“Oh, absolutely, Gavin.”
Praise from Tristan is another good reason for avoiding knocking Cornish kings into the dust.
That Christmas, Medraut gets his knighthood, and heads out on his year’s errantry. This would be nice and peaceful for the rest of us, only Mother elects to visit. About a month later, the king chooses a handful of new companions of the Round Table. This includes Lamorak, who’s been hanging around court since late November, getting under my feet, and generally impeding the healing of his wrist, which Ector de Maris has kindly cracked for him. Luckily, Luned, forgiving his earlier gallantries, decides he reminds her of her brother, and finds plenty of occupation for him; winding wool and so forth.
Kay snorts darkly, but refuses to expand on his warning.
I can’t see the harm in our friendship, though I do notice an odd look or so from Agravaine’s friends. Not even Agrin actually says anything, however: injured or not, Lamorak has become a force to be respected.
It’s a dark February evening when we all come together in the great hall, each companion in his own place, silent and with the tapers unlit before us. Only Lancelot, as champion, stands apart, ready to give and receive the three blows. White-clad, the candidates must pass him, and come before the king, to swear the oath and take the flame. After, they must circle the hall one by one, lighting the tapers of those assembled, and exchanging the kiss of peace. Taper by taper, until the whole room is a circle of fire.
That’s my favourite bit. (That, and the dancing that follows, when the ladies come in.) The lights seem to leap from hand to hand, like a spirit, or an idea given life. Agravaine says I have it wrong, and that the whole is far more complex. But that’s what I’ve seen since the first time, when I was the lighter of candles.
Anyhow, it takes different people different ways. Some are solemn as monks. Some are close to laughter. I mind our Gareth wept; and not the only one. Percevale fainted. And Gaheris? Gaheris of Orkney totally forgot the need for silence, and exclaimed “Oh, Gavin, look!”, as he completed the circle at the king’s left hand.
We’re spared any excesses this time. Lamorak comes round the last of all; and as he rises from where the king has spoken to him, he looks round into the gloom, snake-eyes bright. He can’t possibly see any of us properly, here in the darkness, but I smile anyway. Gareth beside me puts a hand on my arm.
That look to him… that shining quality… I’m thinking of Lancelot’s words as Lamorak comes round us all, and I’m suddenly cold. To shine, he will have to live. On his hand that is illuminated, lighting the tapers, gleams my mother’s ring. If Agravaine should notice, when Lamorak gets to him…
Little fool. There’s such joy in his face, as he reaches me, that my heart stops still. He’s too damnably young. My hands are shaking so much that I drop my taper, and have to fumble for it in the dark, fingers mixing with Lamorak’s. We’re forbidden to speak. I can do little about his confusion, as I tug the ring free, only frown. Lamorak looks into my eyes for an instant, then he’s past me, and Gareth’s taper is springing into life.
I’m in need of a drink. I’m profoundly thankful when the doors open and the rest of the court floods in. Gareth is looking at me curiously. “Are you all right, Heris?”
“What? Oh, yes. Hot wax.” What if Agrin noticed…? I’m looking round for him, but there are too many people.
“Oh, that explains it, then.” Gareth isn’t really paying attention: he’s trying to spot Llinos. “Better put something on it. Butter, isn’t it, for burns?”
“I thought that was cats.”
He turns. “For burns? Alive or dead?”
“No, no. Butter for cats. To stop them wandering.” Some-one has put a full glass in front of me: I drain it gratefully. Lamorak is nowhere in sight, either, but I can see Percevale steering purposefully towards me. All this and now religion. “Gari?”
“Hmm?”
“Do something for me?”
“Of course.” He’s sighted Llinos, and was beginning to wave to her.
Now his courtesy takes over. “What?”
“Field Percevale for me? I’m not feeling up to it.”
He looks down at me, then, concerned. “You do look pale. Shall I call Evan to you?”
“No, I’m just tired.” He looks doubtful. “And lazy.” He pulls a face. He’s kind, Gareth. “Thanks, little brother.”
He smiles. “You’re welcome.
I don’t find Lamorak, but after a couple of hours, I nearly walk into Safere, in a corner by the kitchen door. We’ve mostly avoided each other since the summer, and he doesn’t look pleased to see me. I apologise, shuffling, then: “My lord Sir Safere?”
“What?”
“I was wondering if you… That is, Lamorak… “
“Yes?” He smiles at me nastily. He’s rather drunk.
“I was looking for him.”
“His heart will beat the faster for it.”
“Yes, well, I wondered if you…”
“Little snake,” says Safere, glittering with spite, “may be anywhere. Perhaps he is drowning his sorrows. He is too slight to withstand your disapprobation.”
“I thought you might… What?”
He puts a hand on my shoulder, and leans on me. “Do you read Greek, Prince Gaheris?”
“No.” I rather want to get away from him. He looks up at me from beneath his lashes. “Lamorak does…”
“Well, I expect he had a better tutor. But, really, Safere…”
“Do you want to know what he calls you?” He really is very drunk. I start to pull away, and he tightens his grip. “He talks about you all the time. In bed, even. Especially in bed.”
“Let me go, please.”
“I thought you wanted to know where little snake is laired? Beautiful Gaheris?”
“No. Not particularly. It can wait.” His touch repels me. It takes much of my self-control not to push him away. “Please let go of me.”
“His favourite topic. Beautiful Gaheris.”
I don’t want to hear this. For a slight man, he’s surprisingly strong. If I have to force myself free, I may break his arm. He looks up at me, and begins to laugh. “I disgust you, don’t I? The little sodomite. Alas, then, for Lamorak.”
“I don’t have any opinion of you.”
“No? Why, then, do you shake so?”
I’m not shaking, I can’t be shaking. “Claustrophobia.” In this room full of people, surely someone will come to my aid. “I don’t like dark corners.”
“Or tight ones.” Safere is still smiling. “Little snake has conceived an unholy passion for you. That’s why he beds with your mother. “
“You’re drunk.” Oh, God, where’s Agravaine.? If he’s in earshot of any of this…
“Perhaps that is where he is even now. Substituting one Orkney for another.”
I feel sick. Over Safere’s shoulder, I can make out the broad silhouette of Gawain, the bright sheen of Gareth’s hair. No Agravaine. No Lamorak. No Mother. Holy saints. Across the crowd, my eyes meet Lancelot’s, and he looks puzzled. I can’t afford to attract too much attention. Come on, Lance… Something in my face must speak to him, for he bows to his companions, and begins to make his way towards me. Now pray… “Safere?”
“Yes, my dear lord prince?”
“Is that where Lamorak is? In my mother’s room?”
“That is possible.” He leans against me, loosening his grip. At last. I get my hand around his wrist, and twist. He gasps.
“Stop playing games. Where’s Lamorak?”
“You are hurting me.”
“For heaven’s sake, Safere, this is important.” Lancelot has nearly reached us. “Where is he? I swear to God, I’ll break your arm.”
Safere looks up, and all the haziness is gone from his eyes. “You astonish me. You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Just try me.”
“What in God’s name…?” Lancelot has arrived, and is staring at us in some disbelief. “Gaheris, I don’t think…”
>
“Where’s my mother?” I ask him.
“What?” Lancelot frowns at me. “Are you all right, Safere?”
“He’s fine. Where’s the queen of Orkney?”
“I don’t see…”
“Lancelot!”
“Very well.” He looks at me as at a loose wolf. “She excused herself about an hour ago, feeling unwell.”
Oh, God… Safere shifts a little, and I tighten my hold on him.
“And Agrin? My brother Agravaine?”
“Still talking to Bors and Bleobaris, as far as I know. What is this?”
“Does he know about Mother?”
“How should I know?”
“Think!”
“How much have you had to drink, Gaheris?”
“Less than you, almost certainly.” He looks unconvinced. “Lancelot, this could be a matter of life and death. If Agrin hears that our mother is ill, he’ll go to her room.”
“So?” Lancelot looks at Safere, then back at me. “What is all this about?”
“Love.” says Safere, sweetly, and smiles. “Or, perhaps, mere lust.
“What?”
“Charming Gaheris is perturbed over an affajre de coeur. He is trying to prevent a hypothetical murder. And all for the sake of a fine pair of yellow eyes.”
I still can’t see any sign of Agravaine. I may already be too late…
Lancelot folds his arms. “All right. Explain it to me very slowly. And, Gaheris?”
“Yes?”
“Let Safere go.”
“But...”
“Just do it.” Reluctantly, I release Safere’s arm. He rubs it resentfully, but doesn’t walk away. Lancelot continues, “Now, then?”
“It’s Lamorak. He’s been carrying on with my mother. I think he’s up there with her now. And if Agravaine finds out, or goes up to see her, thinking she’s ill… “
“I can imagine. A lover and a de Galis.” Lancelot frowns. “Not very discreet of them. But I’m sure we can prevent Agravaine from surprising them, this time, at least.”
“If he hasn’t already done so.”
“Calm down, Heris.”
“But I haven’t seen him all evening.”
“He’s over under the gallery, next to Bleobaris. He’s been there for the last hour to my certain knowledge: I can still see him clearly. And I’m quite sure it’s him.”
Oh, thank you, God. I shall light three candles… “If you could make sure he stays down here for the next half hour or so, I’ll deal with Lamorak and Mother.”
“Is that wise?”
“You know my family.”
“Well, I suppose so, but…”
“Forgive me; I intrude upon your deliberations, but…” Safere bows, smiling. There’s something unpleasant about it. “Your precautions are admirably considerate, but quite unnecessary. Little snake is probably no longer with your mother.”
“What?” I’m ready to hit him: Lancelot stays my hand. “You said that.”
“I said that there was a possibility.” Safere props himself on the wall. “For which you abused me quite outrageously.”
I’m surprised no one’s done it before… I have to stay calm. “Well, I’m sorry, then. But Lamorak…”
Safere shrugs. “Quite the centre of the world. Little snake was with your mother. But someone golden and perfect made a show of ritual disapproval earlier this evening, and tipped the balance of his indecisive mind. Little snake finally concluded it was in his long term interest to bid the sweet queen adieu.”
“Lamorak went to break off his liaison with my mother?”
“That was what I said, yes.”
“When? Where is he now?”
Safere studies his fingertips. “Desolated though I am, I must confess I have no idea. It is upwards of an hour since he left to perform the delicate deed.”
Lancelot has been standing in apparent thought. Now he meets my eyes, and says, “I heard an odd story about your mother and Macsen of Rheged…?”
“It’s true.” My heart is racing. The room has turned cold. Mother is a worse loser than Agrin… “Lancelot?”
“Yes?”
“Keep Agravaine down here. Gawain too, if possible. I’m going up.”
“Wouldn’t I be more… diplomatic?” Lancelot asks.
“This is an Orkney matter.” Lancelot bows. I say, “Safere?”
“Beautiful Gaheris?”
“I know you don’t like me, but for Lamorak’s sake, get a horse saddled and waiting by the south gate, just in case…” For the first time, there’s a flicker of concern on his face. I’m probably over-reacting, but my mother can be as blood-thirsty as the rest of my family, and she hates to be rejected.
It’s hard, keeping to a walk as I make my way out of the hall, and once I’m through it, I give up and start to run. I take the stairs two at a time. The antechamber of my mother’s room is completely deserted. Her door stands closed. No sounds come from behind it. There’s a faint, sweet smell, like incense.
I don’t knock. The door, mercifully, isn’t locked. It opens quietly, at a touch.
Oh, sweet Jesu.
The candle-light is merciless. There’s blood staining the rushes and the hangings of the bed. The coverlet is torn, and hangs mostly onto the floor. The air is heavy with blood and scent. Nothing looks quite real. Lamorak is crouched in the hearth, his arms wrapped tightly around him, His clothing is torn and stained. There’s no sign at all of Mother. When I touch him, he pulls back as if burnt. There’s a gash across his left cheek, and another along the line of his collar-bone. His eyes are unfocussed. He’s trembling. I’ve seen men like this, after battle… The whole thing is like a distorted rerun of that night three years ago, when he asked me to knight him.
I have to find out what’s happened here. I fetch water from the antechamber, and lock the door. He doesn’t move.
“Lamorak?” When there’s no answer, I take him by the shoulder, and shake gently. “Lamorak, wake up.” He’s limp in my hands. “Lamorak.” I shake harder, and this time, he moans, pressing a hand to his side.
I pull it away. Well, that explains the blood. Oh, sweet Jesu. “Lamorak, talk to me.” Holding on to him with one hand, I begin to wash the blood away. “Tell me what happened.” His eyes are beginning to focus. I smile at him, and say gently, “You’re safe, now. It’s over. Just tell me what happened to you.”
He licks his lips. “Gaheris.”
“Who else?”
“Always sorting me out.”
“Someone has to.”
He smiles a little, at that. “Sorry.”
“I know.” My bathing hits a sensitive spot, and he winces. “What happened?”
The smile goes. “I tried to tell her it was over. After tonight…”
“The business with the ring. I understand.”
“She…” He swallows. “Gaheris…”
“Still here.”
“Yes. She cried, and I tried to… to comfort her. But she… there was a knife. She stabbed me.”
The man who wrote that hell hath no fury was understating his case. He’d clearly never met Mother. Lamorak is shaking, and I put an arm around him. He clutches at me, gasping. “Slowly. It’s over.”
“No. Oh, Gaheris…”
“Not even the king’s half-sister can get away with attempted murder. She won’t hurt you again.”
“You don’t understand. Gaheris, I’m frightened.”
“No need.” I’ll fix the others, somehow. He’s been punished enough. And to hell with Safere.
“Gaheris.”
“What is it?”
“Your brothers… “
“I’ll deal with them.”
“No.” he pulls away suddenly. The snake eyes are wild. “You don’t understand.”
“What?”
He swallows again, hard, and points to the bed. “Under the quilt… I didn’t mean…”
I can just about reach from here: I flick the coverlet aside with one hand,
confused. Then everything stands still.
Oh, holy God.
It’s Mother. She lies in a graceless heap. Her neck is bent the wrong way. I don’t understand why, but suddenly I’m crying, and it’s Lamorak who turns comforter. His hand catches mine. His fingers are cold. “Gaheris. My heart.”
“Don’t.”
He leans away. “It was an accident. I swear to God. I only meant to push her away, but she lost her balance, and…”
“Yes.” I swallow. “Perhaps she’s only unconscious.”
“No. I… checked.”
“What a God-forsaken mess…” I rub a hand across my eyes, and start trying to think. “Who knew about you and Mother?”
“Several people. I… wore her favour in Cornwall.”
“Tristan?”
“Yes.”
Wonderful. He has all the discretion of a magpie. “We’ve got to get you away from here. Do you think you can ride?”
“Perhaps.” He looks across at me. “Gaheris…”
“No, listen. My brothers would come after you for openly being her lover, let alone…” My throat is closed. I have to stop, to swallow, to regain control. “So I tell them I’ve already dealt with you. But you have to stay away.”
“I don’t understand. It was an accident.”
“I believe you. Gareth would. Gawain might. But Agravaine and Medraut… They will try and kill you.”
“As you warned me.” His voice is bleak. “Do you know, I don’t care. “
“Yes, you do. Just now; you’re in shock. You have to protect yourself. You have to leave; now. Say you’re on a quest, or a pilgrimage, or something. And, with luck, they’ll never suspect you were here.”
“But…” he glances across at the body, and turns pale.
“We have to explain the blood, too… Well, I have the Orkney temper. I expect I did it. Agrin would believe that, anyway. He never did like me much.”
“What?” He’s weeping, silently, without his old drama. “Gaheris, no. You can’t. I won’t let you.”
“Listen.”
“They’ll kill you instead.”
“I’m one of them, Lamorak. Kin. Even Agrin respects that.”
“But...”
“Can you think of anything better?”
“No… I can’t think.” He reaches out to me: I take his hand. “Why should anyone believe you?”
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