The Lioness and Her Knight

  "Everything here is yours, Anna," Sophia said. "But are you sure?"

  "My lady, when I think about spending the rest of my life sitting in a comfortable room by a fire, chatting freely with people I like, doing what I'm good at doing, and never having to worry about where my next meal comes from, it feels more like heaven than anything I've ever dreamed of."

  Sophia seemed struck by this and was silent. Rhience said quietly, "A wise holy man I know says that the secret of life is to enjoy your food, enjoy your work, and give thanks to God."

  Sophia smiled. "The salons are yours," she said. Anna and the other ladies in the delegation beamed at each other and hurried away to lay claim to their new workrooms. Sophia turned to Luneta. "I would never have imagined this—a life spent sewing doesn't sound like any sort of heaven to me—but this may help me to solve another problem. Luneta, could you come with me?"

  Luneta willingly followed Sophia, who led her down the dark corridor to the door where Luneta had first heard the sound of crying women.

  "Why is this door still barred?" Luneta asked. "I thought all the bars were cut off."

  Sophia sighed. "We tried, but she wouldn't let us."

  "Who?"

  "Dorothea. Come inside. I'll show you."

  Sophia removed the bar and pushed the door open. For a moment Luneta saw nothing in the gloomy, cavernous room, but as her eyes adjusted to the dark she discerned a single torch burning against a far wall and, beneath it, a woman diligently sewing. Sophia led Luneta down the stairs and across the empty room to the lone laborer. "Dorothea?" Sophia said gently.

  "As you can see," Dorothea replied without looking up, "I'm very busy here."

  "That's a magnificent dress," Sophia said. "No one can sew like you."

  The compliment was calculated to please, Luneta knew, but for all that, it was no lie. The dress that Dorothea was embroidering would have been the envy of any lady at Camelot. Dorothea allowed herself to peek up at Sophia, then grunted noncommittally and returned to her work. "It's nearly done," she said. "So I hope you haven't come down here to waste my time again, trying to get me to leave my work."

  "Not this time, Dorothea. In fact, I've come to ask if you would like to work with the other women."

  Dorothea hesitated, then looked up at Sophia suspiciously. "Depends," she said. "Do they really want to work again? They seemed ready to drop everything the other day when that jester fellow opened the doors and said the Brothers were dead. Give laziness an inch, and it'll take an ell."

  "Indeed, they want to work," Sophia said. "But not in this dark room."

  "I've plenty of light," Dorothea said.

  "They are setting up a new workroom in the castle above," Sophia continued. "It's a comfortable room with great windows and fireplaces, and they will sit there and talk while they work."

  "Harumph!" Dorothea snorted.

  "They would love for you to work with them, and if I might say so, they could all learn from watching your skill."

  "And who will make them work when they get lazy?" Dorothea demanded.

  "No one will make them work at all," Sophia replied. "They will work because they want to."

  "Who will be in charge? Who will set the hours? Who will make them pay attention to their work when they start gabbling?"

  "No one, Dorothea," Sophia said. Her voice was sad.

  "Not one of them will get as much done as I will," Dorothea snapped irritably. "Go away and bar the door behind you!"

  Luneta stared at the old woman with horror. She tried to think of something to say that would help Sophia persuade the poor woman to leave her prison, but nothing occurred to her. Sophia stepped back beside Luneta and sighed softly. "Can you help?"

  Luneta shook her head. "I can think of nothing else to say."

  "I mean, is there anything else you can do? Something magical? I know that you have powers that the rest of us don't have."

  "Oh, that's why you asked me to come," Luneta said slowly. Then she shook her head again. "But I can't. Not even the most powerful sorceress could help. One thing that none of us can do is change a person's will."

  Sophia closed her eyes sadly. "Then we must leave her here in the darkness."

  Luneta set her lips and said suddenly, "I can at least do something about that. Here, bring me that dead torch over there." Sophia brought the torch to her, and Luneta explained, "I can dust this with a special powder and light it. It will give much more light than that torch Dorothea is working by, and it won't burn out, either."

  They set the torch in a sconce on the wall opposite the old woman's other torch. Luneta performed her charm, and the new firebrand leaped into brilliant light, illuminating the gorgeous dress that Dorothea was creating and casting sharp shadows around the room. But without a word, Dorothea turned her back on the new light, continuing to work in her own shadow, sewing only by the dim light of her old, flickering torch.

  Neither Luneta nor Sophia spoke as they returned to the castle.

  It was three days after the battle with the Brothers before Luneta and Rhience had time to explain to Ywain why they had come looking for him. They told him about Philomela's inheritance and about her sister's attempt to steal it by deceit—perhaps even by murder—and they explained why Philomela needed a champion to defend her rights in a trial by combat.

  "It sounds like exactly the sort of thing I'd rather have nothing to do with," Ywain said frankly when they were done. "Don't think that I don't feel for this Philomela. It does sound as if her sister's done her wrong—well, having her stabbed in the back is a good sign of that—but I don't like the whole trial-by-combat business."

  "I agree with you there," Rhience said. "And so does King Arthur. I hear that he's tried once or twice to put an end to the practice, but it must be hard to change an old tradition. Some barons feel very strongly about the custom, and the king's always stopped short of issuing an outright ban that wouldn't be obeyed anyway. At least he's changed the rules so that it isn't a fight to the death anymore."

  "Any time you fight with real swords, someone can die," Ywain said gravely. "Who is the sister's champion?"

  Luneta and Rhience looked at each other, then shook their heads. "We forgot to ask," Luneta admitted. "But Philomela said that her sister had chosen a good knight."

  "There, you see? I don't want to be hurt, and I don't want to hurt a good knight. This should all be settled in some other way. Justice achieved by force is only partial justice."

  "Isn't that a tad inconsistent of you, my friend?" Rhience asked. "After all, less than a week ago, you took a castle away from an old man by force."

  "A castle he had used to enslave others," Ywain pointed out.

  "No argument there," Rhience said. "What you did was right and just, but you still did it by force, and without force it wouldn't have happened."

  Ywain thought about this, a heavy scowl on his face, but at last the scowl cleared, and he said simply, "Damn."

  "Does that mean you'll help Philomela?" Luneta asked.

  "When did you say this trial by combat is to be?" Ywain asked.

  "The fourth of April," Luneta said. "What is today?"

  "That's only five days away," Ywain said at once.

  "So soon?" Rhience asked sharply. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes," Ywain replied. "Today's the thirtieth of March. I never forget the date anymore, though Heaven only knows what good it will do me now. And where is the trial to take place?"

  "Camelot," Luneta said.

  Ywain shook his head. "I don't fancy going back to court, either. That was where I let my head get turned by fashion and fame and ruined my life. What will they all think when crazy Ywain returns?"

  "Does that matter?" asked Rhience. Ywain didn't reply, and Rhience continued. "If you like, you could fight incognito. Just camp nearby until the day of the trial, then come in wearing your visor down, fight the battle, and leave."

  Ywain nodded slowly, but added in a glum voice, "If I'm still alive after the ba
ttle."

  "If it'll make you happy, I'll drag your corpse away myself. No one will see your dead face."

  Ywain gave Rhience a sour look. "Thank you. You've always been a comfort to me."

  "Then you'll do it?" Luneta asked.

  Ywain nodded. "Ay," he said. "I'll do it, more for the two of you than for this Philomela, but I'll do it."

  "Wonderful!" Luneta said. "Philomela's staying with Laudine, which is on the way to Camelot, so we can go by there and get her before heading on to the trial."

  Ywain shook his head. "I'm not going to Laudine's castle. I'll go on to Camelot, and you go tell your Philomela I'll be there on the right day."

  The three friends and their lioness companion left Diradvent the next morning. Sophia and all the freed women gathered outside in the courtyard to see them off. Every lady had to express thanks to all three of them—a few even ventured a tentative pat for Lass—and so it was almost an hour from the time they mounted their horses to the time they actually rode out the gate. Rhience laughed and said, "Who would have thought that gratitude could be so tiring?"

  "It was refreshing, though," Ywain commented. "Nobody offered to marry me."

  But they weren't done. As soon as they went out the castle gates, they were surrounded by villagers, all wanting thank them and to apologize for their former rudeness. If it hadn't been for Lass, they might never have gotten away from the eager crowd, but since the townspeople gave the lioness a wide berth, the three riders were able at last to fall in behind Lass and ride out of town.

  "Whew," Rhience said, wiping his brow as if exhausted. "If that's what comes of doing good, I've a mind to start doing evil instead."

  "You?" Ywain asked scornfully.

  "That's right," Rhience replied, brightening. "In my next career, I'll be a recreant knight."

  "You'd be terrible at it," Ywain said bluntly.

  Rhience looked affronted. "I don't see why you have to be insulting. If I tried very, very hard, I could—"

  "He's right, you know," Luneta said. "You laugh too much."

  "And, worst of all, you laugh at yourself," Ywain added. "I assure you that no self-respecting recreant knight would ever do that."

  Rhience looked crestfallen. "First the church, now this!" he moaned. "Every promising future is blighted by my fatal habit of laughing. If only I weren't so ridiculous!"

  Luneta smiled but reflected inwardly that she didn't think Rhience ridiculous at all.

  Ywain parted from them late the next day, just over the hill from Laudine's castle, and Luneta and Rhience took their news to Philomela and Laudine. Philomela received it with delight, and when they told about Ywain's victory over the Brothers, she was ecstatic. "Then I'm saved!" she said with a sigh. "I will have a home to return to after all!"

  Laudine said quietly, "No matter what happens, you have a home. Even if you lose your claim, you have a home here whenever you need it." Philomela, overwhelmed, thanked her hostess with great warmth. Watching the two of them, Luneta realized that in the brief time that Philomela had been with Laudine, the two women had formed a friendship much closer than the one Luneta and Laudine had formed in six months. Luneta saw now that there had always been a barrier between her and her hostess, and in honesty she had to admit that the wall had been largely of her own making. Luneta could not help thinking that Laudine was in many ways weak and silly, so even while they were doing magic together, she had always felt distant from her hostess. Luneta wasn't envious of Philomela's close friendship with Laudine, but seeing the depth of the two friends' affection did make Luneta realize something important: it was time for her to leave Laudine's castle.

  Laudine looked up suddenly. "But where is the Knight of the Lion?"

  "He says to tell the Lady Philomela that he will be at Camelot on the fourth, without fail," Rhience replied.

  Laudine looked stern for a moment. "Do you trust him, Rhience? I have known knights who made such promises before."

  "I do trust him, my lady," Rhience replied. "You are thinking of a young and thoughtless knight whom we both remember well, but I promise you that the Knight of the Lion is very different from that knight."

  "Let us hope so," Laudine said. She turned to Philomela and said, "I wish I could go with you, my dear. It would be so good to be able to travel."

  "But it would be beyond everything if you came!" Philomela exclaimed. "Why can you not?"

  "It's this wretched Storm Stone. Even though I have guards posted around it, someone could still disturb it, and the magic says clearly that so long as the storms can be summoned, the ruler of this land must be here in the castle. It feels like a prison sometimes."

  Philomela looked mournful for a moment, then lifted her chin and said firmly, "Then I shall have to visit you often. Indeed, with your permission, I will come back as soon as the Knight of the Lion has confirmed my claim. You'll want to hear all about it anyway, because it should be a grand contest, and I'm sure all the fashionable lords and ladies of England will come to see it. Think of it! The famous Knight of the Lion against the great Sir Gawain!"

  "Sir Gawain!" Luneta exclaimed with a gasp.

  "Didn't I tell you? That's who my sister's champion is."

  "I am shocked, utterly shocked," Rhience said. "Aghast, no less. I would never have imagined that a gently born young lady like you would have even known such words, let alone utter them! And all strung together like that, too!"

  "Shut up, Rhience," Luneta said, panting.

  They were in Luneta's new bedchamber—Laudine having given Luneta's old room to Philomela when Luneta had left the week before—and were at last able to discuss privately Philomela's revelation. Indeed, Luneta had been pacing the room and discussing it animatedly for several minutes, but she had finally run out of vocabulary.

  "As you wish, lass," Rhience said mildly.

  "Oh, Rhience, what are we going to do?" Luneta wailed. "If only we'd asked ahead of time who the sister's champion was! But now we've practically forced Ywain into a promise to fight his own cousin! Isn't there any way for him to back out?"

  "I can't think of one," Rhience admitted. "They've both given their word."

  "Isn't the duty to your own family a prior commitment? Can't we argue that the ties of blood are more important than a promise?"

  "You can try," Rhience said dryly, "but you won't get any support from me." Luneta glanced at him, surprised, and Rhience said, "Remember that you're speaking to a man who has worn a fool's costume and refrained from fighting all these many months because I gave my word."

  Luneta nodded, then looked curiously at Rhience. "That's true, isn't it? In all the adventures you've been in, you've never taken up arms against any man, have you?"

  Rhience shook his head, then grinned. "No, I haven't, but don't take me wrong: if I'd had no other choice, I'd have fought, all right. The truth is that there was always something I could be doing that was more useful than fighting—like when I set you free from the stake and gave you the ring. If I'd tried to fight then, I'd have been killed and you'd have been burned before Ywain got there. As it turned out, no matter what the situation, I could always find a way to be more helpful without a sword than I would have been with one."

  Luneta considered this. "Maybe. But the reason that you looked for something to do besides fighting was because of your promise to a dead man, right?"

  Serious again, Rhience nodded. "Yes. And Ywain and Sir Gawain will care about their promises, too. Ywain broke his word once; you can be sure he won't do it again."

  Luneta sank into a chair. "What if one of them kills the other?"

  "It shouldn't come to that, lass," Rhience said. "Remember that these trials are no longer to the death."

  "How do they end, then?"

  "When one of them yields to the other," Rhience said slowly. He sighed. "Oh, blast," he muttered. "That's not very likely either, is it?"

  "We've got to do something," Luneta said. "Maybe King Arthur can stop it. We must talk to him as soon as we
get to Camelot."

  "Er, Luneta?" Rhience said suddenly. "I've been meaning to tell you this for the past few days, but it's never seemed the right time."

  "Tell me what?"

  "I'm not going with you to Camelot," Rhience said,

  "You're not?" Luneta exclaimed, dismayed. "But why?"

  "I have to go home to Sussex for something," Rhience said. "I'll be leaving in the morning, in fact."

  "But I might need you to help me stop the fight!" Luneta said.

  "I don't think it can be done, actually," Rhience said, "but if you manage, it will be with the king's help, not mine."

  Luneta argued for another hour, but Rhience was adamant. He would not agree to go with her, nor would he tell her what his pressing errand at home was. All he would say was that if he made good time, he might be able to join her at Camelot by the day of the fight itself. And with that Luneta had to be content.

  The journey to Camelot with Philomela and a few of Laudine's guards riding as escorts might have delighted Luneta only a year before. Philomela was a pleasant, good-natured, and fashionable companion—just the sort of friend that Luneta, confined to the family estates in Orkney, used to dream of having. But far from enjoying a friend of her own age, Luneta found herself irritated by everything that Philomela did or said. Either she rode too slowly or she talked too much or she had nothing interesting to say. Luneta kept comparing this journey to her travels with Ywain and Rhience, journeys that she remembered as times of free and easy wandering.

  They arrived at Camelot shortly after noon the day before the trial, and Luneta was never so pleased to end a journey. Although she knew that neither Ywain nor Rhience would be there, just to be sure, she identified herself to the guard at the front gate and asked if either had arrived yet. No, the guard had heard nothing of either of them. Irrationally disappointed, Luneta turned her attention to the task before her and said, "Very well. Is Sir Gawain at court?"