The Squire's Quest Read online

  Terence grinned and dismounted. "Hello, Brother Guinglain," he said.

  The hermit rose to his feet and returned the smile. "Hello, Terence. I'm very glad to see you."

  Terence raised one eyebrow. Despite Guinglain's relative youth, Terence had great faith in his discernment. It occurred to him that if anyone had news from the Other World, it might be Guinglain. "That sounds as if you had a particular reason for wanting to see me," he ventured.

  "Oh, no," Guinglain replied, still smiling. "I'm very glad to see everyone."

  Terence had to chuckle. Six months before, he and Gawain had traveled for several weeks with Guinglain, but Terence still found the young man somehow disconcerting. It wasn't that he was different from what he appeared to be; it was rather that he was exactly what he seemed. Terence wasn't sure he had ever met a human like him. "That would explain the crowd," Terence commented.

  "Yes," Guinglain replied simply. "Sunday afternoons are like this. Many parents in the village let their children visit me after mass. Part of their religious education, I think."

  An especially vehement dispute broke out near the play fort as two boys argued over the placement of a log. "I see," Terence said drily. "And those boys are learning their catechism, I suppose?"

  "No," Guinglain said. "At the moment they're learning justice and respect for others. How have you been? How is Gawain? And King Arthur?"

  "We are all well, and the kingdom is at peace, at least to all appearances."

  Guinglain said nothing but looked into Terence's eyes as if reading there the squire's indefinable anxieties.

  "But I'm worried," Terence continued. "And I've come to ask you something."

  Guinglain's gaze shifted to a spot over Terence's shoulder, and an expression of curiosity flickered across his face. "Could we talk about it in a moment?" he asked. "I'm about to have some visitors, people I've never met before."

  Terence turned, and at first saw nothing. Then he heard a crunch of gravel under a person's foot and, a few seconds later, watched a young man and woman step from the forest. The young woman carried a swaddled infant in her arms. Both looked haggard and drawn. Guinglain left Terence and walked across the yard to meet them. "Good afternoon, friends," he said. "Welcome."

  "Are you the hermit here?" asked the young man. His voice was gruff, but his eyes seemed beseeching rather than stern.

  "I am Brother Guinglain, yes."

  "You re very young," the man said.

  "Yes."

  The woman looked at the man's face, then at Guinglain's, then back at the man s. She said nothing but somehow managed to communicate a message. The man nodded. "They say in the village that you can see things no one else sees. Angels and demons and such."

  Guinglain said nothing, waiting.

  "So we brought you our baby," the man said, his voice growing harsher. Reaching across to the bundle in the woman's arms, he twitched the blankets back from where the baby's head was and said harshly, "Look at him!"

  From where he stood, Terence couldn't see the child's face, but from the way that both parents looked once then averted their eyes, he gathered that there was some deformity there. Guinglain looked calmly at the baby.

  "They say in the village that it's a mark of the devil!" the man said hoarsely. "Is it? Did we give birth to a demon? Why? For what sin? What had we done? Why are we being punished?"

  For a long moment Guinglain said nothing, then he stretched out his hands, and in a slow, almost stammering voice he said, "Please, may I hold him?" The woman blinked but obediently handed the infant to Guinglain. "What is his name?"

  "We've given him no name," the man said.

  Faintly, the woman spoke for the first time. "Before he was born, I had thought to name him Thomas."

  "Thomas," Guinglain repeated, still gazing into the child's face. At last he looked up at the two young parents. "How came you by this honor?" he breathed. The parents only stared, and slowly Guinglain sank to his knees before them. "This child," he said, "he is ... he has ... there is in him a spark of God's own fire, the very image of God's form. He is ... I have never beheld a soul of greater beauty. Tell me! Who are you?"

  The man's jaw had grown slack, but at length he stammered, "I-I am called Rogan, and this is my wife, Margary."

  "Rogan and Margary," Guinglain said, his eyes still on them, "I do not know what goodness God has seen in you to give you care of Thomas, but it must be great." Looking around quickly, Guinglain called out, "Children! Come here at once!"

  All the children stopped what they were doing and gathered around the kneeling hermit. Terence stepped closer as well and saw that the infant in Guinglain's arms had a black birthmark covering half of its face. The eye within the mark was unnaturally filmy, and Terence guessed that that eye at least was sightless.

  "Do you see this child?" Guinglain said to the children eagerly. They did. Every child stared at the infant with a revulsed fascination. "Watch him as he grows! God has marvelous plans for this Thomas! He will know things that none of us can ever know. Do you hear me?"

  All the children nodded, and Guinglain looked back at Rogan and Margary. "You have been given a difficult task," he said. "There are those who will persecute you and the holy Thomas, those who will be cruel and will heap all sorts of abuse on you. But God must have seen great strength in you. I am honored to have met you."

  Rogan and Margary looked at each other, speechless.

  "And please," Guinglain said, slowly rising to his feet and reluctantly handing Thomas back to his mother, "will you bring him to me again? My hermitage is made more holy by his presence."

  A minute later the dazed couple had gone and the children had returned to their former occupations. Terence looked into Guinglain's serene eyes. "And did you really see the image of God's beauty in that child?"

  "Of course," Guinglain replied. The corners of his lips curled up very slightly, and in a softer voice, he added, "I see it in every child."

  "And in every adult?" Terence asked.

  Guinglain's smile changed to a rueful grin. "I think it might be there in every adult," he said, "but I can't always see it."

  "That's why I'm here, actually," Terence said. "I want to ask you about someone you mentioned once." Guinglain nodded and Terence continued. "Didn't you tell Gawain and me, back when we were traveling together, that you had met a young man named Mordred?"

  Guinglain's face grew somber."Yes," he said.

  "And what did you see in this Mordred's soul?"

  Guinglain was silent for a long moment. "I couldn't see Mordred's soul. It was entirely hidden."

  "What do you mean?"

  "When he spoke, it was with bitterness and mockery," Guinglain said. "But even then I couldn't tell if the words he spoke came from himself or from somewhere else. He made me feel very cold."

  Terence nodded. "I know. I felt the same thing, even though when I talked with him, he was very agreeable."

  "You've talked with Mordred?"

  Terence nodded. "He came to Arthur last week, asking to be received into the Fellowship of the Round Table. There's a meeting in five days to hear him."

  Guinglain said solemnly, "In my travels, both in your world and in this one, I have seen great evil. But I have never felt such emptiness as I felt when I was with Mordred. I have to believe that people can change, but Mordred ... I think you should be frightened, my friend."

  Terence swung back into his horse's saddle. "I need to start back to Camelot," he said.

  Gawain was playing cards with Kai by a dying fire when Terence stepped into their rooms. Judging from the hour, the two empty pitchers on the floor, and the neglected state of the coals, Terence guessed that both were more than a little in their cups, so he greeted them only briefly and went to bed. It wasn't until just before noon the next day, when Gawain dragged himself blearily from his bedchamber, that Terence had a chance to talk with him.

  "I thought you came in last night," Gawain said, evidently pleased with this feat o
f memory. "Do you feel better after your ride?"

  "I imagine I feel better than you do," Terence said. "Want something to eat?"

  Gawain made a face. "Please don't speak of food to me," he said. "Where did you go?"

  "I went to see Guinglain," Terence said.

  "The devil you did!" Gawain exclaimed. "I wish you'd told me! I'd have gone with you."

  "Sorry, milord. I wanted to be alone this time."

  Gawain frowned for a moment. "You went all the way to Guinglain's hermitage and back in ... what is it, a week? Ten days? How long did you stay?"

  "About twenty minutes," Terence replied. "Listen, is that young fellow Mordred still about?"

  "You traveled all that way and then stayed—"

  "Mordred," Terence repeated. "Have you seen him around?"

  "Have I seen him around?" Gawain snorted. "He's like part of the family now. He and Agrivaine are thick as thieves." Agrivaine was the middle born of Gawain's three younger brothers. Gawain shook his head. "Which is odd, really. Mordred always seems pleasant enough—can't imagine why he'd chum around with a wet blanket like Agrivaine. Oh, and my cousins Florence and Lovel showed up at court a day or so after you left, and he's made friends with them, too."

  "The Table hasn't met to hear Mordred's case, has it?"

  "No, that's tomorrow ... No, wait: today isn't yesterday anymore, is it?"

  Terence sighed. "It hardly ever is, milord."

  "Leave me alone. I'm new at this day and haven't got the hang of it yet. The Table is meeting this afternoon." Terence relaxed. He had made it in time, though just barely. "So how's Guinglain?"

  "He's very happy," Terence said. "More than anyone I've ever met."

  "Happy and a holy man, too," muttered Gawain. "Who'd have thought it? Well, I'm glad things are going well for him."

  It occurred to Terence that Guinglain's happiness had nothing to do with how well things went for him, but he decided not to try explaining that to Gawain at the moment. "Whether you think it or not," Terence said, "you'll feel better with some food in your stomach."

  Gawain grumbled something indistinguishable, but he took the small loaf of brown bread that Terence had brought him from the castle kitchens and began to chew. Terence left him alone and went to see Eileen. She was in her sitting room with Sarah, both sewing, when Terence swung through the window. Sarah jumped with obvious alarm. "Oh, it's you," she said.

  "Welcome home, Terence," Eileen said, smiling warmly. "When did you arrive?"

  "Last night after midnight," he said.

  "Do you always come in that way?" Sarah demanded. "You scared me."

  "You really should be careful," Eileen pointed out. "After all, I ve got a guest here. What if Sarah had been dressing?"

  "I knocked earlier," Terence said, "but no one answered." He glanced at the door, noting with mild surprise that it was bolted with a heavy wooden beam.

  "Was that you?" Sarah asked. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought it was Alexander."

  Terence grinned. "What, the emperor of Constantinople? Is he still around?"

  "He says he won't leave without Sarah," Eileen explained.

  "I see," Terence said, keeping his face bland. "So are you betrothed yet?"

  "No, and shut up," Sarah said. "I don't want to hear it."

  "Hear what?" Terence protested. "I wasn't going to say a thing."

  "If that's true, then you re the only one," Sarah muttered.

  Eileen laid down her needlework. "Many people at court have felt the need to tell Sarah what a brilliant match it would be," she said.

  "Just in case I hadn't realized it for myself," Sarah added.

  "Well, have you turned him down?" Terence asked.

  Sarah hesitated. "No," she admitted. "I don't love him, but I don't actually dislike him. There are times I think he might not be a bad choice. I believe he's a man of honor, anyway. But I don't like everybody assuming I'll marry him just because he's the emperor."

  "And he's still pursuing you?"

  Sarah rolled her eyes. "Like a ferret after a rabbit. I try to slow him down by acting cold and putting him off, but that only seems to make him more sure of me than ever."

  Terence remembered what Dinadan had said at the tournament about the French traditions of courtly love. It had sounded absurd, but Dinadan was no fool, and he had spent a lot of time traveling on the continent. Perhaps he was right. "Maybe he thinks you re just being discreet by pretending not to love him."

  "That what he keeps saying," Sarah said. "It's what puts me most out of patience with him, because it gives me no answer. If I encourage him, he believes that I love him. If I don't encourage him, he believes it even more. He says he wants to do great deeds for me, to slay my enemies."

  "Very romantic," Terence said drily. "And how do you reply?"

  "I told him I had already slain them all myself. He didn't believe me."

  A new thought occurred to Terence. "Say, how does that old advisor of Alexander's feel about this? Acor-something."

  "Acoriondes," Eileen said. "And he's just three years older than I am, dear."

  Terence closed his eyes. "I meant 'that youthful courtier. "

  "He's the only one on my side," Sarah said. "He doesn't say anything, but I can tell he's hoping I'll stand firm."

  "It's probably part of his job to protect Alexander from unwise marriages," Terence reflected. Sarah's eyebrows lifted haughtily, and Terence added hurriedly, "I mean from a diplomatic point of view. Kings aren't supposed to marry for love; they have to make marriages that will help their states. Even Arthur's marriage with Guinevere was an alliance between him and old King Leodegrance."

  "But Arthur and Guinevere love each other," Sarah pointed out.

  "They do now," Terence agreed, "but it was a bit rocky at first." Changing the subject, Terence turned to Eileen. "Can you tell me anything about this new fellow, Mordred? Have you met him?"

  "Once or twice," Eileen replied. "Seems nice enough. Why do you ask?"

  Terence hesitated. So far, everyone's impression of Mordred seemed to be favorable. "Just thinking ahead to the meeting of the Table this afternoon," Terence said.

  In past years King Arthur's Round Table, the great council of equals, had been the place where he and his knights had come together to decide how to face some enemy or challenge. Now, having fewer of both, the Table met rarely and with less critical issues. This day, there were only three or four small matters to resolve, which were dealt with quickly, before Arthur said, "And finally, we have a knight making application to join our fellowship. Over the past week or two, most of you have gotten to know young Mordred. Mordred, would you stand, please?"

  Only knights of the fellowship had seats at the table, so Mordred been sitting against the back wall with the handful of nonknightly counselors who were admitted to the meetings of the Table, near Terence. Now he rose diffidently to his feet. "Here, Your Highness."

  "Tell us, Mordred, why you wish to join our number."

  Mordred smiled—a very attractive smile, too, Terence noted—and said, "I suppose you have to ask, sire, but really! Every child born in England dreams of joining your fellowship. Since I was a child being raised alone by my mother, I have dreamt that one day I might be a part of this collection of heroes, doing my part to make England great."

  "You were raised by your mother?" asked the king.

  "Yes, Your Highness."

  "What happened to your father?"

  Mordred took a breath, then said, "I never knew him, sire. Nor has he ever known me. I suppose I must tell the story. You see, twenty years ago, my mother was rescued from a dragon by a great knight."

  Several voices interrupted Mordred's narrative. "A dragon! Did he say a dragon?"

  "That's what Mother says," Mordred continued. "She had come upon the beast in a forest clearing, and it had just started toward her when this knight rode up and attacked. Killed it, too, in hard fighting. Well, the knight was wounded in the fight, and so my mother took him home to
care for him. For several days, he was feverish, but my mother knew a little about healing herbs, and she saved his life. She fell in love with him, of course, and before the knight left, they ... well, I was born nine months later."

  Arthur's face was still. "And do you know who this knight was?"

  Mordred shook his head. "Mother says he wouldn't tell his name. All she could tell is that he wore black armor and that he didn't seem very happy. Actually, the way Mother said it was 'He bore a secret grief. Mother talked like that."

  "Have you ever tried to find your father?"

  Mordred shrugged. "I used to think about it sometimes, but I don't anymore. I don't really have any quarrel with him. It isn't his fault that he didn't return Mother's love. The fellow probably saved dozens of damsels in his life, and he couldn't fall in love with all of them. I suppose he shouldn't have taken advantage of Mother, but I won't judge him. I imagine in her younger days Mother was quite a beauty. And she had just saved his life."

  "Ah, yes," said the king. "And where exactly was this knight wounded?"

  "I think Mother said it was his shoulder. The left one, maybe. I'm not sure."

  The king leaned back in his chair and gazed thoughtfully at Mordred. In the silence, Sir Griflet, an aging knight wearing a doublet of a preposterous shade of pink, said, "Well, really! A dragon! I mean, it doesn't sound very likely, does it? I've never seen a dragon, and I ve been a knight for nearly thirty years."