Chapter Eleven: The Arrival

A week later, the knights were still there. Lancelot was riding out on the hills with Gawain, Galahad and Bors. Arthur and Guinevere were lost in their own romantic world, walking in the woods near the house. Iseult was inside the house, sitting in the chair singing softly to herself in some unknown tongue. Or, at least, unknown to Tristan, who walked inside the house and shut the door quietly behind him, listening to the sound of her voice; delicate, sorrowful. She stopped mid-phrase and looked up at Tristan from her chair, and smiled slightly.

"You should sing more often," he told her. Iseult said nothing, looking away from Tristan and instead out of the window at the expanse of grass, reminding her of Lancelot. She began to take up her tune again, humming it this time instead of singing it. Tristan sat down on the bed next to the chair Iseult was in.

"You don't know who the father is, do you?" he asked her. Iseult cut the humming and looked straight at Tristan.

"Direct, aren't you?" she observed. Tristan smiled a little, but he wanted an answer.

"Of course I don't know. I don't keep a record of where and when, contrary to what some people have thought about me in the past. She smiled a little at Tristan, reminding him of his accusation before they had slept together.

"You love him though, don't you?"

"I love you too," Iseult whispered. "Just…in another way." Tristan smiled and chuckled. Iseult sighed.

"Don't be like that. I don't have the energy." She rubbed her eyes and rested her head in her hand. Tristan got off the bed and kneeled next to her. He looked at her half-turned face, then took her free hand and kissed it lightly. Iseult looked at him and smiled, weary. He brushed her face lightly with his hand.

"You'll be fine," he told her. Then he got up and crossed the room and left, leaving her to rest. Iseult watched the door for a while, thinking, wondering, hoping.

A few hours later, Iseult pulled open the door and took a couple of steps outside.

"Guinevere!" she yelled. Guinevere's head appeared from above a grassy hillock. Iseult grabbed her stomach. "If you are intending to be there to help, now might be a good time," she cried. Guinevere leapt up and ran to the house, picking up a small bag from her tent as she did so. Lancelot made to follow her, but Iseult stopped him.

"No. On m own. Guinevere's only there if it goes wrong," she told him sternly, turning painfully and walking inside. Guinevere slowly shut the door, fixing Lancelot with an unfathomable look. Lancelot frowned at leaned against the wall, arms folded. Bors walked forward a couple of steps towards him.

"Come on, Lancelot, best leave them to it." Lancelot grunted in acknowledgement and moved away from the wall and scuffed his way to the edge of the hill and sat down, one ear on the house, listening out for his Iseult. Gawain and Bors exchanged looks ad sighed, then moved away from the house, not wanting to hear any of this, squeamish as they were about such things. Tristan hung around for a moment, but the wanderer in him took over and he decided to ride round the hills with his hawk until it was all over-a few hours, he guessed. Galahad watched Tristan ride away and frowned in thought. A cry issued from the house, and he scuttled away after Bors and Gawain.

When Tristan returned three hours later, it was still going on. Screams were coming from the house thick and fast, and the knights had moved further away so as not to hear, but the cries were becoming louder. Lancelot ha begun pacing the small spot where he had been sitting, becoming more and more frantic, turning the ground beneath him to mud.

"How Lancelot can put up with that racket I don't know," Bors grumbled. Gawain looked at him, amused.

"Bors, that's his child being born in there, and I've seen you much more worried when your own children were being born." Bors conceded and poked at the fire with a stick. Galahad looked up at the house suddenly.

"Have you noticed? It's silent." The other two knights looked up at the house, suddenly interested. Lancelot had stopped pacing and was now about ten feet away from the door, worried. There was silence for another minute, and the knights were almost sure that the worst had happened, when a cry came from inside the house that was unlike the ones before. Like a new born lamb in the field. The knights smiled and looked back at their fire.

"Thank the Gods that's over. I don't know of I could have taken much more if it was that screaming again."

When Lancelot heard the sound he rushed up to the door and burst in. Guinevere had stood up, and turned as Lancelot entered. She smiled faintly at him, and stood back to let him pass as he ran to Iseult's side. She smiled at him, holding a small bundle in her arms, Lancelot stared at the child before him, unable to breathe.

"A son, Lancelot, you have a son," Iseult whispered, tears in her eyes as she held her baby close to her. When Lancelot heaved in a breath finally, his eyes filled with tears and he laughed. The baby squirmed in his mother's arms, screwing up his face and clenching his tiny fists. Iseult looked down at her child with a mixture of wonder and pride. She looked back at Lancelot an smiled, seeing a tear escape his eye and travel down his cheek, staining it. She cupped his face with her free hand and cocked her head slightly.

"Silly. What are you doing that for?" she asked. Lancelot looked at her through shining eyes.

"He's beautiful; you're beautiful. My clever girl." He leaned in and kissed her forehead. Iseult kissed his lips in return.

"I love you, Lancelot," she said. Lancelot pulled back a little, his face registering shock. From her dark corner in the room, Guinevere frowned, wondering what he'd do next. Lancelot looked from Iseult to his son, then back again, and his face relaxed and turned into a smile.

"I love you too," he replied. Guinevere scowled in the corner and strode quietly but forcefully out of the house, shutting the door behind her, unnoticed by Lancelot or Iseult. Outside, the knights looked up from their chores with hidden interest along with Arthur's more obvious curiosity.

"So, what is it?" Gawain asked.

"A boy," Guinevere said flatly before striding past them. Arthur watched stride off, squinting slightly in thought, then his attention was turned back to his horses saddle.

"Good, then we can leave before the bad weather sets in again," Bors said, and turned away.

"Since when was it good weather?" Galahad asked. The knights laughed.

Tristan, however, looked at the house and then turned round to watch Guinevere's disappearing form, then looked back at the house. He nodded, thinking, noting down Guinevere's reaction, and smiled. His hawk screeched in his arm as he walked away from the house. He looked at her, and stoked her head as he walked.

"Oh, don't worry, girl, don't worry. She won't be away for long. You'll see."

The End

Written in 2005