The All New Elaine

Lady Charlotte-Elaine of Shalott, formerly known as Elaine the Fair, Elaine the Lovely, the Lily Maid of Astolat was still not content with her new role.

She had taken advantage of Little Plump Jo (the current Artisan in Residence in Malory Tennyson’s Cloudbank Cabin for Arthurian Studies) and her inept storytelling to escape from the duty of nursing Sir Lancelot du Lac for months and then having to die when he refused to return her love.

Heather Dale had sung it so well

With trembling hands I held your life inside you

But failed to earn your favour for my own

Now Elaine insisted that she was to be known as The Lady Charlotte-Elaine of Shalott, Entrepreneur owner of Charlotte’s Web Weaving. She had used the money, offered by Sir Lancelot in thanks for her care, to purchase the Artist’s Studio in the tower on the Island of Shalott and set up her weaving business there. The new role was very satisfying and she was gaining a formidable reputation. She had completed major wall panel commissions for the palace and several grand manor houses. She had launched a line of brocade fabrics for gowns and also a range of dog coats Canine Capers for the dogs at the court of Camelot. And she had created a profitable sideline of sleeves to be worn as tokens by knights competing in tournaments to use up left over material. But she was still not content.

Elaine still wanted Sir Lancelot du Lac.

And he seemed to be no more impressed with the new Elaine than he was with her former persona.

She had tried out a variety of other guises. She tried out the Southern Belle approach. Wearing too much kohl and rouge and carrying a large silk fan she crooned “Hiiiiii! I’m Rosebud McGuffin! Ah do de-clare, Monsieur Doo Laque, that you just get handsomer every time ah see you! You can come and save this Southern Belle in de-stress any time you like!”

But Lancelot had simply been bewildered and unimpressed. He replied “Frankly, my dear, you are not specifically mentioned on my Hero’s To Do list.”

It seemed he was single-mindedly devoted to Queen Guinevere, the wife of his king and best friend, King Arthur Pendragon. But as Little Plump Jo had been reluctant to write a graphic sex scene, so far ‘THE Love Affair’ had not begun in earnest in her retelling of the story. Jo’s canine writing companions, the five overexcitable Dabrowski Dogs still held onto a hope that Lancelot could be persuaded to love Elaine instead of Guinevere.

Imaginational Dabrowski had taken several opportunities when Lancelot was riding slowly through the beautiful countryside to get him to envisage a wholesome, peaceful, domestic life with Elaine. He had whispered to Lancelot while he was still mentally foggy during times he was convalescing and when he was making confessions to monks or hermits. But as soon as the quiet moments passed or Imaginational turned his back, Lancelot forgot any notions he might have entertained about a relationship with Elaine; and his thoughts fled back to Guinevere.

“I wish I was that other Elaine – the Princess Elaine, King Pelles daughter!” Elaine said.

“Were!” corrected Intellectual Dabrowski.

“Were what?” asked Elaine.

“I wish I WERE that other Elaine. It is in the subjunctive!”

“I do wish that,” said Elaine, “It nearly happened! When Sir Lancelot had knocked out a wyrm dragon in my garden and was about to save me from being trapped in my steamy bathtub, he went to get official witnesses. He thought it was one of his Hero’s To List tasks.”

“But when he opened my door with a battering ram and helped me out of the bath (with his eyes carefully averted), a dumpy little lady came rushing in with a huge towel to cover my modesty and an arm load of clothes. “My popsy!” she exclaimed.

“Who are you?” I asked

And she said “Aww, lawk-a-mussy, the steam has quite addled her; so that she does not know her Brisen, her nurse from her childhood days! Here Popsy, I suggest donning the blue gown –it is his favourite colour.”

“It turned out that she had been the Princess Elaine of Corbenic’s nanny. When I was dressed I went down to the entrance hall. King’s Son (as I knew Lancelot then) was talking to an elderly man who wore a crimson cloak edged with ermine and had a kingly crown atop his silvered receding hairline.”

“All written in the prophecies you know. Elaine is related to Joseph of Arimathea and you, Sir Lancelot du Lac, are related to King David” the kingly man was saying.

“I am not sure whether I can lay claim to the title yet!” King’s Son was saying.

“Easily settled, I know where there is a marble slab on a grave which only you can lift which is to be your tomb in the future and has your name engraved on the underside. Ah here she is now – my lovely daughter, Elaine!”

“No!” I said. “My father is Bernard of Astolat. I don’t even know who you are.”

“Well this is a pretty kettle of fish!” said the kingly man. “I am King Pelles, the Fisher King. Pleased to meet you. I must admit my daughter, Elaine, is substantially taller than you. But you both have that beautiful honey blonde hair and blue eyes. And everything else fits – prophecies, tower, steam filled bath entrapment, wyrm dragon slain.”

“I haven’t actually slain it” put in King’s Son/Lancelot/Whoever.” It is just rendered unconscious and I plan to relocate it to a sanctuary.”

“Despite the few discrepancies,” King Pelles said, “you two need to get acquainted – eat pheasant and oysters, drink strong wine laced with love potions and get to work on giving me a perfect grandson. Off to the chamber you go and close the door after you!”

“Sounds good to me!” I said.

Then Lancelot came over all holier than thou and said “It is a kind offer. But, while not wishing to cause any offense, I must decline at this time. I do not think it is wise to try to force prophecies to happen. We do not yet have legal proof that I am the Lancelot who is to be his son-in-law. Before I can reclaim my kingdom in France from the usurper King Claudas, I must perform the necessary acts to legitimize my claim to the throne.

And you are obviously not his daughter. Despite all the coincidences and similarities, I believe only harm could come from acting on it now. Remember what happened when Abraham tired of waiting for Sarah to give him an heir.

Before I do all those things, I must fight for King Bagdemagus in a land dispute tourney, as I promised his daughter, when she freed me from the Four Witch Queens. And before I do any of that I must commandeer the cart of the Thurifer Dwarf Exwyrminator to relocate your wyrm dragon.”

“Lancelot galloped away and returned very soon, riding alongside and dragging with him the donkey and cart of The Thurifer Dwarf Exwyrminator. They seemed to be having an intense argument.”

“I said I only deal with insect pests,” Thurifer Dwarf was yelling. “I don’t do rats, bats or wyrms! And I am not licensed to carry dangerous goods. In fact I refuse to do so.”

“But I would be escorting you,” said King’s Son, giving what he obviously thought was a perfectly reasonable reassurance. “You would of course be paid danger money.”

“What ‘elp would that be wif you ridin’ along all safe outside the cart? It would still be me inside the cart wif the bloomin’ thing! If I was to do it, you would ave to ride inside the cart with the bloomin’ thing –ready to bap it if it looks like wakin up!”

“And I already told you,” said King’s Son, his voice getting louder and showing mounting aggravation, “that it is too shameful for knights to ride in carts! A knight riding in a cart, unless of course he is wounded, would be a felon knight going to his execution.”

“Oh boo-hoo for the upper classes! We can’t afford to ‘ave dignity!”

“King Arthur means to address this and bring in a system which is fair and just for everyone.”

“Yeah, and I will be dead and gone before that ‘appens; especially if I ave to ave the bloomin’ thing in my cart. Dignity shmignity! I ain’t doin it!”

As they reached the doorway the wyrm dragon started to stir. “Quickly, King’s Son! It is waking up and it’s really fuming!” I called.

“I regret I will have to hit it again.” Lancelot replied

The dragon rose into the air and streaked towards King’s Son, making a hissing, roaring, growling, and whistling noise and emitting whooshes of scorching breath.

Thurifer Dwarf took the opportunity to flee, his cart bouncing over the ruts in the track.

Sometimes King’s Son seemed to be in control of the situation and at others the wyrm had the upper hand. At last King’s Son forced his sword into the dragon’s soft underbelly and it fell to the ground.

King’s Son dismounted and came to the door. “I imagine you are relieved that it is dead. It is not always possible to take them alive,” he said. However nothing is ever wasted. You could have it stuffed by a taxidermist for a couch or covered in mud and baked solid as a garden ornament.”

“Thank you!” I said. “What can I do to repay you?”

“Could you do some stitching for me?”

“Of course. Charlotte’s Web Weaving specialises in creating scenes commemorating events such as the victory over a dragon. How large would you like it? Would you prefer weaving or tapestry?”

King’s Son seemed to be swaying slightly. He prised a dented piece of armour off his shoulder.

“Non. Could you stitch this?”

“Yuk! King’s Son that is really horrible!” I said. “I thought that as The Lady of Shalott I would be able to admire you from a great distance and use your classic physique and features as a model for my weaving projects. I didn’t think I would have to actually meet you and have my illusions about you shattered. And I did not think I would have to deal with any wound care.”

“Your pardon! I will find a hermit who can stitch it for me but first I need to rest under your apple tree. I will pay in advance just in case…”

“You really know how to make a lady feel guilty, King’s Son! Of course I will not pack you off into the forest. Come in now and I will stitch it for you!”

He found a large comfortable looking chair and sat down. I brought out the hot water, linen strips, needle and thread and a variety of unguents.

“Oh look, there is a claw embedded here!”

“I am seeing stars… I understand some types of wyrm dragon have poison in their claws….”

“Oh no you don’t! None of that walking among the stars stuff! This is nowhere near as bad as a ruptured spleen.

“The stars! Tell them it was the claw of a Flame Crested Copper Bellied Wyrm Dragon and to check for poison antidotes. Ah les etoiles!”

“Stay with me King’s Son! Keep talking! I have nearly finished stitching.”

“I must go! I must fight for King Bagdemagus. I must go now or I will not get there in time.”

“Sit still! Let me finish the bandaging.”

“Thank you. I must go now. Adieu!”

“So he galloped off with the bandage end flapping; and I had been compelled to nurse him yet again and still not won his heart!”

Listening in from his own dimension, Malory Tennyson chuckled. “This is gold! This is so good! I have laughed until I cried! I have not had this much enjoyment since the Monty Python team was here!”

Intellectual Dabrowski gulped. He had come to the editorial meeting fully prepared to demonstrate the extensive list of references he had provided and to pass the blame for the obvious shortcomings of Little Plump Jo’s work either onto Jo herself or to the other Dabrowski Dogs, particularly Imaginational.

Much as he was glad that Malory Tennyson was looking favourably on them, he was miffed that he had only been able to exert a miniscule amount of influence on the story recently.

“I love the Knight of the Cart episode!” chortled Malory.

“That is merely a precursor to the full telling of that story which occurs much later in the epic,” intoned Intellectual. “It creates the reader’s understanding of the social mores of the time in regard to the indignity of knights riding in carts.”

“Quite!” said Malory “Thurifer Dwarf, the Exwyrminator! That is priceless! Whose contribution was that?”

“That would be mine. I introduced him,” said Imaginational.

“I liked the T.H. White quote about my Popsy,” said Malory. “I always loved that scene. But I am still not sure how Jo will sort out the Elaine issue!”

“We would not have this dilemma at all if Jo had read more of the references I found for her and made strong plot decisions earlier.”

“Oh take a chill pill, Intellectual!” said Malory Tennyson. “Go and find me at least three references for it was a bright sunny day.”

Intellectual Dabrowski appeared with his list of references less than half an hour later.

It was a bright sunny day

On a blue and gold morning, when the larks were loud overhead, I heard the sentries challenge and the groan of the north gate being rolled back. All unannounced, Lancelot rode into the fort

Christian, C. (1978) The sword and the flame Pan p224

Sometimes it is all bright and tirra-lirra.

There is a sense that all is perfect with the world.

Freitag, J. (2021) The realm beyond the cloud bank

For upon that morning – which was wonderfully bright and clear and warm -

Pyle, H. (2018) Sir Launcelot and his companions e-artnow p226

‘Tis a pretty day for a ride and I’m sure you know all the best paths.

Rowley, G. (2006) Knights of the Round Table: Lancelot. Berkley Publishing Group

One fine day in late summer, Lancelot was sitting in the Armoury with his uncle.

White, T. H. (1996) The once and future king Harper Collins p349

Why was Malory Tennyson not surprised?