La Damoiselle Arthur 12 (Patreon)

Chapter 12

As Arthur and Lancelot rode north from Mercia into Northumbria, the rolling fields and farmland gave way to wilder lands. They slowed, riding along what were scarcely more than game trials through forests, crossing streams. Eventually, they came to the edge of Waterhead Moor, where they were greeted by a series of mossy standing stones carved with ancient runes.

“Be careful,” Lancelot said as Arthur moved past the stones. “The moors are treacherous, and to leave the paths could mean death.”

“You do not need to protect me,” Arthur said, though Lancelot’s tone of concern moved him strangely. “I am still Arthur. Don’t treat me as a woman.”

“It is not because you are a woman that I caution,” Lancelot said,”but because you are my King.”

Arthur smiled to himself. Lancelot truly was, despite his flaw, among the noblest of knights. From the marshy lowlands, they rode toward the center of the moor, where the land rose from the grassy, damp lower lands. As the sun set to the west over the Largs’ Bay, they could see a few lights glowing in the growing darkness above them. Taking a winding trail up and up, they eventually came upon a village, the small, low houses constructed of stone, their roofs covered in thick peat.

Arthur paused at the edge of the village. His horse whinnied in annoyance. The sight of the village promised shelter, hay, and his horse was not pleased at the delay.

“What is it?” Lancelot asked.

“I am not sure how to proceed,” Arthur said. “Merlin. He knew of this druid Colban, and was meant to serve as my liaison here in the village.” He thought for a moment.

“He is not here,” Lancelot said, not understanding the problem. “So, you will have to seek yourself.”

Arthur turned to Lancelot. “I do not wish for people to know that I am- that I am a woman. Yet, were I to take on a false name, that would be a lie, a form of dishonesty. When I seek the unicorn?” He struggled, not wanting to finish the thought.

“Your maidenly purity might be in question,” Lancelot said.

“Yes,” Arthur said, chagrined.

“Then let me speak for you,” Lancelot said. “My maidenly virtue has long since been sullied.”

Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “I think that will work,” he said.

“If anyone asks, I will merely say you are my companion.  We need neither reveal your identity nor lie about it.”

“Very good.” Once more, Arthur felt a new, feminine sense of gratitude overcome him, and he quickly pushed the disturbing feeling away. Truly, he was deeply ashamed to find himself in a woman’s shape, and now that it came to engaging with strangers, with people he did not know and trust, he shrank away from the idea.  He was disguised as a boy, but there was no disguising his soft voice.

They proceeded into town. Most of the houses were dark, and the streets deserted. The people did not feel there was much reason to waste precious fuel on lights when there was little to do at night anyway. “Perhaps we should knock and ask someone after Colban?” Lancelot suggested.

But, just as he spoke, the two heard the sound of laughter. Riding around a bend in the road, they saw a building, warm light glowing from within, and a sign hanging over the doorway that read “Misty Law Tavern.”

“Excellent,” Lancelot said.

“Thank the Lord we are in England,” Arthur said. “Where every town has a pub!”

They hitched their horses to the fence outside the tavern and made their way to the thick, wooden door.  Arthur once more found himself feeling strangely nervous. As a younger man, before his days as King, he’d made himself familiar with a few taverns. But this was the first time he’d entered such a place as a woman, and he was not sure how to act or behave. What if the men saw through his disguise?

Once more, Lancelot came to the rescue. “Stay close, and allow me to do the talking.”

Arthur nodded, unable to resist the urge to put his hand on Lancelot’s arm and give give him a small squeeze of thanks. Immediately, he regretted the gesture. It seemed like something a woman would do. What’s wrong with me? Arthur wondered. Why am I so uncertain, so meek?

But he didn’t have time to pursue the thought, as Lancelot pushed the door open and strode into the small room, ducking under the low doorway. Arthur followed, slightly behind and to the side of Lancelot.

As the door creaked open and Lancelot entered, all eyes turned to the strangers at the door, and the conversation stopped.  The only sound was the crackling of the fire in the old stone hearth. The local townsfolk’s eyes hardened as they assessed the strangers, and Arthur couldn’t help but slip further behind Lancelot, his fear at being discovered a woman spiking under the gaze of all these men.

“Pardon me for interrupting, good people,” Lancelot said. “We are two weary travellers seeking shelter for the night.”

The eyes continued to stare.

The Inn Keeper carefully judged the possible threat. The strangers were well dressed, and Lancelot’s accent, inflected with a bit of French, suggested -- class.  That was not necessarily a good thing in the minds of the Scotsman.  But, they surely were n bandits and likely had coin. “We are hospitable folk, weary traveller. Friendly to those who are friendly. Mind you sharing your name?”

“I am Lancelot Du Lac,” he answered flatly.

Murmurs. People now glanced at each other.

“THE Lancelot?” The Inn Keeper said, incredulous.

“The one and only,” Lancelot said, now unable to restrain a slightly prideful tone.”

“Well, look here,” the Inn Keeper said. “An actual famous knight! Come on in!”

Lancelot gave Arthur a little shrug and led him to a table in the corner. The men around the Inn greeted Lancelot, shook his hand. Fame was a magical thing, and the fact Lancelot was not really one of those southern English but a foreigner, well, they all supposed it was fine.  While Lancelot charmed the locals, Arthur sat at the corner table, glad to be ignored, slumping, almost trying to hide.

Once they all had their chance to bask in the radiance of Lancelot’s fame, some did inquire about Arthur, wondering if he, too, were famous, but Lancelot dismissed him with a wave saying, “just my companion. No one you would ever have heard of.”

The folk seemed satisfied. Arthur was relieved, but hungry. He would have gone ahead and asked for food, but he was too ashamed of his voice, too nervous it might betray his sex. So he sat quietly and waited, stomach grumbling.

Finally, it was the Inn Keeper who intervened, as the men around the room had been begging Lancelot to regale them with stories of his adventures, and Lancelot had been happy to oblige, taking up a place next to the fire and entertaining them with stories of dragons and and beasts, black knights and damsels.

“If only half of what he said was true,” Arthur mumbled, both resenting Lancelot’s arrogance while also admiring it. He really is quite charming, Arthur couldn’t help but admit to himself, even if he can be an ass.

Finally, the Inn Keeper, fearing this would go on all night and wanting some sleep himself, made his last call.  Lancelot asked for food, and the Inn Keeper promised some fine rabbit stew.  Lancelot came back to the table where Arthur waited with two wooden mugs full of frothy ale.