Chapter Three: Diamond in the Rough

Lancelot was absent-mindedly walking around the camp before he went to bed, taking a last look round to put his mind at rest. He stopped next tothe wagon where the Roman family, Guinevere and Iseult were. He looked through the translucent curtain covering one side of the wagon with a nonchalent glance, but what he saw held his gaze. Guinevere was bent over a bowl of water, the Roman woman behind her washing her back. Lancelot watched as the water shimmered on her back. A glint of metal to her left caught his attention, and his eyes were drawn to the neck of Iseult, kneeling next to her. She wore a thick band of silver and bronze round her neck and herash blonde hair fell over her shoulders in three or four long ringlets as she leant over the bowl of water, dousing her neck with it. Suddenly, Guinevere looked up and stared at Lancelot with an even, calm face. Lancelot stared back for a moment then looked quickly away, unsure of what to do momentarily. He looked to the side and then turned and walked away to his tree. Iseult, unnoticed by either of them, watched as Lancelot moved away and smiled, thinking to herself, then her attention moved back to the bowl of water.

Lancelot watched as Guinevere walked into the darkness, followed by Arthur, and sighed. His earlier conversation with her saddened him, but it was true. He would have left her in the prison, along with Iseult, attracted as he was to both of them. But Guinevere was clearly infatuated with Arthur-power and all that- and Iseult…Iseult he couldn't quite read. She kept herself to herself, but always wore this knowing look. Like she had seen so much of the world but had no need to tell anyone about it. Or she had some deep, dark secret buried under those sharp blue eyes of hers. She reminded him of Tristan in a funny sort of way.

He shifted uncomfortably against the tree he was leaning against, and moved his head to the side andstarted as he saw Iseult moving in his direction, as silent as the wood around him. He was shocked at how she'd changed since he had last seen her in the wagon. She no longer looked like the wild thing he had found huddled in the corner of a dark, damp-ridden cell. Her hair was loose and flowing over her shoulders in loose, light blonde waves. Her skin, washed and stripped of the layers of dirt, glowed with an ethereal light as the moon reflected off her. She was wearing a flowing dress made out of fine-woven wool in a dark blue, with edging in ablacker shade, the neckline sloping into a deep v-shape. Lancelot was entranced by her. Her chestwas pale, yet seemed to glow under the light from the fires everyone surrounding them had lit.She caught him staring at her and switched direction andwalked towards him, a coy smile dancing across her face. She stopped a few feet away, and glanced for a couple of moments in the direction Guinevere and Arthur had gone, and then looked back to Lancelot.

"Infatuated, aren't you?" she asked, her voice floating on the still night air.Lancelot, not concentrating,wonderedif she was talking about Guinevere or herself. Whichever one she was talking about, the answer was the same.

"I suppose so." Iseult grinned a little and then sat down next to him against the tree. Lancelot's face showed a wry smile, thinking of how tough this girl seemed. She looked so beautiful tonight and yet, she gave the impression that she didn't care at all what she looked like. There had to be somesensitive part of her, he thought to himself.The twostayed silent for a while, and Iseult wondered if Lancelot had fallen asleep, when he spoke.

"We know so little about you," he started.

"True,"Iseult said.

"And yet I still saved you, knowing nothing about you, except that you were probably a Woad."

"Yes, you did," Iseult replied. "Not that you wanted to.It's obvious that youwanted to leave us there." Lancelot looked up sharply, wondering if Iseult had been listening to his conversation with Guinevere. Iseult must have read his face, for she answered, "You give off that impression every time that one of us even looks at you." Lancelot's face relaxed, but only a little, for he was slightly ashamed that he had let his true feelings be shown. He decided to ask herone of thequestions about herthat had been annoying him for some time.

"Where do you fit in, in all of this? What are you?" he questioned. "You don't look like a Woad, and I've seenenough of them in my lifetime." Iseult was silent for a moment, and couldn't look at Lancelot, but then she realised that she would be giving it away if she ddn't give him an answer. Finally she spoke.

"I'm like Arthur. I don't fit in, I don't belong." she turned her head to look at Lancelot with a look of sadness. "You have your home, even if you aren't there right now. I am forever separate, split in two."

"I don't have my home. We grew apart a long time ago." Iseult looked at him, shocked.

"But of course you do!" Lancelot frowned. She leant forward closer towards him and clasped his hand in hers, pulling it to his chest and holding it there, so both could feel his heartbeat. "Your home is here. It will always be here. No-one can take that away from you. Not the Romans, not Britain, nor any sword. Suddenly realising what she had just done, she dropped his hand and leant back against the tree again, cursing herself silently for being so forward. In that moment Lancelot figured out her weakness. The weakness of a thousand other women that she until now had kept under wraps. He stared at her, then took her hand in his, and held it against her own chest. Iseult looked at Lancelot, wondering. Their faces were so close, Lancelot could positively smell her.

"Then surely your true home is here too?" he asked quietly . Iseult looked at him with searching eyes again, then, realising that her had worked out her secret, crossed the finalhalf-inchand kissed him softly, lingering. She pulled away slightly and smiled as she asked, "Still infatuated?" Lancelot smiled, thenchuckled quietly and pulled her towards him and kissed her passionately. Iseult kissed him back and bit his lower lip gently, looking deep into his eyes.Iseult looked quicklyaround her, checking to see if anyone was nearby. All the other knights had chosenplaces to rest that were out of sight of them, behind the tree.Lancelot stilled her fearsby pulling her towards him and enveloping her with his arms. Iseult slid next to himonto the ground next to the tree andbegan loosening his britches.Then he climbed slowly on top of her. Her hair was spread out around her like one of the halos in the paintings of Arthur's God. As he leaned in and kissed her. Her hands spread out over his back as his hand ran down her dress, then up again, revealing first her calf, then her thigh. He switched to the other hand, doing the same. Iseult's hands left Lancelot's back and took the hem of her dress and pulled it over her head. Her hands slipped down Lancelot's back again and then she slowly slipped off his britches. Lancelot slipped into her and she gasped quietly, her nails digging in slightly. He kissed her for a while, then slowly began to thrust. The wood around them was silent and still. Both kept looking into each other's eyes, and as Lancelot began to thrust harder and deeper, Iseult moved her hands to his face to keep eye-contact as they both came, Iseult first, her sudden cry and gasp, making him thrust faster and come seconds later. He kissed her gently, as she lay there, weak beneath him. Weak, for the first time since he'd rescued her. After a moment he pulled his britches back up and pulled the rug and Iseult's cloak over them both. Iseult lay her head on Lancelot's chest, and hearing his steady breathing as he gradually fell asleep, smiled a little to herself.

Iseult turned to Lancelot and watched him for a while as he slept contentedly; soft warm breaths flowing over her face. She gently extricated herself from his arms and stood up, cloak wrapped round her. She slipped on her dress, thankful that the winds had changed a little earlier that evening. She gently placed therug round Lancelot's body and walked away quietly, not making a sound as her feet flowed across the floor of the leaf and snow-spattered floor. She lay awake for hours once she had returned to the wagon, thinking, finally falling asleep a few hours before dawn.

She was woken the next morning by alarmed shouts. She quickly got up and leapt out of the wagon with weapon in hand, straight into the path of Lancelot. She glanced at him and then moved to the other side of him, next to Guinevere, who had a bow and arrow ready to fire. Lancelot looked sideways at Iseult, then Guinevere.

"Your hand seems to be better," he told her, smiling, and faced back to the scene unfolding before them.