King of the Middle March Read Online Free PDF Page B

lying in wait for him.
    The moon is creamy and soft, and the jewels on the queen’s dress wink; Sir Lancelot’s sword flashes.
    â€œI will!” says Sir Lancelot under his breath. “I can!”
    Guinevere draws in her breath. “You cannot!” she says in a low voice. “I wish you could, just as much as you do.”
    â€œHow much? How much do you wish I could?”
    â€œWith my heart.”
    â€œThen I will!” Sir Lancelot says hoarsely. “I’ll show you how strong your love makes me.”
    Now Sir Lancelot sets up the ladder under the queen’s window. And now he sheathes his sword and climbs the ladder.
    â€œNo!” says the queen.
    Sir Lancelot grabs two of the thick iron window bars. With all his strength he pulls. I can see his nostrils flaring. He wrenches the bars right out of the stone walls.
    â€œYou’re cut!” cries the queen. “Let me see.” She reaches out and takes Lancelot’s left hand. “To the bone,” she whispers.
    â€œTo the heart, my lady,” Sir Lancelot replies.
    Now Sir Lancelot grasps the third bar with his right hand, and stands on the topmost rung. With a yelp, he half-springs, half-hauls himself into the queen’s candlelit chamber.
    Queen Guinevere and King Arthur’s most trusted knight step into each other’s arms.
    â€œLet me bind your wound,” murmurs the queen.
    â€œI’ve known worse,” Sir Lancelot says. “Men who fight expect to get wounded.”
    He brings the queen close again.
    â€œNo knight is as strong as you,” the queen whispers. “And you know how a strong man excites a woman’s love. Sit here, and I will dress your wound.”
    Now Guinevere finds a white silk shift so fine you could crumple it up and conceal it in your fist. She puts the hem between her teeth, and tears a strip to wrap round Lancelot’s left hand.
    â€œWhen I was a boy,” Sir Lancelot says, “I was brought up by the Lady of the Lake, and I longed to be a knight.
    â€œâ€˜Are you so sure?’ she asked me. ‘Do you know what being a knight means?’
    â€œâ€˜I know some men are worthy because of the qualities of the body and some because of the qualities of the heart,’ I replied.
    â€œâ€˜What’s the difference?’ the Lady of the Lake asked me.
    â€œâ€˜Some people come out of their mother’s wombs big-boned or energetic or handsome, and some do not,’ I told her. ‘If a man is slight or lacks stamina, he can’t do anything about it. But any man can acquire the qualities of the heart.’
    â€œâ€˜And what are they?’ the Lady of the Lake asked me.
    â€œâ€˜Manners. Tact. Restraint. Loyalty and generosity.’”
    Queen Guinevere wraps both arms round Sir Lancelot. “Of the body…,” she whispers. “Of the heart…You have both, my lord. How did the Lady of the Lake answer you?”
    â€œShe said just wanting to be a knight didn’t mean it was right. She told me that a knight has responsibilities. He must be openminded and open-handed, and generous to people in his care, especially the needy; he must give thieves and murderers no quarter; a knight must protect Holy Church against evildoers and infidels.”
    â€œHas there ever been a man with such qualities?” asks Guinevere, smiling.
    â€œThat’s what I asked the Lady of the Lake, and she told me a good many names. She said that so long as these responsibilities were my true aims, I would be worthy to be a knight. And she said a knight must never by his own actions dishonor the order of knighthood. A knight should fear shame more than death.”
    Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere gaze at one another.
    â€œThere is no shame between us,” Sir Lancelot says, “in what we say or what we do. Our love is pure.”
    â€œFor as long as it is ours and ours alone,” the queen replies, “and we do