Chapter 63
Sixty-Three
I stayed in Benoic with my cousins. I did not go back to Camelot.
On the outskirts of the city stood Joyous Guard, Elinor’s former home.
It was a small fortress, barely the size of Viviana’s cottage, but it suited me much better.
Bors remained in his parents’ castle, and Lionel took up residence in my parents’ keep.
In time they filled their halls with many children.
Arthur recovered and returned with his army to Camelot. Morgan left separately, traveling with Guinevak, the False Guinevere, who would fill her sister’s station.
Gawain was gravely wounded and remained behind in Benoic until he too recovered. But I would not go back with him. I had made my choice.
So did Galehaut.
For fifteen years, we lived as our castle’s name suggested, joyously.
We did not return to Camelot, but we remained knights of the Round Table and were free to seek adventure under its emblem.
On occasion we set sail for the Distant Isles, visiting the Isle of Women.
The sisterhood remained as aloof as always, but we spent our short trips accompanying Viviana on forest walks and playing table games with Elinor, who was somehow as spry as ever.
On our first visit, however, we were shocked to discover that the sisterhood no longer numbered seven.
Two new cottages had sprouted up on the northern shores.
From the trails behind the temple, Guinevere and Morgan ran down to greet us.
They wore the sisterhood’s simple blue robes and gold sandals.
Guinevere’s hair was pinned with a sapphire comb.
I touched the jewel in awe. I had only one question. “You are happy here?”
As if to answer my question, a few dogs I recognized from the castle scampered down to greet us.
“Happier than I ever thought possible.”
Morgan too seemed incandescent, no longer weighed down by the guilt of her exile. In saving me that day in Benoic, she had redeemed herself in Viviana’s eyes.
“Lancelot of the Lake, can I tell you a secret?” Morgan pulled me away from the temple, where Ganieda stood with Mazoe.
“If you are wondering where Merlin has been, I can tell you.”
She pointed to a tree knot and gave a wicked laugh.
“Viviana dealt with him.”
I could see the contours of a bearded face in the bark and jumped back in alarm.
“Don’t worry, he feels no pain. Ganieda is making us free him in a few months’ time. But until then.” She cast her spit on the roots.
Years passed. The seasons Galehaut and I spent apart faded beneath the many we spent together. He was the love of my life.
At thirty-nine years, Galehaut’s heart gave out suddenly.
I buried him at Joyous Guard and left space in his grave to join him.
After losing him once, I could not accept that he was truly gone, but this time he was.
Bors and his wife visited me from time to time with their son, and Lionel came too with his wife and many daughters, one of whom would some day take Elinor’s place, but I no longer cared for the company of others.
I did not yet feel old, but I knew the larger arc of my life had come to an end.
When I heard a knock on the door one afternoon, I expected to find one of my cousins.
It was Viviana. Her face was harder, her brown hair streaked gray. But she still possessed the same windswept beauty, the same high-chinned gaze.
She had an older boy with her. He must have been sixteen or seventeen. He stood with a straight back and loose arms, his legs newly elongated, his nascent muscles recently filled in.
She greeted me warmly, but I knew she could read the sorrow on my face and it pained her.
“This is my new charge,” she said. “I’m teaching him to be a knight. One day, he will join the Round Table.”
I’d heard the rumblings. How Arthur was losing his grip and Mordred was consolidating power.
Rumors of my relationship with Guinevere had wreaked havoc, and Guinevak, the False Guinevere, now bore the brunt of those lies.
There were fractures among the Round Table, but I had little interest in keeping up.
“His mothers are wonderful women, but they possess little knowledge of nature’s healing powers. He also needs instruction in riding and sparring. They believe he might find the grail.”
Then, from behind Viviana and the boy, appeared Gawain.
“Lancelot.”
The way he said my name melted away the years. I felt the old flickers of our connection, little more than embers now. But for the first time in a long while, I was warmed by their glow.
“Gawain. It’s been so long.”
He looked older, but not fifteen years older.
I’d heard he’d married a woman; was it the Dame Ragnelle?
The Lady of Lys? I should have remembered but I could not.
She had died, leaving Gawain to raise his daughter, Florence.
In the intervening years I had seen other knights—Morien, Yvain, even Sir Kay. But not him.
Viviana nudged the boy forward. “I thought he could benefit from two instructors. And who better than you and Gawain?”
The boy had a gentle face and kind, lidded eyes. His hair was tousled and light like mine.
I felt a sudden urge to protect him from the world. I wanted to teach him what I knew.
I knew this boy. I knew him well. I had once been him.
My eyes lit up with recognition. On the boy’s finger shone the opal ring I had given him.
I can teach him many things, I thought. Some of which will feel like magic.
“Galahad.”