Lancelot the man we love, not Arthur or another. Human nature
perversely sides with Guinevere against the Blameless King:-


"She broke into a little scornful laugh:
'Arthur, my lord, Arthur, the faultless King,
That passionate perfection, my good lord -
But who can gaze upon the Sun in heaven?
He never spake word of reproach to me,
He never had a glimpse of mine untruth,
He cares not for me: only here to-day
There gleam'd a vague suspicion in his eyes:
Some meddling rogue has tamper'd with him--else
Rapt in this fancy of his Table Round,
And swearing men to vows impossible,
To make them like himself: but, friend, to me
He is all fault who hath no fault at all:
For who loves me must have a touch of earth;
The low sun makes the colour: I am yours,
Not Arthur's, as ye know, save by the bond."


It is not the beautiful Queen who wins us, our hearts are with "the
innocence of love" in Elaine. But Lancelot has the charm that
captivated Lavaine; and Tennyson's Arthur remains


"The moral child without the craft to rule,
Else had he not lost me."