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Only his brothers seemed unaltered by the coming contest. Geraint and Agravain flanked the high king's chair which had been placed on a red cloth at the field's edge. They watched Gareth as he came down the cracked stone steps. From this distance, Gareth could not tell whether Geraint wished him well or ill, and that made his guts twist all the more sharply. Agravain, however, wore his contempt openly. Seeing this brought a welcome rush of anger. Anger brought back the certainty that walking through this crowd had taken from him.

Sir Kai had gotten to the field first and was now seated on a bench beside the green. He wore the maddar red cloak with the gold clasp that showed him to be a knight of the Round Table, an affectation Gareth had never seen on him before. His stretched his whole leg out before the bench and tucked his crippled limb beneath it. Both were encased in boots of fine leather that rose almost to his knees. His crutch waited beside him.

For a moment, Gareth felt a twinge of doubt. What would be thought of Sir Kai when he came limping out onto the field on that crutch? Would there really be honor in fighting a man who couldn't even stand on his own? For all his display last night, he'd still needed to lean on the table just to get to his feet. But then the seneschal looked up at Gareth and smiled his mocking smile, making a half-bow where he sat.

“Pay him no mind,” murmured Sir Lancelot as they reached their own trestle bench on the opposite side of the field. “He is neither the seneschal nor your uncle today. Here, in this place, he is only your enemy.”

Gareth nodded and tried to hold those words close, but he knew that as soon as he looked again at Sir Kai they would fly away.

The rumble of drums heralded the high king's arrival. All knelt, save Sir Kai on his bench. With a procession of musicians and a flag-bearer holding up his scarlet dragon, King Arthur walked down the steps with Gawain following close behind. King Arthur settled himself in to his great chair and the drummers arrayed around him stilled their instruments. With a curt gesture, he bid all assembled there to stand. He then looked to the crowd, and the men waiting beside the field, his face set in a stern frown. With a second sharp gesture, he commanded the combatants to approach.

Gareth obeyed, leaving Sir Lancelot and Lionel behind. His heart hammered harder than he would have wished, and his hands were beginning to sweat inside their leather gauntlets. Sir Kai picked up his crutch, and limped across the green to stand beside Gareth. Then, in a slow, careful, fashion, the seneschal knelt before the king, just as Gareth completed the same gesture of obeisance. Gareth tried not to wince as doubt churned in him again. Sir Kai deserved his honor, as did any man. True, he wasn't a blood relation, but the seneschal had been as close as blood family to both Gareth and Geraint when they first came to Camelot. And despite his foolish displays in the hall, Kai was a cunning and trusted advisor to the king. To add to that, if Gawain was right — and this was not a matter about which Gawain would be wrong — he had once been a great warrior and his injury one come by bravely.

Am I being a true man to put him through this?

“This is a matter of honor,” said King Arthur solemnly, the disapproval of his demeanor not altering one whit. “Therefore, I will not command either of you to withdraw, though this goes against my better judgment. I will ask, however, as your king, Gareth, and your brother, Kai, will you give up this quarrel over a slighting jest of little courtesy and less import?”

Sir Kai shrugged his crooked shoulders. “I am the one, challenged, Majesty. It is not for me to end this thing.”

The king looked to Gareth. An idea came to him, born on a faint breath of hope. Perhaps this could be ended off the field. “Were Sir Kai to offer apology, Majesty, honor would be satisfied.”

“Kai?” asked the king.

Sir Kai regarded Gareth for a moment with hooded eyes. His wide mouth twisted into yet another of his store of endless grins. Was it also a pained smile, or was that only Gareth's imagination? “I too have been insulted, Majesty,” he said. “If Squire Gareth wishes to make apology for that, and for the challenge, then the matter would be closed.”

“Squire Gareth?”

Gareth struggled for a moment. It would be easy enough. If he searched his heart, he knew had gone too far in the hall, and had spoken from a temper roused when Sir Kai sneered at Sir Lancelot. His uncle's barbs were sharp, and Gareth should have remembered he was being goaded. But then, Gareth caught Sir Lancelot eye from across the green. His knight did not shake his head, or give any such overt signal, but he was frowning as deeply as the king, and Gareth knew what was in his silence. He, Gareth, had committed himself to battle, and if he took the easy way now, Sir Lancelot would not forget, nor would he forgive. Then there was Rosy, and Amanda, and Lady Fiona Jessup in the crowd. It was their honor he defended, as well as his own.

“Squire Gareth?” said the king again. “Will you give Sir Kai your apology?”

Gareth licked his lips. “I cannot, Majesty.”

The king blew out a deep and weary sigh. “Very well. The combat will be to the first blood, or until I judge the matter finished. You will start at my word.”

They bowed their heads once more. From the corner of his eye, Gareth saw how gaunt Sir Kai's face was, and how the sun shone on the streaks of silver in his brown hair.

If only you were not so stubborn,
he thought toward his uncle.
Why are you making me do this to you?

The moment had come. The king bid them rise. They did, bowing a final time. Gareth strode out onto the field. Sir Kai, dragging his useless leg behind him, limped slowly across the grass and carrying his shield awkwardly in his free hand. A ripple of high-pitched laughter drifted on the wind at the sight of him, but it was quickly silenced.

Oh, my uncle.

Gareth couldn't watch any more. He kept his attention on Lionel who came forward with his shield. Gareth fitted the strap of his shield to his arm. Then because he had no choice, he looked up to show the king and Sir Kai both that he was ready. Sir Kai now was directly in front him. He looked Gareth up and down, taking his measure, exactly as he had in the hall the night before. Then, the seneschal opened his hand, let his crutch fall to the ground, and for the first time in his life, Gareth saw his uncle stand up straight.

God's Legs!

Gareth knew Sir Kai was called Kai the Tall, and he had seen often that even while he was hunched over, the seneschal's eyes were level with the king's, but somehow, it had never dawned on Gareth what that would mean if Sir Kai no longer had to lean on his crutch. It was as if his opponent had turned suddenly from an old man into a giant. His long, lean shadow fell across Gareth's stunned face. Kai's eyes glittered as he lifted his shield painted with the crossed keys and fitted it to his arm. His very long arm, with a reach that must surely be a full foot farther than Gareth's own.

“Well, Squire?” Sir Kai inquired.

All the world watched him, but most of all Sir Lancelot, wondering what Gareth would do, faced now with this new, straight and terribly alert Sir Kai. Gareth closed his mouth and lifted his blade.

Watch your man,
Sir Lancelot's voice came ringing back to him from a hundred practices.
Watch him close! How's he hold himself? Where's his balance? Front? Right? Left? He knows his strengths better than you, he'll lean into them without realizing it. See that. Feel it. See what he steers away from, and what he pays no heed to. That's where you'll find your way in.

And Gareth remembered Ewen the day before, charging in, hammering away, letting himself be led. That was a mistake he, Gareth, would not make. Slowly, Gareth began to circle Sir Kai. Kai turned to follow him, pivoting on his sound leg, sword and shield up, beads of sweat already forming at the rim of his helm. Gareth darted in, swinging for Kai's shoulder. The seneschal blocked him swiftly, his blow jarring Gareth's arm up to the shoulder. Shouts exploded, some calling his name, some Sir Kai's. Gareth backed away swiftly, circling again. Kai met his gaze, and he was still smiling.

Kai's great strength was his reach, and from that testing feint, Gareth now knew he had speed. His weakness his immobility. The question before them both then was how long could Kai maintain his readiness? Gareth's other great advantage was the same as he'd had yesterday against Ewen's untrained enthusiasm. Gareth had time.

“Come, come, Squire!” cried Sir Kai. “It will not do to make yourself dizzy!”

This raised a bark of laughter and Gareth knew coin and bets changed hands behind him.
Not this time, Uncle,
he swore silently.
You've goaded me as far as I'll go.

Gareth darted in again, landing two glancing blows on Sir Kai's shield, and parrying two aimed at head and arm. He backed swiftly out again and circled again, and kept circling, forcing Kai to turn on his one good leg. Sweat already trickled down his uncle's face and the glint in his eyes grew brittle as he turned and turned, not daring to let Gareth get behind him. Kai stabbed forward, but Gareth just jumped back out of the way, and circled again.

The hissing began then. It was low and soft at first, and Gareth took it only for the wind in the trees. But slowly, it grew louder, and a low rumble began. The crowd, those friends turned strangers, were booing him.

“Coward!” shouted someone.

“Afraid to face a cripple?” shouted someone else.

Now Gareth's heart banged against his ribs. The noise got into his thoughts, crumbling his calm. Kai lunged again, and once again, and Gareth danced back both times, although the second blow caught the edge of his shield. A disappointed roar lifted up above the hissing.

Kai was going pale, but he still managed to grin. His shield hung on his arm a little lower now. “What are you going to do, Gareth? Dance about until the crippled old man falls over? That will be a famous victory for you.”

Gareth was hot and cold at once. The shouts and the boos robbed him of his ability to think. He stopped, standing still for a moment, trying to catch his breath. When had he started panting? Whistles and cat calls erupted all around, and he couldn't stand it anymore.

Finish this,
he told himself as the crowd's bellows throbbed through skull and bone.
Now.

He ran in sword up, quick forward, quick back, turn again, look for his opening. Quick in, strike hard, let Sir Kai feel his weight as well as his speed, quick retreat. The noise redoubled until the ground trembled. Sir Kai staggered, stumbling backward over his own crutch where it lay, barely catching himself on his good leg as Gareth dove in, bringing his blows down hard and fast, pushing with all the force he could manage. But Kai still got in a blow to Gareth's helm, making the world blur dangerously for a moment and forcing him to stagger back. When he could see straight, Sir Kai was upright again, panting hard, his shield and sword both down by his waist. His smile had finally vanished from his face and he took two staggering, trembling steps backward, his knee buckling underneath him.

Now, Uncle, let us settle this,
thought Gareth grimly, raising his own blade.

He charged in, taking dead aim at his uncle's crippled side. Sir Kai straightened in an instant and swung his blade up in a long looping motion.

Inviting me in.
thought Gareth in the heartbeat before his own momentum carried him beneath Sir Kai's reach and Sir Kai, against all reason, pivoted on his crooked leg, at the same time reversing the motion of his sword to slash the blade sharply across Gareth's face. Gareth flew past, so stunned by shock and swift pain, he barely felt the boot planted in the center of his back to help him sprawl full length on the grass.

Blood filled his mouth. Pain burned in every nerve of his face. Shouts and laughter rang against his head so hard they were like another blow. Then, the light faded and something very sharp and very hot pressed against the back of his neck, bringing a perfect clarity of mind back to him. The tip of his uncle's sword dug into his bare skin, and his uncle's long shadow blotted out the noonday sun.

“Well, Squire Gareth?” asked Sir Kai pleasantly. “Do you yield?”

He was bleeding hard. The salt gore filled his nose, and making it nearly impossible to breathe. He was flat on the ground. His arm and chest hurt badly, as he had landed right on his shield, and his blade was a foot away, and all the court was shouting for Kai the Tall.

“Yes,” he whispered. “I yield me.”

But Sir Kai was not yet done. “And have you learned, nephew?”

“Yes, uncle,” said Gareth with an honesty that hurt worse than the blows he had taken. “I have learned.”

“Good.”

The hot, dangerous pressure of the sword point lifted from his neck, and the shadow slipped away. Spitting out his blood, and panting hard for breath, Gareth shoved himself into a sitting position. Lionel was running across the green, probably to help him with his helm and shield. But Gareth only watched Sir Kai. Shaking with effort the knight stooped to drop his shield and pick up his crutch and limp off the field, much more quickly, Gareth noted, than he had come on. In so doing, he did not neglect to bow to the king.

Lionel crouched down beside Gareth, saying nothing, but easing off his helm, and slipping his shield cautiously off his bruised arm.

“It's not so bad,” Lionel was saying. “It looks like a shallow slash across your cheek. Face wounds bleed badly, but it's not torn through …”

But nothing he said mattered, because Sir Lancelot had left the crowd that pressed after Sir Kai, and was marching across the green.

Gareth's strength drained away from him as he saw the fury on his knight's face.

“Get me up,” he whispered hoarsely to Lionel. “For God's sake, get me up.”

Lionel had also seen their knight. He grabbed Gareth by his good arm and helped him haul himself to his feet. Sir Lancelot's his face flushed a deep purple and his eyes narrowed down to black slits. Gareth had seen the knight angry before, but never this livid. It was as if a thunderstorm approached, waiting for its moment to break. Sir Lancelot seized Gareth's chin, turning his head this way and that, examining the wound and how it bled. He released him just as abruptly and Gareth steeled himself for the blow that he was sure must follow.