In Camelot’s Shadow: Book One of The Paths to Camelot Series (Prologue Fantasy) (28 page)

“Ah!” Kai raised one long finger. “But what one man finds worthless, is priceless to another, and who can say how well he sees?”

“It is said God knows all things,” replied Agravain.

“Yes, but does one have to be God to know the price of a roadside treasure, or only Gawain?”

That earned a round of full-fledged laughter. Clearly the court felt Kai was in rare form, and it was more than Risa could stand in silence.

“Tell me, my Lord Kai, in all the treasures you have known, is courtesy among them?”

That raised yet another laugh, and even Arthur chuckled.

Kai looked rather less pleased and Risa began to fear that in answering she had made a grave mistake. “Your lady is most well spoken, Gawain,” said Kai, apparently oblivious to the mounting anger in Gawain’s expression. “Clearly they instruct their ladies well in the outlands.”

“Not so well as in Pen Marhas,” added Agravain. Gawain’s fist curled on the cloth.

“I had thought myself learned indeed,” said Risa, forcing pleasantry into her voice. “But there is no poet’s verse that speaks the truth of my Lord Kai’s matchless wit.”

“Indeed?” Queen Guinevere leaned forward. Risa also noted she pulled Gawain’s fisted hand from the table as she did. “And what do the rhymes say of our brother Kai?”

“Why, Majesty, they call him tailor, for each guest in Camelot is measured up by my lord, and then cut down to size.”

Laughter and a smattering of applause went up. “Tailor Kai!” cried one of the champions, and that cry was taken up by the others. Risa faced the seneschal sunnily, feeling she might actually have scored some small victory.

But Kai had gone suddenly and completely serious. “There are many cuts to be made and taken, my lady, and not all enemies are Saxons.”

Arthur raised his brows. “Do you say this lady is an enemy, Kai?”

“Never in life, Majesty. Gawain would not knowingly bring such a one to this hall.”

“And Heaven knows it is his sagaciousness my brother is renowned for,” added Agravain.

“As my brother is known for his merry moods and fulsome disposition.” The jest of Gawain’s words was completely drowned by the hard warning in them.

Kai leaned across to Risa, whispering elaborately behind his hand. “As we speak of poetry, my lady, here, I believe is where you clasp your bosom and cry ‘Alas! That I should be the cause of strife between brothers!’”

Risa’s back stiffened. “I think I am ill-suited for that role, Sir,” she replied warily.

“Then what part shall you play, lady?” Kai leaned his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand. “The blushing bride, perhaps?”

The ladies shrieked in delight at that thought, and the men waggled their fingers at Gawain. “My part shall be as it pleases God,” was all Risa could think to say.

And it was exactly the wrong thing. Kai’s eyes glowed and he smiled a long, sly smile. “And which part shall be found so pleasant, I do wonder?”

The cheers this time were loud and ribald, and finally too much. Gawain shot to his feet.

“Nephew,” said Arthur, pleasantly but the warning was clear in his eyes.

Gawain did not sit down. Risa turned quickly to Guinevere.

“Excuse me, Majesty,” she said. “I find I am not well. I beg your leave to retire.”

“Of course, Lady Risa.” Guinevere glowered at Kai. “Lady Marie and Jana will take you back to your room. I will be up shortly to see you are well.”

She looked to Gawain, trying to plead with her eyes,
Leave it. Let me go
. He gave her a small nod, but she had no idea what that might mean.

What she did know was that her dream was over and reality returned. However welcoming the queen might be, whatever she and Gawain might feel in their hearts, there was no place for her here, and no other place for him.

For the second time in as many days, Gawain watched Risa be led away to the care of Guinevere’s ladies. This time though, he felt no relief as he had before. The whole of the high table watched him, waiting for him to sit down. From the look on Kai’s face, he had some new jest brewing.

It was not a blow Gawain was prepared to let fall. “A word, my uncle.”

“Gawain …” Arthur sighed.

“A word, if it please you.”

“Very well.” Arthur set his cup down and kissed Guinevere’s hand. “My wife, will you see these ruffians remember their manners as well as their wits?”

“It shall be as you say, my husband.” She was looking daggers at Kai. The coming clash between these two would be the talk of the court for months, Gawain was sure. He would have been worried had he not known his aunt more than capable of holding her own against the seneschal.

The king stood and the whole of the hall with him. A train of whispers and murmurs swept behind him and Gawain as they left. Oh, there would be a gossips’ feast to follow this one, that was certain.

And I will give them a fine dainty to chew over
.

Arthur’s private chamber was warm and richly furnished, and seldom empty. When they entered, it was populated by two secretaries, three servitors and two pages. Arthur dismissed them all, an unusual gesture. As Gawain faced his uncle in absolute privacy, he was not sure whether to be worried or hopeful.

Arthur folded his arms. He did not sit down. “Your word, Gawain?”

When the king was in this mood, it was best not to embroider or explain, not even on such a matter as Gawain brought to him now. “I wish to marry the Lady Risa.”

Arthur sighed and hung his head. Gawain had the distinct feeling he was not in the least surprised. “Gawain, your gallantry has always done you credit, but if we were moved to marry every lady Kai made public sport of, we should each of us have more wives than the kings of Arabia.”

But Gawain was ready for that, and had his counter in place. “Uncle this has nothing to do with Sir Kai and his barbs. It has to do with my heart. I would take Risa of the Morelands to wife. I am asking for your permission and blessing for that undertaking.”

Arthur was silent for a long moment. He studied his nephew. Gawain knew he was turning over the words in his mind, weighing and judging how they were spoken, measuring them against what he knew of the speaker. Gawain had watched his uncle do this same thing many times in court, but seldom had he stood himself before such scrutiny. He suddenly felt as nervous as a new-made squire whose master was inspecting his work in the stables.

Arthur turned away from him then and folded his hands behind him, gazing out of the narrow slit of the window. The screen had not yet been folded into place. Night’s cold crept in, brushing against his throat and the backs of his hands.

“I committed grave sins while founding Camelot, Gawain,” the king said. “The blood of innocents is on my hands. It is under the stones of my great hall.”

This startled Gawain, it was so far from any answer he’d imagined. “So may all warriors say.”

“Perhaps.” The word lacked any conviction. “I have prayed to God for forgiveness, for some sign of mercy, if not for me, then for Camelot itself, for the Britons. I pray that He not let my weakness, my pride be the shifting sand that brings all that is good here down to rubble.” He faced Gawain again. “I walk the halls at night, taken by the fear that we will become but a confection of words and distorted deeds to be told on a winter’s night to drive away the dark.”

Gawain swallowed. “Only God can know the future.”

“That is the simple truth. When I look at you, though, Gawain, I feel as if I can glimpse that future, and it is good and stalwart, strong and honest.” Arthur laid his hand on Gawain’s shoulder, and Gawain felt himself reflexively straighten. “Men such as you and I must think beyond our pleasures, our simple needs. We must look always to the future, to the good of the realm and the maintenance of its peace.”

“Yes, uncle.”

“This woman, Risa, she is fair and mannered and she comports herself with dignity, but is she true of heart? Is she wise as well as brave? Any woman you marry will stand beside you one day as queen. Can you tell me truly that she a worthy successor to Guinevere?”

Gawain met Arthur’s gaze unflinchingly. “I will do more than tell it, I will swear it, on my honor, and on my love of God and Your Majesty. The only question in my heart is whether I am worthy of her.”

Arthur peered at him searchingly.
Believe I know what I am saying, uncle. Believe that there is none who will be better than she. You know about Pen Marhas. You know how she conducted herself there, and not even Agravain can contradict that. Believe that I have thought of all the lost chances for alliance and treaty because of what I do now. Believe that my love and my lady are true
.

What Arthur saw in his eyes, Gawain did not know, but slowly, he nodded, and a smile spread itself from his mouth to his eyes. He too knew love, this man. It was he and Guinevere who had taught Gawain what it truly was to be husband and wife.

“Very well, Gawain. We will make the betrothal.”

Relief fell heavily against Gawain and he knelt, in thanks and fealty, and because for a moment he was not sure he could remain standing. He seized his uncle’s hand, his love and pride shining in his eyes, and saw the king return it all. There was no need for words.

At last, Gawain said, “With your permission, Majesty, may I …”

Arthur cuffed him on the shoulder. “Go to it, lad, if Guinevere will let you past that is. She too has taken a liking to the lady.”

Gawain leapt to his feet. He bowed hastily. Arthur laughed, turned him around and pushed him to the door. Once out in the corridor under the eyes of the waiting guards and servitors, Gawain remembered his dignity and slowed his pace to a quick walk, forcing himself to take the stairs up to the guesting quarters one at a time.

As Arthur had predicted, Gawain met the queen and a small covey of ladies in the hall.

“Gawain,” said Guinevere sternly. “Where are you going?”

Gawain hesitated, trying to direct his attention toward the queen, as courtesy dictated, but his gaze drifted, looking over her shoulder and down the rush-lit corridor, where he knew Risa waited behind a closed door, and God alone knew what she was thinking. “I need to speak with the Lady Risa,” he said.

The queen set her jaw sternly. “It’s late, Gawain. Between Kai and Agravain, the lady has been through enough this night.”

Gawain bowed, acknowledging the truth of what was said. “But I have good news for her, majesty. Such as she will be glad to hear.”

Guinevere studied his eyes for a long moment, observing, Gawain knew, the impatience there, and, although it was painful to admit it, the fear. He thought he knew Risa’s heart, but did he in truth? He had seen her hurt this night. What was in her mind now? Would she be disposed to hear his suit, or even to see him?

But Guinevere smiled and Gawain realized she saw precisely what news he meant to carry to Risa. She gave a short sigh. “Be sure you
ask
her, Gawain. Let it be her choice. Try to tell her what her future must be and you may find that although you gain her hand, you will lose her true heart, where you might easily have won her completely.”

Gawain thought to answer the remark with a small jest, but then he saw the flash of steel in the queen’s grey eyes and realized for all her light tone she spoke the weightiest counsel.

He bowed his head humbly. “As ever, Majesty, your words are most wise. I shall do exactly as you say.”

“Then I wish that the blessings of Lady Venus may attend you on this errand, Sir.” Guinevere stepped aside, drawing in her skirts with exaggerated care so that he might pass easily.

“Madame.” Gawain bowed. Then, as quickly as courtesy allowed, he hurried down the corridor. He was certain the queen’s soft laughter followed behind him.

Risa was ready to proclaim that of all the luxuries of Camelot, the best was to have a fire in one’s own room. Still in her borrowed finery, she sat before the gentle blaze, delighting in the warmth, and, she had to admit to herself, the feeling of the elegant clothes she wore. The queen had come to assure herself as to the state of Risa’s spirits, and Risa had been able to satisfy her that she was little more than tired and overwhelmed. She had sent Lady Marie and Jana away to enjoy the last of the feasting, saying she wished to sit up for awhile. In truth, she was determined to drink this night to the dregs, for the morning would surely bring something quite different.

Risa closed her eyes and swallowed, trying to drive away the memory of Kai’s pointed jibes and Agravain’s smirks. Gawain had been unfailingly courteous, of course, and their Majesties had treated her like an honored guest, and she had looked well, she saw that in the eyes of the knights and nobles. It meant little, however. Gawain would have to turn from her now that he was home and must again be Arthur’s nephew and heir, rather than a simple knight errant who might dally with a lady and speak pretty words to her. Still, whatever was to come, she could remember their days together and the heat of their kiss beside the high way. She would have the memory of love to keep her warm, however cold the days would be without him.

She would learn to love again, in some measure, at least. She would. She must.

A tear escaped her eye and traced a cool line down her cheek. After a time, she reached up and brushed at it. Her hand fell back into her lap as if the life were gone from it.

Think on the feast, on the smiles and the kindness. Think on the music and the light in Gawain’s eyes, all for you, if only for this moment. Do not think on the morrow. I is not yet come. When it does, you will find your heart again
.

Despite all this wise advice, another tear followed the trail of the first.

A soft knock sounded on the door.
Jana
. Risa wiped the fresh tear quickly away. She did not wish the maid to find her sitting and weeping like a foolish child.

“Come in.”

“Lady Risa.”

The sound of the man’s soft voice froze Risa’s heart. Trembling, she rose and turned. There stood Gawain, his amber eyes shining gently in the firelight as they regarded her with all the great tenderness she knew him capable of.

She swallowed, trying to find her voice. She had not expected to see him before the dreaded morning. To have him here now robbed her of what little composure she had held onto.