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Lancelot of the Lake

Tristan and his fellow knights from Cornwall, along with approximately thirty other newly knighted warriors who represented different regions of Britain, trained under the supervision of the First Knight of Camelot, Sir Lancelot of the Lake.

Every day, the men awoke early, ate a hearty breakfast, and began a routine of rigorous training in such weapons as mace, battle axe, crossbow, and longbow, in addition to Tristan’s preference, the sword.

They scaled walls for siege attacks, engaged in mock battles and jousts, and with Lancelot’s unparalleled horsemanship, developed even more impressive equestrian skills atop the destriers that King Marke had gifted them in the knighting ceremony at Tintagel.

In addition to the new armor and surcoats displaying their coat of arms, the knights in training now also enjoyed donning elegant tunics of silk and brocade, with breeches of velvet and wool for the many occasions at Camelot where they were expected to be chivalrous and dashing.

As part of their upbringing as squires—where they’d studied French, Latin, music, and poetry, learning to dance with courtly grace—the new knights now reveled in the feasts, balls, and holiday celebrations which enabled them to display their charm and wit.

Distinguished lords, ladies and visiting royalty frequented Camelot, and the young, brightly attired knights often danced with lovely maidens whose fathers were seeking husbands for their daughters, offering substantial dowries and inheritances.

Along with the intensive warfare training with Sir Lancelot and the royal festivities of King Arthur’s court, Tristan, Vaughan, and Connor enjoyed another favorite pastime—falconry.

In the forests of Kennall Vale during their youth, Vaughan had hosted Tristan every summer and had taught him to hunt stag and boar.

Under Vaughan’s guidance, Tristan had learned to use trained peregrine falcons to bring down ducks and cranes who flew beyond the reach of the bow and arrow.

Now, at Camelot, he and Vaughan enjoyed the hunt once again, for the woodlands surrounding the castle were abundant in wild fowl.

Sometimes, they enjoyed gaming with dice, or playing chess with ladies of the court, often listening to troubadours and musicians who sang ballads accompanied by harps and flutes.

In King Arthur’s royal court, there was always sumptuous food, fine wine, lively music, and beautiful ladies, to the delight of most of his companions.

Although his friends reveled in the gaiety, Tristan often preferred to remain seated alone at a table, lost in his chalice of wine, as he was this evening in the glorious palace of Camelot.

Lancelot of the Lake observed Tristan from the perspective of his table across the room.

Taking in the somber mood and distant solitude of the renowned Blue Knight of Cornwall, Lancelot wondered why Tristan drove himself harder than anyone on the training field, pushing himself beyond the point of endurance.

Despite his enormous strength, Tristan was never satisfied; indeed, it seemed as if he were punishing himself physically for some perceived failure.

Sensing in him the same emptiness that plagued his own troubled spirit, Lancelot felt an affinity for the dark, lonely knight who preferred King Arthur’s fine bordeaux than the company of the beautiful brunette nearby who was trying in vain to attract Tristan’s attention.

He, too, suffers a deep wound. Perhaps, like me, he longs for a woman he cannot have, an impossible love that torments his dreams and sickens his soul. We are the same, you and I, Tristan of Cornwall.

Lancelot strode over to Tristan’s table and held up his goblet of wine. He raised his eyebrows and asked cheerfully, “Mind if I join you, Tristan?”

Tristan glanced up from his chalice. He quickly stood and pulled up a chair. Bowing his head, he offered it respectfully and replied, “I’d be honored, Sir Lancelot.”

With a friendly grin, Lancelot settled down into the proffered chair as Tristan sat back down in his.

He took in the knight’s dark wavy hair, the stubble on his sullen face, the deep blue eyes glowering at the jubilant dancers, twirling upon the joyous music of the lively fiddles.

He leaned forward with a conspiratorial grin, a challenging gleam in his twinkling blue eyes.

“Why is it that all of your companions are enjoying the pleasure of female company this evening, while you remain here alone, drowning yourself in King Arthur’s delicious wine?

” At this, he raised his chalice, inhaling the bouquet of the exquisite bordeaux, savoring the earthy, fruity fragrance.

With chivalrous panache, he swallowed a mouthful and leaned back comfortably in his chair, crossing an arm behind his head.

He grinned at Tristan again, awaiting his response.

“I’m not much for dancing, my lord. I’m too awkward,” Tristan replied, pointedly ignoring the pretty brunette who was still trying to catch his eye.

“You are anything but awkward on the training field, Tristan. Quite the opposite. Could it be perhaps that you have a lady waiting for you back home in Cornwall?”

Tristan hesitated a moment before spluttering, “No, it’s not that, my lord. I just prefer to keep to myself. That’s all.”

Lancelot leaned forward intently, his face expectant.

“The men have earned a summer’s respite from training. Many are going home to see their families or their sweethearts.” He eyed Tristan with interest. “Do you plan to go back to Tintagel?”

****

Tristan stared into his goblet. He considered Sir Lancelot’s question.

He had no plans to return home. No, he wanted to remain in Camelot and train all the harder.

It was why he was here, his whole purpose for living—to atone for his failure.

To punish himself for surviving when his family had not.

To forge the rage and guilt into his lethal sword.

No, he did not want to return to Tintagel for a celebration. He wanted to fight.

He realized with a start that Lancelot was waiting for him to respond. “No, Sir Lancelot. I plan to remain here and train hard all summer long. I have no desire to return to Cornwall.”

Tristan took a long pull from his wine. He knew that Vaughan was expecting him to come to Kennall Vale, as he’d done every summer.

But he also knew that accepting the invitation would be interpreted as an agreement to the betrothal of Elowenn, for she was expecting him, too.

Tristan was damned either way, for a refusal would be seen as a rejection of not only the marriage, but of Vaughan’s friendship, which was already strained by Tristan’s reluctance to wed his best friend’s sister.

And he would insult Lord Treave and Lady Melora, who had always treated him like a son. Tristan’s stomach clenched in a knot.

Lancelot seemed to read his thoughts. “Tristan, each summer, I travel to northwestern France, to the region called la Bretagne. There, I oversee my chateau— la Joyeuse Garde— and the surrounding territories that I own.” He edged forward on his chair, his eager face convincing.

“This year, you’ll accompany me. I have several loyal knights that I want you to meet.

It will it be a tremendous learning opportunity for you to see a new land, and to train with these truly exceptional men.

” Lancelot took another long pull of wine from his goblet.

A boyish grin illuminated his handsome, clean-shaven face.

“We depart the day after tomorrow, from a port on the southern coast of Britain. The sea voyage takes a week to ten days, depending on the winds and tides. We’ll return at the autumnal equinox—in time to rejoin the knights for the final year of training here at Camelot.”

Tristan gazed incredulously at his mentor. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He’d be traveling with Lancelot to France? To his personal chateau ? To train with extraordinary knights? His heart pounded with adrenaline. He took a large gulp of wine to quench his parched throat.

“For now, enjoy our king’s fine wine, and perhaps dance with her,” Lancelot chortled, indicating the brunette who was still observing Tristan from the corner of her eye.

Lancelot rose from the table, as did Tristan, bowing his head in deference to the First Knight of Camelot.

His mentor finished his wine, slapped Tristan on the shoulder and grinned.

“Good night, Tristan. I’ll see you in the morning.

” With a friendly nod, Lancelot left the table and headed towards the exit of the grand ballroom.

Tristan sat back down at his solitary table, shaking his head in disbelief. He took another swallow of wine, envisioning the sea voyage to Bretagne, the chance to visit Lancelot’s chateau, and the opportunity to train with exceptional knights.

He would need to tell Vaughan in the morning of his decision not to go to Kennall Vale.

He stared into his goblet, wincing at the effects of that rejection.

At least now he would have a good reason to decline.

Maybe Vaughan would understand. An invitation from Sir Lancelot of the Lake simply couldn’t be refused.

But eventually, he’d have to tell Vaughan the truth. That he couldn’t marry Elowenn. His heart wrenched with guilt.

Tristan watched Lancelot cross the lively ballroom where the joyous music still filled the air and breathless dancers continued their fervent revelry.

His lord’s gaze lingered on the beautiful blond queen seated beside their king as he passed the royal table.

Lancelot’s eyes were filled with longing and regret as he lowered his head to bow before King Arthur and his queen.

As the First Knight of Camelot walked solemnly toward the exit door, Tristan observed Queen Guinevere. Her eyes followed Sir Lancelot’s retreat, the same intense longing on her empty, pearlescent face.

At the door, Lancelot turned for one last glimpse of her before he left. As Tristan saw the passionate, desperate glance that Lancelot and Guinevere shared, the stark reality dawned upon him as if he’d been slapped in the face.

Sir Lancelot of the Lake loves the queen!