The Legend of the King

  "Ay," Gawain said. "Me a raw, untried knight wanting to prove myself, you an uncanny child that could move in the woods like a ghost, neither of us with any notion what we'd find there."

  "I've a feeling I'll never see it again," Terence said. He and Gawain looked at each other soberly for a long moment, then clasped hands. "But you I'll see again," Terence said. "You'll outlast any mere castle."

  "Likewise, lad. Until we meet again."

  Then they turned their horses in opposite directions and rode away.

  3. The Trap

  Agrivaine

  Agrivaine pulled up at the edge of the forest clearing, across from the ancient chapel that stood in ruins at the other side, and looked nervously around. His stomach had tied itself into familiar knots, and he felt exactly as he had as a child when summoned to his mother's presence. Nothing moved, and a faint hope that he might avoid this meeting stirred in his breast, but that hope was quickly dashed.

  "You're late," snapped a well-remembered voice. "I said an hour after daybreak."

  "It wasn't my fault," Agrivaine said quickly, whirling around to see the source of the voice. He still saw nothing. "I went to the stables just after sunup, but Gawain and that squire of his were there, saddling for a journey, and your note said that no one was to see me leave, so I had to wait until they were gone."

  Agrivaine realized with a start that his mother stood right in front of him, amid the rubble of the ancient chapel. It wasn't that she had been invisible, but for some reason he had looked right at her and not noticed her. He rubbed his eyes, winced as the pressure of his fingers aggravated his pounding headache, then looked again.

  "Those two? Leaving on a journey?" Agrivaine's mother asked sharply. "Where?"

  "I don't know," Agrivaine replied. "I'm not invited to Arthur's precious council."

  "Didn't you try to listen and find out?" his mother asked, her eyes blazing.

  Agrivaine quailed before her gaze and frantically searched his memory for anything he might have overheard while hiding behind the stable. "I think ... they might have said ... something one of them said ... maybe they were going in different directions. But I couldn't listen, Mother. I had to hide. You told me not to be seen."

  His mother took a breath, and the ominous glitter in her eyes faded. She smiled reassuringly and said, "You're quite right, my son. You really couldn't have listened in without giving yourself away, and you did exactly right in hiding. Sometimes I forget which child I'm speaking to, and I treat you as if you were one of my stupid sons."

  Agrivaine blinked and tried to make sense of this. It sounded as if his mother had just said he wasn't stupid, but that seemed unlikely. He couldn't remember her saying anything like that before. Hesitantly, he asked, "When you say your stupid sons, do you mean—"

  "Gawain and Gareth, of course. Swordsmen without a thought in their heads. Look how they cringe before this so-called king, this Arthur. Anyone with a brain could see how shabby a king he is. A true king with the opportunities that Arthur's had would be ruling an empire by now, but this worm Arthur hasn't added one inch of land to his kingdom."

  Agrivaine barely heard his mother's strictures against the king; he was still relishing her description of Gawain and Gareth. "And Gaheris?" he asked. "Is he stupid, too?"

  His mother's eyes grew hard. "That whelp? He's worse than stupid! He should have been drowned in a sack like an unwanted kitten when he was born." For a second, her eyes glowed in that frightening way again, but then the fire seemed to subside. "You're my only really clever son, Agrivaine. Along with Mordred."

  This caught Agrivaine's attention, and he took a sharp breath. "Then it's true! Mordred is your son! And did you really ... I mean, is Arthur really his...?" Agrivaine trailed off, horrified, as he realized how personal a question he had been about to ask his mother.

  But to his relief, she showed no anger. Instead she lowered her eyes and said quietly, "I'm sorry you had to find out, my son. I will not speak of what ... of what Arthur did to me when he found me defenseless in the forest.... All I will say is that I have never let the circumstances of his birth keep me from loving Mordred, as I have always loved you."

  For the briefest of moments, Agrivaine was struck by the incongruity of his terrifying mother describing herself as defenseless. But he pushed away that thought and said, "That beast! I've always known he was a bad king, but now this! He's a monster!"

  "Do you wonder that I have never ceased trying to save England from his tyranny?" Agrivaine's mother asked sadly. "But come! Let us not dwell on the past. Let us instead think of the future, a brighter future for England once Arthur is gone. Mordred is already at work, raising an army, but I need help within Camelot as well. That was when I thought of you, my other clever son."

  Hearing himself thus described, Agrivaine sighed softly. "Mother? Which one of us do you think is cleverer? Me or Mordred?"

  For a second, something like impatience flickered in his mother's expression, but when she spoke her voice was pleasant. "I hate to compare my children with each other; you both have such great gifts. But I suppose if I had to pick one, I would say that you have the edge over young Mordred. After all, you've lived in Arthur's court for years and years, but you've never been fooled by him the way everyone else has. But come, you are too wise to waste your time with compliments. I can see that you're already wondering how you can use your brilliance to help me save England."

  That wasn't exactly what Agrivaine had been thinking, but he probably would have been in a moment, so he nodded and said, "I'm your man, Mother. What can I do?"

  "We need to break up Arthur's strength," she replied. "Stir up trouble within his inner circle. I wish we knew where Gawain was going, but it's a good thing that he's leaving."

  "And Terence, too," Agrivaine said.

  In another of those bewildering changes of expression, his mother's face grew stony. "You will oblige me, my son, by never speaking that loathsome name again." Agrivaine clamped his mouth shut and sat very still until his mother's face grew pleasant again. "But you are quite right, my clever son. That one also is best separated from the king. Now, if Lancelot could be turned against him somehow or sent away somewhere ... perhaps we could invent some danger that Arthur would have to send Lancelot away for. What do you think?"

  For a panicked moment, Agrivaine was afraid he would have to come up with an idea, and he quickly stalled for time. "I'm not sure Arthur would trust Lancelot on a mission now," he said. "He's probably still angry with him."

  "Arthur angry with Lancelot?" his mother asked eagerly. "How? Why?"

  Haltingly at first, then with greater confidence as his mother began to smile, Agrivaine related Gareth's drunken ramblings in the taproom the evening before. When he told how Gareth had publicly accused Lancelot of having a love affair with the queen, his mother crowed with delight.

  "I knew you were the clever one!" she cried. "How brilliant of you! You were already planning ahead for this, stirring up trouble. And best of all, you didn't even show your own hand. You used your poor stupid brother Gareth."

  Agrivaine's memory of the evening differed slightly from this account. As he recalled, it was Sir Mador who had brought up the old rumors about Guinevere and Lancelot, but it hardly seemed worth mentioning. "I thought it might be useful," Agrivaine said.

  "That's how a king thinks," his mother said. "You know, once Arthur's gone, we're going to need a real king on the throne, someone who can think like that."

  Agrivaine blinked. "I had thought that Mordred would be—"

  "Yes, of course, and Mordred would certainly be an improvement over that rat's tail we have now, but we're about to have a war, and who knows who will survive? If anything happens to Mordred, why, who should succeed him but his own brother? It's comforting to know that we have two such brilliant minds at hand."

  "But, as you said, I'm the most brilliant, right?"

  "That's right. But Agrivaine, darling, I wonder if it's enough."

&n
bsp; "If I'm brilliant enough?"

  "No, no. If the trouble you started is enough. You've stirred matters up most ingeniously, but we shouldn't just let things sit. We must add fuel to the fire. If you could catch Lancelot and Guinevere together and prove that they're still meeting secretly, betraying the king, then your work would be done."

  "Oh, but I don't think they are still meeting. That was all over years ago. In fact, I'd forgotten about it until last night."

  "Come now, my son. This is unworthy of you. Do you really think that Lancelot would give up such a beautiful woman as Guinevere? Would you do so?"

  Agrivaine pictured the queen's loveliness in his mind and reddened slightly. He shook his head.

  "They may have grown more careful about their meetings, but you may be certain they are still together. You must catch them."

  "But how? I mean, if they're so careful that no one's noticed anything for this many years, then how—?"

  "You must bring them together, then. And surprise them."

  Agrivaine stared blankly at his mother.

  She closed her eyes briefly, then smiled and said, "But these are simple details for lesser minds than yours. As it happens, I have another ally in Camelot—not someone with such foresight and intelligence as you have, but a dependable enough tool. Yours has been the grand scheme; you can leave the smaller matters to him."

  "You have someone else at Camelot?" Agrivaine asked. He felt oddly disappointed.

  "An errand boy, little more," his mother replied dismissively. "I'm sure you have already figured that out. After all, how else could I have slipped a note under your door asking you to come here?"

  "Oh, right. I'd wondered about that," Agrivaine said airily. At any rate, he was sure it would soon have occurred to him to wonder about it. "Who is it?"

  "Sir Mador, of course, as I know you've already guessed. Go to him and tell him your plan."

  Agrivaine hesitated. "My plan?"

  "To catch Lancelot and Guinevere together," his mother said very slowly, with an edge to her voice. "Then leave the details to him. It's really all he's good for. But be careful that you're not overheard."

  Agrivaine nodded, mildly relieved to have someone else to work out exactly what his plan would entail. His mind was more gifted at seeing the big picture, he realized, and perhaps the reason he had not always appeared to best advantage among the other knights of the court was that he really needed an assistant to handle the lesser details of his ideas. He dwelled for a moment on an image of himself honored by all the Round Table, with Sir Mador running errands for him, but this pleasant reverie was broken by a sharp voice.

  "My lady!"

  Agrivaine looked up to see a knight at the edge of the clearing, and with surprise he recognized Sir Lamorak, a cousin of Lancelot's. Many years earlier, Lamorak had been a noted warrior on his way toward becoming one of Arthur's foremost knights, when he suddenly seemed to lose interest in the Round Table and disappeared from court. It was rumored that he had been bewitched by a faery beauty and now spent his time serving her.

  "Yes, my love?" said Agrivaine's mother.

  Agrivaine gaped at them, putting the pieces together in his mind. His sense of propriety was mildly offended—Lamorak was younger than Gawain—but he said nothing.

  "Riders coming, three furlongs off."

  She turned quickly back to Agrivaine. "Go! We mustn't be seen together. I mustn't be seen at all. Go to Mador and give him my instructions."

  "My plan, you mean?"

  "Yes. Your plan. Go now!" Then she slapped his horse's haunch, sending it into a startled gallop. With an effort, Agrivaine managed to stay in the saddle, even though sudden motions made his pounding headache feel very much worse, and he started back toward Camelot, where at last he was going to take his rightful place as one of the most influential knights in England.

  Agrivaine did not enjoy his interview with Sir Mador much, and the pleasant dream that he had cherished all the way back to Camelot, in which Sir Mador respectfully fetched and carried for him, faded quickly before that thin, sardonic face. Agrivaine found Mador sitting in the taproom, alone but within earshot of several other courtiers. By subtly winking at him and jerking his head toward the door, Agrivaine managed to convey the message that Mador should follow him. Then he led Mador to a quiet place behind the royal chapel.

  "Ah, good," Agrivaine said brusquely as Mador approached. "I wanted to talk to you."

  "I thought that might be what you meant by all that twitching," Mador replied. "Either that or you were having a seizure of some sort."

  Agrivaine couldn't think of a reply to this, so he decided to ignore it. Raising his chin, he said, "I have just met with my mother."

  "I know," Mador said. "I'm the one who pushed her note under your door, as I'm sure she told you, so I was well aware that she had summoned you for this morning."

  Agrivaine tilted his chin higher. "But how did you know that I would obey her summons?"

  A faint smile curled Mador's lips, but when he replied, his voice was respectful. "Why, because my lady assured me that you were a faithful and honorable son who would not reject his own mother the way that your brothers have."

  Slightly mollified, Agrivaine nodded. "Well, I need your help, Mador."

  Mador bowed elaborately—Agrivaine wished he could be sure that Mador wasn't mocking him—and said, "I am entirely at your service, my lord."

  "I've had an idea," Agrivaine announced.

  "Indeed?" said Mador. "I am, er, glad to hear it."

  "What we must do is spread..." Agrivaine hesitated, trying to remember his mother's word. He gave up. "Spread trouble in the court. You remember how last night I got Gareth drunk and thinking about Lancelot and Guinevere?" Agrivaine paused, watching Mador closely to see if he would dispute this account.

  But Mador only nodded. "Indeed. It was excellently done, my lord."

  Encouraged, Agrivaine said, "Well, I think we need to add feed to the fuel."

  "Er, add fuel to the fire, perhaps?"

  Agrivaine shook his head dismissively. "You know what I mean. We must try to catch Lancelot and Guinevere together, to prove that they're still betraying the king."

  "A brilliant idea, my lord. In this way, we may be able to separate Lancelot from the king."

  "Yes, Mother thought it was a good idea, too."

  Mador's lips wore that annoying half smile again. "I'm sure she did. How shall we go about it, Sir Agrivaine?"

  "I'm ... er ... better at the big picture. Why don't you come up with a plan and bring it to me?"

  "Of course, sir. Ah, with your permission, Sir Agrivaine, I would like to write a letter to each of them, as if it came from the other, arranging a meeting in Queen Guinevere's chambers."

  "Yes, that might work," Agrivaine said thoughtfully. "Write those letters and bring them to me."

  "Do you think that wise, sir?" Mador asked. "Surely the fewer people who know the contents of the letters the better. Besides, you'll be busy today gathering the others."

  "The ... the others?" Agrivaine repeated, puzzled.

  "When you catch them together, you'll need witnesses, of course. It can't be just your word against theirs."

  "Of course I'll need witnesses," snapped Agrivaine. "I knew that. How many do you think would be enough? Three? Four?"

  "Whatever number you wish, my lord," Mador replied, bowing. "But perhaps, knowing that Lancelot may not be pleased at being caught, you should gather as many as you think you might need to help you subdue him."

  A surge of panic filled Agrivaine's breast. He hadn't thought about the disadvantages of making Lancelot angry.

  "Your mother will be very proud of you when I tell her how you led the surprise raid yourself," Mador added smoothly. "She has always said that you were the bravest of her sons."

  "She ... she said that?"

  "On my honor. But you should be busy gathering your companions—from the younger knights who are still faithful to the good Sir Mordred, I w
ould think." Agrivaine nodded tightly, and Mador added, "And, for my part, I shall make sure that Guinevere's letter to Lancelot says he should bring no weapons with him."

  Agrivaine let out his breath in a long sigh of relief, then said, as carelessly as he was able, "Yes, I suppose that would be a nice touch. Do that, if you will."

  Agrivaine had surprisingly little trouble recruiting companions for his raid. All he had to say was that he had overheard Lancelot arranging to meet Guinevere in her chambers that evening, and nearly everyone he talked to was eager to join him. The younger knights of Camelot, like Agrivaine, had long grown weary of the tales of their elders' adventures, and were taking pleasure in the rampant rumors about Lancelot that Gareth's accusations had fanned into flame the night before. Most of these younger knights were eager to be in on the final discrediting of the older hero. Agrivaine first recruited his cousins Florence and Lovel, then Sir Colgrevaunce, the brothers Sir Meliot and Sir Melion, Sir Petipase, Sir Galleron, Sir Astomore, and Sir Curselaine. With Agrivaine and Mador, that made eleven, which was surely enough to overpower an unarmed Lancelot. The only person Agrivaine talked to who did not agree to join the raid was Gareth. Agrivaine had assumed that Gareth would never forgive Lancelot for the harsh words he had spoken the night before and would be eager for revenge, but Gareth disappointed him. In the morning and sober, Gareth seemed oddly inclined to say that the whole affair had been his own fault. Agrivaine had to be content with exacting a promise from Gareth not to warn Lancelot.

  "After all," Agrivaine said, "if Lancelot's still betraying the king, it must be made known."

  "All right," Gareth said at last. "I won't tell anyone, but only because I don't really believe that you'll catch them. Whatever might have been between them in the past, it's been over for years; if I'd been thinking straight last night, I would have known it. Anyone with a brain knows that."

  Agrivaine flushed, but then he remembered his mother's assurance that he was her only really clever son. So he smiled and said, "We'll see this evening which one of us has brains."