The Squire's Quest

by Gerald Morris

  "French wine, more like," Terence replied drily.

  "Well, you can't fault them for that. It is good wine. These Bretons couldn't make a decent ale to save their lives, which is a pity, but they've compensated nicely with their wines. And it does seem to aid courtship, doesn't it? I wouldn't be surprised if we have a half-dozen weddings once we return to England."

  Among the romances, though, Emperor Alexander's pursuit of Sarah remained unquestionably the courtship-in-chief. Alexander missed no opportunity to express his faithful devotion. One day Sarah was overheard to admire a particular flower; the next morning, a dozen bouquets of that flower were delivered to her door. "Fine," she muttered to Eileen and Terence. "I don't like that flower anymore." To make matters worse, Alexander had gained a powerful ally. Queen Guinevere, who had always found the emperor's affection to be moving, began to take an active part in his courtship. She now shared with Cligés the role of advisor and go-between. She took messages to Sarah from her imperial admirer and, in return, delivered tokens to him—things that Sarah had touched, a hair plucked from her brush, an embroidered handkerchief, and so on.

  "It's all so false!" Sarah complained to Terence after about three weeks in Brittany. "No, not false. That's not what I mean. I don't think Alexander's lying, exactly. But he isn't real, either. Everything he does is like his next move in some game with complicated rules that I don't even want to understand. I thought back at Camelot, when he sent his brother to ask if he could hope, that he was finally going to be open and straightforward. Cligés looked so sincere. But now we're back to all this mummery and nonsense. When are we going back to Britain, anyway?"

  As it turned out, they left the very next day. That evening, at a large al fresco banquet in the fields outside the governor's castle, a French minstrel's long and tragic tale of doomed love was interrupted by a flurry of hoofbeats, then a galloping rider. The horseman threw himself from the saddle and ran, gasping, to King Arthur. "My liege!" cried the messenger. "I bring you the worst of news! You are betrayed, and it is my fault!"

  It was Mordred.

  King Arthur rose to his feet. "What is it?"

  "Count Anders has raised a rebellion against you, using the weapons that I convinced you to give him. I was a fool, sire!"

  "But where are my armies? I left enough troops to face a rebellion."

  "Most are in Scotland. Bedivere got word of an uprising there and sent them to counter it. My king, Anders has already burned London and set up a base somewhere thereabouts."

  "Where's Bedivere?" asked the king sharply.

  Mordred bowed his head. "A prisoner, my lord. Someone at Camelot must be in the count's pay, because a party of Anders's men got into the castle and captured Bedivere in his bed. But for sheer luck, they would have taken me as well. I was able to kill one and hide."

  "But Bedivere's alive, you say?" Arthur looked grim.

  "I believe so, sire. I heard one of the men say that they were to take him to the count. As soon as they were gone, I sent two separate messengers to Scotland, recalling your troops from there. Then I set off for Brittany myself." With a sob, Mordred bowed his face to the ground. "Sire, forgive me. I should have listened to Sir Kai. Count Anders was planning this all along. He played me for a fool, and I didn't see it."

  "We have all been fools," the king said. "But tomorrow we shall be warriors. The women shall stay here until I send for them. The rest of us depart at dawn!"

  The channel winds cooperated with the British knights return, with the result that less than a week later Arthur's men had sailed up the Thames River to the old Roman city of London. There they found blackened ruins and grieving citizens, but no Count Anders. The count, they learned, had stayed in London only long enough to pillage it and destroy what was left before moving west, to one of Arthur's secondary residences, Windsor Castle. A day later, Arthur's men were camped across the Thames from the stone walls of Windsor.

  Arthur summoned Gawain, Terence, and Mordred to his tent. "I want you to ride to the castle," he said, "and demand Anders's surrender."

  "You're sending a delegation?" gasped Kai. "Haven't you had enough of that? You've seen Anders can't be trusted."

  "He has Bedivere, remember," Arthur replied calmly. "And even if he didn't, there is no reason to sacrifice more lives. Anders must know he can't win. He has no allies, and my armies—once they're gathered—outnumber his twenty to one. His cause is hopeless."

  Gawain shrugged. "We can talk to him, but he won't surrender. He's rebelled against the king; his life is forfeit either way. He'll choose to die in battle. Wouldn't you?"

  Arthur nodded. "But we have to try. Ask to speak to Bedivere."

  And so Gawain and Mordred put on their armor, crossed the river on the town's ferry, and rode to the front of the castle, with Terence right behind them. "Anders!" shouted Gawain.

  He called again, and after a few minutes the count appeared on the battlements. "What do you want?"

  "Your surrender!"

  "Bugger off!"

  "You have no hope!" Gawain called back. "You must see that! Give up now, and some of your men's lives may be spared!"

  "What? With no more men than you have over there?" replied the count with a sneer.

  It was true that Arthur's present command was small. What had been a large traveling party for a diplomatic mission was much less impressive as a military force. Even taking into account Alexander and his regiment of Greek knights, Arthur had no more than a hundred knights and even fewer foot soldiers.

  "Remember who's in that army," Gawain retorted. "Do you count Lancelot as one man? Or Bors? Or Lionel? Or me? Do you imagine that any of us will stop until you are dead?"

  Anders appeared to think about this. "I won't talk terms like this, anyway—shouting from a bleeding wall! Send one man to deal with me!"

  "What, so you can lock him up with Bedivere? Do you think we're idiots?"

  "Wait, Sir Gawain," hissed Mordred.

  "What?"

  "I'm no fighter. I'll be no loss to the army. Let me go in."

  "No. You're mad." Gawain turned back toward Anders.

  "This was my fault," Mordred whispered urgently. "Let me see what I can do. If I die, I die. But let me try."

  Gawain hesitated, and in that moment of indecision, Mordred called out, "Very well! I'm coming in!" and booted his horse into a gallop. The castle gates opened to admit him, then closed. Gawain and Terence could only stare.

  "Something tells me Arthur's not going to be half pleased with this little development," muttered Gawain with a sigh. "Well, on the hundred-to-one chance that Anders was telling the truth, I suppose we should wait here for Mordred. At least you can't doubt the boy's courage."

  "I've never doubted his courage," Terence said. He dropped from his horse and sat in the grass, but Gawain stayed mounted. If they had to ride away in a hurry, it would be easy for Terence to leap into the saddle, but less so for Gawain, in full armor. After about half an hour, the front gates opened and, to their surprise, Mordred reappeared. His face was grim.

  "To the king," he snapped. "Quickly!"

  "What news?" King Arthur demanded as soon as they were back in the king's council tent.

  "He won't surrender, and his position is stronger than it looks," Mordred said solemnly. "Anders has planned this for a long time. The castle is stocked with great mounds of food and enough water for a long siege. But that's not the worst of it. Anders isn't alone. He's expecting reinforcements any day."

  Kai swore.

  "From where?" asked the king.

  Mordred shook his head. "All he would say was that he had friends, some even in your inner circle."

  A long silence followed these words. Then the king asked, "And Bedivere? Did you see him?"

  Mordred shook his head grimly. "Anders wouldn't let me. But he gave me a message for you."

  "What message is that?" replied the king softly.

  Mordred looked as if he had just tasted something bitter, and said, "H
e bids me tell you that if you surrender quietly, he will spare your life."

  "Why, that is monstrous kind of him," said the king gently.

  Mordred cleared his throat. "He says he will expect your answer by noon."

  Arthur nodded. "I believe by then he shall know my answer. Kai, organize lookouts through the night, but tell everyone else to get some rest. We'll be busy tomorrow. And Kai, ask Alexander if he will join me for a moment."

  The emperor must have been waiting outside the tent, as indeed was half the encampment, because he appeared at once. "Did you send for me, O king?" Alexander asked.

  "How could I send for you, my friend? I have no authority over you," Arthur replied. "But I did want to speak to you."

  "I am at your service."

  "I did not argue with you back in Brittany when you declared your intention of returning with us, but tomorrow we go to war."

  Alexander nodded. "Yes?"

  "It is not your war, Alexander. You are the king of another land, and we have no official treaties calling for you to join me in battle."

  Gradually enlightenment dawned on Alexander's face, replaced at once by affront. "Is it that you tell me not to fight with you tomorrow?"

  "You have your own people to consider. I cannot ask you to risk your—"

  "You are very stupid, and you make me angry," interrupted the emperor. "How do your people say it? Shut up!" Alexander glanced at Gawain. "That is right, is it not?"

  Gawain considered this thoughtfully. "I think you have the expression right. It's not generally directed at the king, however."

  "But as he says, he is not my king," Alexander replied promptly, looking back at Arthur. "He is my friend. And I will say shut up to my friend any time I want, damned it!"

  Giving the king a curt nod, Alexander turned abruptly and left the tent. Grinning, Gawain bid his king good night, and he and Terence made their way to their blankets.

  Mordred rose from his bed about four hours after midnight, shortly before dawn, and Terence, who had been watching, shadowed him to the perimeter of the camp. There, Mordred tapped a knight on the shoulder and said, "My watch. Get some rest."

  The knight nodded and headed back to the camp. Terence relaxed. Mordred was just taking his turn at watch. Nothing suspicious. Then Mordred turned and stared into the darkness where Terence crouched. "Is someone there?" he called softly.

  Terence froze, as much from astonishment as caution. He couldn't remember a time when he had been heard in the woods; the silence with which he slipped through even the densest brush was legendary at Camelot. He was sure he had made no noise, but there was Mordred, staring right at him. For a long moment, there was only stillness; then Mordred shrugged and turned away. He walked off, and Terence let him go. Who is this Mordred?

  About ten minutes later, Mordred returned, humming softly under his breath. He stretched, rubbed his eyes, and gazed again into the darkness where Terence hid. "Hello?" he called gently. This time Terence was sure he couldn't be seen; in Mordred's absence he had moved behind a tree. Once again, Mordred shrugged and moved off, this time in the opposite direction. Mordred evidently had an uncanny sense of other people's presence, which was worth remembering. Terence moved from his tree and slipped beyond the perimeter of the woods, planning to follow Mordred's progress that way, but as soon as he stepped out from among the trees, he caught new sounds: muffled splashings, murmuring voices, the occasional metallic clink of armor. Count Anders's men were crossing the Thames.

  Forgetting Mordred, Terence raced back to the king's camp. "To arms!" he shouted. "Attack coming from the river! To arms!"

  Moments later the king himself was at his side. Terence told him what he had heard, and the king took over, issuing orders and organizing his men. Alexander appeared, at the head of his Greek knights. "Command me!" Alexander said curtly. "Where do you need me and my men?"

  "The party crossing the river before us may not be the only one," Arthur said. "They may have other groups circling behind. Take your men to the rear and watch for ambush."

  Even in the dim firelight, the belligerent expression on Alexander's face was clear. He knew he was being given the role least likely to put him and his men in danger. But after a brief struggle, he nodded. "As you wish, Arthur." Turning, he snapped orders in Greek to his men, and they began moving south, away from the river.

  Leaving the king, Terence returned to his gear, took up his bow and arrows, and slung them over his shoulder. They would be of little use in the dark, though, where he couldn't tell friend from foe, so he grabbed Gawain's spare sword as well. Then there was a shout, a single clang of arms, and the roar of battle. Terence ran through the dark toward the loudest clamor, and then had no time to think. A dark figure appeared, and a sword chopped down at him. Parry. Parry again. Leap. Thrust. A second figure rushed at him from the other side. Dive. Thrust. Strike. Parry. Then one of the attacking knights jerked and toppled over. The other turned sharply toward his companion and died a second later. A tall knight loomed out of the darkness and jerked his sword from the second knight's helmet, which was now split nearly in two. "Get out of here, Terence," snapped Lancelot's voice. "You have no armor. Go watch our rear."

  Terence nodded. Lancelot was right. He was more likely to be in the way in the thick of the fight, at least until the sun rose and he could use his bow. He hurried back through the deserted camp, seeking Alexander's Greek company. A figure flickered to his right, and Terence dropped to the ground, hearing a sword swish through the air over his head. Terence rolled and sprang to his feet, his own sword at the ready. "Squire Terence?" asked a voice. It was Mordred. "Oh, thank God I missed," Mordred gasped. "I saw you running through the dark and I thought the count's men had broken through."

  "What are you doing back here?" Terence snapped.

  "I heard voices from the rear, that way, and I was afraid someone had circled behind us. Come on! We still might surprise them!"

  "Wait!" Terence hissed. "It might be Alexander and his men." Mordred halted, frowning. "Arthur sent them back to watch our rear." It was too dark to be certain, but Mordred seemed momentarily angry. "Let's go quietly together and see," Terence said, adding, "It's good to look before you attack, after all."

  He gestured for Mordred to lead the way, which he did, and a moment later they came upon Alexander's men, mounted and lined up, each knight about five yards away from the next, watching the rear. "Emperor Alexander!" Mordred called out loudly, as they approached. "Don't attack. We're Arthur's men!"

  "Hush, boy!" Alexander hissed fiercely. "There's someone coming; you'll give us away." But it was too late. A sudden spate of voices from across a dark field made it clear that whoever was there had heard Mordred's shout. Alexander swore, then rapped out a command in Greek, and he and his men broke into a full cavalry charge. Mordred started to run the other way.

  "Where are you going?" snapped Terence.

  "To get my horse!" he called over his shoulder. "I won't be any help to them on foot!"

  That was true, anyway, Terence had to admit. Following Mordred, he raced back to camp to get his own mount. A few minutes later, riding bareback, he kicked his horse into a gallop and charged in Alexander's wake.

  The evidence of battle was clear. At least seven huddled bodies lay in the field, but it was too dark to see if any of them were Alexander's men. Terence rode on, past another body, and up to the top of a rise. He could just see the first red line of dawn on the eastern horizon, and below him he heard shouts and the clash of arms. Tossing aside his sword, Terence drew his longbow from his shoulder and fitted an arrow on the string. In a moment, he would be able to see well enough to pick his targets. The fighting beneath him was fierce and constant. He heard several shouts in Greek, which reassured him. One of the voices, he was almost certain, was Alexander's. He itched to ride into the fray but knew he would soon be of more use where he was. He waited. The battle raged on. The light grew. Now he could make out individual forms. Half the combatants were on ho
rseback and half on foot. Bodies lay strewn everywhere. There were at least forty men fighting, which meant that even if every one of Alexander's men was still alive, he was outnumbered. Now Terence could make out a cluster of mounted warriors in Greek armor, fighting together, with discipline. A knight in unfamiliar armor separated from the fray and tried to circle around, behind the Greeks. Terence fired his first arrow, and the knight jerked in the saddle and fell.

  For the next few minutes, Terence shot arrow after arrow, as fast as he could. Knights and foot soldiers began dropping. Two knights identified where the hail of arrows was coming from and charged Terence, who calmly dropped both before they had gone a half-dozen steps. His marksmanship with a longbow was as legendary as his skill in the woods. The count's men reeled in confusion, and Alexander gave a ringing shout and pressed his attack. The line fell back and collapsed, and then the count's men turned and fled, with Alexander and his men—only about seven now—in full pursuit. Terence was down to only three arrows, but he kicked his horse into a gallop and followed. A drumming of hooves behind him caught his attention, and he looked over his shoulder. It was Mordred, joining the fray now as well.

  Ten minutes later, it was over. The last of the count's men either had surrendered or was lying on the ground. Terence rode up to the emperor. "Well fought, Your Highness!" he exclaimed with feeling. "If Arthur wins this day, he will have you to thank!"

  A tall knight approached and removed his visored helm. It was Acoriondes. "Sir, let me take some men back to find our fallen," he begged.

  "In time," Alexander said. His eyes were bright and red. "This battle is not finished. These men must have crossed the river around that bend, yes? There must be a boat there."

  Acoriondes looked startled. "You want to ... you want to cross and attack the castle? But we have only six men left."

  Alexander grinned wildly. "Change armor!"

  Acoriondes blinked. "Change ... you mean exchange armor with some of the dead?"

  "They will let us in the castle gates."