11. Barham Down

Terence

Despite his weariness, Terence made one more tour of the camp's perimeter before going to bed. Two of the sentries were dozing. Terence sympathized but shook them awake anyway. Mordred's raiding parties were swift and numerous, and the king's troops couldn't let down their guard for a second. Done with his circuit, Terence trudged back toward the center of the camp.

It had been over a month since Gawain and Lancelot had met in single combat, weeks spent in near constant warfare with the White Horsemen—not in pitched battle, strength against strength, but rather in daily skirmishing. Although the early scouting reports indicated that Mordred's army was much larger than Arthur's, Mordred had avoided direct battle. Dividing his forces into smaller units, he sent them on lightning raids, trying to kill Arthur's men one by one rather than in a decisive battle.

"I wish I knew what he was getting at," Kai had grumbled after two weeks of this. "Why won't he use his superior forces?"

"Because he knows they aren't superior," Arthur had replied calmly.

"You don't think he has as many men as reported?"

"Oh, I don't doubt the numbers," said Arthur. "But as an army they would lose a pitched battle with us." Kai frowned, and the others looked confused. Arthur explained, "Who does he have in his army? Pillagers, brigands, recreants, ambitious lords who hope to gain lands and titles. All men who joined Mordred for their own benefit. What do you think such fighters will do if their own lives are in danger?"

"Run," said Terence, nodding with comprehension. "Run fast."

"And my army?"

"We stand pat," Gawain said. "To the end."

"You think Mordred doesn't know that? In direct combat, each of my men is worth two of his. So, he's adopted a brilliant strategy. Wear us down bit by bit and wait for us to make a mistake. It's the mark of a good general to know his own troops' weakness, and Mordred is nothing if not a good general."

"So what we need to do," Kai said slowly, "is provoke a full-scale battle."

"It's what I've been trying for," Arthur said. "But we need to choose the ground, an open place with solid footing, with some kind of barrier at our back so we don't have to fight on all sides. But recently I've started worrying about something else. The scouts haven't been able to find his main forces for a long time."

"You think he's drawn them back to avoid the scouts?" asked Ywain.

"I hope that's all it is," replied Arthur. "But I can't help wondering what his main army's been up to while we've been maneuvering about swatting at gnats."

Now, nearly a month after that conversation, Arthur's scouts still had no idea where the bulk of Mordred's army had gone. The king had found the spot he wanted, not far from Dover, where there was a palisade, a beach, and the sea at their back. From that position, the king's forces had waited and continued fighting off skirmishers. Until the day before, these raids had been little more than an annoyance, but yesterday the good knight Bors had been caught alone by one of these bands and killed. Now, as Terence came to Arthur's command center, he stopped for a moment and watched Bors's brother Lionel sitting alone, staring bleakly into a small fire. No two brothers had ever been more different than Bors and Lionel, or had ever depended so heavily on each other. Bors had been the moralist, Lionel the lighthearted care-for-nothing, but now all his brother's gravity had descended on Lionel, bowing his shoulders and crushing his spirits. Terence walked past Lionel, who didn't seem to notice, and entered Arthur's tent.

"All quiet for now," Terence said.

Arthur nodded. "Get some sleep."

"You first," Terence replied.

Arthur smiled faintly. "Insubordinate puppy," he said. "Who gave you the right to command your king?"

"That isn't one of the rights of knighthood?" Terence asked. "I'm new at this, you see. But I still won't go to sleep until you do."

Arthur nodded and turned back to his cot. "Bullied, that's what I am," he muttered. "But you're right."

Arthur was just climbing under the covers when Lionel stepped into the tent. "Your Highness?" he said quickly. "Envoys. From Mordred."

Arthur stood up at once, muttering, "At this hour?" Then he looked up at Lionel. "Get Kai and Gawain and anyone else you can wake. Terence, help me dress."

Terence busied himself arraying the king in garb suitable for a state visit. Then they stepped out of the tent into the firelight. Gawain and Kai were already there, and others were approaching from the darkness. Terence turned to the envoy; it was Sir Mador de la Porte.

"Sir Mador," Arthur said.

"Arthur," Sir Mador replied. Since he had never been a part of the king's inner circle, the use of Arthur's given name without his title was an obvious, calculated insult.

Arthur ignored it. "I gather you come from my son?"

"From King Mordred, yes."

Again, Arthur let the challenge pass. "And what does Mordred wish to say to me?"

"Two things," Mador replied. "First, he offers to accept your surrender."

"That's good-natured of him," the king replied gravely, "but I haven't offered it."

Mador nodded. Everyone knew this first request had been mere posturing, anyway. "As you wish. King Mordred also wished to return to you some property that he believes is yours."

"Indeed?"

Two porters approached from behind Mador, carrying a wooden box. They set it down before Mador, who opened the lid. For a moment no one moved, staring uncomprehendingly at the mangled bits of debris in the box. Then Arthur stepped forward and drew a broken piece of wood from the pile. It was smooth and intricately carved and charred on one end. All who were near enough to see it stood frozen.

"What is it?" asked someone from the back.

"It's a table leg," Arthur said. "From the Round Table. So that's where Mordred's army has been."

Mador smiled. "I told the king you'd recognize it. I think that bit you're holding is the largest piece left."

"And Camelot?" asked King Arthur. His voice was raspy.

"We didn't bring any of those bits to show you, I'm afraid," Mador said apologetically. "Even torn apart and broken in pieces, the stones were too heavy to carry."

"And what of the people who were at the castle?"

"The soldiers and guards who resisted King Mordred's rule were, naturally, executed as traitors. As for the ladies and servants, I really couldn't say. Some of them, regrettably, were killed. A pity, that. I suppose some might have escaped; we didn't count. The rest are safely with Mordred and his troops." Mador smiled blandly.

There was a sick silence in the camp. Terence stared at the splintered wood but saw only the face of his wife Eileen, who was one of Guinevere's ladies. His heart tightened, and he had to force himself to breathe. Even among the men who didn't have wives or families at Camelot, the loss of Arthur's magnificent capital was stunning.

"And Queen Guinevere?" said Arthur.

Mador reached into the box, fished around for a moment, then pulled out a torn bundle of embroidered silk. Even Terence, who seldom noticed clothing, recognized it as one of the queen's state gowns. "She's alive," Mador said reassuringly. "Indeed, King Mordred wishes to keep her so. For all her years, she's rather an attractive woman, and he's taken a fancy to her." He smiled even more broadly. "Mind you, I don't know whether he's decided to keep her as a wife or as a mistress. She has experience both ways, after all."

Arthur's right hand twitched, and for a moment Terence thought he would draw Excalibur and strike Mador down on the spot. Mador took a quick step backwards, but Arthur's hand relaxed.

Mador continued, no longer smiling. "So you see, your castle has been destroyed. Your precious table is in splinters. Your queen belongs to another. Your time is over, old man. Once again, I tell you that the true king is willing to accept your surrender. He will be waiting for your decision at two hours after sunrise just over that row of hills due west of here." With that, Mador turned abruptly and walked away, followed by his escort. Arthur and his knights stood in silence until the sound of the party's horses had died away in the distance.

"Why didn't you kill him?" demanded Kai.

"He was an ambassador," Arthur replied dully.

"An ambassador from vermin, without honor!"

"My own honor is not determined by that of my enemy," said Arthur. "Kai, get the men ready for battle. Terence, follow Mador, unseen, and see if he's telling the truth about where Mordred is. As soon as you're back, we march. And Kai, keep the preparations quiet and keep our fires burning. Let anyone watching us think we're staying here until morning."

Immediately, the crowd dispersed to begin their furtive preparations for night battle. Terence grabbed his knife and slipped off into the night, following Mador at a run. The sky was overcast, and the darkness was nearly absolute, but Terence ran at full speed anyway, avoiding loose stones and treacherous ground by an instinct that he couldn't explain but that he had learned to trust. He had complete faith in his ability to avoid tripping, even in the darkest night, so it surprised him far more than it hurt him when he sprawled face first on the ground.

"Tsk," tutted a voice at his left. "Did him faw down?"

Terence had already scrambled to his feet and whirled around, knife in hand, when the voice registered in his mind. "Robin?"

"This is how we first met," the voice said reminiscently. "Do you remember? I tripped you in the woods. It was a lovely afternoon, and you fell so beautifully."

Terence ignored the irrelevant memory. "I'm glad you're here," he gasped.

"Oh, you say that," Robin replied. "But then you point a nasty knife at me."

"Shut up, Robin."

"Yes, your grace."

Terence sheathed his knife. The little elf who had been his most frequent contact with the Faery World was often irritating but had always been a friend. "Where are Mordred's troops?"

"The largest body is due north of Arthur, about a half-hour for a marching army."

"Anything at all over those western hills?"

"Some lovely wildflowers. Periwinkle and—"

"I don't care about the wildflowers, Robin."

"Now, that's just sad," Robin said reproachfully. "You should listen to yourself, your grace! Sad. I say it again: sad."

Terence forced himself to take a slow breath. "Later we'll go appreciate the wildflowers together, shall we? But for now, I just wonder if there are any of Mordred's men there."

"That's what you want to see? I can tell you right now that Mordred's men are hardly as pleasant to look at as—"

"Robin."

"No, your grace. No soldiers to the west."

"Thank you, my friend," Terence said.

"You're welcome, my lord," Robin said, his voice suddenly husky. "And Terence? I won't forget your promise."

Terence blinked. "What promise is that?"

"The wildflowers, lad."

Terence hurried back to Arthur's camp and stopped before the king's tent, but before he could report, there came a crash from the beach behind them, then shouts, then a cry of pain. Arthur tore out of his tent, sword in hand. "They're behind us!" he called.

"No, sire!" shouted Terence. "They're north of us!"

Arthur paused, thinking. "North? You're sure?"

"Yes, sire. Someone's on the beach, but Mordred's main forces are north."

Arthur hesitated only a second, then said, "To arms! We march north!"

Kai appeared. "North? But the fighting's in the other direction."

"Think, Kai. There isn't room on that beach for an army. It must be a diversion. We march north, now!"

Without further question, Arthur's disciplined army began moving north. Terence caught up his horse and sword, without bothering with a saddle or armor, and fell into line with the rest. At every step the sounds of battle from the beach grew fainter. At last they ceased altogether. Gawain rode up beside him. "So who was that on the beach?"

"I don't know."

"Kai says all our troops are accounted for. Whoever it was, it wasn't any of our men."

Terence shrugged, and at that moment Arthur's army topped a hill and looked down onto Mordred's camp. Terence's first impression was horror—there were more men there than even the most pessimistic guesses—but then he realized that the camp was sleeping. This was not an army ready for war. Arthur had taken them by surprise.

Arthur called the charge, and so began the Battle of Dover. It was exactly what Arthur had been looking for, a chance for a pitched battle on his own terms, and Arthur's army cut Mordred's troops in half. Within an hour the White Horsemen were in full flight in every direction, and within two hours the battle was done. Terence had stayed within sight of the king, and when the last of Mordred's men had fallen or fled the field, he walked over beside him. Kai was urging him to pursue the fleeing rebels.

"Where?" asked Arthur. "Which direction? They're running in all of them."

"They'll regroup," Kai warned.

"True, those who don't slip off," Arthur replied. "But that will take time, and we need that time as well. Our men were exhausted before the battle. They'll be on their last legs now. Start them back toward our camp above the beach. It was a good place before, and it still is. We'll stay there until we're rested."

Gawain stepped up beside Terence, stumbled on a stone, then caught himself. Arthur smiled at him. "You're worn out, too, my friend, but I have one more thing to ask you."

"Just one?"

"You and Terence go ahead of us and scout the beach. I want to know what that fighting behind us was."

Gawain nodded. "I've been curious, too. Come on, Terence."

The sun was just showing above the horizon when they arrived at the beach below Arthur's deserted camp, where dozens of dead knights were scattered about, alone and in heaps. Two small wooden sloops lay at anchor just off the beach, but there was no sign of life either on the ships or on the shore.

"Who were these?" Terence asked.

The first four knights he came to wore the insignia of the White Horsemen, but he didn't remember seeing any of them before. Then he turned over the fifth knight, raised the visor, and said, "Gawain?"

Gawain had just been standing still amid the carnage while Terence examined the bodies. "Yes?"

"It's Mador."

"Mador," Gawain repeated slowly. He shook his head as if to clear it—Terence had never seen his friend look so tired—then said, "So all that business with the table leg and the dress. That wasn't just to enrage the king, that was to distract us while a troop of his men sailed around and took a position here on the beach. He left us and circled behind to meet them. There'll be ladders and ropes on those ships, I'd imagine, to scale the rocks."

"A sneak attack at night?" Terence asked.

Gawain shook his head. "Nay, not with so few men. It'd be suicide. But if Mordred was planning to attack us from the north—just before dawn, say—then these men could climb up the palisades and get behind us in the battle. It would have been devastating." He frowned. "But that plan would have required them to stay quiet. Who were they fighting? Who attacked them?"

Terence resumed turning over bodies while Gawain stood still. Then Gawain said, in a quiet voice, "Terence? That one. The shiny armor at the bottom of that pile of bodies."

Terence looked where Gawain was pointing and saw a gleaming leg sticking out from beneath several other men, where the fighting had obviously been intense. Gawain limped slowly toward the pile with Terence, and together they pulled the topmost bodies from the pile. Terence caught his breath and stared. "It's Griflet, milord," he said softly.

"He came back," Gawain whispered. Then he fell on his knees before Griflet's body. "You came back."

Gawain stayed there, kneeling beside Griflet, while Terence finished the survey of the field. There were twenty-five White Horsemen and about a dozen knights who had evidently been with Griflet.

"What do you suppose Griflet was doing down here on the beach?" Terence asked.

Gawain was hunched over Griflet's body, but after a second, he answered, "Probably got lost. He came to join the king's forces but wound up on the beach instead. It'd be like him. But he was here when Mador arrived to meet the ships. They must have waited until the men were ashore, then attacked from the darkness. Silly. Stupid. And maybe saved our lives."

Gawain turned back to Griflet, his right arm moving slightly. Stepping up, Terence saw that Gawain was writing something on Griflet's silver shield. The writing was red. "Gawain?" Terence said. "Is that blood?"

Gawain looked up and met Terence's eyes. Gawain's face was pale, and the armor on his right thigh was bright with fresh blood.

"Milord?"

Gawain nodded. "In the side, just before the battle ended. I think it's bad this time, Terence. Can you get me back on my horse?"

By summoning strength that he never suspected he had, Terence managed to get Gawain mounted and back to the camp at the top of the cliff before his friend collapsed into complete unconsciousness. He had removed Gawain's armor and was cleaning the wound when the first riders from Arthur's army arrived. Twenty minutes later he was giving a grim report to the king.

"Will he die?" Arthur asked, his face gray.

"Anyone else would have been dead already," Terence said. It was a struggle to speak of Gawain's peril. He took a breath, then another, then said, "But we think we know what happened behind us last night."

Arthur's face was blank, clearly indifferent for the moment to the fight on the beach. Kai brought him back to the present. "We're still in a war, Arthur. What was it, Terence?"

Terence explained what they had found and Gawain's interpretation. Kai shook his head disbelievingly, but Arthur only said, "Kai, choose a light crew of guards and set the rest of the men sleeping. We'll have another battle soon, perhaps by day's end."

"What about you, Arthur?" Kai demanded.

"I'll sleep in a moment. Terence, walk with me to the cliff. I'd like to pay my respects to the knights who died to save us."

Terence and King Arthur walked alone to the edge of the cliff. Forty feet below them lay the human debris of battle. "And to think of all the times I've wished I was rid of the old poop," the king murmured.

"Sire?" said Terence.

"Yes?"

Terence pointed out into the sea. "Look."

At the edge of the southern horizon, still many miles away, was a line of ships of all shapes and sizes. Counting the ones whose masts barely showed above the line of the sea, there were easily a hundred vessels.

"Mordred," the king said resignedly.

"Are you sure?"

"Who else?" Arthur asked. "He's already used ships to come in behind us once. I thought we were choosing a defensible spot, backing up to the sea like this, but Mordred has outgeneraled me again." He paused pensively. "But don't despair. They won't make land as long as the wind's in this quarter. We sleep now. Then we march again."

Terence nodded, but he had no intention of sleeping. Returning to the tent he shared with Gawain, he sat beside his friend.

For most of that day the offshore wind held, and the ships in the channel stayed on the edge of the horizon. Scouts reported that Mordred's scattered armies had regrouped at a village called Barham, not ten miles northwest of Arthur's camp. There were woods there, but open fields as well, as good a place for battle as Arthur could have hoped for. All this was favorable news, but nothing was as encouraging as Gawain's continued breathing. He even opened his eyes shortly before noon, drank some water, and called Terence a damned fool for sitting up when he ought to be sleeping. The wind died down a few hours after that, and Arthur gave orders to break camp and begin marching toward Barham. Most of the tents and gear they left behind, to increase their speed. They took only two light wagons with them, in one of which lay the resting Gawain.

About halfway to the village of Barham, the wind picked up. Now it blew briskly from the southeast, a fair wind for the armada in the channel to make a swift landfall. Arthur looked grim and weary, but he marched on. He made a wide circle around the village, taking a position on the high downs just north of Barham. He wanted the high ground, and he didn't want to be caught between Mordred's army in the village and the reinforcements arriving from the sea. Surveying his army, Arthur chose two men who seemed less worn-out than the others—Terence saw that one of the two was young Sir Bede—and sent them to scout the White Horsemen. Then everyone collapsed where they were for an hour of sleep before battle. Only Arthur and his inner circle stayed awake, by a small fire. Arthur paced as he awaited the scouts' report. Kai and Parsifal sat together in silent companionship, staring out into the blackness. Ywain rebandaged a slight wound on his left calf that he had gotten at Dover, and Terence—assisted by his old friend Tor—did the same for Gawain. Lionel was missing. No one had seen him since Dover. As Terence worked on Gawain's side, Gawain woke again and cursed him mildly as a ham-handed torturer. Terence grinned to hear his friend sound so much like himself, but when Gawain tried to stand, he couldn't even summon the strength to sit up. Gawain scowled for a moment, then said, "We'll be fighting again tomorrow?"

"Sooner than that, I should think," Terence replied.

"Maybe you should take my sword," Gawain muttered. "Saving Excalibur itself, there's no blade like my Galatine."

Terence nodded. He had no intention of taking Gawain's sword, but he wasn't going to argue with him either. A rustling came from the darkness as one of the scouts returned.

"What news?" demanded Arthur.

"Bad," the scout replied. "Mordred's army looks as large as ever. It doesn't look as if we hurt them at Dover at all. Bede has stayed behind to watch them. If they make a move, he'll report."

"Are they asleep? Resting?"

The scout shook his head. "No, sire. They're armed and ready and watching the down. They know we're here."

The king nodded. "Thank you. Go rest for now. We'll wake you when we're ready."

The scout nodded. "I'm sorry, my king." Then he left.

For a long two minutes, no one spoke. The crushing sense of inevitable defeat weighed like lead on Terence's soul. Was this how the greatest glory of England's history would end? At last, Arthur spoke.

"You heard it, my friends. We can fight, but we are lost. Mordred must have received reinforcements since Dover—probably what he was waiting for even then—and in a few hours will get still others from the sea. We're outnumbered at least three to one, perhaps more."

"Ay," said Kai.

"We must not all die," Arthur said. "I am not England's hope; you are. The honor of the Round Table is what will save England from itself. Mordred won't rest until he's killed me, but you may be able to escape. Leave now. Go north. Go into hiding. Keep hope alive."

No one spoke. Kai hawked once and spat into the dust at his feet. Tor scratched his beard.

"Didn't you hear me? I am giving you an order as your king. I want you to go now. Mount your horses and leave the battlefield. Take all the men you can with you. While you are alive, England can rediscover its honor."

Gawain stirred and, raising one hand, pointed at a gourd of water. Terence gave him a drink. Ywain finished bandaging his wound and buckled his armor over it. Tor scratched his face again and muttered, "I hate the seaside. It always dries out my skin."

"Will you not answer me?" whispered the king. "Don't I deserve that from you?"

No one would speak, so Terence took a deep breath, let it out slowly, and said, "My liege?"

"Yes, Terence?"

"Twenty years ago I decided I would die for you. I may not be able to do that tomorrow, but if I can't, I can at least die beside you."

One by one, the others nodded. No one spoke. Arthur bowed his head in the silence.

They began waking their army an hour later. The men still needed sleep, but Arthur couldn't give the reinforcements from the channel time to arrive. Within twenty minutes, Arthur's army stood in formation on Barham Down looking over Mordred's army, also in formation, at the foot of the hill. The moon glinted on their armor, and from the stars Terence guessed that it lacked only two hours to dawn. He had slept perhaps two hours in the last three days.

Arthur rode to the head of the formation, drew Excalibur from its scabbard, raised it high, and shouted one word: "Camelot!"

Arthur's men let out a roar, and Terence found himself crying wildly, "Camelot!" and then they were all tearing down the hill. Terence felt that he couldn't live with himself if anyone reached Mordred's lines before he did, and every trace of weariness dissipated like mist. The fury of Arthur's charge made Mordred's lines waver, and then the armies came together with a clang that Terence thought must have been heard as far away as the ruins of Camelot. Then there was no more time to think. Terence fought beyond his strength and ability, driving back men twice his size, and he was keenly aware that the rest of Arthur's men were doing the same. Somehow, time seemed at once stopped and fleeting. Those who attacked him seemed to move ridiculously slowly, and he evaded their clumsy blows with ease while they seemed unable to move at all before his counterattacks. Terence was even able to see in the moonlight how others fared in the battle. Not far away he saw Kai bashing men aside to the right and left as if they were straw effigies. Then, unthinkably, Kai went down. Several of the White Horsemen lunged forward to strike the fallen knight, only to be felled themselves by Parsifal's blade. A moment later, Kai was back on his feet, and he and Parsifal were fighting back to back.

In the center of the line, just where the battle was fiercest, was Arthur. Terence couldn't make out his form in the night, but he knew Arthur was there all the same. Dodging one blow and leaping over another aimed at his knees, Terence tried to fight his way toward the king. He never seemed to draw closer, though. Someone new was always rising up in front of him. Gradually Terence became aware that his army was being driven back. Arthur's men were falling and dying and, step by step, retreating back up the slope of Barham Down. The king himself stayed at the foot of the hill, though, holding his ground against more and more of the enemy. Terence could see him now. Though it hardly seemed possible for so much time to have passed, the morning had come. The sun's first red outline had appeared on the eastern horizon. Terence was glad to see the sun again; he hadn't been sure he would.

At that very moment, while parrying blows from two of Mordred's men and being driven inexorably backwards, Terence sensed something behind him. The soldiers fighting him froze suddenly, staring at the top of the hill. Terence stepped back, out of reach of their swords, and risked a glance over his shoulder. At the summit, his armor glowing with the morning sunlight, stood Gawain. Gawain raised his arm, let out a lion's roar, and charged down the hill, his great sword mowing down enemies like hay. Awed, Terence renewed his attack on his own foes, killing one and wounding another, then raced after his friend, following in his wake. "To the king!" Terence shouted. "In the center! Foot of the hill!"

The new light of day showed a scene of unspeakable devastation. Around Terence, hundreds of men and horses lay sprawled in death or writhing in pain. He caught up to Gawain, whose charge had finally been halted by a solid front of Mordred's men. "I'm behind you, milord!" Terence shouted.

"Never expected anything else!" Gawain called back.

They fought for a moment. Then Terence shouted again. "What happened to you?"

"I felt better."

It was the rising of the sun, of course, and Gawain's old gift, but even that wasn't enough. This new strength was coming from Gawain himself. The sun increased Gawain's strength; it didn't perform miracles. Nor did it heal wounds. Terence stole a glance at Gawain's side. His greaves were bright with blood again.

"Terence!" Gawain shouted. "To the south!"

Terence dodged an attacker and looked beyond the fray toward the south. There, charging into the battle, was a regiment of horsemen. Terence's heart sank. The reinforcements from the sea had arrived. "Mordred's men!" he gasped.

"You idiot! Don't you see?" cried Gawain triumphantly. "That's Lancelot!"

And so it was. With Lancelot himself leading the charge, the regiment of French knights smashed into Mordred's forces from the rear. Terence shouted with joy and turned to look again at Gawain, but Gawain wasn't there. Terence felt himself stumbling backwards. Though he couldn't remember being hit, and he felt no pain, he knew that he must have taken a savage blow. He caught his balance and again raised his sword, which seemed very heavy, and there before him was King Arthur, fighting none other than Mordred himself. The king must have been making for his son from the start of the battle. Arthur's sword flashed, and Mordred went down, but then Arthur himself reeled, as if struck. For a moment he stood still; then he turned his sword so that it pointed toward the ground, drove it down, and crumpled beside it. Terence took a step toward the king, but his legs didn't work and he found himself face-down in the grass. Just before his eyes a tiny blue periwinkle bloomed, incongruous and somehow unconquerable amid the slaughter. "I should show you to Robin," Terence murmured. Then he closed his eyes.

The sun was well up when Terence opened his eyes, but the roar of battle was gone, which was lovely. It seemed so long since Terence had heard silence. He tested his legs, and they seemed to work fine now. He still felt no pain. Pushing himself up onto his elbows, he discovered that he didn't even feel sore or tired. He raised his head and looked into the gentle, amused eyes of a friend.

"Bedivere?" Terence whispered.

"Hello, Terence," Bedivere said.

"But you're dead."

"Do I look dead?"

"No, I have to admit you don't. You look well, in fact. But the thing is, Mordred put a dagger in your heart a while ago."

"Yes, he did that," Bedivere conceded.

"I was the one who found your body."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. That must have been awful for you."

Terence blinked and heard himself saying, "Oh, no, don't feel bad. It wasn't your fault." He sat up and looked around. He and Bedivere appeared to be the only creatures stirring on a field covered with the dead. Terence frowned. "So, Bedivere. Am I dead?"

"Do you feel dead?"

"I don't know," Terence replied. "I've never been dead before."

"What would you like to be?" Bedivere asked.

Terence thought about this briefly. "I feel pretty well at the moment," he said at last. "Whatever I am, that's what I want to be."

"Yes," Bedivere said. He took Terence by the hand and raised him to his feet—Bedivere's hand felt solid and real and warm. "Come with me, Lord Terence. We're to find Excalibur."

The last moments of the battle came rushing back to Terence. "I saw Arthur kill Mordred, right over there." He pointed, and Bedivere led the way to the spot. There was Mordred, his eyes open and his lips curled in a frozen snarl, and rising from his breast was the king's sword.

Bedivere gazed at it thoughtfully. "That's just how it looked the first time I saw it," he said. "Except, that time it was sticking out of a stone. "Reaching over, he tugged it free from Mordred's body, then cleaned the blade on a bit of linen that protruded from Mordred's armor.

"Where's Arthur?" asked Terence. He remembered that he had seen the king fall at this spot, but there was no sign of him.

"I suppose we'll find out when we need to," Bedivere replied imperturbably. "Come now. We have to move along."

"Where to?" Terence inquired. He didn't much care, but it seemed polite to ask.

"To the sea."

There was a stir of motion from across the battlefield, and Terence saw first one, then two figures rising from the cluster of bodies. It was too far away to see who they were for certain, but when they started walking toward them, Terence recognized Kai from the slight limp. "Kai and Parsifal?" he asked. Bedivere nodded. Terence watched for a moment, then said, "Say, I feel better than I can ever remember feeling, but Kai's still limping. Why is that?"

"Kai likes to limp," Bedivere replied. Raising his voice, he called out, "Hello, cousin!"

Kai stopped and stared. "Bedivere?"

"Come this way," Bedivere shouted back. "Follow me to the sea."

Bedivere started walking south, and Terence fell in step beside him. A moment later they were joined by Kai and Parsifal, who had picked up Tor along the way.

"To the sea, you say?" asked Tor.

"That's right."

"That's ten bleeding miles, you know," grumbled Kai. "But I suppose if I'm to have a hike, I might as well take it with you."

"I've missed you, too," Bedivere said, smiling.

By the time they arrived at the sea, they had been joined by Ywain and a half dozen others of Arthur's knights. Gawain wasn't among them, Terence noticed, but he felt no surprise or disappointment. He supposed he would find out what had happened to his friend when he needed to. At the beach there stood two ships, a great two-masted frigate and a low barge with no sail at all. A crowd waited for them on the shore. Terence saw many familiar faces, but above them all was his father, Ganscotter the Enchanter. Their eyes met, and Ganscotter smiled warmly.

"Miss me, lad?" asked a voice at Terence's right.

Terence didn't need to turn. He knew Gawain's voice better than he knew his own. "Wondered where you were, rather."

"I came on ahead," Gawain said. "I wanted to be the first to welcome Griflet to the guard."

Now Terence saw with amusement that Gawain stood beside the old court dandy. Griflet still only came up to Gawain's chin, but his eyes were strong and confident as Terence had never seen them before. "Griflet," Terence said, nodding. Griflet smiled back. "What guard is that?" Terence asked Gawain.

"Arthur's guard of honor, of course," Gawain said. "Come with me."

Together all the knights who had followed Bedivere trooped down to the beach, while others detached themselves from the waiting crowd and met them at the barge. They formed two lines, facing each other. Terence found himself across from Gaheris, who winked at him, and a few steps away from Bors and Lionel. Lionel was whispering something to Bors, who was trying very hard to ignore him and maintain a solemn expression. At the far end of the line, nearest the barge, Terence saw Gareth and, beside him, Agrivaine. Terence blinked and took another look. It was undoubtedly Agrivaine, even though Terence couldn't imagine why he should be in Arthur's guard of honor. Agrivaine met his eyes, smiled ruefully, and shrugged, as if to say, "I don't understand it, either." Terence chuckled.

Then, from the gathered crowd, a new group began walking toward the barge, all women, bearing a litter draped in silk. At the head of the procession strode Nimue, the Lady of the Lake, and her daughter, Ariel. As they approached, Bedivere stepped out of the line and held out Excalibur. Nimue took it, nodding her thanks to Bedivere, then continued onto the barge. Behind her, carrying the litter, walked other ladies. Terence recognized Lady Lynet, Lady Sarah of Milrick, Parsifal's wife, Conduiramours, and Lorie, Gawain's wife. At the end of the procession a diminutive figure strode firmly. Terence felt something relax within. It was his beloved Eileen, who had never bothered to learn the dainty step of most court ladies.

On the litter, his face still lined with age, but peacefully composed in sleep, was Arthur himself. The women carried Arthur onto the barge, where Nimue placed Excalibur at his side. Then the ladies stepped off the barge and made way for one more to take their place. Dressed in a regal dress and veiled in gauze—it was hard to tell if it looked like a mourning veil or a wedding veil—the enchantress Morgan Le Fay stepped onto the barge and sat quietly beside the king.

At last Ganscotter spoke. "You are certain, Lady Morgan? You do this of your own will, not because I asked you?"

Morgan nodded. "He is my brother."

"He will not die, you know."

She nodded again. "And the only man I've ever cared for."

"Nor will he wake until he is called for."

"I will wait."

Ganscotter smiled. "Very well," he said. "Then, for your loyalty, I grant those gifts also to you. Sleep, Lady Morgan, forever young and forever faithful beside Arthur the King. When he returns, wake also and return with him."

Slowly, Morgan's eyes closed, though she remained seated upright. The barge disengaged from the shore and moved out to sea. In a moment, it was swallowed up in mist.

Terence looked back at Ganscotter, who smiled brightly at the assembled company. "Well, my friends," he said in a jovial voice, nodding toward the other ship. "Shall we go home?"