Spring Maiden (New Book)

Lancelot and the Prophecy

"Too many bridges to burn, my friend. Too many waters to cross."

This was the response Elayne commonly heard her father utter when Sir Lancelot came to speak with him about the 'great allegiances.'

For months now the famous knight had come to their castle in Astolat, a large and highly important kingdom.

Elayne's fingers reached for the curtain that separated her father's meeting chambers from the sun-drenched spot she usually sat and span from. She pulled it closer to the wall gingerly, concealing the gap.

Neither man knew she sat here listening to their meetings, assuming no doubt she had departed on hearing news of Lancelot's arrival. Father would shoo all the women and children away like horseflies whenever anybody significant plodded over the drawbridge.

But the Celt in her blood would never allow her to sit oblivious up in her chambers. The lands were in need of protection, they were green and luscious once again in this age of peacetime, and they needed not to be soaked in yet another century's worth of blood. Talk of war made her anxious too for the remaining tribes-people; their good allegiance with the Christians was fragile and relied upon the stability, which King Arthur had brought about. Great Goddess, why did he want to sabotage this?

She unwound the yarn from her fingers; it had begun to whiten the tips of her fingers, for she had sat frozen now for quite some time.

She paused as conversation on the other side of the curtain escalated. She frowned as she heard the knight raise his voice; something very unusual for the lowlier man to do with his conversant, even if he were The Sir Lancelot.

A silence followed and Elayne clutched once again at the fabric and tugged back the curtain a little whilst tilting her head forward to align her vision with the gap.

On the other side sat her father behind his mahogany table, swirling a goblet of wine in his hand before tossing it down his throat. He was so blasé; Elaine did not know how he had become such a force in the West. He acted as though he couldn't give a monk's arse about anything these important people brought to him. And when they dared to shout at him, he did nothing at all. But yet at the same time, he dared to defy the great High King. And Elayne was proud of him for that. She wanted nothing less than for Father and his good men to ride to battle, triggering an apocalypse, as the Christians would say.

She heard a deep sigh and her eyes traveled to the visitor. A flash of messy blonde hair caught her eye, as he dropped his head in his hands. Elayne frowned. Why is this Sir Lancelot so bloodthirsty? Has he not lanced enough opponents by now? Elayne bit her lip, her eyes falling on the large golden rings on each of his fingers; they were each crowned with jewels and engravings. Gifts, she imagined from all the rulers and traders in the realm and beyond, dying to be in Sir Lancelot's favour.

Elaine smiled amusedly. Every ruler but one.

Sir Lancelot sat up now and Elayne caught a glimpse of his profile; a straight thin nose and nice, slanted eyes. She felt her pale cheeks flush.

Sir Lancelot now straightened his hands and pointed them in the direction of her father. "I do not understand you," he said frustrated.

"Why not?" said Father. "I don't want to go to war. What is so incomprehensible about that?"

"Everything," Lancelot muttered.

"We have been through this now a thousand times," said Father. "I cannot just throw my men behind Arthur because he has decided to march on France. I have no interest in the place. And furthermore, in the event of a retaliation, we will be the very first target here in Astolat."

"And we will protect you," said Sir Lancelot.

"If I do not march then I will not need protecting," said Father. "I am not one of the herd, to be shepherded into Armageddon. Do understand."

"Please," said Sir Lancelot, his hands now in a prayer position in front of his chest. Elaine blinked. What gives heed to such desperation?

"This is making me all the more suspicious, "said father, planting his two hands on the table and standing up. "What kind of mess is Arthur in that he needs the force of a small provincial house like mine?"

Sir Lancelot sighed. "No mess," he said. "He is just... He... Oh, to hell with it, he is following a prophecy."

"Oh, well that really makes me want to jump in," said father drily, now turning and waddling over to the small cylindrical table where the wine casket lay.

Elayne dropped the curtain quickly, squeezing her eyes shut and saying a little prayer to the goddess. Please let him not have seen me!

There was a silence and she dared herself to open an eye. Is Father on the other side, waiting to rip open the curtain?

"There may be one thing that you can do for me, in return for what you ask," he said suddenly, his voice so close now that it felt as though he were just inches away from her, only veiled by the tapestry.

"Yes," breathed Sir Lancelot, a relief creeping into his voice.

"I have a beautiful daughter," said Father. "I'd like you to meet her."

***

That night Elayne sat in bed as her hair was brushed a hundred times. It was a large brush made from soft horses' hair, and once the tangles were straightened, it felt gentle and soft upon her light copper head. She closed her eyes, the brush strokes lulling her into a daydream.

"Such wonderful hair," she heard her maid Morgaine proclaim, as she did every night.

"Thank you," replied Elayne.

"Something wrong, my lady?" She asked, sweeping my hair behind my shoulders with the brush.

"Why, no, not really," said Elayne. She would not discuss her personal matters with Morgaine.

"Lancelot was here today again, I see," she said casually.

Elaine's eyes narrowed, unsure whether Morgaine had asked this by coincidence or whether the girl was prying.

"Morgaine, bring me my lavender pillows," said Elaine, completely ignoring her last utterance. "I need to sleep well this moon and I have not the past three gone with those foxes yowling out there."

Morgaine nodded quickly. "Of course," she said, panic flashing in her eyes. She had now sensed boundaries were overstepped, and she felt a swell of pity for the poor girl. She was only on the cusp of womanhood, she ought not know much better.

Elayne, stood up and pulled back the covers, and distractedly slid between them. Morgaine soon reappeared bearing the fragrant cloth pouches and she thanked her. The girl blew out the candles without a further word and left her with just the one by her bedside table.

Now alone, Elayne happily let her thoughts run wild. What strange events today had held. She had thought Lancelot off for persevering her father so relentlessly, all in the name of a highly unnecessary war. But then he had explained himself. That he was under instruction. That he was merely serving his master, even though his master was misguided. How faithful he was.

Next, Elayne remembered her fathers' proposition, and she felt her heart flutter at the thought. She had thought him incredibly handsome. Possible the most handsome man in all the kingdoms. Oh, no wonder all the maidens spoke so often and so coyly of him across the valleys.

He had heard him accept Father's offer to meet her and she allowed herself a few moments to fantasize about such a meeting. Elayne in her finest saffron-dyed robes, red roses atop her head, accentuating her rustic tribal beauty. And he, dressed in the modern Roman fashion, no doubt, bowing before her, casting his pale blue eyes over her freckles, in what she hoped would be pleasant surprise.

But alas, she knew what she must do. She must repel Lancelot, For the sake of the lands. For the sake of peace and prosperity. For the sake of the great pagan plight. For the sake of the tribes, of whom she was descended from, and of which her mother lived amongst in house of maidens, on the Isle of Avalon itself. So much of their ancestry had been lost, decimated by the Romans. She could not allow herself to be part of a deal that would no doubt lead to more ruin, more bloodshed.