Sword of the Rightful King

  THE TWINS were waiting in the hall.

  “Is he well?” asked Gareth, setting his shoulders and trying to look taller than he was.

  Gaheris shrugged. “Is he calm?”

  Smiling at his brothers, Gawaine said, “He is well. But he is never calm.”

  They laughed, their voices eerily the same.

  “Do you want to see him?” Gawaine asked.

  They nodded.

  “Then go in. But do not rile him.”

  They looked at Gawaine as if begging him to go with them.

  “I have seen enough of Agravaine for a while,” Gawaine said, shooing them inside like geese.

  They laughed again and pushed through the door, into the infirmary.

  Gawaine left them to it. He did not worry at all how they would do with Hard Hands. Agravaine was never mean to the two of them, for they posed no threat to him and, besides, they were under their mothers protection.

  HWYLL WAS in their apartments, folding some of the linen.

  “I am glad you are here,” Gawaine told him. “Nice to talk to a grown man who knows the family and—”

  “How is he?”

  “Like a wild boar,” Gawaine admitted. “Now that he remembers what happened, he is furious. And ready for more.”

  “You are harder on yourself than on him,” Hwyll said, kneeling down and putting the linens in the bottom of the cupboard. “He needs rough handling, that one. He worships power and only power can control him.”

  “And you can do that?” Gawaine said.

  “I am a servant,” Hwyll said, composedly. He stood, turned, and winked at Gawaine. “And I never argue where I can wheedle.”

  If Gawaine was surprised at Hwyll’s statement, he contrived not to show it. “Then wheedle away,” he said. “I do not want to go back and butt heads with him again.”

  “Ah—two stags in a grove,” Hwyll said. Then he picked up a fresh tunic of Agravaines and started out: the door.

  GAWAINE STOPPED at the kitchen to leave his dirty cup. He had to step aside because Kay came charging by him.

  “Cook!” Kay shouted, waving a hand in the cook’s general direction. “The king needs some of that honey wine. And a good helping of your brown bread slathered in jam. Strawberry, not blueberry. Now!”

  The kitchen, which had been cozy and quiet, came to bustling life.

  Kay, Gawaine thought, has a way of bringing chaos to anywhere, though always in the service of the king. “Hello, Sir Kay,” he said.

  For a moment Kay stopped. When he saw who it was, he broke into a big grin. “Heard you were here! Heard about the dragon and the green knight and...” Then unexpectedly his face went dark and cautious.

  Gawaine shook his head. “All nonsense,” he said.

  Kay waited.

  “A fight between my brother and me,” Gawaine said, his cheeks suddenly burnished as if with fire.

  “Did you get the better of him?” Kay asked.

  “Yes, but...”

  Kay smiled, his face almost handsome with memory. “I got the better of Arthur once. A long fight but a fair one. Just to show him who was boss. I am the older, you see. Got that out between us, and never a moment’s trouble since.” He nodded as he told the tale. “I broke his nose and when it was put to right, told him we would never fight again.” He grinned broadly. “And so we haven’t.”

  Remembering Arthur’s side of the same story, Gawaine said simply, “That was very brave of you, seeing how big Arthur is and all.”

  Kay’s grin went away and his face got a bit grey. “Well, it was a long time ago and we were both boys. And he the younger. And he wasn’t the bigger then, though he is very strong now. Very!”

  “Still...” Gawaine said.

  “Still!” Kay echoed Gawaine. Then he turned and called to Cook, “Where is that wine? Where is that bread?”

  I wonder if this is the sort of thing Mother wants to hear, Gawaine thought suddenly. About how memory serves the heart and not the mind. He shook his head, knowing he would tell her nothing, no matter how many spells she had put on him.

  “When I am done with the kings needs,” Kay said, breaking through Gawaine’s maunderings, “I will check on your brother Agravaine. I know a salve or two myself that even the infirmarer does not. And perhaps Agravaine would like someone not in his family to talk to.”

  “Perhaps,” Gawaine said. Then he quickly added, “Thank you, Sir Kay,” and meant it.

  18

  Prince’s Choler

  WHEN KAY ARRIVED at the infirmary, Agravaine was sitting up and arguing with the infirmarer, an old man with a large wattle on his grainy neck.

  “Do not touch me,” Agravaine was saying. His voice grated, like a chicken scratching through pebbles.

  The infirmarer—a man called Brother Josephus, though he was neither a monk nor a priest—was used to settling recalcitrant princes. He was often called to Arthur’s side, or Kays, or any of the Companions’, to treat their ailments. “Now, now, my son,” he said, his hand on Agravaine’s shoulder.

  Angrily but ineffectually, Agravaine batted the hand away.

  “So much choler for one so young,” Brother Josephus said as Kay watched from the doorway. “Perhaps a good leeching—”

  Agravaine roared, “No bloodletting!” and tried to get out of bed.

  With a practiced move, Brother Josephus held him down as if Agravaine were no more powerful than a mayfly.

  That made Kay chuckle. He remembered Brother Josephus doing the same to Arthur when the king had a high fever. It was a matter of the placement of the hands and, in particular, the thumb. He had often wondered if the infirmarer had some notion of magic, for he was so much stronger than he looked.

  Agravaine let out a frustrated gurgle and settled back down on the bed, but he was a lion crouched, waiting for his chance. When the old infirmarer turned away to reach for the wooden casket in which he kept his medicines, Agravaine jumped up and grabbed him around the throat from the back.

  “I said not to touch me, you old fraud, you sorry infirmity, you excuse for leechery!” he screamed.

  “Guards!” Kay shouted, leaping onto the boy’s back. “Guards!” Agravaine bucked like a horse; Kay’s legs whipped about and hit the chamber pot, which crashed to the floor.

  The guards tumbled into the small room, separated the three, bound Agravaines hands behind him, then looked to Kay for guidance. Before Kay could think what to do, Agravaine spit at him.

  The boys eyes were wild, steely grey and dark blue as the winter seas around Orkney. Spittle drooled in a string from his mouth. “Write to my mother,” he screamed. “Send for her if you dare. She will straighten you out. You and your precious king.”

  “You can be sure,” Kay said in his precise way, “that I shall write to her. She should know how you act in company. It will not please her to have such knowledge, but have it she shall.” And thinking he had the last word, he turned and left.

  But behind him, Agravaine called out, “She will have your guts, silly man. And grind them into powder.”

  GAWAINE HAD put all notions of spying aside and settled into the kitchens rhythms. Often before, he had given thought to what life would be like if he had been born a cook’s boy instead of a prince. It had never seemed too bad. Always a warm place to sit, a list of things needing to be done. Dough in, bread out. The simplicity of it all was appealing.

  And then he remembered how much he loved hunting and riding and dancing with pretty ladies.

  There is a simplicity in that as well, he thought.

  He had just started on his third slice of jammy bread when a commotion outside of the kitchen brought him to his feet. Someone was running, calling his name.

  Gareth barreled in, almost toppling one of the cook’s boys who was carrying a tray of fresh-baked breads. “Gawaine, Gawaine, come quick. Hwyll said you might be here. Or in our room. Gaheris went to look there. This place is a maze. I have gotten lost a dozen times and...”

  ??
?And what?”

  Gareth tilted his head to one side. “Agravaine. He is in trouble.”

  Taking a deep breath, Gawaine said, “What kind of trouble?”

  Gareth shrugged. “Hard Hands trouble.”

  Oh, dear Lord, Gawaine thought. “Who has he hurt?”

  “The infirmarer.”

  “How?”

  “Tried to throttle him. Sir Kay came in and had to break it up. He broke a chamber pot over Agravaines head.”

  “Oh, dear.” Gawaine rolled his eyes. “Where is he now?”

  “With Hwyll.”

  Gawaine took another deep breath. Then everything will be all right. Hwyll will make evetything all right. He always makes things right at home. “And where are they now?”

  “In the dungeon.”

  “Oh, Lord!” This time Gawaine said it out loud.

  GAWAINE RAN AHEAD of Gareth because he knew very well how to get to the dungeon. The Companions sometimes had ceremonies there to worship Mithras, where the priest could not find them.

  Taking the steps three at a time, he thought, I will not break my neck for Agravaine, but he did not slow his pace. The farther down inside the bowels of the fortress, the colder and damper things became. He had never noticed that before.

  Rounding the last turning, he saw the bronze head with its blue-enameled eyes, then noted that the iron gate was ajar. For a moment he looked over his shoulder. Gareth was well behind him. He heard voices—one loud and one soft—beyond the gate. He raced toward them.

  At the fifth cell—one with old straw on the floor and bars instead of an iron door—Hwyll was speaking quietly to a raging Agravaine, who was pacing the cell still in his thigh-length nightshirt.

  “We will get you out soon, my prince. Do not worry yourself,” Hwyll was saying.

  “I am not worried. But he should be. I will kill him.”

  “Who?” Hwyll’s soft voice asked.

  “The infirmarer. Sir Kay. The guards. Everybody. Can you get word to Mother?” Now Agravaine was bellowing. “There is nowhere to sit in this piss hole. My head hurts. My throat. Are they laughing at me? I will kill them. I need to lie down.” He threw his head back and howled like an animal.

  “My prince, my prince,” Hwyll cautioned, “do not let them see you this way.”

  Gawaine’s approach was not noticed during this tirade. Indeed, an army, he thought, would not have been heard. When he touched Hwyll on the hand, the man startled like a poachers deer.

  “My lord,” Hwyll said.

  “Is the man dead?”

  “The infirmarer? No. But—”

  “No buts needed. If the man is not dead, why is my brother in here?”

  “Sir Kay thought it best—”

  Agravaine came over to them and, holding on to the bars, screamed, “I will kill him!”

  Gawaine shook his head. “Shut up, Agravaine. And no more talk of killing anyone or we will never get you out of here.”

  Agravaine shut up, but his eyes were still wild.

  Just then Gareth skidded to a stop by them. “Someone is coming.”

  Gawaine looked up, nodded. “Not just ‘someone.’”

  “The king,” Hwyll said, making a deep bow.

  Agravaine stepped back from the bars.

  Walking close to the cell, Arthur stood for a moment, feet apart, and cupped his chin in his left hand. He was dressed in black, and there were ink stains on his fingers. His right hand was never far from his sword. “Kay tells me we have a problem.”

  “I will kill him!” Agravaine cried but nowhere near as loud as before.

  “I think not,” said the king calmly. “He is necessary to the smooth running of this kingdom. You could always try a duel, of course, but Sir Kay has even beaten me on occasion. And you know that I can beat anyone. As king I have to.”

  Gawaine knew the occasion, of course. Arthur had just spoken of it hours before. He did not explain this to his brother.

  Agravaine’s face had taken on a sly, sulky look. “I will fight him.” His voice was still rough, and he came close to the bars of his cell. As he opened his mouth to say more, Arthur’s left hand shot out and caught him by the neck of his nightshirt.

  “You may fight anyone you choose,” Arthur said, “so long as they are of your own rank and size.”

  Agravaine’s face was suddenly a bright strawberry red, though with shame or embarrassment or anger or constriction, Gawaine could not really tell.

  “But you will never... never... never harm a lesser soul,” Arthur said. “Not a boy or girl or old man. Not a woman or serf or beggar. If my kingdom is about anything, it is that. We who are strong are to be the caretakers of the weak. Do you take my meaning, sir?”

  It was the sir that did it. Agravaine nodded. “Yes, my king,” he whispered back.

  “And,” Arthur continued, “if any knight of mine misuses his power, I have sworn to strip him of title and lands. If I will do this to a knight, who outranks you in name and birth rank, do you think I would hesitate to do it to you?”

  Agravaine shook his head.

  “Then give me your word on this and we will speak no more of it,” Arthur said.

  Agravaines voice was suddenly full of awe. “I promise I will be as you would have me, sire.”

  Arthur grinned and let go of Agravaines collar. “I am sure of it.”

  Gawaine allowed himself to breathe.

  Meanwhile, Arthur had picked a key from his belt, put it into the lock, and turned until there was a loud clicking sound. Then he opened the door, holding out his hand to Agravaine.

  Taking the king’s hand, Agravaine went down on one bare knee.

  Gawaine marveled at his brother’s capitulation. Only moments before he had been a madman, and now this... this groveling. Then he remembered that Hwyll had said that the one thing that could control Agravaine was a show of power. I wonder how Arthur knew that? he thought. How he knew about Agravaine’s need to be treated man to man.

  But then he smiled. Arthur knew everything.

  THEY WENT OUT of the dungeon, Arthur in the lead. Hwyll lent a shoulder to Agravaine, who was quite exhausted and red-faced from his morning’s labors, like a two-year-old after a tantrum. He smelled like one, too. Gawaine refused to touch him.

  “Now, my good Orkney prince, I want you well,” Arthur said, his voice floating back to all of them. “It is important.” He halted and turned. “I will be calling the Companions together shortly. We meet in six days around the Round Table. I expect you, Gawaine, and all of your brothers, to be there.”

  “I will,” Agravaine answered, as if Arthur had spoken only to him.

  I will be there, too, Gawaine thought grumpily, in my regular place.

  If Arthur noticed the sulkiness of Gawaine’s face, he did not respond to it. Instead he said suddenly, “And Gawaine, I am going deer hunting this afternoon. Will you attend me?”

  Gawaine’s jaw dropped. An invitation was the last thing he had expected.

  “Well?” Arthur stood with his hands on his hips.

  Gawaine shut his jaw forcefully.

  Arthur waited, none too patiently.

  At last Gawaine spoke. “I... I will, sire.” And then with real enthusiasm added, “Oh, I will.”

  LATER, IN THE throne room, the king was besieged by those he loved best.

  “Are you mad?” Merlinnus asked, and Kay agreed with him.

  Arthur gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “No. I think not.”

  Kay leaned over the throne and said hoarsely, “But we know his mother has sent an assassin. To go off alone with him, out of the castle, is the very definition of madness.”

  More quietly, Gawen spoke, and the king had to lean close to hear. “I know Gawaine, sire. From... another time. And place.”

  Arthur’s eyes became steely. “Yes?”

  “And he is not to be trusted.”

  Sitting back against the throne, Arthur said, “Well, I know him from this time and place. And I trust him. I
rather think if any of the boys is the problem, it is Agravaine.”

  “But you are not certain,” Kay cautioned.

  Arthur nodded. “I am not certain.”

  “But sire—” Gawen tried again.

  Arthur cut him off with a movement of his hand. “I said I was not certain. And I am no fool. Gawaine does not know that I know about his mothers plans. I will be on the alert.” He ran his hands through his hair.

  “You must be mad,” Kay said, trembling.

  “Very,” Merlinnus agreed.

  “Damn it!” Arthur said, slamming his fist down on the arm of the throne. “Do you three think so little of my skills? I am twice the fighter Gawaine is. He is a boy and I a man. I will be on my guard and he will not. What better way to find out his mind than by taking him far from all that might influence him here? Just the two of us in the woods and on the lea. Two companions hunting.”

  “Let me at least bespell—” Merlinnus began.

  Arthur stood. “No spells. No soldiers. And most of all”—he walked down the steps of the throne and away from them, turning his head at the last to call back to them—“no more discussion.” Then he strode out of the hall, the white brachet at his heels.

  Merlinnus and Kay stood for a long while in silence, but Gawen could not keep still.

  “Magister, we must do something. Truly.” Merlinnus would not look at Gawen. “Sir Kay?”

  Finally the mage said, “Soldiers, definitely, but far enough away so that he is not aware of them.”

  “I agree,” Kay said, his fingers toying with his mustache.

  “I count on you, Kay,” Merlinnus said.

  Kay pursed his lips solemnly. “I will not fail you, Magister.”

  “You never do,” Merlinnus said, patting Kay on the shoulder, though he’d said the exact opposite of what he was thinking.