Under Camelot's Banner (19 page)

Kai's eyes slid sideways to regard the king for a long moment.
Waiting for my lord Arthur to save him.
Gareth drew his shoulders back. Arthur was saying something to Kai, and when Kai made soft answer, the king just shook his head and waved his hand. Then, to Gareth's surprise, Sir Kai slowly rose up until he stood with both hands pressed hard against the table.

“Well, Squire Gareth. Here I do stand.”

Silence filled the hall. It was as if the other company were statues and the only living men were Sir Kai, and Gareth.

He thinks I will back down. He thinks I will not dare challenge the king's brother. That is what makes him so free.

But I too am the king's kindred, Uncle.

“Then I challenge you to make good your claims on my body, if you can, Sir Kai.”

Sir Kai cocked his head just a little further, looking like some curious bird. His smile never wavered, and inside, Gareth felt the slightest of tremors. “Very well then, Squire Gareth. I accept your challenge.”

“Kai …” began the king.

But Sir Kai did not let him finish. “Forgive me, my lord king, but the boy has spoken before the whole court. Will you, my liege, tell me I may not defend my poor crippled honor?”

The king hesitated. Then, he crooked his two fingers, gesturing for Gareth to come forward.

Gareth did, walking down the central aisle to the foot of the dais. Remembering his manners, and that his knight looked on, Gareth knelt before the king.

Arthur said soberly. “Gareth, it was a jest, as well you know. Will you, at my request, let this matter be?”

Request, not command. He knows Kai has overstepped his bounds this time.
“I have been sore insulted, my lord king,” Gareth replied firmly. “I have a right to prove those insults to be the lies they are.”

King Arthur sighed and Gareth had the impression he wanted to throw up his hands. “Very well, as neither of you will be satisfied any other way, it will be done at midday tomorrow.”

Gareth bowed his head again. When he stood, he saw Geraint and Gawain staring at him in frank disbelief. But Sir Lancelot gave him the barest of nods, and Gareth felt a flush of warmth run through him. He looked back to Sir Kai, who still stood, and saw how the beads of sweat had begun to form on his brow.

Now we will see who is the man.
Gareth thought as he bowed once more and took his leave of the hall.

Now we will see.

“Have you lost your mind!” bellowed Agravain as he strode across the barracks threshold.

Gareth had been expecting this. He'd stationed himself in front of the barracks hearth so that he would face his brothers the instant they walked in. As he had anticipated, Agravain did not arrive alone. Gawain and Geraint followed in his angry wake. All of them come together to tell him to hide from Kai's insults like a child. Gareth's jaw tightened.

“God be with you as well, Agravain,” Gareth said mildly to his pinch-faced brother. Real anger always left two white dents on either side of Agravain's nose, and they were there now.

“What was that display?” Agravain cried, stabbing backwards to indicate the great hall. “You should be glad the king didn't throw you from the keep.”

Gareth looked past Agravain to Geraint and Gawain. Geraint just shrugged. Gawain quietly closed the door, and leaned his shoulder against it.

As casually as he was able, Gareth sat down on the bench, folding his arms and stretching out his legs. “I am glad my uncle permitted me to stay. It will give me a chance to make good for the insult I've been dealt.”

At this, Agravain rounded on Geraint. “You said you spoke to him.”

“I did,” Geraint answered heavily, running his hand through his hair. “Clearly …”

Gareth did not intend to wait for Geraint to finish. “It is not for Geraint to govern my conduct, Agravain,” he said coldly. “Nor is it for you. I am not a boy any longer. I am squire to my lord Lancelot, and if I am doing wrong, it is him I answer to.”

Let all of you think on that a moment.
He looked from one of them to the other. His three older brothers. Agravain's face tightened until it looked like his bones must soon snap. Geraint tossed a stick onto the fire, watching the sparks rise, and Gawain — leaning there against the door as if he thought it might pop open — Gawain had a glint in his amber eyes that could have been humor and could have been anger.

“If you are a man, Gareth,” said Gawain at last, “act like one, and use the sense God gave you.”

“And what do you mean by that, Brother?” This time Gareth could not keep the heat from his voice.

“I know my lord Lancelot is not a great one for strategy, but there are some points of this battle that you should perhaps consider.” Gareth opened his mouth to remind Gawain that Lancelot was a finer warrior than he, but Gawain gave him no time. “The first is that our Uncle Kai is not, despite what he may sometimes appear, a fool.” He pushed himself away from the door. Gareth snorted. This caused Gawain to raise one eyebrow, but he did not pause in his lesson. “The second fact you should be pondering,” he held up a finger for emphasis, “is that it was Sir Kai who taught our other uncle, the high king, to use a sword.”

Gareth found no reply to that.
Sir Kai taught the king?
Uncle Kai was the older of the two. They'd fostered together with Lord Ector, he knew. But, Arthur was the best swordsman among the Britons, greater even than Sir Lancelot. Kai was … Kai was …

Geraint must have read the thoughts behind Gareth's hesitation, and shook his head. “Kai was not always a cripple, Gareth,” he said quietly. “Before his leg was crushed, there was not a man alive who could touch him when it came to sword play. His deeds in the twelve battles are legend.”

Despite all his resolve, a chill crept over Gareth's confidence. “I've never heard this.”

“That's because you don't listen,” sneered Agravain. “Do you think any speak of such things to his face? Would anyone close to Arthur be so discourteous as to remind Kai of what he once was?”

Gawain put his boot up on the bench and leaned both arms on his leg, so that he also leaned over Gareth where he sat.

“I'll add this for you to think on, Gareth,” he said. Time had been at work on Gawain. His face had grown heavier, hardened and its lines had grown deeper. Gareth found himself looking at this serious man as if he was a stranger, and somehow, his words sank in more deeply than words that came simply from Gawain ever had. “There stood Sir Kai racked by the kind of pain you, if you're lucky, will never know, and yet, he stood.” Gawain brought his foot down and folded his arms, in clear mockery of Gareth's own posture. “He is not weak, brother, and he is not a fool. If he let himself be challenged by you, it is
not
because he thinks you can beat him.”

This bald statement dropped into Gareth's mind like a stone. He had not stopped to consider that his uncle Kai might have might have been ready for in any way for his challenge.

“You will go and apologize,” said Agravain flatly. “And if at all possible, stop being a fool before you do yourself a real mischief.”

Anger, bright and sharp returned in a rush. Gareth stood slowly, letting Agravain — who seemed to have temporarily forgotten that Gareth was no longer ten years old, and no longer smaller than he — see his full height.

“Oh very good, Gareth,” said Agravain wearily. “You've grown tall. I hadn't noticed. Will you be demanding to fight me next?”

But before Gareth could make his reply, footsteps sounded on the dirt of the yard outside. Sir Lancelot stepped across the threshold. He showed no surprise at finding all the sons of Lot gathered together before the hearth.

“My lords.” Sir Lancelot bowed smoothly. “I'd have a word with my squire.”

“He is yours,” acknowledged Agravain, but sarcasm tainted the words.

“Thank you, my lords,” replied Lancelot as if he had not heard Agravain's tone. He passed between the brothers to stand beside Gareth. Gareth could not help but notice how reluctantly Gawain and Geraint made way, but make way they did. “He has duties tonight. I trust you will allow him to be getting on with his work soon.”

“Of course,” answered Gawain. Gareth repressed a smile. Not even Gawain would stand and face Lancelot.

No sooner had he formed this thought than, to Gareth's utter shock, Agravain stalked up to Sir Lancelot. Next to the Gaulish knight, Gareth's lean, dark brother looked like a sapling beside a golden oak. “Do not think I have forgotten it is your teaching that has brought my brother to this, Lancelot,” muttered Agravain through clenched teeth. “If he is sore wounded tomorrow, you will answer to me.”

Gareth's jaw dropped. Before Sir Lancelot could make a reply, Agravain marched past the other three, out into the deepening night. Gawain and Geraint glanced toward each other and then toward Gareth. Together they hurried after Agravain, doubtlessly to try to talk some sense into him now.

“Well, he's some fire in him after all, that brother of yours.” Lancelot jerked his chin over his shoulder at Agravain's retreating back.

Gareth nodded, still unable to quite believe what had happened. And Agravain had accused
him
of having lost his mind?

But there was no time to think on that. Sir Lancelot faced him squarely. “You know what I expect of you tomorrow, Squire?”

Gareth drew his shoulders back. “I do, my lord,” he answered firmly.

“Good.” Sir Lancelot nodded once. “Then there is nothing more to be said.”

Nor was there. Sir Lancelot kept Gareth by him that night, but there was no mention made of what was to come. Gareth simply went about his duties; making sure his knight's gear and clothes were cleaned and stored, going to the stables one last time to see that Taranis showed no hurt or strain from the day's exercise. Both his fellow squires were reluctant to question or chaff him in Sir Lancelot's presence, and the younger boys only looked on him with a kind of stunned awe. This wrapped Gareth's evening in a strange, almost reverent hush.

It was told around the court that the night before Sir Lancelot was made a member of the Round Table's cadre, he did not sleep. He stayed in the church, praying and fasting, thanking God for this chance to prove himself to the greatest king in the Christian world. The callous, Sir Kai included, said Sir Lancelot was actually waiting for some woman who never showed herself. Despite this envious jeering, some of the younger men had taken to keeping such a vigil in imitation and respect. To Gareth, this night felt like that time, a time apart, solemnly readying himself for a great change. It seemed so even as he lay down on his own pallet by the banked fire, as he did every evening, with the boys and youths all around him, already drowsing and snoring.

Oddly, before sleep claimed him, the last thing his mind's eye saw was lean, furious Agravain standing before Sir Lancelot without a trace of fear.

Gareth did not even consider going to board the next morning, and, thankfully, Sir Lancelot did not order it. He drank his small beer and ate his pottage on his own in the barracks. He cleaned and honed his sword, a plain, but sharp and well-balanced gift from Gawain. It did not really need the attention, but he needed something to do. He was a little surprised that none of his brothers came to rail at him one more time. Perhaps they were with Sir Kai, trying to talk him out of the challenge.

After a time, Lionel poked his head around the doorway, peering at Gareth like a spying child.

Gareth snorted. “Get in here, Lionel. What did you think you'd find? Agravain hasn't taken my head off yet.”

Lionel sauntered in. “I knew that much. He's down at the field, looking like he's swallowed an orchard's worth of crabapples.”

“With Brendon right next to him grinning like a hungry hound at the sight of meat, I'll wager,” said Gareth, putting down the whetstone and wiping the blade with the soft, oiled leather one more time.

Lionel nodded. “You'd best get down there. Brendon's already taking bets that you won't show yourself.”

“Brendon would say I'd run from a crippled man.” Gareth's mouth twisted into a tight smile. “It's what he'd do.”

The smile Lionel returned was fleeting. “Gareth …”

But Gareth cut him off, shaking his head. “Don't, Lionel. I've said I will do this thing, and I will.”

“I know. Good luck.”

“Thank you.” They gripped each others' hands and looked into each others' eyes. They had both already fought in pitched battles with their knight and their king. They had the scars to prove it. This was different, though, and Lionel knew it as well as Gareth.

Lionel played squire for him after that. He helped Gareth into his leather jerkin and boots and cinched on his belt. Gareth was hanging his sword on the belt just as Sir Lancelot entered the barracks. Both squires knelt, but he bid them stand at once.

Sir Lancelot surveyed Gareth with a critical eye, and then nodded his approval. Without a word, he turned and marched out into the yard. Gareth, head up and shoulders back, followed close behind, with Lionel right behind, carrying his helm and his plain, square shield.

The day outside was clear though still cold. They crossed the strangely empty keep going out through the gates, and down to the bowl of the practice yard. When the Romans had owned this broad hilltop, they had made an amphitheater for their sports and assemblies. The round space with its moss-etched stone steps was now used by the high king as a training ground for his men, and for occasional entertainments, most of which were of a merrier sort than this.

Still, it was not a thing that any in the court intended to miss. The people Gareth had not seen as they crossed the yard crowded onto every inch of the yard's gently sloping sides, all brightly dressed as for a holiday. Voices shouted and cheered as he passed by, and Gareth found his heart beating fast with excitement, and with fear. The familiar faces seemed transformed into strangers for this time, all watching him not as Gareth, Lot's youngest son, but as a raw contender come to battle for a prize, and they were all eager to see whether he stood or fell by it. Despite the solid presences of his knight before him and his friend behind him, Gareth's guts twisted uncomfortably.