Spring’s thaw had finally taken firm hold in the vales near Camelot. For Gareth, son of King Lot and nephew to the High King Arthur, that meant freedom. Freedom from a world bounded by snow, ice, cold and stone walls. To be sure, a long winter’s night had its pleasures, but for all that, Gareth loved the day, and the wide sweep of the world, especially from the back of a horse at full gallop.
Gareth rode hard. The wind still touched with winter’s spite slapped his face. Despite that, sweat already dampened his padded leather training armor and ran down from under his banded helm. His shield slapped against his back in time to the drumming of his horse’s gallop. Hooves thundered behind him as his fellows, now his rivals, rode fast to catch up with him. His gelding’s legs pumped and its sides heaved from its exertions as Gareth bent low over its head. They careened between the well-spaced orchard trees, Gareth guiding the horse with a firm hand and a fast word. Sir Lancelot had taken on a new boy to train, and had declared that all his squires should ride out with him to put the newcomer through his paces. Gareth grinned, and dug his heels into his horse’s yielding sides once more so the beast put on a fresh burst of speed. Handling the reins while keeping hold of the flimsy wooden stick he carried in place of an actual spear was difficult, but he kept that toy tucked under his arm as he pressed forward. As first among the great knight’s squires, he was not about to let any of the others win this race.
Out of the corner of his right eye, Gareth could just see the new boy, Ewen, pull even with Lionel, and ease then ahead, but he couldn’t maintain his lead and Ewen fell back with the others.
Not bad, though, Gareth thought, bending that much lower over his horse’s neck. Come on, Achaius, let’s show them what you can really do.
The edge of the orchard was drawing near, along with a tree that had come down with the winter storms. With knees, reins, and nerve, Gareth sent Achaius hurtling over the trunk and out into the open fields. Mud spattered up from under the horse’s hooves as he dug in his heels. Achaius barrelled forward without missing a step. The other hoofbeats fell back and mingled with shouts, and not a few curses.
One last set of hoofbeats, though, thundered nearer. A blur of bronze and red swept easily past Gareth as his knight, Sir Lancelot of the Lake, took the lead of the small troop. He shot across the field toward the next rise. Would he take them over it? No. He checked abruptly, wheeling his great red horse around, and riding straight for Gareth. Achaius spooked at the sudden approach, and danced sideways, but Gareth kept his seat and regained control of his mount as the knight charged into the crowd of boys following him, wheeled, and charged Gareth again. This time, Sir Lancelot had the blunt and flimsy spear down and pointed right at Gareth’s chest.
Gareth brought up his own false weapon charged, he held his mock spear out sideways, hoping he could slip past the knight’s spear and knock Sir Lancelot from the saddle. It was a chancy move, but if he could just keep on the straight path …
But his aim was off and Sir Lancelot’s spear struck home first. The hammer force of the blow shattered the light wood, but still bowled Gareth out of his saddle. The world spun until the hard ground slammed against his back and stopped it forcibly. As soon as breath returned to his lungs, Gareth, thankful for the leather and quilting that cushioned him, scrambled to his feet, swinging his shield off his back and yanking his wooden practice sword from its sheath. Lancelot, grinning with a ferocity that made even Gareth’s blood go cold, charged again, spear out and down in a way that would have spelled grim death if it had been a real weapon.
Man and horse bore down on him. Gareth stood his ground, shield up and sword ready. Sir Lancelot had also drawn a wooden sword and aimed it at Gareth’s head. Gareth parried, pivoting aside as he did. His vision wobbled dangerously, but he kept his feet, ready for the next pass. The other boys had formed up in a rough line, staring, the youngest of them pop-eyed, obviously not sure how frightened they should be.
The next pass didn’t come. Sir Lancelot reined in his horse, and turned, the fierce grin still in place. “Good! That’s how it should be done. On your feet and weapon out.” His outland accent made the words tilt and lilt musically. “The man on horseback always has the advantage, but there’s nothing you can do sprawling in the mud crying about your bruises.”
Lancelot dismounted then, and Gareth put up his sword. The Gaulish knight was a fair man. His hair and neat beard shone like brass in the sunlight, and his eyes flashed bright blue. He was not a great man with words, but it was not words that brought such a man fame. Men said that Gareth’s brother Gawain was the greatest of the cadre of the Round Table, but it was beyond Gareth’s understanding how anyone could say that who had seen Sir Lancelot fight. With sword and shield, none could stand before him. On horseback, he was a storm wind and utterly fearless. No show of force could even slow him down. When he sparred in the practice yard, work stopped so all could watch him dismantle his opponent’s defences and drive them to the ground. Not one knight in all of Arthur’s host had ever made Lancelot yield. Not Geraint, not Gawain. Agravain had never even tried.
“Now!” Sir Lancelot roared. “Which of you will stand up to Gareth here! Who will show us what you’re made of?” The knight looked expectantly at the ragged line of boys on horses. Gareth thought Lionel or Brendon might step up. But before either of them could move, Ewen had dismounted and stepped forward.
“Ewen! Good,” boomed Lancelot folding his arms and standing aside. “Make your try!”
Ewen was a full head shorter and at least two stone lighter than Gareth, but the boy had his shield down and pulled his sword, charging before Gareth had chance to get his sword up for a proper parry. He had to duck fast and dance back to buy himself room and time. The boy fought fast and hard, raining down his blows, not prepared to draw breath or give Gareth a chance to draw it, continuing to force him back by sheer speed. Wood creaked and thumped. The blows jolted up his arms to his shoulders as Ewen hammered on him again and again, evidently trying to make up for lack of reach by closing in.
All right.
Gareth turned, angling and curving his path, until he put Ewen’s back to the hill. Then, Gareth began to advance, not really attacking, but driving, easing forward with each deliberate parry and short thrust. Ewen, so intent on getting in one clattering blow, and one more, and one more after that, didn’t feel what was happening, until Gareth lunged forward under his guard, shoved his shield hard against him and sent the boy hurtling backward over a big white stone. Gareth leapt over that same stone, and stood with his sword at Ewen’s throat.
“Do you yield?” Gareth panted.
Ewen, sensibly, lifted his hand off his sword hilt. “I yield me.”
Gareth sheathed his sword, and reached down to help Ewen up. The boy smiled, and rubbed his shoulder, taking the whole incident with good grace.
He’ll do, this one. Do well, in fact.
Sir Lancelot seemed to think so too. “Not bad, boy.” He clapped Ewen on his good shoulder. “But you let your opponent take charge of the fight. You had a chance to use that move of Gareth’s against him.” Sir Lancelot put himself directly in front of Ewen. Gareth swung his shield onto his back and stepped away so he stood with Lionel and the others.
“Now, see, you stood, so.” Sir Lancelot bent back, raising his arm in imitation of Ewen’s previous posture. “Here. You’re balance is gone. All he had to do was this …” Sir Lancelot swung around and twisted, slamming his shoulder into Ewen, sending him sprawling once more into the spring mud. This time he was a little slower to rise. “Stand up, Ewen. You’re a man, no sheep,” chided Sir Lancelot. “Try on me.”
Ewen stood, but hesitated to obey the rest of the instruction. Gareth couldn’t blame him. He knew from experience that trying to shift Sir Lancelot was like trying to shift a standing stone. Before too long though, the boy showed his spirit. He eyed his opponent’s stance before he swung his body and struck, trying to make use of what weight he had. He did make Sir Lancelot, who was grinning over his head, stagger a little.
“Good! Good!” cried the knight. “You’ve got the idea. You used your head, and your eyes. But you see, I, your man, stood so …” He pushed Ewen into a fighting stance. “Now, for that, this is where you take him.” Sir Lancelot clapped great hand on Ewen’s shoulder and one on his waist.
The praise had made Ewen daring. “But a sword …”
But Sir Lancelot did not let him finish. “Didn’t that first fall teach you? A sword’s a good tool for man and knight, almost as fine as horse or spear, but there will come the day that all has been taken from you. Then all you’ve is what God gave you, and you must be ready. Come, get that sword there and you’ll see what I mean.”
Ewen swallowed. Gareth grinned down at Lionel, who was already shaking his head in sympathy. Ewen was proving once more he was quick on the uptake, because he’d gone pale. As before, though, he faced it well, reclaiming his training weapons and holding them up and ready. He kept his attention on his opponent and teacher, and tried not to let himself be distracted by the sniggers and quiet bets going on behind him.
Sir Lancelot lunged forward, and Ewen was able to parry, but not to hold. The knight drew his sword back with a hard twist that yanked the blade out of Ewen’s gauntleted hands and sent it spinning onto the trampled grass.
“Now what, Sir Ewen?” inquired Lancelot, not even out of breath, and not lowering his guard a single inch as he circled his newest boy. “Now what?”
Gareth expected the boy to try to feint and run, maybe thinking to get behind the knight. He’d tried something of the kind when he’d been in Ewen’s place. But the boy drew back his shoulders and knelt, bowing his head in surrender. Lancelot laughed hard at this and walked up to the boy, sheathing his practice sword as he did. He slapped Ewen’s bony shoulder hard.
“You’ll do, boy, you’ll do. But you’ve got to learn not to give up so easy. Come,” He heaved Ewen to his feet easily with a one armed grip. “Walk with me. Gareth …”
But Gareth did not need to be told what to do. As the oldest of Sir Lancelot’s current squires, the great red stallion, Taranis, was Gareth’s personal responsibility, and Gareth had studied his duty diligently. Ignoring the laughter and talk around him, he removed the bit from Taranis’s teeth and loosened the saddle girth. He gave the horse’s legs a cursory check, and did the same for hooves. Finding Taranis to be in good condition, he turned and did the same for Achaius. The horses were all hot and blown from the wild ride. Walking them back would cool them down and keep them from stiffening up.
Lionel had taken on the duties for the mount Ewen had ridden down and Gareth caught his eye.
“He’ll be tough, once my lord Lancelot’s had a little time with him,” Lionel remarked.
Gareth nodded. “Tough or broken. Seems he knows how to take it, though.”
“Unlike some of us,” said Lionel with an abashed grin. His first day out in the company of Sir Lancelot and the squires, Lionel had broken a practice spear and sword, and had actually sworn he’d never come back. When Sir Lancelot coolly informed Lionel he could walk back to his father and it would do no damage to knight or king, Lionel had changed his mind. But he’d also had to fight hard to get the knight to take him seriously again. Sir Lancelot had no mercy on those who balked at his training.
Gareth and Lionel fell in behind the younger boys who were leading their own horses back up through the orchards and the earthworks to the town gates. They talked and joked with each other and shouted at the boys, who knew better by now than to jeer back. Gareth breathed deep.
God’s Legs, it’s good to be out again.
By the time they reached Camelot’s keep and its stables, Gareth, tired and sweaty, was longing for the dinner that was being laid in the great hall, but the horses came first. After that, Sir Lancelot would need to wash and properly dress, and his gear needed to be cleaned and stored. There was work in plenty to do. Perhaps he’d just send one of the younger boys to bring him some bread and beef as he’d done the past few evenings. It would be easier than having to get himself presentable as well as his knight.
As he closed the door on Taranis’s box, a flicker of bright movement caught his eye. He looked again, and saw a girl standing in the shadow of the stable threshold. She wore her rich brown hair loose around her shoulders, and across the full bodice of her otherwise plain dress. It was Rose, one of the fortress’s many serving girls. He knew her eyes and her smile, and all that she kept under that plain wool. Gareth felt his own smile shift and broaden as he took in the sight of her. He had pulled off his training coat already, but now he casually stripped off his woolen over-tunic, carefully not looking at her as he did.
The past year had worked a change on Gareth’s appearance, and he enjoyed the results. He’d always been a tall and lanky as a boy. He had grown taller still over the past summer, but he had also filled out to a man’s build, with the broad shoulders and the strong legs of one who worked hard and rode frequently. His raven-black hair fell back in waves from a pleasing face. He’d found all these assets combined with a warm smile and some soft words well-seasoned with lover’s honey had worked miracles upon the girls, and not a few of the women of Camelot, and he enjoyed that as well.
He had made Rose’s intimate acquaintance just the week before, so it was no real surprise to find her lingering about the stables. Everyone knew he was first among Sir Lancelot’s squires, and what duties and privileges that work entailed.
Tossing his over-tunic onto a stack of hay sheaves, Gareth gave Rosy a broad wink. She blushed, but returned his gaze boldly. Perhaps I’m not so tired after all.
“Make sure Archius is fed and watered, will you, Lionel?” He said, only half-turning toward the other squire. “I’ll be along shortly.”
“Shortly?” murmured Lionel, earning himself a kick toward the ankle, which he neatly dodged.
Gareth did not waste any more time on him. He sauntered toward Rose, and when he reached her, he bowed deeply, in mock courtesy. She smiled, a flush coloring her cheeks prettily, and curtsied in return. When they both stood straight again, Gareth moved closer, taking her hand gently in his own, and running the thumb of his free hand across her cheek, right where the color was brightest.
A shadow fell across them both. Gareth’s head jerked up and he saw Sir Geraint, his nearest brother, standing in the stable doorway, his arms folded. Rose leapt backward, suddenly the very picture of blushing modesty, her fingers knotting in her skirts. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, Geraint looked at Gareth, and he looked at Rosy.
“Now then, Rose,” Geraint said quietly. “Your mother’s looking for you. You’d best go to her.”
Anger hardened Rose’s sunny features, but she did not question him. As she whisked around to stomp away, she cast a backward glance full of promise at Gareth. Gareth suppressed a mild curse. Well, it was just a delay. He’d find Rosy later, or she’d find him. But what did Geraint think he was doing?
“God be with you, Geraint,” Gareth said curtly. “What brings you out here?” It was still strange to be looking down on Geraint, on any of them, for that matter. Of all his brothers, only Gawain could still look him in the eye without having to lift his chin.
“A word with you, sir,” replied Geraint with perfect equilibrium. “When you’ve done here.”
“Well, you’ll have a good wait. My lord Lancelot has much for me to do today.” Gareth deliberately turned his back on his brother and started into the stable’s cool shadows.
“Is this an answer you give a knight, Squire?”
These words, and the sudden shift to a tone of command drew Gareth up short. He turned to look carefully at his brother. Geraint regarded him implacably. Gareth swallowed. He’d just made a mistake that too many did. He’d forgotten for a moment the seriousness with which his most quiet brother took rank and respect.
“My apologies, Sir.” Gareth bowed his head. “I will be finished shortly.”
Geraint nodded, satisfied, and walked a little ways off to the paddock to watch the young colts and their dams. Gareth stared after him a moment, a hollow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Then, he heard a horse stamp inside the stables and remembered his duties.
He kept at his work as long as he could, carefully wiping down and brushing both Taranis and Achaius. He inspected every inch of tack and harness and found depressingly little that needed to be cleaned or attended to. Too soon all was in order. Gareth walked back out into the evening sunlight to join his brother at the paddock fence.
Geraint acknowledged him with a nod and a glance, but no word. Instead, he led Gareth out across the yards and through the gates to the wide, sloping green that stood between keep and town. The last of the snowdrifts had finally vanished, leaving behind stretches of mud and mottled patches of sprouting plants. The long slope of the hill spread out, with the shadows already deepening around the town below, turning it black and grey. The early spring twilight was settling and the wind smelled of cold as well as fresh life. The vaguest hint of green lent a hazy look to the distant orchard beneath the leaden sky.
Geraint stopped there, and resting his foot on a stone.
“So, brother,” said Gareth with a sigh. “What do you want with me?”
Geraint watched him a long moment before speaking, taking in Gareth’s stance and features while he considered his words. A long silence was one of Geraint’s favorite tactics. It was meant to test the patience of the one who faced him. But I know you, Brother. Gareth just stood as he was and let Geraint look as long as he chose.
At last Geraint spoke. “I want, Brother, to warn you that your brave deeds with the females of Camelot and Cadbury have not gone unnoticed.”
I should have known. Gareth shrugged. “So, I’ve tumbled a few girls. What of it? They were willing.”
Geraint arched his brows. “A few? From what I’ve heard, if there’s a brace of virgins left for a mile around, it’s because their fathers lock them in their dowry chests.”
Which told Gareth exactly how his brother — back from his new lands in the west only a week — had heard how Gareth had spent his winter. His patience snapped. “Agravain cares only that he’s being …”
Geraint’s brows shot up. “You’re very sure my news is from Agravain. Has he spoken to you as well?”
Damn. Gareth found he could not endure his brother’s scrutiny any more. Agravain had in fact spoken to him, and lectured, and sworn, and thrown up his hands and declared him too much of a fool to live. But then, Agravain held that opinion of many men.
“Who else have you ignored, brother?”
As soon as Geraint asked the question, another recent speech sprang up in Gareth’s memory. You’re emptying that purse of yours fast, nephew. It’s the sort of gold that will put you in debt faster than it will buy you out.
Gareth felt his jaw tighten defiantly. “My lord Lancelot says any woman who wants to lie down should be laid down.”
Geraint’s mouth twitched, just a little. Gareth was not sure whether his brother meant to smile or frown. Frown probably. Geraint was not fond of Sir Lancelot’s matter-of-fact pronouncements, which was strange, as Geraint was everywhere praised for his honesty.
“That is no answer, brother,” Geraint said.
Gareth flushed, but this time he held his peace. Let Geraint wait for his answers, he had so little to do.
“Mother of God,” murmured Geraint after a tense moment. “Has the High King spoken to you?”
“No!” cried Gareth. How could Geraint believe he’d disregard their uncle’s least word? What do you think of me?
Geraint said nothing more, he simply waited, and waited. Best get it over with. Gareth would stick on him until Doomsday once he got his spurs in. “It was, Sir Kai.”
Much to Gareth’s surprise, Geraint stared for just a moment longer, his face gone slack with disbelief. Then, he burst out laughing. “You brushed off Uncle Kai! God’s Legs, Gareth you have lost your mind!” he whooped. “I’m surprised we’ve heard nothing of this at board yet. No, I’m surprised I didn’t hear it all the way out to the West Lands …” he paused, drawing in a great breath and cocking his head toward Gareth as realization dawned. “But then, you haven’t been to board the past few nights have you?”
Gareth hadn’t gone into the hall for the evening meal for the past three or four nights. But, he told himself, it was not Uncle Kai who kept him away. He’d simply been busy.
This truth, as far as it went, was still not enough to give Gareth the strength to meet his brother’s clear eyes. “I have my work to do.”
“That is not what I asked Gareth,” said Geraint, his voice suddenly stern again.
And again, Gareth’s temper flared and he did set jaw and mind against his brother. “What business is it of yours?” he demanded. I’ve no time for this. My lord Lancelot is waiting for me …
Geraint’s mouth twitched again. “It is my business if you are making an ass of yourself, brother.”
The mildness in Geraint’s voice drew Gareth up and he found his chest was heaving. “How do you get to be pious with me, Geraint? You and Gawain didn’t exactly go virgin to your marriage beds. Especially Gawain.” His brother’s travels in the king’s name had given him a chance to sow his seed far and wide across the isle. If there wasn’t at least one little “ap Gawain” out there, every man in Camelot would be shocked. That Gawain had married his last dalliance was equally surprising.
“Even Gawain was more judicious than you seem to have been,” replied Geraint evenly.
“I told you …”
“Yes, you did.” Geraint held up his hand. “Now, I am telling you.” He levelled one long, work-hardened finger at Gareth’s chest. “You’re already in deeper waters than you know. If you keep on, you’ll jeopardize your chance at knighthood.”
Temper made Gareth brazen. “My lord Lancelot would never forsake me just for sticking a few slatterns.”
At this, Geraint remained quite unperturbed. “No,” he said. “Even if more than a few were high-born daughters fool enough to fall for that smile of yours, rendering themselves suspect when it comes time to make good alliances for themselves, their fathers, and our king. Even if one of them might be already married to Lord Jessup whose lands are bordered on the south by those still held by the Saxons and thus is our first defence against them. Even if your knight be willing to disregard all this, you at least should remember it is not my lord Lancelot who has the final word regarding the high cadre of the Britons.”
Gareth felt the blood drain from his cheeks. This was the second time Geraint had alluded to the king. What if Arthur had heard something some teary-eyed former maiden had said? Or, God’s Teeth, what if it was from the queen Geraint had found out about him and Lady Jessup?
Geraint lifted his foot from the stone and moved closer. “Listen to me carefully, Gareth,” Geraint said, his voice low but deadly serious. “You and I are the younger brothers. We have nothing, nothing of our own save the good will of our families and our king. We squander that at our peril.
“I know you, Gareth,” Geraint went on before Gareth could find a word with which to answer. “You’re thinking you might marry your land as I have. Think on these other things now. Without the king’s blessing, you cannot do even that, and there are others who have the king’s ear far more firmly than you.”
Gareth said nothing. His teeth had gritted themselves together so tightly, he was no sure he could have spoken even if he wanted to.
“Come to board, Gareth,” said Geraint. “Uncle Kai will serve you out a healthy portion of humility as your dessert. You can either face him now and take it like a man, or you can face the more bitter condemnation later from every hand. It is your choice.”
With that, Geraint walked away. Having delivered his warnings he evidently felt no more need to converse with his younger brother. A thousand things he could shout after Geraint filled Gareth’s mind, but he held them all back, clutching them tight in his jaw that would not loosen.
Uncle Kai was waiting for him. Uncle Kai whose tongue was sharper than any blade forged by mortal man. He could reduce the whole court to tears of laughter with a single turn of phrase. More than one bard had picked up Sir Kai’s quips and added them to songs to carry across the whole of the country. Others had been repeated around Camelot for years. God’s Legs, how could Geraint cold-bloodedly tell him to walk in and face that?
Gareth bit his lip and he realized he was actually contemplating running away.
I’ve work to do, he reminded himself. Work to do. It’s not my fault if my duties matter more than my dinner.
Geraint was out of sight, so there was little chance Gareth would catch up to him. He strode back into the keep, heading once more toward the stables, answering those who hailed him with a silent wave. He needed to check Taranis one more time, make sure he was properly bedded down and fed. Then he needed to go find Sir Lancelot, and help him dress, and apologize for his tardiness. God’s Legs, what would the knight say about that?
But Gareth found his knight far sooner than expected. Sir Lancelot stood beside Taranis’s box, stroking the beast’s strong neck. The knight was washed, combed, and dressed in a clean tunic of deep blue with saffron and scarlet embroidery on the chest and hems. Gareth froze on the threshold, but it was too late. Sir Lancelot turned as soon as Gareth’s shadow broached the doorway, leaving no chance of retreat. Gareth could only make his bow, and try frantically to think of something to say, some way to explain.
“Sir Geraint tells me he’s the cause of your absence, Squire Gareth.” Sir Lancelot gave Taranis a final, firm pat. “Just what was it your brother had to say to you at such length?”
Gareth stood silent and stared at the tips of his own boots. He felt about ten years old, and a bare yard tall.
Sir Lancelot snorted and leaned his shoulder against the roof tree. “Been at you about your women, hasn’t he?”
Gareth’s jaw dropped. Was the whole court keeping track of his dalliances? “I’ve taken nothing that wasn’t given,” he muttered belligerently, before he remembered who he spoke to, and bowed his head again. Perhaps he should kneel.
But Sir Lancelot only smiled. “Good,” he said firmly. “You come out of the shadows then. I’ll not have it said one of my men hid from a fight just because it was one of his brothers offered the insult.”
Pride surged through Gareth, lifting head and heart. “No, my lord!”
Sir Lancelot looked past Gareth’s shoulder and then gave Gareth a wink and a grin. “And you don’t forget, a man uses words when there’s no sword left under his belt.” A laugh escaped Gareth. He stifled it quickly, but Sir Lancelot made no comment about that. “It’s only fools and weak hearts can’t stand up to jibes, whoever they come from.”
“Yes, my lord.”
“Get on then,” Sir Lancelot pushed himself away from the roof tree. “You’re my man and I expect you to act like it. I’ll see you at board with the others tonight.”
“Yes, my lord.”
Sir Lancelot strode out the open doors, slapping Gareth’s back as he passed. Gareth pulled himself up straight. Yes. His knight would see him at board. So would his brothers, and the rest of court who cared to be there. Some of what Geraint said nagged at him; about the noble girls rendered suspect, and the difficulty in forming alliance with their marriages. Well, he might be more circumspect in the future, but that was not anything Geraint or Agravain needed to be informed of. They would see how a man carried himself. Sir Lancelot was right. A true man did not hide in the shadows when a fight was offered.
Gareth turned on his heels and followed the path his knight had taken.
Gareth lived at the far end of the barracks with the other squires. By day, they had benches and chairs in front of their hearth. At night, those who did not sleep in the stables beside a sick horse or one in foal, rested in front of the banked fire on pallet beds. Each had a single chest for their spare clothes and few possessions. King’s son or Saxon hostage, it was Arthur’s declaration that all should be held equal while they learned from his cadre.
Of course that was not how it was. The oldest boys held themselves above the younger, and each knew whose father was a man of worth and whose was not. King’s son and High King’s nephew, as well as one of the oldest among the squires, Gareth seldom had to fight the others anymore, although before he’d gained his full height he’d nursed plenty of bruises and black eyes.
Upon reaching the barracks, Gareth readied himself with care. He belted his finest green tunic with his best silver. He washed his face hard and slicked his hair back. Feeling about his chin he found no stubble. His beard was not a matter for regular barbering yet, a fact which pained him a little, but tonight was just as well.
I will meet all with dignity, he assured himself smoothing down his sleeves and hems. I have done nothing wrong and no man can say I have. Not Geraint, not Uncle Kai.
But as he turned, he found Brendon ap Huel standing in the barracks doorway. Brendon was the third of Sir Lancelot’s squires, and, unlike Lionel, was a man Gareth had never been able to like. He had a thin mouth and slitted eyes which always had far too much going on behind them. It was probably him who washed and dressed Sir Lancelot when Gareth had failed to appear, and he’d probably used every moment of it to talk him down as far as the knight would allow.
Now, that thin mouth was smiling like a cat who’d found the cream unguarded.
“Is something amiss, Brendon?” asked Gareth as coolly as he could.
Brendon shook his head without taking his gaze off Gareth. “Nothing at all, Gareth.”
“Then what are you standing there for?”
His fellow squire shrugged. “No reason.” But Brendon was grinning so wide Gareth could see both his missing teeth, and Gareth knew Brendon was not done.
“It’s only that wouldn’t be you for a whole kingdom,” Brendon went on, as Gareth had been certain he would. “Sir Kai’s been working the theme of your absence for days. I think there’s not a lady left in the place who isn’t permanently red. He almost started a fight the other day when he said you’d tumbled Sir Hayden’s lady Arliss …”
“Shut it, Brendon.”
Brendon shrugged. “I just thought you might want know how things stand.”
Gareth stalked up to him, letting his shadow fall across the younger man’s face. “You take care with your warnings, Brendon,” he murmured lightly. “Or Sir Kai might have just find out which field you’ve been plowing in these past months.”
Brendon blanched. “You wouldn’t.”
But Gareth just turned away from him and joined the loose procession heading across the open yard toward the great hall.
You are my man. My man. The echo of Sir Lancelot’s words carried Gareth forward and kept the bite of the evening wind from reaching him.
A wave of warmth washed over him as he entered the hall. Fires roared in both the hearths. As this was not a feast day, nor other particular occasion for ceremony, the squires were not required to serve their knights at table, but could eat in their own company. Gareth took his place on the bench beside Lionel. Brendon joined them a moment later, but he had sense enough to keep his mouth shut, for now, at least. The youngest boys had the farthest end, closest the doors and the drafts. Gareth remembered sitting there, his toes just brushing the floor, looking with awe and envy at his older brothers who already rode with the cadre of the Round Table and served the High King in his wars and his peace. Now his three brothers sat at the high tables, Gawain and Geraint beside their wives, and here he sat still looking on.
The difference now was that his own knight, Sir Lancelot, sat beside them, and Sir Lancelot smiled and raised his cup, just a little, as Gareth caught his eye.
Gareth nodded in grateful reply but had no time to do more. A door at the far end of the hall opened and a voice called out. “His Majesty Arthur, High King of all Britons!”
The whole company stood at once. In walked Gareth’s blood uncle, Arthur the King. Age had begun to silver his hair but it had not sloped his shoulders, dimmed his eye, or weakened his hand. Beside him walked Queen Guinevere. Though nearly Arthur’s match for age, she remained one of the most beautiful women Gareth had ever seen. More than one of the squires sighed in their most secret hearts for the warmth of her grey-eyed regard. Arthur held her slender hand in his strong one as he helped her to her seat beside him, and she had no regard at that moment for any but the king.
Behind them came a far different figure; Sir Kai, who was the high king’s foster brother, and his seneschal. He was clothed in black except for the golden chain of his office, and stooped over so far that he appeared almost hunch-backed. Sir Kai limped as he stepped up to the high table, leaning heavily on his crutch. One of his legs, thin and twisted, dragged behind the other. One might have thought he was the court fool or talisman. Many kings kept some malformed person by to amuse them, and indeed there were some who knew no better who claimed that was Kai’s role in the court. Sometimes, Kai even let them think this, though how he could stomach that was beyond Gareth’s comprehension.
Now, though, Uncle Kai’s keen eyes swept the great chamber, and skewered Gareth down the length of the hall. Gareth lifted his chin and met his foster uncle’s gaze. Sir Kai simply smiled as he eased himself into his seat at the high king’s left hand.
Gareth ground his teeth together. I’ll not let him play me for the fool. He cannot make anything of me if I do not respond, and I will not. Not until I see my moment. Then, I’ll cut him with his own knife.
The food’s arrival put a temporary end to gloomier thoughts. There was roast pork, chickens stuffed with onions, last year’s apples roasted with raisins and honey. There was wine, cider and small beer to drink and good brown bread for sopping up the gravies.
The training ride today had left him with a good appetite. Gareth helped himself liberally, ignoring the sideways glances from his fellows. It’ll be over soon, and I’ll take care of anyone who decides to take up Uncle Kai’s themes for themselves.
Lionel tried to make some talk, but soon gave it up. Everyone was waiting for the meal to finish. Everyone knew what would come. Well, let it come. I am not afraid. I will not be afraid.
At last, the meats were only bones and the bread only crumbs. Fortified wines were poured out to the high table, and the talk flowed freely everywhere but between the squire’s table. Gareth fought the urge to squirm like a child, and pecked at the crumbs remaining in front of him, avoiding the eyes of his fellows. He was not afraid. He would not be afraid, but he did wish it would begin, so it could end, so everyone would stop looking at him.
Then, it did begin. Uncle Kai took a swallow from his cup, and rested his arm lazily on the table cloth.
“I see your wandering squire has returned to us, Sir Lancelot,” he remarked, in a voice pitched to carry. “What a relief! Tell us, which bed did you find him in?”
Laughter rippled through the hall. Despite his resolutions, Gareth felt his face begin to heat up. That damnable fact was not missed by Sir Kai.
“Why, you blush, Squire Gareth!” the seneschal cried, ensuring that now every eye in the hall was directed at Gareth. Gareth kept his own gaze fixed on his empty plate. “Surely, your brother Gawain has told you what a fine thing it is to be so widely welcomed!”
I will not give hint that I hear. His jibes are not worthy of answer.
“Surely, that is enough, Sir Kai,” murmured a woman. The queen. Coming to his aid. This was almost worse than the taunting. What if they said he needed a woman’s aid to defend himself?
“Enough, Majesty?” repeated Sir Kai, full of surprise. “There’s a word I’ll wager young Gareth doesn’t often hear!”
Laughter burst out again, including from the boys end of the table. Gareth glared at the youngsters, who all promptly closed their mouths and tried to look abashed. Not Brendon, though. He just grinned his thin grin at Gareth, relishing each word, memorizing them, and storing them away to repeat later.
You dare to mention this night again, Brendon, I will make you regret it.
Despite the queen’s intervention, Sir Kai was far from finished. “Of course, the fact that he’s gone through so many of our fine ladies so … quickly … It doesn’t say much for his stamina. Is it you that wears your squires out so?” He quirked his eyebrows at Sir Lancelot. Lancelot went very still and his face was thunderous. “Ah, no, of course not,” Sir Kai went on judiciously. “It is known that you love only the ladies, and, as the gallant you are, your horse.”
The king was frowning now, but he had not yet made any admonishment. Someone was holding onto Gareth’s shoulder. Lionel. Gareth hadn’t realized his hands were at his sides, clutching the air where his sword would have been. Let Kai humiliate him if it made him feel more the man, but that he would dare turn his vile humor on Sir Lancelot …
“Sir Geraint, perhaps you will take Gareth with you into the West Lands when you go,” Sir Kai continued amiably. “It would be good for him to see more of new places, as it was good for your brother there.” He nodded at Gawain, producing many reminiscent sniggers. Gawain’s red-haired wife did not even have the decency to blush at this, and Gawain just looked blandly, almost bored, at his mocking uncle. “If we keep him here, I’m afraid that we’ll soon run out of willing women, and have to begin telling the stable boys to keep their backsides to the wall …”
In the roar of laughter that erupted, Gareth shot to his feet. “Were you a true man I would spill your guts on the ground!”
The shout echoed across the hall. All the rude and outrageous guffaws died away and every eye turned to Gareth. Gareth did not think on any of this. He saw only Sir Kai at the high table, a smug grin on his lean face, another jest ready on his fool’s tongue.
Kai lifted his brows. “Do you say I am no man, Squire Gareth?” He spoke quietly now, but Gareth heard every word. He thought he also heard a murmur that meant caution, but insult burned too deeply for him to understand it.
“I say you are a cripple who gained his seat from my lord king’s pity, and who exercises his tongue because he cannot exercise any other part of himself! I say that if you could stand I would make you pay for every word out of your crooked mouth!”
Kai’s eyes slid sideways to regard the king for a long moment. Waiting for my lord Arthur to save him. Gareth drew his shoulders back. Arthur was saying something to Kai, and when Kai made soft answer, the king just shook his head and waved his hand. Then, to Gareth’s surprise, Sir Kai slowly rose up until he stood with both hands pressed hard against the table.
“Well, Squire Gareth. Here I do stand.”
Silence filled the hall. It was as if the other company were statues and the only living men were Sir Kai, and Gareth.
He thinks I will back down. He thinks I will not dare challenge the king’s brother. That is what makes him so free.
But I too am the king’s kindred, Uncle.
“Then I challenge you to make good your claims on my body, if you can, Sir Kai.”
Sir Kai cocked his head just a little further, looking like some curious bird. His smile never wavered, and inside, Gareth felt the slightest of tremors. “Very well then, Squire Gareth. I accept your challenge.”
“Kai …” began the king.
But Sir Kai did not let him finish. “Forgive me, my lord king, but the boy has spoken before the whole court. Will you, my liege, tell me I may not defend my poor crippled honor?”
The king hesitated. Then, he crooked his two fingers, gesturing for Gareth to come forward.
Gareth did, walking down the central aisle to the foot of the dais. Remembering his manners, and that his knight looked on, Gareth knelt before the king.
Arthur said soberly. “Gareth, it was a jest, as well you know. Will you, at my request, let this matter be?”
Request, not command. He knows Kai has overstepped his bounds this time. “I have been sore insulted, my lord king,” Gareth replied firmly. “I have a right to prove those insults to be the lies they are.”
King Arthur sighed and Gareth had the impression he wanted to throw up his hands. “Very well, as neither of you will be satisfied any other way, it will be done at midday tomorrow.”
Gareth bowed his head again. When he stood, he saw Geraint and Gawain staring at him in frank disbelief. But Sir Lancelot gave him the barest of nods, and Gareth felt a flush of warmth run through him. He looked back to Sir Kai, who still stood, and saw how the beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow.
Now we will see who is the man. Gareth thought as he bowed once more and took his leave of the hall.
Now we will see.