“No.” Lamorak begins, but I talk over him, blessing Orkney volume. “Gareth, now. I’m his brother, and maybe shouldn’t say it, but you’d go a long way to meet his equal – saving your presence, Lancelot. We all know how brave he is, though he’ll never admit it, and…” Lamorak is staring at me as though I’ve just stabbed him, but I don’t stop talking until Gereint butts in, and finally makes his point about Tristan.
I stop him, later, as the conversation breaks up. The snake eyes are anxious. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“I’ve survived worse things. Cheer up.”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you. It’s just…”
“Forget it.”
“But I didn’t mean Sir Gareth.”
“No. But you’re still wrong about me, you know. Regardless of… strength of arms, or whatever, I’m no paragon.”
“Gaheris…”
“No, listen to me. I have a God-awful temper, and I’m easily as stubborn as Gawain. I’m unfaithful to my marriage vows. I forget fast days, and sometimes I avoid confession for weeks at a time. I have all the Orkney virtues; pride, and vengefulness, and… and damned arrogance about my family. And I do mind when people make fun of me: you saw me fight Agravaine.”
Lamorak looks unconvinced. “You always put yourself down.”
“I thought you considered that a virtue!”
“I didn’t mean…” Lamorak begins, then gives up, and just laughs.
I’m about to follow him from the room, but the king stops me.
“Heris? May I be avuncular and interfering?”
“I’ve done something stupid again!”
“What? No.” He looks faintly rueful. “You shouldn’t be so apologetic, you know. Come and sit down over here, and talk to me.” I sit. “It’s something I’ve done. I’ve been meaning to mention it for ages, but somehow…” He shrugs. “You’ve a knack for blending into the background.”
“Handy, in my family.”
He considers. “Yes, I suppose so. Agravaine’s poor eye!”
“I’m sorry about that. I got carried away.”
“Yes, well, I expect he asked for it.” I must show faint surprise, for he smiles, and adds “I do know a thing or two about the dynamics of your family.”
“Yes, sire. Uncle.”
“Anyway… It’s about Luned.”
Gawain must have been at work. I stare at my feet, and try not to shuffle. “I’m sorry, sire. I do try to make her happy, but…”
“Dear Gaheris. I do wish you’d let me finish.”
“I’m sorry.”
“She is unhappy, isn’t she? Are you?”
“Well, I… It’s not as though I had a special lady or anything, before, or…”
“It wasn’t fair, was it?” I look up, puzzled. “Poor Luned. I thought it would be for the best, at the time, giving her some status, and you didn’t seem to mind, but…” He sighs. “It wasn’t, though. I’m very sorry, Heris.”
Kings aren’t supposed to apologise, even to their nephews. “It’s all right, really. I mean, the queen likes her, and…”
He laughs. “Oh, Gaheris! Always trying to make the best of it!” He shakes his head, and looks sober. “The fact is, I should never have forced you into marrying each other. Luned was in love with Gareth, and I rushed her. I should have let her stay here as one of Gwen’s maidens for a while, let her settle down, and get over it a bit. Instead… And now she feels hard-done by, and entrenched about Gareth, and she blames you, which is most unfair since it’s really my fault.”
Not Gawain, then. Luned must have been talking to the queen. “I’m sorry. I do try to be nice to her.”
“I know you do, but…” He pauses, frowning. “This is going to be the interfering bit, I’m afraid.”
“I don’t mind.”
“No.” Again he looks thoughtful. “It’s just I’ve noticed the way you behave with her… If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was in the last stages of some terrible illness. Do you think you could treat her a little bit more like an ordinary person?”
“I just worry I’m going to upset her.”
“I know you do. But the result is, I don’t think she’s ever really got to know you.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, Heris...!” He looks reproachful. “I feel mean, asking. But… Do you think you could court her a little? As if she’s just another of the Queen’s ladies? Let her see herself as something other than the girl Gareth rejected?”
I hadn’t thought of it like that. “Yes, sire. I could try, anyway. She may not like it, though.”
He smiles at me. “You’ve a good heart, Gaheris. Lamorak de Galis was right about that.”
“Oh, Lamorak…! He was just talking. He didn’t intend anything.”
Arthur’s expression is quizzical. But, “I wonder?” Is all he says.
“Oh, that’s beautiful!”
I’m standing watching the youngsters tilt: Kay’s notion of a present to them, a whole day of games. On the field, Lamorak has unhorsed Astamore with a clever double feint. The manoeuvre attracts a ripple of applause. Lamorak looks up and grins. The snake eyes are shining. Meeting mine, briefly, he gives me a high sign, and I shake my head at him. I’m not really expecting a response to my comment, but: “It was splendid.”
Lancelot, of all people, has come to lean on the railing beside me. His face is thoughtful. My brothers Gawain and Gareth are close friends of this man. They can spend hours together, talking and joking. For myself, I’m foundered in nerves by his reputation. Out in the field, Lamorak and Astamore are squaring up again. I keep my eyes on them. Lancelot says softly, “He has that look to him… that shining quality…”
Like Gareth. Like Lancelot himself. I can’t quite keep the pride from my voice, answering. “He is good, isn’t he? He wants to be the third-best knight in the world, after you and Gareth.”
“Why aim so low?” Lancelot says, and sighs. “He’s a credit to you.” Surprise makes me look at him.
“To Kay and Aglovale, surely?”
He shakes his head. “Oh, Gaheris… How many hours a week have you worked with him?” I say nothing, picking at a splinter on the rail. “Everyone’s noticed. Half the trainees are jealous, and Kay’s on at the king to have you made his deputy.”
“Lamorak’s a natural. I’m just someone to practise on.”
“Heaven give me strength! I’m beginning to see why you Orkneys are always fighting each other… Lamorak has aptitude, I grant you, but that’s not enough on its own. You’ve got him to slow down, to think with his head as well as his reflexes.”
“I doubt it. Thinking’s not my strong suit. Kay…”
“Agrees with me.” There’s a small silence. On the field, Lamorak has Astamore down again, and is dismounting to fight on foot. Quietly, Lancelot says “I’ve been thinking about what he said about you.”
“Kay?” Waste of time, I’d have thought, unless you happen to be fond of poultry. Still, Lancelot’s an odd one. “I took no offence: it was fair comment. My foot-work…”
“I was talking about Lamorak.”
Oh.
“The other evening…”
“He didn’t mean it. It was just…”
“What he most assuredly did not mean was your brother Gareth.”
“Oh, but…”
Lancelot cuts me off firmly. “That boy idolises you. You’re his pattern… his preux chevalier.”
“I can’t think why. He can aim much higher.”
“For heaven’s sake, Gaheris!” He sounds so exactly like Gawain that I turn to stare at him. So do several other people. For a moment he looks at me in pure exasperation, then he shakes his head. “Now you’ve got me doing it! Don’t you ever have a single, positive thought about yourself?”
“I’m as selfish as the next man.”
“Hah!” He pulls a face. “As long as you’re standing next to Percevale, or Bors. Lamorak has you almost exactly right. We could all learn a thing
or two from your humility.”
“That’s nonsense.” I clench my hands on the rail, and look down. I want to be almost anywhere else.
“What did he say? Courteous, considerate, careful in your dealings with all…”
“I’ve had more than my share of blood-feuds.”
“All of them started by one or other of your incendiary brothers.”
“Just stop it!” I don’t believe I’ve just said that, to Lancelot, of all people… “Saints, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…”
“Shut up.” I fall silent, but it’s a moment or two before I remember to close my mouth. “Lamorak was right. Knighthood isn’t just a matter of skill at arms – though you’re no fool in that department, either – (no, don’t interrupt me). It’s a… a question of attitude. A man can be the greatest warrior in the world, and still be nothing, if he forgets his honour, or betrays his duty. And God help him who does that…” His voice trails off. For a moment his face is bleak. He’s talking more to himself than me. Then he looks up and says briskly, “The only thing Lamorak missed about you is your damnable naivety. And God knows, if it was a question of Gareth, or Percevale, they’d call it innocence… You’re hating this, aren’t you?” I say nothing. “I should know better than to lecture you.”
“No, I…” I make myself look across at him. “It doesn’t sound like me.”
“No, I don’t suppose it would.” Lancelot smiles. “Forgive me?”
“Nothing to forgive.” A burst of applause tells me Lamorak has won his round. I hesitate, then “Lancelot, I wonder – could I ask a favour of you?”
“Of course.”
“It’s not for me, really, it’s for him; for Lamorak.” Lancelot looks enquiring. “He’s got this silly idea about his knighting… He wants to petition the king. Of course, it’s Aglovale’s place, but for some reason he wants me instead, to sponsor him. And I thought, if you’re willing, if you were to offer yourself, then no one would make anything political of it, and it would be an honour for Lamorak…”
“He’ll refuse.”
“Of course he won’t. To be sponsored by Lancelot du Lac! I mind our Gareth…”
“Some of them might like the idea, but not your Lamorak.” Unexpectedly, he puts a hand on my shoulder. “Gaheris, he wants you. Not his brother, or the seneschal, or the soi-disant best knight. It’s an honour. You should agree.”
“Gawain…”
“Gawain’s a reasonable man. Who knows, maybe this is just the thing finally to put an end to that blasted feud. Unless you don’t want to?”
I look at Lamorak, garnering congratulations from the other trainees. “My brothers won’t like it.”
“Confound your bloody brothers!” says Lancelot.
Oh, no.
Oh, no. Three pairs of accusing eyes line up against me, along the wall of my room. All right, two accusing and one baffled, if you make allowances for Gareth. But all the same, my own room is going a bit far. I close the door behind me. “This is nice. Is it my birthday?”
Dear Gareth looks even more perplexed. “I don’t think so. Gavin said he wanted a conference, so…”
“My room being smaller than his, darker than yours, and messier than Agrin’s, you decided it was the obvious location?”
“Stop trying to confuse Gari.” Gawain frowns. “Surely you know why we’re here?”
“I daresay I could make a wild guess.”
“There’s no need to take that tone,” Agravaine says. His black eye has healed, more’s the pity.
“Oh?”
“I could teach you a better one.”
“And earn another black eye?”
Agravaine takes a step forward. Gawain puts out a hand to halt him. “Heris, sit you down. Agrin, stop the insults.”
I hesitate. Gareth adds, “Please, Heris?”
Sometimes I think the young and the innocent make the best manipulators.
Gawain waits till I’m seated, then, “We have need of your opinion.”
“If,” says Agravaine, “you know what one of those is.” Gareth kicks him. He frowns, but falls silent.
“Well then, Heris?”
“It might help if you told me what you what my opinion on. If it’s Agrin, there, for instance…”
“You can stop it, too,” Gawain says. I shrug. “It’s about Lamorak de Galis.”
“Oh, Gavin, not again.”
Gawain grins at me. “Lance told me what he said of you. That’s a compliment for any man.”
“Granted the wit to see it,” puts in Agravaine, and Gareth kicks him again.
Gawain ignores the interchange. “Happen, too, I watched the infants’ tourney. Lamorak’s a fair man with his arms.”
“Well?”
“Well, our uncle tells me he’s bespoke you as sponsor.”
Here we go. “Yes, but I told him…”
“Now, then. It befits a man to hold by his kin, and it’s not always a fine thing, choosing another over a brother. But that said, our Gari chose Lance over me, and he’s no less our brother for it. Then, too, the king would like it, all of us to be brothers in the fellowship.”
“To which Lamorak has not been elected,” says Agravaine, “Nor may he live to be.”
“Stop your mouth, Agrin, or I’ll stop it for you. It comes to this, Heris. I’ll not say I’m keen on these sons of Pellinor, but if you want to do it, I’ll not stop you. What do you say?”
There’s a strong temptation in me to ask him why he needs my opinion on what is, after all, one of his pronouncements. However, Agravaine is making enough trouble for now. So, “You’re speaking for yourself, or for the family?”
“The family,” Gawain says, over loud sounds of derision from Agravaine. “Leastways, Gari feels as I do, and Agrin did say, earlier, that he’d no mind to stop you, umm…”
“From making a public fool of myself?”
“As long as it’s quite clear to all parties that I’ve no part in your folly,” says Agravaine, and bows. “But as to Mother, and Medraut…”
“Medraut’s not sixteen, yet,” says Gawain, as though that settles it.
“And Mother?” Agrin has a point there. Our mother may not have loved our father, but she has a highly-developed sense of property.
Gawain’s about to pronounce on this, when there’s a knock at my door. Evan, probably. Answering it, I get as far as “What…?” before Lamorak bounces past me, talking a blue streak.
“I was good, wasn’t I? I saw you watching, and Sir Lancelot said so, after, though I’d rather have your opinion than his. And he said I could fight on his side at the New Year’s tourney, if I liked, but I said I’d rather be on yours, and, oh, Gaheris…”
It’s nice to be popular… About this point I manage to break in, by dint of raising my voice rather more than I like to. “Good evening, Lamorak. Will you come in, and greet my brothers.”
He stops, then, and looks about him. Gareth smiles. Agravaine is staring at the floor. Gawain just looks at him. “Oh.” Lamorak shuffles. “Good even, my lords of Orkney.”
“Good even, Lamorak.” Gareth is amused. Agravaine simply mutters.
Gawain nods. “Lancelot’s no mean judge of fighting men. I might even agree with him. You did well today.”
Lamorak looks momentarily nonplussed. Then he remembers his manners, and bows. “Thank you, Prince Gawain.” At once he forgets them again. “Oh, but, Gaheris…”
“What did Kay say?” I ask.
That deflates him a little. “That a shield is to be used for parrying, not for waving at people with. But, Gaheris…”
He reminds me of Gareth at this age. Myself, too, I daresay. “You’ll do, I expect.” Lamorak looks downcast. “You were good.”
“Oh, thank you!” For a moment, I’m afraid he’s going to hug me. But he controls himself, and merely bounces a little. “And about the big tourney?”
“You’re not a knight, yet,” says Agravaine, silken-smooth. “What makes you think you can ride with the
Orkneys?”
Lamorak looks anxious. Gently, Gareth says “It’s a great honour, being asked by Lancelot.”
Gawain is watching, thoughtful. “Well, lad? Do you hold yourself good enough to be one of us?”
“But, Gavin, if Lance…”
“Be quiet, Gari. Let the lad speak.”
Lamorak draws in a deep breath. Then he looks straight at Gawain. “No, my lord Prince. But the honour of it!”
It’s an answer calculated to appeal to Gawain’s vanity, and Gawain’s smart enough to spot it. Hastily, I say, “Wait, though. Gawain’s not fighting. Will there be an Orkney side this year?”
Agravaine sighs. “My God. It’s true: one must pin something to a lance, and run you through with it before you notice anything.” Beside me, I feel Lamorak tense. “Of course there’s an Orkney side.”
My brother the second-best knight in the world goes faintly pink. “As it happens, our uncle has asked me to be the other leader. But Lance and I thought, for this year, we might pick teams in a less family-oriented way.”
“Stupid idea.”
“Do be quiet, Agrin, please. For myself, I’d be happy to have Lamorak, if he likes. But I think Lance is meaning to ask Heris.”
“Well, lad,” says Gawain, looking wicked, “will you go with Gaheris, or do you prefer the honour of riding with Agravaine and Gareth?” Lamorak looks stricken. Suddenly, Gawain laughs. “Let be: I’m teasing. Ride with whoever you please, though happen I was leading this year, I’d choose you, anyway.” The light is back in Lamorak’s face. “Aye, and my brother will stand sponsor for you, if you wish it still.”
He might have asked me… Lamorak makes his very best bow to Gawain, then turns. “Gaheris?”
“What about Aglovale?”
“He doesn’t mind. I asked him.”
“You could have Lancelot.”
“Gaheris!”
I look round at my assembled family. Gareth is still smiling. Agravaine has turned his back. Gawain stares back at me for a long moment, then, all unexpected, winks. “All right, then, Lamorak, but…”
This time, he does hug me.
Three
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