52
OLD WOUNDS

SO HENRI’S NOSE WAS LEFT DANGLING.”

“Bloody Saracen!”

“He was! That’s exactly what he was by the time I’d done with him.”

“Still! I’d give my nose to win honor like Henri’s.”

“Honor! That’s right. Let the bastards know they can always count on second helpings.”

“You’ve heard about when he was lowered into the cavern?”

“Arthur!” said a voice in my ear.

“Sir!”

“I’ve been wondering where you were.”

“Here, sir.”

“So I see. And in a cavern.”

I turned my back on the two knights from Champagne, and Lord Stephen and I walked across the forum to the other gunwale.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” Lord Stephen said. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkled. “Your face. Your poor troubled face. I know you.”

“Yes, sir,” I said, and all I wanted to do was bury my head on Lord Stephen’s shoulder.

“Come on, now,” Lord Stephen said. “Serle’s been telling me how you and he faced down our sailors in Trieste, and insisted they let Simona come aboard. Is that right?”

“Yes, sir. Well, Serle did.”

“Quite right!” said Lord Stephen crisply. “Poor girl! I’ll be glad to protect her. Now you know I was gloomy a couple of days ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, why now and not long ago I can’t imagine, but your dear father suddenly accused me of working against him.”

“Against him?”

“By trying to arrange a meeting with your mother.”

The back of my neck tingled, and I shivered. “How did he know, sir?”

“There’s only one way, isn’t there? Do you remember when I warned Thomas that if he wasn’t ready to help us, we’d make other arrangements? He must have run straight as a rat to his master.”

“What did you tell Sir William, sir?”

“Nothing. I advised him not to be so unwise as to open old wounds. Listen, Arthur! I know you’re trying to be dutiful to your father. That’s proper, and I wish you godspeed, but don’t lower your guard.” Lord Stephen grasped the gunwale with both hands. “I do wish we could trust the man, but I’m sorry to say I fear Sir William. He’s like a force of nature, one moment harmless, the next vengeful and very dangerous.”

I thought immediately of Mordred.

Mordred. Mordant. Morbid. Mordor. Murdered. His namecompanions are vile.

Mordred knows his father did not want him, just as I know my father did not want me.

Mordred and King Arthur: son and father. They too must feel so torn.