Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights

by Liam Perrin

"But it's kind of, I don't know, demeaning isn't it?"

  "What? You didn't think you'd sit right down at the Round Table did you?"

  "Well, no, but, aren't there other, you know, more valued tables?"

  "Of course," said Philip, "there's the Knights of the Watch, but we’ve got a long way to go before we're considered for that kind of duty. Bane maybe. But not people like us. Then there's the Queen's Knights and the Errant Companions, but those are more like special assignments."

  "Huh," said Thomas. "So how do we know which, you know, order we're in? For sure I mean."

  "I'm telling you, we're Less Valued. That's just the way it is."

  "Fight!" said Ox.

  "Whoa," said Philip. "Let's all take a deep breath, eh?"

  Ox shook his head and pointed at the wall, "We fight!" He grinned, "See?"

  A big white sign with simple black letters and a picture of two knights fighting hung on the wall where Ox indicated. It read:

  Table Tryouts

  Monday, Dawn

  South Field

  They took it all in.

  "We fight?" said Thomas.

  "We fight," said Philip.

  "We fight!" agreed Ox grinning broadly.

  "That's tomorrow," said Dedric.

  "Every day is another day's yesterday," said Edgar the Erstwhile. They all looked at him. "I'm just sayin'," he apologized.

  §

  Thomas and Philip spent the night in a grove of trees outside the city walls. A stretch of lush green grass ran down from the city walls to a clear stream flowing between hills flowered yellow and, further out, forested with thick old oaks and maples. Butterflies flitted about haphazardly and birds sang to each other merrily about things like cats and where to find the best worms and who had the best nest. The evening was comfortably cool and required no fire. A magnificent expanse of stars spread out overhead as night deepened, and every so often a shooting star arced across the heavens. Lying on his back amidst it all, the sum of all this wondrous natural beauty had absolutely no effect on Thomas whatsoever.

  "Knights," sighed Philip. "We’re knights, Thomas!"

  "I know. It's hard to forget with you continually reminding me." A ray of light that had left its home on a nearby star and traveled eight years to reach him found Thomas's eye and twinkled in it happily. Thomas pointedly ignored it.

  Philip propped himself up on one arm. "Don't worry about tomorrow, Thomas. Like my dad always says, 'Tomorrow will take care of itself.'"

  "Yeah? My dad always said, 'Thomas, tomorrow is a three-legged dog. It doesn't have to lift its leg, so you never know if it's going to pee or roll over.'"

  Philip mulled that over.

  Thomas said, "He meant you can't count on things going well or things going poorly, just that they will, inevitably, go."

  Philip said, "That's depressing."

  Thomas shrugged, "It's practical."

  Philip said, "It's practically morose is what it is. You won't get anywhere thinking like that. The world isn't entirely out of your control."

  "Isn't it?"

  "No, it isn't," Philip insisted. "Just look at the way you played that room with your sword. Yo ho ho! Ha! That was great."

  "That did work out alright there didn't it?" A smile visited Thomas briefly, then faded again. "But The Hesitant? What kind of epi...?"

  "Epithet," said Philip.

  Thomas rolled his eyes. "What kind of title is that?"

  "Seriously, it's not that bad. You were about to be Sir Thomas the Magnificently Mulletted," Philip chuckled. "Or worse. My dad told me of a guy once – Sir Ulfus the Unwilling. For honor's sake, he was only able to do things that he didn't want to do. 'Want to shine our armor for us Ulfus? Want to get us some sandwiches Ulfus? Want to take on those thirty bandits by yourself Ulfus?' they'd ask him. 'Not really,' he'd say and off he was obliged to go, shining armor or making sandwiches or fighting bandits. Finally one day he snapped. He went down to the Fine Pickle and just started eating ice cream. His wife, whom he detested and who had been the last person he'd wanted to marry, found him and started yelling at him, making a big scene right there saying they'd throw him out of court, revoke his knighthood. He told her they could take his knighthood and stuff it somewhere. He didn't want it anymore. Which, of course, just made him all the more Unwilling. The more he rebelled, the more everyone loved him. It got so he couldn't even enjoy the things he once liked."

  Philip stopped. "I think I've lost my point," he said.

  Thomas waited a minute, wrestling with himself. Philip was cheering him up and he wasn't sure he wanted to be. He sighed. "You were saying things could be worse."

  "Oh right," Philip resumed. "Take me for example. I'm likely to have something quite dreadful happen tomorrow, being so unlucky and all. But I'm looking forward to it. Know why?"

  "No," said Thomas. "Why?"

  There was a glint in Philip's eye. "Because when we walk out on the field tomorrow, with Gawain and Pellinore and all the rest, we're all knights Thomas! They might be the superstars, but we're all part of the team. And we can all make a difference."

  They were both quiet for a while.

  "I wonder how Bane did," said Thomas.

  "Oh, I'm sure he did just fine."

  "I didn't see him in queue at all."

  "Well, really, the whole point of being a person of privilege is to, you know, have privileges."

  "Must be nice."

  "Mmm."

  Another flaming rock committed suicide by velocity in the night sky.

  "Wonder what epithet he got," Philip pondered.

  "Bane the Privileged," suggested Thomas.

  "Bane the Obnoxious is more like it," said Philip.

  "Bane the Appropriately Named."

  They laughed. "There you go," said Philip.

  Time passed and Thomas's thoughts drifted to his family in the cottage back in Fogbottom and his brother locked away in the Baron's keep. He hoped he was following the right path, but from where he sat now, he didn't see how being a member of the Table of Less Valued Knights was going to help anyone. If Philip was right, there was little chance of becoming much more unless something absolutely spectacular happened tomorrow. If he'd made the wrong choice, if he’d just asked for William's pardon like his father had wanted...

  He rolled on his side to tell Philip how he came to be in Camelot in the first place, but Philip was fast asleep. Thomas rolled onto his back again to stare at the sky.

  Some time later, he drifted off watching meteorites incinerate themselves gloriously to the shimmering applause of incomprehensibly well-traveled starlight. On a neighboring hill, a pair of unblinking, pale grey eyes watched him sleep.

  §

  Trumpets blared. Crowds cheered. Banners flapped in a steady breeze. Thomas and Philip stood in a group of newly minted knights at the edge of Camelot's South Field. Arthur and Guinevere had just arrived and made their way to a specially constructed covered section among the bleachers. With them was the usual entourage of Kay, Bedivere, and Guinevere's Ladies including The Girl.

  "I've got to find out her name," muttered Thomas.

  Shortly after they were settled, three more figures entered and were seated with them. One appeared to be a king, though older and not quite as richly ornamented as Arthur, and with him, a young knight. Several people greeted this other king warmly, but the object of the crowd's main concern was the woman with them. Tall and imposing, she swished around in long, heavy black robes. Only her face and hands were exposed. Her porcelain white skin and her long, deep black hair formed a disturbing kind of beautiful. An intricate, bone white crown finished the picture. She moved with an unnatural grace and exuded the kind of seductive charm that inspires tragic fairy tales. Thomas found himself thinking of a Venus flytrap he'd had in his room as a child.

  "Morgan," said Philip. "She's Arthur's half-sister." Philip pointed to the old man with Morgan. "King Uriens is okay, and their son Owain. Owain is probably trying out with us today. Bu
t stay away from Morgan if you can."

  He shivered.

  "Owain is trying out with us?" Thomas swallowed. "You mean we have to fight real knights?"

  "You are a real knight, Thomas. Look, what have they got that you haven't?"

  There was unmasked panic in Thomas's voice now, "Well, there's armor for one. Good armor. And training. And long, sharp blades, Philip, with points on the ends..."

  "Right. Good point, er, so to speak. Well, I'm sure they'll be handicapped somehow. Wouldn't be fair otherwise eh?"

  §

  Arthur stood, and the crowd quieted. Someone handed him a megaphone.

  "Welcome Ladies and Gentleman of every rank and flavor!"

  Guinevere giggled, and the crowd followed suit. Morgan looked severe.

  "In preparation for our forthcoming wedding, we've prepared a festival to determine the position and placement of Camelot's new knights!"

  One of Guinevere's ladies whispered something to The Girl who glanced briefly at Thomas, blushed and giggled behind her hand. Thomas suddenly felt very conspicuous.

  Arthur continued, "As you all know, Guinevere's father King Leo..."

  The crowd applauded, and an elderly King seated near Arthur's pavilion waved with both hands.

  "King Leo has graciously supplied us with the Round Table. The same table given to him by my father Uther Pendragon for safe-keeping. The table originally constructed by Merlin from sections of our Lord's table at his Last Supper."

  Merlin bowed.

  "Twelve of the kingdom's best knights will sit at this table with me as peers of the court!"

  The crowd erupted, and several of the more favored knights shifted their weight from foot to foot affecting self-conscious acceptance of the praise which they assumed, rightly, was for them. Gawain raised both arms above his head to wave at the crowd. The movement hiked his kilt up half an inch. The ladies cheered.

  "Sir Kay will lead that order, but it won't be filled today I'm afraid. Positions of such high honor must be granted only with the greatest care and consideration and shan't be settled with a simple contest. But there are two other orders we will fill by the end of the tournament: The Knights of the Watch, whose duties include, but are not limited to, observing and reporting on the states of all sorts of important things. And the Table of Less Valued Knights, who handle the various details that the others don't.

  "Sir Marrok, of course, leads the Watch..."

  The familiar-looking knight that Thomas had seen in Arthur's court stepped forward, gave a subtle bow of his head and stepped back. The crowd applauded. Arthur beamed.

  "And Sir Tuttle continues his competent work with the Less Valued."

  A small, thin knight pushed his way to the front and bowed. He was easily the most kempt man on the field. His armor was meticulously polished and blemish-free. He executed a perfect about-face and marched back into the nowhere from which he'd come.

  "Sirs Kay, Marrok, and Gawain–"

  The crowd exploded. Gawain was a favorite of favorites. It was impossible to say his name without setting the packs of girls who followed him into fits of giggles and hand-fluttering.

  When the crowd died down, Arthur continued, "Sirs Kay, Marrok, and Gawain will choose teams for the tournament and lead them through the events. In the end, each knight will be assigned to an order based on his team's performance and his personal contribution in said events."

  Even from where he stood, Thomas could see the crowd's eyes glazing over. Merlin, leaning against a bleacher to Arthur's left, actually snored.

  "Enough said," Arthur concluded and gave Merlin a swift kick. "Let the games begin!"

  Kay, Marrok, and Gawain took positions in the middle of the field. All three held rolled parchment that they unfurled dramatically. Marrok was the first to speak. He held up his scroll and read the first name, "I choose..." He looked straight at Thomas. "Sir Thomas the Hesitant."

  Somewhere in the crowd, Thomas heard Bane snicker.

  §

  The knights were split into three teams that then huddled in different corners of the field. Thomas, Philip, and Ox all landed on Marrok's team. Gawain chose, among others, his brother Agravain and his cousin Owain. Thomas thought he saw Dedric the Diplopian there too. Sir Kay chose some ringers like Bedivere and Pellinore, but for the most part, the teams looked like reasonably balanced mixes of veterans and rookies.

  When they'd gathered at their corners, each team was outfitted with colored tabards. Marrok's was green.

  "Philip," said Thomas, "I think I've figured out what they're using for a handicap."

  "What's that?"

  "Us."

  A half an hour later, Ox had an egg strapped on top of his head with a scarf, and Thomas was sitting on his shoulders wielding a trout.

  §

  The idea, basically, was to slay the dragon, storm the castle and rescue the fair maiden, armed, of course, with the fish. If the egg that was strapped to your base's head got smashed, you were both out.

  Marrok yelled, "For Camelot!" and led his team's charge toward a mass of encircled knights in red tabards, Gawain's team.

  The dragon, as it was, consisted of egg-headed, trout-wielding knights holding on to each other's shoulders and forming a protective circle around the dragon's head. The dragon's head was another knight rolling a wheelbarrow filled with small bundles of flour wrapped in cheesecloth. To be hit by one of these parcels that he periodically pitched meant instant elimination.

  Marrok's and Gawain's teams collided. Fish were flailed, eggs splattered, and when the flour settled, all of Thomas's team was covered in dust, dripping with goo, or both. The dragon roared with victory.

  "Two points to Gawain!" shouted Arthur through his megaphone. The crowd was on its feet cheering. "Alas, the damsel remains distressed." A young lady atop a pole in a barricaded square surrounded by evil trout-brandishing knights waved. She appeared to not be in the least bit distressed.

  Thomas had decided to keep his immediate goals small, measurable, and achievable. Having found himself to be alive and unharmed, he considered the round a success.

  §

  In the second round, Marrok's dragon put up a valiant effort, but Kay's team in their blue tabards eventually tore it apart. They took a systematic approach of knocking out knights on the dragon's perimeter one by one. They'd feign an attack on one side to draw the dragon's "fire", then rush the other. In the end, Bedivere chased down the last two dragon guards and the dragon head itself single-handedly. With their surgical precision, Kay lost not a single man to the dragon that day.

  Storming the castle was a different story. Gawain's team hurled great sacks of flour from their battlements that smote several of Kay's knights with each blast. Inside the barricade, dressed as the evil wizard of the keep, Gawain shouted, "Ye canna beat us, ye grrreat overgrown apes!" The ground, slick with smashed egg, gave no grip, and Kay's team was slaughtered to the man.

  "Two more points to Gawain," called Arthur. "Will no one save the fair maid Marie?"

  Lying on the field with the rest of the dragon carcass, Thomas took a closer look at the girl on the pole.

  "That's her," he said, poking Philip.

  "Who's her?" said Philip, "What?"

  "The girl on the pole, Philip. That's the girl form the procession." Thomas let his head fall back on the gooey lawn. "Marie..." he said and sighed.

  Philip picked himself up. "Well, let's keep her there then eh? It's our turn in the castle."

  A familiar voice said, "And it looks like it's time for you to choke and for me to rescue your girlfriend."

  Thomas was on his feet in a second, but Bane in his bright red tabard had already rejoined Gawain's team at midfield.

  "Of course he gets picked for Gawain's team," grumbled Philip.

  "Well, he's not going to be a hero today if I can help it," said Thomas.

  §

  Gawain's team divided itself, flanked Kay's dragon, and smashed it to pieces in one concussive strike. G
awain lost several men, but the dragon was out before the audience had even stopped applauding the start of the round.

  Gawain guffawed, "Ye didnae expect such a fearrrsome opponent didya Kay, ye enahrrrmuss stump?"

  Inside the barricade, Thomas had been nominated to play the role of the evil wizard. If Gawain's team broke through the defenses, all they needed to do was smash the egg strapped to Thomas's head and Marrok's whole team would be out. Thomas stood near Marie's tower, fumbling absent-mindedly with his own bucket of eggs. These had been dyed red and had "FIREBALL!" painted on several. He watched Gawain do a victory dance over the dead dragon, but his mind was focused some fifteen feet above his left shoulder.

  "He'll save me, you know."

  She spoke. Thomas was reasonably certain she was talking to him – he was the only one within earshot.

  It's a funny thing, Thomas would later tell Philip, but once you've had eggs smashed on you all day, and flour puffed at you, and then you've been stuffed in an old robe to pretend to be a wizard, and then let the egg dry so your skin is tight in patches and your hair is as stiff as a meringue, your worry about your self-image kind of bottoms out and you find yourself rather uninhibited.

  "Who?" said Thomas, "the man in the dress?" indicating Gawain who was now doing a jig of sorts around Kay's prone team.

  "That's a skirt," said Marie, "you're the one in the dress." And she giggled.

  Thomas thought it was the most wonderful sound he'd ever heard. If sounds were dreams, this one would be about someplace warm and sunny with nothing to do all day but to kick your feet in clear blue water.

  Thomas threw a fireball at her and she ducked just in time. It lobbed through the air and came down right on the head of Philip. Philip picked a fragment of red eggshell off his face then turned around slowly to glare at Thomas. Marie burst out laughing, then stopped when a fireball shattered against the side of her head, dripping goo down onto her shoulder.

  Then she laughed again and slipped right off the pole.

  CHAPTER XI

  The Black Knight

  "You look fine," said Philip for the dozenth time.

  "Are you sure?"