The Legend of the King

by Gerald Morris

"Didn't you hear me, boy?" Gareth snapped. Terence sighed, remembering again why he had never really liked Gareth, who was several years younger than he. He glanced helplessly at the stables and, to his relief, saw that the head groom was coming to his rescue.

  "Please, Sir Terence, allow me to take that horse from you," Jem said, bowing low before Terence.

  "Thank you, Jem," Terence said, with feeling. He handed over Gareth's reins.

  "You, boy! What did you call Terence?"

  "Sir Terence, you mean?" replied Jem, bowing to Gareth, but much less deeply than he had to Terence.

  Terence cleared his throat. "You wouldn't have heard yet, Sir Gareth, but I was knighted by the king three weeks ago."

  "You? Knighted by the king?"

  "Yes," Terence said.

  Gareth looked stormy. "And that's the state of our society now!" he grumbled. "Servants made knights—without noble blood either! It's all of a piece. True noblemen are scorned, lackeys are honored, wives betray their husbands, princes are scoundrels. And the king lets it all happen! I'm glad I was knighted by Sir Lancelot and not the king! I need a drink!"

  He stomped across the courtyard, trailing clouds of ill humor. Terence grinned at Jem. "You came just in time, Jem. I didn't have a notion what to do."

  Jem grinned back. As the oldest servant at Camelot, he had lost all awe for the dignity of knighthood. "You're still new at this, Sir Terence, lad. If you want to fit in with other knights, you'll have to learn to look scornful and puff off your consequence a bit. You might start by calling me 'boy,' the way Sir Gareth does. Treat me like dirt a bit, see?"

  "Yes, sir," Terence replied. "Thank you for the advice, sir."

  Jem chuckled. "Ah, you're a right one, you are."

  Terence dug a sovereign from his pocket and tossed it to Jem. "I've a notion that Gareth will forget to give you anything for seeing to his horse."

  "No reason you should pay me, though," Jem protested.

  "If it makes you feel any better, I'll take a sovereign from his purse next time I find him drunk. From the way he headed toward the tap, it shouldn't be long."

  "Ah, if that's the case, make it two sovereigns. Sir Gareth's a generous chap, you know."

  Terence lifted his nose and frowned. "Shame on thee for thy greed, boy!"

  Jem snorted. "Knights! All alike, they are."

  Terence's prediction as to Gareth's future drunkenness was nearly fulfilled already by the time he and Gawain walked by the castle alehouse on their way to the council. Gareth was still conscious, but he had already passed the rollicking stage of inebriation and was staring gloomily into his drink. Beside him, in a similar state, sat Gawain's third brother, Agrivaine, and two cousins named Florence and Lovel. Gawain stopped by the table. "Almost a family reunion, I see. Hello, Gareth. Good to see you again."

  Gareth looked up blearily and said, "'Lo, G'wain. Have a drink wi' us."

  "Can't right now. Arthur's waiting."

  "Oh, important king's business," sneered Agrivaine. "Well, you hop to it, like the royal lap dog you are! Can I lick your shoe, your 'ighness? Can I kiss your—"

  "Shut up, Agrivaine," Gawain said mildly. "If you can't hold it, don't drink it. I'll see you later, Gareth." He nodded to Florence, who hiccuped, and Lovel, who didn't seem to notice, then moved on.

  A few minutes later, Gawain and Terence tapped lightly on the door to the king's council room, then entered. The king, Kai, and Sir Lancelot were already there, in their usual seats. Gawain moved to his chair, and without thinking Terence took his usual standing position behind Gawain. King Arthur said, "Gawain, Terence, welcome. Terence? Please. Why don't you sit in Bedivere's chair?"

  Terence nodded somberly and sat in the chair that had always been occupied by the good knight Bedivere, murdered the year before. It was Terence's first council meeting since Bedivere's death. There was a long silence; at last the king said, "We shall miss him. But now we must take counsel. Kai?"

  Kai nodded. His face, always forbidding, was grimmer than usual. "Over the past year, as you know, Arthur has established a web of watchers, mostly lesser nobles who are loyal to him, giving them instructions to report any unusual activity."

  Terence didn't know this, having recently returned to England from several months on the Continent, but he nodded. It was a sensible plan. Even before Terence had left, there had been rumblings of rebellion and one brief uprising. That revolt had been swiftly quelled, but there had been hints that other rebels were waiting their turn.

  "Last night a runner came from Cornwall, and this morning another from Scotland. Both report armies of rebels being mustered."

  "In Cornwall and Scotland?" Gawain asked. Cornwall was as far southwest as one could go in England, and Scotland was at the extreme north. "Two unrelated rebellions at the same time?"

  "They aren't unrelated, Gawain," King Arthur said. "Both runners say that the armies call themselves the White Horsemen and rally under the same banner: a white horse treading on a crown."

  "The White Horsemen?" Gawain repeated.

  "I think it's from the Apocalypse," Terence said. "I forget what the white horse represents, though."

  Without expression, King Arthur said, "I had one of the clerks copy it out in English. The part you're thinking of says, 'When the Lamb opened one of the seven seals, I heard one of the four living things say, "Come!" And I saw a white horse, and its rider carried a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.'"

  "Ah," Gawain muttered. "I see."

  "Not so hard to interpret, is it? A conqueror trampling on one crown and receiving another. The runner from Cornwall said that the leader of the White Horsemen was a pale young man in golden armor." Terence shook his head, and the king explained, "While you were in Greece, Mordred started wearing armor like that."

  Gawain shook his head. "Mordred's been gone less than a month. He could never have raised an army so quickly."

  "The armies may have been raised by then," Arthur said. "Whatever Mordred and his mother have planned they've been planning for a long time."

  The room was silent for a long moment as each man pondered the news. At last Kai spoke. "So we have Mordred raising an army in the southwest and someone else raising another in the far north under his banner. We can only guess that they plan to move together and meet at the center."

  "If that is so," Lancelot said, "then we must keep them from meeting—fight the armies one at a time. Which force is nearer?"

  "How far north did the runner say the White Horsemen were?" Gawain asked.

  King Arthur met his eyes. "Not far from your lands. He said there were even reports of horsemen in Orkney."

  Gawain's face tightened. His father had been King Lot of Orkney, and Gawain's inheritance covered much of the land in the farthest north. Those lands were managed for Gawain by his next-youngest and best-loved brother, Gaheris. "Has there been any fighting?" Gawain asked.

  "None that we've heard."

  Gawain nodded, and Kai said, "That's at least twice as far as Cornwall. We should strike Mordred in the south, and at once."

  "Without knowing how large his force is?" the king asked mildly. "I am reluctant to leave Camelot undefended without knowing more. Furthermore, I am concerned about the east."

  "The east?" Kai repeated.

  "We've had no runners, no news, no reports of any sort from our watchers in the east. If you were raising armies at the extreme ends of England so as to bring them together in the middle, wouldn't you be raising one in Essex, too?"

  "Yes," Terence said quietly. "I might even allow reports of rebellion in Cornwall to reach you, hoping you might leave Camelot undefended. Then I would attack from the east."

  "That's rather what I was thinking," Arthur admitted.

  "So what do we do? Just sit here?" Kai demanded.

  "We need to know more. We need to know what's really going on in the north, and whether there really are rebels in the south."

  "We could ask Gar
eth," Gawain said suddenly.

  "Sir Gareth?" the king replied.

  "He's in Camelot," Gawain explained. "Just arrived today from Cornwall. He may have heard something."

  "You'll have to ask fast, though," Terence added. "He's down at the alehouse, and by the look of him, he won't be coherent for long."

  King Arthur pursed his lips, then said, "You mustn't think that I don't value your brother, Gawain. I do. He's a remarkable swordsman and a man of honor. But I must admit that even when Gareth is sober, I've never found him entirely coherent. We should see what he knows, of course, but I'd rather have a more trustworthy source of information."

  "Like what?" Terence asked.

  "Like you, Terence," the king replied. "I want you to go to Cornwall, alone, and find out if Mordred's there and if so what he's up to."

  "Alone?" Gawain demanded. "One man against an army? I could go with—"

  "I'm not sending him to fight," King Arthur interrupted. "I'm sending him to get near and observe, and you can't deny that he can do that better alone than with you. Besides, I'm sending you north. Go home. Check on Gaheris and Lynet. See to their safety, find out what you can, then come back—as quickly as possible."

  Terence met Gawain's eyes, and the friends exchanged a rueful grin. Here was another drawback to Terence's elevation to the knighthood; Arthur had never sent them on separate missions before. Arthur began discussing with Kai and Lancelot measures for mustering their armies. When all had their assignments, the council broke up, and Terence walked with Gawain and Lancelot down the stairs to the main court. Gawain nodded toward the alehouse and said, "Buy you both a drink before we separate tomorrow?"

  The three knights entered the taproom and, as one, stopped and stared at the scene of disarray before them. Tables and chairs lay scattered about, some on their sides, others broken into pieces. At the heart of the wreckage stood Gareth, waving his sword wildly about his head.

  "Who's neksht?" Gareth slurred. "Anyone elshe wanna defend fair womanhood?"

  "What's going on here?" Gawain demanded.

  A knight who had been leaning nonchalantly against the wall stepped forward. "Ah, good afternoon, Sir Gawain."

  Gawain squinted at the knight, his eyes growing accustomed to the shadows. "Mador, is that you?" Terence recognized Sir Mador de la Porte, a knight of the Round Table who seldom visited Camelot.

  "At your service," Sir Mador replied. He gestured at Gareth with his chin and said, "Sir Gareth took offense at something that someone said in praise of women," he explained.

  "Nothing but shtrumpetsh, all of them!" Gareth shouted, waving his sword again.

  Gawain rolled his eyes. "Have a spat with Lyonesse, Gareth?"

  Gareth kicked a table and brought his sword down on a wooden chair, smashing it to bits. A chair leg rolled across the room and stopped at Terence's feet. "Lyoneshe!" Gareth roared. "Never menshion that name again! I don't wanna hear about Lyoneshe! Acting like she loves me! Promishing to be faithful to me! Faithful! Ha!"

  "Go sleep it off," Gawain said scornfully. "Where's Agrivaine?"

  Agrivaine's bleary eyes peeked out from behind an overturned table, then disappeared again. Surveying the room, Terence saw a foot protruding from another pile of overturned furniture and concluded that either Florence or Lovel or both were there.

  "You are drunk, Sir Gareth," Lancelot said sternly. "But even drunkenness is no excuse for speaking slightingly of women. You are a knight of the Round Table, sworn to protect them!"

  "Like bleeding Mordred, you mean?" Gareth snapped. "He's a knight of the Round Table, isn't he? So whash he doing running off wi' my wife? Tell me that, Shir Lansheshnot!"

  "What?" Gawain demanded. "You say that Lyonesse has run off with Mordred?"

  "Had a fanshy to be queen, she did," Gareth snapped scornfully. "Onshe Mordred takes the throne."

  "So Mordred is in Cornwall," Terence murmured to Gawain.

  Gawain nodded. "All right, Gareth. It's beddy-bye time."

  Gawain stepped forward, and Gareth swung his sword at his brother. There was no doubting the lethal intent of the blow, nor could Terence tell that Gareth's drunken state had slowed him down. It took all Gawain's quickness and instinct to step out of the way of the slashing blow. Gawain stepped back. "Gareth! I'm unarmed!" he snapped. "Plus, I'm your brother, thimblewit!"

  "Sho's bleeding Mordred, isn't he!" Gareth snapped.

  This was true. Mordred was the illegitimate son of King Arthur and his greatest enemy—Gawain's mother, Morgause the Enchantress. Disguised by enchantment, she had seduced the king years before, then raised the resulting child in pure hatred of his father. It was when Terence had revealed that information at the court three weeks before that Mordred had fled Camelot and Terence had been knighted.

  "Oh, so Agrivaine told you about that, did he?" muttered Gawain. "Thought you needed to be stirred up a little more, I suppose. Helpful chap, our Agrivaine."

  "No, that fellow told me," Gareth said, waving his sword at Mador.

  "I'm afraid I did mention it," Sir Mador said with an apologetic smile. "I thought everyone knew by now."

  "So my bleeding wife runs off with my bleeding half-brother! Shows jusht what women are like! All of them are falshe, and anyone who says different can tashte my blade!"

  Gawain started forward again, but Lancelot stopped him with an arm. "Let me try. Gareth and I have ever been friends."

  "You don't have a sword either," Gawain pointed out.

  "Perhaps I won't need one," Lancelot replied.

  Sir Mador cleared his throat. "I hope not," he said. "But I would feel better if you had one anyway. Here: take mine." Sir Mador drew his sword and tossed it hilt first to Lancelot. Terence frowned thoughtfully at Sir Mador, unsure whether the knight meant to calm matters or stir them up.

  Lancelot strode forward. "I deny that all women are false, Sir Gareth. Further, I deny that you are competent to speak on that or on any other subject. You are drunk. Put down that sword."

  In answer, Gareth swung a mighty blow at Lancelot, who parried it easily. Gareth attacked again, then swung three times in lightning sequence. Lancelot deflected each blow with ease. Gareth uttered a muffled oath, then lunged forward, missing Lancelot, who had stepped nimbly to one side, and swung blindly behind him. Lancelot stopped Gareth's swing with his blade, then shifted position quickly and brought the haft of his borrowed sword down on Gareth's wrist. Gareth's sword clattered to the floor. Lancelot kicked it away, then stepped back.

  "Now, Sir Gareth. Go to bed. I am sorry for your own loss, but one woman's betrayal does not mean that all women are false."

  Gareth's face twisted in fury, and he screamed, "No? Then what about Guinevere?"

  Terence caught his breath and sensed Gawain and Lancelot stiffening as well.

  "Be quiet, you ass," Gawain snapped.

  "I will not be quiet!" shrieked Gareth, nearly frothing at the mouth. "Why won't anyone say it aloud? Everyone knows that the queen and Lanshelot were lovers! Everyone knows that she betrayed her husband, and Lanshelot betrayed his king! Why do you think Arthur turned to Mother? Because his own wife was falshe! The queen is a looshe woman, and you, Lanshelot! The one I always looked up to! You made her that way! I hate you! I hate the queen! I hate Arthur! I hate Lyoneshe! I hate everyone here!"

  "Shut him up!" Gawain roared to Lancelot.

  "What do you want me to do?" Lancelot shouted back. "I can't hit an unarmed drunk!"

  Stooping, Terence picked up the chair leg at his feet, then stepped forward soundlessly and hit Gareth from behind, just beneath his right ear. Gareth dropped to the floor with a thud, and the taproom was silent.

  "I can," Terence said.

  Gareth would have the devil of a headache the next day, Terence reflected, but he was going to have that anyway, so Terence didn't give his clubbing a second thought. Unfortunately, Gareth's tirade was going to result in an even greater hangover for the court. By whatever magic it was that drew people instinctive
ly to fights, most of the nobles at Camelot had been present when Gareth shouted his accusations about Queen Guinevere and Lancelot.

  That was bad enough. Even worse, though, was the fact that Gareth's accusations were true. More than twenty years earlier, after Lancelot had arrived at court, he and the queen had begun an affair that had lasted several years. They had broken it off, and Lancelot had left the court, for years living alone in the forest. Since his return, neither he nor the queen had given rise to a breath of scandal, and as time passed even the old rumors had faded from the court's memory. But Gareth's anguished tirade in the taproom had flung open the lid of Pandora's box, and by morning everyone was discussing the queen's affair with her husband's most celebrated knight, talking of it as if it had been just yesterday—even speculating as to whether it was still going on.

  The queen chose to pretend that nothing had happened, continuing with her usual morning routine in silence, but no one looking at her pale, strained face doubted that she was furious. Lancelot looked grim, Kai thunderous, and King Arthur very tired.

  "What do you think, lad?" Gawain said as they went together to the throne room to take their leave of the king. "Do you think we ought to leave with things in this state?"

  "I don't know what we could do if we stayed," Terence said, but he nevertheless shared Gawain's reluctance to go.

  "I know," Gawain replied. "But I can't help feeling strange about it, as if things were falling apart around us. I feel as if we ought to be here to hold things together."

  "If I thought we could..." Terence said, half to himself.

  But the king himself had no doubts. Terence and Gawain were to go on their separate missions, and without further delay. "There is nothing to be done about rumors. They live until the next one replaces them. It is painful now, for a while, but rumors will not overthrow a kingdom. An army might. Go, and God be with you both."

  And so it was that Terence and Gawain rode out of the gates of Camelot together. At the edge of the forest, where their paths split, one road going to the north and the other to the south, Terence stopped and looked back at the towering battlements of Arthur's seat. "Do you remember when we first saw that castle together?"