. Camelot is bursting with festivities. There will be feasts, drinking, and entertainment for two weeks straight. Earlier today, Arthur presented Galahad with his very first sword and offered to provide a demonstration with Gawain. Afterward, Galahad begged to learn how to fight with his new sword.

Though I had explained he was too young, Arthur had already planned on giving him a lesson, the first of many, starting on his actual birthday. “A boy can never be too young to learn the art of the sword, my dear,” Arthur had said to me a few days before Galahad’s seventh birthday when he mentioned this gift. “In fact, I believe he is starting late for a prince and heir to a mighty kingdom such as ours.”

There was nothing I could do to stop Arthur from teaching my son how to fight. I was terrified at the thought of my little guy sword fighting, worried he’d gouge an eye out or lose afinger. But Arthur and Gawain are being gentle, and all of them are using wooden swords. I trust these men. Arthur and his knights are the most honorable men in the realm, probably even the millennium. Though I might have disagreed with Gawain and his lack of faith in the love that Lance and I shared, there isn’t another man I trust more than Gawain. Besides Arthur, of course.

I’ve lost count how many times I’ve nearly blurted out the truth of where I’m from to Gawain. He has become such a constant in my life; it feels wrong to hide this secret from him. I have no doubt he would believe me. Perhaps he would look at me differently. Arthur and Lance never did, but Gawain doesn’t share their “pagan” beliefs. Sure, Arthur is a Christian king. But he also has a Druid advisor. Merlin might not appear at court often, but he still has a forceful presence in Camelot.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Galahad ducks under a swing aimed at his head. His reflexes are fast. I know he’ll be a skilled swordsman like his father. Galahad holds so many of Lancelot’s traits. His bright green eyes and lopsided smile. He is patient and understanding, even as a toddler. Now, witnessing him in the heat of a mock sword fight, it is as if I am looking at Lancelot reborn.

My worry that people will see what I see has died down after years of peace. During the first year of Galahad’s life, the entire castle was drowning in rumors. The rumor about Arthur and me was the one people favored. There were also whispers around the castle that Galahad’s father was actually Lancelot. Though this is the truth, the people dismissed it quickly, even with Mordred’s attempts to discredit me and my son.

It was as if Lance and I had never been married. So few were at our wedding in Joyous Gard. But Lancelot couldn’t be forgotten even though our marital union might have been. The entire castle mourned the loss of their White Knight.

Their love for Lancelot didn’t die with him. He is still praised as Camelot’s bravest knight. Thanks to Gawain and the other knights, tales of his bravery and heroism will live on through generations. Though only a few of us truly felt the depth of that loss. Those are the people I can trust.

Gawain was distraught at the news of Lancelot’s death. He never took the chance to make things right with Lance after the harsh words they had thrown at each other. Gawain might have been upset with us for not returning to Camelot all those years ago, but he couldn’t deny what existed between Lance and me. Now he is a fierce ally of mine.

Both Elaine and Gawain have been my constant friends while at court and during the months I stayed hidden away at Joyous Gard. They are the only ones who know the truth about the paternity of their prince. Instead of feeding the fires of rumors that are now whispered embers, they were the ones to speak against them, against Mordred.

Mordred isn’t always at Camelot, but when he is, I steer clear of him. Or I travel back to Joyous Gard with my son for a couple of months. That’s how much I hate him. I only hate him because he hates me for some unknown reason. Perhaps destiny has told him to hate me.

We avoid each other like the plague, barely interacting for the past eight years. It is only on occasions such as today when we need to make a show of liking each other. Or at least standing beside each other. I am worried about how he will treat Galahad. Even on his best behavior, Mordred is cruel to my son.

While standing along the edge of the training yard, I give Mordred a warning look. He has begun talking about the need to expand the royal family to ensure Arthur’s legacy. The look of warning I give doesn’t go unnoticed either, but Arthur is busy discussing the proper way to swing a sword with Galahad, so I bite my tongue.

As if sensing what I am thinking, Mordred turns to me and asks, “Why have you not given our king more children? Imagine if our little prince were to fall ill and not recover. Arthur needs an heir.”

“He has an heir.”

“An heiranda spare,” he says with a mouth full of spite.

“What the fuck is your problem, Mordred?” I lose my composure, falling into his trap. He knows how unladylike I can sound when provoked, but thankfully there aren’t many people around to hear as they have fled when they noticed my venomous look.

“I only want to secure Arthur’s throne,” Mordred explains.

“As do we all.”

“You cannot deny it is rather curious that you came back to Camelot after a brief marriage to the mighty Lancelot and gave birth to your son just short of eight months. Not to mention who he is named after.”

“Arthur blessed the named Galahad, as you well remember.”

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