The Legend of the King Read online

  Dodging Mordred's patrols and once trapped for four days in a cave with the White Horsemen camped outside, it took Terence nearly two weeks to make his way to Arthur's siege camp at Joyous Garde. It was worth it, though, because the first person Terence saw upon arriving was Gawain. Terence's relief at seeing his friend alive was quickly tempered with concern, however. If he hadn't known every line of his friend's face and every inch of his armor, he might not have recognized him. Gawain's expression was entirely changed. He sat staring bleakly into a campfire, his face drawn and bitter and his eyes somehow both empty and wild. "Milord!" Terence called.

  Gawain turned, and for a second the savage emptiness of his face abated, and he said, "Thank God. At least I still have you."

  "What is it, Gawain? Where have you been? What have you seen?" Terence demanded urgently.

  "Gary and Lynet are dead," Gawain said dully. "And Gareth and Agrivaine, too, for that matter."

  "Gaheris and Lynet?" Terence whispered.

  "Lamorak killed Gary. I was there. I killed Lamorak, but I was too slow to save Gary."

  "Lamorak?" Terence repeated blankly. "But why?"

  "He was my mother's new consort and was protecting her. But Gary killed her."

  "Morgause is dead?" Terence demanded.

  Gawain nodded. "Ay."

  Terence took his friend's arm and led him away from the rest of the camp. "Tell me," he said. "Every detail."

  In a voice nearly devoid of expression, Gawain told Terence all that had taken place since they had parted in front of Camelot. First he summarized the events that had divided Arthur and Lancelot and had led to the siege of Joyous Garde; then he recounted his own experiences, from the siege of Orkney Hall and Gaheris's faked death to the moment when Gaheris and Lynet had died together beside the Enchantress.

  "And this would have been the night of the half-moon?" Terence asked when Gawain had finished.

  Gawain shrugged. "Ay, somewhere about then."

  Terence nodded, murmuring half to himself, "That's it, then. Gaheris broke all of Morgause's spells when he killed her. That's why Mordred didn't feel my presence." He saw that Gawain was no longer listening, but only staring unfocused at the ground. "Milord, Gaheris saved my life."

  Gawain glanced at Terence, a flicker of interest in his eyes.

  It wasn't much, but it was enough for Terence. Holding Gawain's eyes in his own gaze to keep him from turning away again, Terence said, "You see, Mordred had a magical ability to sense people's presence, even at a distance. When I got close to his camp, he knew it, and I was captured."

  "Captured?" Gawain repeated.

  "But I escaped. Say, remember that knife you gave me before we fought the five kings? Where did you get that knife?"

  But Gawain's attention turned within again. Terence repeated the question, and finally Gawain said, "Oh, Mother gave that to Father. I got it after he died."

  Terence nodded and continued, "Anyway, I escaped but stayed nearby to watch Mordred's armies. Then, the night of the half-moon, I fell asleep and would have been captured again, but Mordred had lost his powers. So Gaheris saved my life."

  Gawain nodded. "I'm glad of that, anyway."

  "But Mordred is on his way here. We need to tell Arthur to forget Joyous Garde and start preparing for the real enemy."

  Gawain said nothing.

  "Well?" Terence asked. "Don't you agree?"

  "I don't care who we fight," Gawain said after a moment. "I just want to fight someone. I think Arthur feels the same. Arthur's not the man he was a month ago. Neither of us are."

  "Let me talk to him," Terence said calmly. He tried to sound confident, but his heart sank. If Arthur had changed as much in the past few weeks as Gawain had, there was no knowing whether he would listen. "Come on, milord."

  To Terence's dismay, Arthur was even more changed than Gawain. His face was haggard, and the spark of humor and compassion that always lurked in his eyes was utterly absent. Terence reported Mordred's plans, but the king barely seemed to notice. After a moment, Terence said, "My liege, tomorrow night is the full moon. If Mordred leaves Abingdon then, he should arrive in a week. We can set a trap."

  At last Arthur spoke. "I have no troops to spare."

  Terence hesitated, then said, "You could withdraw from Joyous Garde." Arthur's eyes flashed, the first sign of energy that Terence had seen. Terence went on, "I don't know why you are besieging Lancelot, but—"

  "Don't you?" Arthur asked grimly. "You haven't heard Lancelot's been betraying me with my wife all these years and now has joined with Mordred to steal my throne?"

  "I don't believe it," Terence said calmly.

  "You don't want to believe it, and so you don't," Arthur said bitterly. "As king, I don't have that luxury. I have to believe the facts."

  "Belief isn't about facts," Terence said. "That's knowledge. Belief is what you know without facts, and I believe in Lancelot. He's a man of honor, and he's loyal to you."

  "You don't believe he had an affair with my queen?"

  "Yes, sire. He did that, and it stained his honor. But he ended it and gave up his knighthood. Only when he had restored his honor—by rescuing the queen and restoring her to you—did he return. Since then, he has been faithful."

  "That's what I thought, too," replied the king dully. "I was even willing to believe Guinevere when she said she had been tricked into meeting Lancelot in her chambers at midnight."

  "What?"

  "Oh, haven't you heard that bit? They were found together in the queen's chambers. Guinevere claimed they'd both received forged letters asking the other to meet—but of course neither letter was ever found. Lancelot fled, killing Agrivaine and four other knights on his way out. Even then, I tried to excuse those murders as self-defense. But when he rode into Camelot to steal Guinevere away one more time, I had to face the truth. Lancelot's turned against me, and I won't stop until he's crushed."

  The king's voice was quiet but implacable. Bowing, Terence turned on his heels and left the king's tent. He knew when there was nothing left to say.

  "Any luck?" growled a gruff voice. Terence looked up into Kai's black eyes. He shook his head. Kai swore softly and said, "Then it's over. He won't listen to me or Parsifal. Gawain won't even try. Bedivere's gone. There's no one else he might listen to."

  "You don't believe Lancelot's a traitor?"

  "Do you take me for an ass? Of course not. Lancelot would die before he'd betray the king. And if it didn't involve Gwen, Arthur would know that, too. But when it comes to her, he can't see around that old blasted affair."

  "I didn't know he still carried that with him."

  "No more did I," said Kai, nodding. "But it was there all the same."

  "We can't give up," Terence said. "Mordred's on the march, and he knows where we are. A week and he'll be here."

  "Who's giving up?" Kai snapped. "I've sent for a mediator—Bishop Nacien from Glastonbury—and I've been trying for two days to call a parley with Lancelot. But so far no response either way. You told Arthur about Mordred?"

  Terence nodded. "He didn't seem interested. At any rate, he refused to pull troops off to set a trap."

  "At least we can warn everyone," Kai said. "Which direction?"

  "He's been at Abingdon, by Oxford," Terence said. "But who knows which direction he'll attack from."

  Just then a young man in chain mail came hurrying up. "Sir Kai," he said quickly.

  "Yes?" Kai said.

  "You told me to report as soon as anything happened at the wall."

  "Yes?"

  "A knight hails us."

  "Who is it?"

  "They say it's Lancelot himself."

  Terence suddenly recognized the youth. "Bede?" he asked.

  The young man turned and looked at Terence for the first time. "Sir Terence!" he said. Kai disappeared into the king's tent to report to him.

  Terence said, "I'm glad you made it to Camelot."

  Bede replied, "I didn't, actually. The army was al
ready on the march when I joined them. The king didn't seem interested in my report." Then Bede added, "Sir? I've kept your sword and armor. They're in my tent. Sir Kai gave me gear of my own."

  "And my horse?"

  "Yes, sir. I'm glad you're alive, sir."

  Kai and Arthur emerged from the tent, the king's face harsh and set in rigid lines. In the daylight, Terence was surprised to see how anger had aged him in just a few weeks. Arthur led the way toward the castle walls; there, on the battlements over the main gate, stood Lancelot.

  "My liege!" Lancelot called, bowing his head respectfully.

  "Liege?" Arthur demanded. "If I am indeed your liege lord, then you would obey me!"

  Lancelot nodded. "Command me, sire."

  "Give me my wife!"

  Lancelot bowed his head again. After a moment, he looked up. "So you can execute her? I am sorry, sire. Though I die for it, that I cannot do."

  For a long moment the king and his knight looked at each other. Then Arthur said, "Then I shall tear down your castle, stone by stone, and take her."

  Lancelot was silent.

  "Do you mean to stay there forever?" Arthur demanded. "Eventually, you'll have to fight."

  "Yes," Lancelot said. "But I will not until I must. I will never raise my sword against you, or let the knights who are with me do so, until we have no other choice."

  "That time is now," Arthur said. "You can't hold out against us, and when the fight begins, you can't win. Do you want your knights to be killed?"

  "Do you want to kill them?" Lancelot replied immediately. "Bors? Lionel? Ector de Maris? They have ever been faithful to you. Which of them do you wish to kill?"

  Now it was Arthur who was silent. Terence's gut felt heavy as he imagined fighting against these old friends—calm, dependable Bors; laughing, mercurial Lionel.

  "I want to kill no one," the king said. "But I will have my queen, though I have to kill everyone standing in my way."

  "That is I. No one else," Lancelot said calmly.

  The king looked up, his eyes aflame. "Then I challenge you to single combat, Lancelot, to the death! If you win, you take her. If I win, she is mine!"

  Lancelot shook his head. "I will never lift my sword against you. Never."

  Then a new voice broke into the parley. "What if the king chose someone to fight in his place? Would you accept single combat then? Will you fight me instead?"

  It was Gawain.

  The rest of that day was like a nightmare for Terence as the arrangements were made for a single combat between Gawain and Lancelot. A part of his mind refused to accept the notion that his two friends—and two of Arthur's most loyal knights—would prepare for a fight to the death. Terence thought he knew what had prompted Gawain's offer: Gawain had always tried to relieve deep pain through fierce activity, and avenging his brothers' deaths on Lancelot would certainly do that. But why had Lancelot accepted Gawain's challenge? At first, Terence was bewildered by this, but as negotiations for the battle drew on, he began to understand. Lancelot set only two conditions. First, whatever the result of the battle, Guinevere was to go free. If Lancelot won, then Guinevere would be restored to her former position and held to be innocent. If Lancelot lost, she would at least be permitted to live. His second condition was that all the knights who had followed Lancelot to Joyous Garde were to be held innocent of treason and restored to the king's favor as before. Lancelot asked for nothing for himself, and so long as the king agreed to those two terms, Lancelot accepted every other condition. He didn't protest when Arthur suggested that the battle be fought with swords only, even though Lancelot's greatest advantage was in his superior jousting. He didn't even blink when the king called for the battle to begin at nine in the morning.

  This last condition was significant, more than even Arthur knew. At the beginning of his career, Gawain had received a blessing from a holy man, by which his strength was tied to the sun and would increase as the sun rose. Only Gawain and Terence knew about this blessing, but everyone at court was aware that Gawain was at his best before noon. For years—before Gawain and Lancelot had stopped participating in tournaments so as to give the younger knights a chance to shine—a tournament held in the morning had been called a Gawain Tourney and one held in the afternoon a Lancelot. A swords-only contest in the morning gave Gawain a clear edge, but Lancelot made no demur. Terence suspected that Lancelot didn't care if he lived, so long as Guinevere and his friends were given their freedom.

  Terence said nothing to Gawain that evening about the upcoming fight. At this point recriminations and arguments were useless. A challenge had been offered and accepted, and neither knight would dream of backing out now. Instead, Terence and Gawain sat around their fire in silence. With the prospect of action, some of Gawain's bitterness had lifted, and though Gawain still spoke little, Terence no longer felt excluded by his friend's melancholy.

  Gawain glanced at Terence and said, "Wondering if this is the last night you'll see me alive?"

  Terence shrugged. "Not really. Remember the life we've led, milord. I've had that thought off and on for twenty years. I suppose I must have worn it out by now."

  Another long silence was followed with another question. "What do you suppose will await me after I die?"

  Terence stared into the fire for a long time, watching the wood change into light and warmth, before answering, "In our journeys to other worlds, we've met some who left this world by dying out of it. Some of those people seemed alive; some didn't. I don't know what awaits anyone. All I'm sure of is that this world isn't all there is."

  Gawain poked the fire with a stick, and a log crumbled into a heap of coals and glowing embers. "Everything falls apart," he said.

  "But nothing is ever lost," Terence replied.

  The battle began promptly at nine, with Lancelot immediately pressing a furious onslaught. He was clearly hoping to take Gawain by surprise and negate his morning advantage, but Gawain was waiting for this and matched each lightning blow with an equally swift parry. Gawain ended this opening assault by slipping under a swing and landing a solid blow on Lancelot's breastplate, which sent the French knight staggering backwards. Gawain followed up quickly, but Lancelot desperately deflected one blow with his sword and a second with his shield. A chip the size of an oak leaf flew from the edge of the shield, but the shield held, and Lancelot regained his balance.

  After that, Lancelot grew more cautious and deliberate. Having failed to achieve a swift victory, he seemed content to reserve his energy, keep himself from serious harm, and watch for openings. Since Gawain was as skilled and experienced as Lancelot, such openings were brief and few. Over the next hour, Lancelot's shield became more and more chipped as Gawain grew stronger and pressed his attack. Gawain was fighting brilliantly, judging every blow to a hair and deflecting all of Lancelot's counterattacks without apparent effort. Twice Lancelot managed to clinch and throw Gawain staggering backwards, but in neither case did Lancelot have the strength to follow up. Instead, he backed away and drew in great, gasping breaths while Gawain recovered his balance.

  The crowd watched the battle without shouts of encouragement, but rather in awed silence. Even Terence, with all his years of experience, had never seen such skill at arms. Again and again he witnessed some amazing pass that perhaps only two knights in the world were capable of executing. These two knights.

  Beside him, Kai's gruff voice muttered, "Good Gog! Are they even human? It's Hector and Achilles."

  After a moment, Terence whispered, "But which one will be Hector?"

  Kai didn't answer. Terence glanced up at his friend's face and saw tears streaming down his cheeks, dancing over his bristly gray beard, and splashing on his shirt. The clang of sword on sword, the shuffle of feet, the gasping and wheezing, and the dull thud of sword against shield continued without interruption. Terence could count on one hand the number of swordfights he had witnessed that had lasted even an hour. This one was now approaching three.

  And then, as the
sun neared its zenith, Gawain threw himself into a new attack, suddenly appearing as fresh as when the battle had begun. Lancelot was helpless to do anything but desperately deflect blows away from vital areas and absorb them on his arms and shoulders. He was taking tremendous punishment, but he stayed on his feet until a colossal swing, aimed at his neck but landing on the back of his helm as he tried to duck beneath it, sent him sprawling, stunned. Gawain stepped up to the prone form and raised his sword for the blow that would end it. Terence closed his eyes, but all he heard was the soft crunch of a sword being driven into the earth.

  "No, not like this," Gawain gasped. "Not helpless. No man should die helpless, least of all this man." He looked over his shoulder at Lancelot's escort. "Bors! Lionel! Take him!" Then Gawain removed his helm and looked into the eyes of King Arthur. "We'll finish this tomorrow," he said. Terence's heart leaped. The blankness of grief was entirely gone from his friend's eyes. Gawain was himself again.

  Bors and Lionel each took one of Lancelot's arms and raised him, dazed and weaving, to his feet.

  Gawain said, "We'll pick up tomorrow where we left off." Bors and Lionel nodded, and Gawain added, "We start at noon."

  That afternoon, after Terence had treated his wounds and rubbed liniment into every muscle in his body, Gawain lay down and slept the deep and motionless sleep of the exhausted. Terence stationed himself outside their tent and kept people from disturbing him. More than one man asked him why Gawain had set the next day's battle at noon, but Terence evaded the question. Even when King Arthur himself, his eyes still betraying the grim emptiness that Gawain's had finally lost, asked that question, Terence only replied, "Gawain didn't say, sire."

  "And why didn't he end the battle?" Arthur asked.

  For a moment, Terence didn't answer. Then he said, "Would you have done so, sire? Struck down Lancelot while he lay stunned?"