Lancelot's Abduction

Rosemary sat outside of her cottage and she stroked her hair -  she had combed it for a good hour and it felt soft, so soft she couldn't take her fingers away.  Rosemary smiled as she stared into space, with her hair so soft she felt like a queen and she fell in the love with the world.

“I feel so beautiful;”  she muttered as she leaned back on a tree.  “No one can break this feeling;”  she added however a rope was pulled around her neck and Rosemary coughed as she struggled to scream.  

Rosemary was dragged into the bushes behind her, only her comb had been left behind to remind the world she had sat there.  


Rosemary was taken to another cottage, however this cottage was tall and had a cross above its door.  It was no natural cross, it was on the body of a shield, and that made it special.

“What is this?  Is this a royal home?”  she asked.

However the rider failed to speak, he just dragged her inside of the cottage and slammed the door closed.  Rosemary wanted to fight, however she was dragged up a fine carpet, past armoury, and led into a room which had fine candelabra stands everywhere -  she gasped more then cried out alarm, and her eyes ogled until she felt starvation for more.  

“I don't know this, but it is very nice;”  she declared before she turned around and saw a fine young man who had the body of a knight.

“It is not nice, I am not nice;”  told Lancelot as he leered at her.  “Do not romance this dream, we are not in love or I would not have strangulated you!”  he gasped.  “I took you, I stole you; I am not to entertain!”  he lectured.  “Do not like me or my belongings -  they are mine;”  he added before he gave Rosemary a push that seated her on the edge of his fine bed.

“My bed is made of straw;”  muttered Rosemary as her stare turned humoured.

“Well this one is different;”  told Lancelot before he moved to the side to pour Rosemary a drink.  

Lancelot took great care to offer Rosemary a jewelled cup -  he needed her to stay cheerful for his needs were great.

“Here drink;”  he muttered as he passed her his cup.

“I shall!”  gasped Rosemary before she took the cup and began to giggle as she drank.

“That is wine, not water;”  told Lancelot as he glared.  “You shall be drunk very soon;” 

Rosemary shrugged and then she swallowed the whole cup.

“I like it;”  she declared.

“Then I shall refill your cup!”  gasped Lancelot before a scream broke the silence.

“Lancelot give me back my wife!”  declared Rosemary's husband Dardinel.  “Honour is at stake, and I shall challenge lest you refuse!”  he declared.  

“Hello husband;”  told Lancelot as he grinned.  “Am I your devil?”  he asked.

“Peace lest you become one;”  told Dardinel before he stepped forward and took hold of his wife's hand.  “Let us return home;” he coaxed.

Rosemary shrugged and stood.  She glanced at Lancelot who stood to the side, and then she stepped away.

“I would never have wished to stay;”  she muttered before she left with Dardinel who glued her to his side.

Lancelot grew a rash of red and he simmered as he poured himself some wine.  He drank from a cup most plain -  its insides were cool, cooler then any gold cup, and the cool of the drink calmed him.

“Why wouldn't you wish for it?”  he asked before he drank in order to turn drunk.


Lancelot glared at the afternoon.  When the sun was on the sink and he trod to a cottage and slammed his sword against a stranger's door.  The sword hadn't been taken out of its hilt, and it was a good thing it hadn't for as soon as the door opened Lancelot swung and hit a woman on the head.  Lancelot heard children scream and he barked for them to go to their rooms before he took the woman’s body and carried it home.

Lancelot used the woman, whoever she was, for pleasure, and by morning he had slit her throat.  He hadn't meant to, but she had a child and he thought he had made it -  his scared had stolen the sword and slit her throat before he had been able to see that she may have already been pregnant.  Lancelot glared at the woman whose eyes saw only death, he breathed hard, and he withdrew as shame hung his head; he had turned into a barbarian and it was all his fault.

“I will not be able to drink for a month!” he declared as he began to shrivel under a weight of shame.  “I stole a woman and she has been scarified to the devil-whore!”  he muttered before he began to feel deflated from his foul deed.  

Lancelot glared at the woman -  he saw no real beauty, but he was sure she had once been beautiful.  Lancelot picked up a crown and placed it on her head.  He had made the crown with fine jewels, it had been a gift made for Queen Guinevere -  however he gave it to the poor woman instead and then he carried her into the forest and buried her.

“Pray one day you be found and be made beautiful once again;”  he declared before he threw all the dirt he could over her dead body.  “Or the Devil eat your soul;”  he added before he took his feet and fled.


Lancelot returned to the castle -  he had blood under his fingernails however he sat on the horse with enough pride to make him appear as a knight.  He was to serve the king, and he would never remember the woman he had slain after he had killed an army of men -  her death would finally be cleaned under the cloth of war, and he would be able to return home and never fear any of the village people as he returned to a grateful kingdom who praised his warrior-hood as he rode under the flag which declared that he had won the next war.