At the Crossing Places (20 page)

B
EFORE LADY JUDITH AND I LEFT VERDON, I ASKED
Winnie whether she had put the sprig of wort under her pillow.

“What if I did?” she replied.

“Whom did you see?” I asked.

Winnie lowered her eyes. “No one,” she said in a loud voice, and then she began to blush.

Is it possible that Winnie and I could be betrothed? I do like her. She makes me feel like I've never felt before. But I know she likes Tom, too, and I'm going away, for two years or even longer. Would she wait? And, anyhow, who will decide for me now? Will it be Sir William or Sir John and Lady Helen? Or can I choose for myself?

Lord Stephen welcomed us back to Holt with a tight smile. He told me he wanted to hear about everything, but then he withdrew to the solar with Lady Judith. I stayed down in the hall, and was just telling Miles and Rowena and Rahere about Wild Edric, when Lord Stephen and Lady Judith reappeared.

“Arthur,” said Lady Judith, “will you go and get Haket? I'll find Gubert and Izzie.”

As soon as we'd assembled, Lord Stephen began. “This affects us all, so we should all hear it.” He laced his fingers over his stomach and flexed his thumbs. “I had a visitor today,” he said in a
clipped voice. “From Ludlow. Jacob's wife. I thought she'd come for him, to carry his body home. But it wasn't that.”

Lord Stephen screwed up his eyes and blinked, but he was watching us all very closely. He went over to the square oak box beside the fire and took something out. Then he opened his hand, and lying on his palm was a knob of apple-green crystal. It was as large as a walnut.

Rowena drew in her breath sharply.

“Lady Judith's bloodstone,” Lord Stephen said. “Her life stone. She used to wear it round her neck. But last June,” said Lord Stephen, turning to me, “Lady Judith lost it. It disappeared.”

Lord Stephen showed me the crystal. It had brown spots inside it, and dark red veins.

“So why did Jacob's wife come to see me?” he asked.

I looked at Haket. He was scraping the back of his hand against his rough chin. And then, all at once, Rowena gulped and began to weep. Lord Stephen ignored her.

“She came to give me this stone,” Lord Stephen went on. “But how did this woman, this Jewess in Ludlow, come to have Lady Judith's bloodstone?” Lord Stephen looked at the rafters. “I'll tell you,” he said very sharply. “Jacob bought it. He bought it here. That's what he told his wife, and she came to give it back because we buried Jacob just outside our own graveyard.” Lord Stephen sniffed and cleared his throat. “So who sold the stone to Jacob? That's the question.”

“I didn't mean to,” Rowena cried, and she buried her face in her hands.

Lord Stephen waited patiently.

“It was for my mother,” sobbed Rowena. Her whole body was shaking. “She hurt so much. I was going to buy medicines.”

“You could have asked me for help,” Lord Stephen said. “We could have made your mother's dying less hard.”

“I didn't dare ask,” Rowena sobbed. “I confessed it. I did!”

“I see,” Lord Stephen said slowly. And then he bent down and put his face close to Haket's. “Rowena confessed her sin,” he said in a low voice, “to you and to God, and you used it against her. Is that it?”

“No,” said Haket.

“It is!” Rowena said fiercely.

“I've been watching you,” Lord Stephen told Haket, “and I suspected as much. What did you say to Rowena? That unless she did as you wanted, you'd tell Lady Judith about the bloodstone?”

Haket clenched his teeth. He stood up and I thought he was going to strike Lord Stephen.

“Yes,” said Lord Stephen calmly, “and Rowena believed you. She didn't realize that if you did that, you would be incriminating yourself. You took most of the money, didn't you? And you've been taking advantage of Rowena.”

Haket sat down again, heavily. All the fight had gone out of him.

“Who is most to blame?” Lord Stephen asked himself. “What's the right punishment?”

Outside the hall, I could hear two birds squabbling and someone yelling. But inside, there was not a sound.

Lord Stephen stared at Rowena. “I suppose you know the punishment for theft from your own mistress?” he said mildly. Then he
turned to Haket and screwed up his face. “As for you…” he began in disgust. Lord Stephen flapped his hands. “Get out!” he snapped. “All of you.”

I still don't know what Lord Stephen is going to do about Haket and Rowena, and neither does anyone else. It is dark and long past time for supper, and he and Lady Judith are still up in the solar, talking.

While I was away at Verdon, Simon did ride over to Caldicot and he took my message for Merlin, but this evening he told me he was unable to find him, or even to find out where he was. Sir John explained that Merlin's often away, and half the time he doesn't know where he has gone. This is exactly what I feared.

Once Merlin told me about an island. He said we're looking for it all our lives, without knowing it. But although we don't know what it looks like, we'll recognize it the moment we see it. On this island, Merlin says, there's a house of glass, and as soon as you step into it, you become invisible. So you can see the world, but the world can't see you.

I think that, when his time comes, Merlin will go and live in that house of glass. But because of everything I've seen in my stone, I am afraid I may never see him again.

I
N MY STONE, I CAN SEE A MAN IS LYING ON THE BANK OF
a stream with his cloak folded under his head. His horse is unsaddled and rolling on his back beside him. Around them the grass is thick with daisies, speedwell, and clover, and the stream gurgles like a baby.

But all this only mocks the man's unhappiness. “No love,” he says. “No land. I serve King Arthur, but he ignores me. The knights who say they admire me haven't lifted a finger to help me.”

Now the man turns his head and looks downstream: Two young women wearing dark-purple dresses are walking towards him. One is carrying a golden bowl, the other a towel.

At once the man scrambles to his feet.

“Sir Lanval?” one of the young women says. “My mistress has sent us for you.”

“Look!” says the other woman. “Over there! Her tent.”

I've never seen such a tent. The cloth glistens: It looks as if it has been cut from a rainbow. The poles are wrapped in gold foil. Even the slender ropes are woven from gold thread.

A most lovely lady steps towards Lanval. She's wearing white ermine. Much of her it covers, but much is uncovered. Her skin's smooth as silk, whiter than hawthorn blossom.

“Sir Lanval,” the lady begins, “I've been looking for you all my
life. I want to love you more than any other man. Are you worthy of that?”

Lanval's blood rushes to his face. “There's nothing you can ask of me that I will not do,” he declares.

“All right!” replies the lady. “After you leave this tent, you can have whatever you wish for, and as often as you wish for it. However much gold and silver you spend or give away, I'll make sure you still have enough. But if you tell anyone at all about me, you'll lose my love at once and forever. You'll never see me again.”

Now Lanval takes the lady into his arms and he kisses her. More than once.

“You must go now,” the lady tells him. “Whenever you want to talk to me, I'll be beside you and will grant your wish. Only you will be able to see me or hear my voice.”

Lanval dips his hands into the golden bowl and dries them on the towel. Once more he embraces his lady, and now he leaves the rainbow tent.

Sir Lanval's in no hurry: He wants time to think. “I was so unhappy,” he says to himself. “Did all this happen, or was it a dream while I was lying on the riverbank?”

Several times he looks over his shoulder, but of course the tent is no longer there.

“I wish,” says Lanval, “I wish I had some proof.”

At once he's aware that someone is riding just behind him. “This proof!” says the lady, and she's smiling.

Lanval exclaims and reaches out. But the lady vanishes.

Now Lanval gallops for joy! He rides back towards the court at
Carlisle, and when he returns to his lodging, he finds his right pocket is stuffed with silver.

“Try the other pocket,” says a voice at his elbow.

So Sir Lanval puts a hand into his left pocket. It is full of gold!

Now I can see Sir Lanval walking through city streets, and he's giving a coin to each beggar. He's at the prison gates, purchasing the freedom of all the men he believes to be innocent. I can see him buying tunics, hoods, and stout shoes for the singers and jugglers: sitting with his guests at the head of a well-stocked table…

And now I can see a garden in Camelot, with many knights and ladies taking their ease. But not Sir Lancelot—I don't know where he is. Sir Owain is walking with Lionors along a row of box bushes cut into the shapes of lions and camels and crocodiles, and Sir Cador and Moronoe are looking at little fish nosing and squirting around a pond, and Sir Brian is strolling with Ettard beside one of the little canals dividing the garden. And they are all talking about love's joy, love's suffering.

But Sir Lanval is sitting on his own. The one person he would like to be able to talk about, he cannot even mention.

Queen Guinevere herself approaches him, and Lanval stands up.

“Every man here except for you is twinned with a lady, and every lady is twinned with a man,” Guinevere says. “You must be very fond of your own company.”

“It's not that,” says Lanval.

The queen takes Lanval's arm and they sit down side by side. “Tell me what you'd like most,” she murmurs.

Lanval stiffens. He says nothing.

“Maybe you can have it.”

Still Lanval says nothing.

“Have you no time for young women?”

“I love a lady,” Lanval replies, “and she loves me. She's a better woman than you are, and more beautiful.”

“I see,” the queen says coldly. She stands up. “You'll regret saying that, Lanval.”

Sir Lanval regrets it already. He fears he will never see his love again.

Now Guinevere returns to her chamber, and by the time King Arthur comes to her, after a day's hunting, she is lying in bed. Her eyes are swimming with tears.

“Sir Lanval asked me for my love,” she says, “and when I refused him, he insulted me. He has humiliated me and wronged you. I won't get up again until you right this wrong.”

“Lanval can defend himself in court,” says Arthur-in-the-stone. “If he's found guilty, he'll swing or burn.”

In court, the king accuses Lanval of asking Guinevere for her love, and at once he denies it. Many of the knights in court exchange quick glances. They know how the queen is.

“Did you say,” the king asks Lanval, “that the lady you love is a better woman than the queen, and more beautiful?”

“I admit it,” Lanval replies. “And I bitterly regret it. Now I'll never see her again.”

“My earls, lords, and knights,” says King Arthur, “what is your verdict?”

“Whether or not Lanval asked the queen for her love cannot be proved or disproved,” Sir Gawain says. “If he did, he's a traitor.”

“By boasting,” says Sir Gareth, “Lanval has angered the queen.”

“By angering her, is he dishonoring the king?” asks Sir Brian of the Isles.

“Without seeing his lady, we cannot say whether or not Lanval was telling the truth,” argues Sir Gawain.

“If Lanval can prove the truth of his words,” says the king, “I will pardon him. But if not, I will banish him.”

Sir Lanval cannot prove it, though. He can no longer call on his lady. But just as the king's earls, lords, and knights are about to reach a decision, two young women ride into court. They're dressed in the same tight-fitting, mulberry dresses as the young women who carried the golden bowl and the towel, but Lanval doesn't recognize them.

The young women walk up to Arthur-in-the-stone. “Sire,” says one, “will you prepare one of your chambers? Hang it with silk curtains. Open the windows.”

“Our mistress is coming here to Carlisle,” says the other young woman. “She wants to speak to you. She may wish to stay.”

“Sir Kay,” says the king, “show these ladies to the upper rooms.”

Now the knights begin to debate again. I can hear them arguing whether these two young women have anything to do with the case; whether to wait until their mistress arrives.

A woman on horseback enters the town, alone. She's wearing a silk cloak, golden brown streaked with bloodred, the color of beech leaves just before they fall. Her hair is gold thread, her skin smooth as silk, whiter than hawthorn blossom. On her wrist, a sparrow hawk perches.

As she rides into the courtyard, all the people there turn and
stare at her. In no haste, she dismounts, then enters the hall and walks towards the king. How can any human being be so beautiful? First, everyone gazes in wonder, then they laugh for pure joy.

Lanval can scarcely breathe. “If only you'll forgive me,” he whispers, “I don't care what this court does with me.”

The lady lets her cloak slip from her shoulders. She's wearing a white tunic and a shift so loosely laced you can glimpse her sides.

“Sire,” she says to Arthur-in-the-stone, “I am the lady your knight Lanval loves, and I love him. He stands accused in this court, but it would be unjust to punish him. Your queen misun-derstood him—Lanval never asked her for her love. As for his boast…Your earls and lords and knights must decide whether I can acquit him.”

All around him, the king can hear voices urging him to forgive Lanval and set him free. He cannot hear a single dissenter.

“Let it be as the court recommends,” the king calls out. “Lanval! You are free.”

An upper room in the court is open and prepared, but the lady will not stay. She thanks the king, bows, and leaves the hall. In the Yard, she mounts her white palfrey.

Now I can see Lanval walking over to the far gateway. He steps up onto the marble mounting block, the one used by fully armed men.

The lady trots across the yard. Smiling, she turns to Lanval, and with one great shout and a standing leap, Sir Lanval mounts her palfrey behind her.

“At once and forever!” cries the lady, and she spurs on her palfrey. “To Avalon!”