Sword of the Rightful King (14 page)

“Now, my good Orkney prince, I want you well,” Arthur said, his voice floating back to all of them. “It is important.” He halted and turned. “I will be calling the Companions together shortly. We meet in six days around the Round Table. I expect you, Gawaine, and all of your brothers, to be there.”

“I will,” Agravaine answered, as if Arthur had spoken only to him.

I will be there, too
, Gawaine thought grumpily,
in my regular place
.

If Arthur noticed the sulkiness of Gawaine's face, he did not respond to it. Instead he said suddenly, “And Gawaine, I am going deer hunting this afternoon. Will you attend me?”

Gawaine's jaw dropped. An invitation was the last thing he had expected.

“Well?” Arthur stood with his hands on his hips.

Gawaine shut his jaw forcefully.

Arthur waited, none too patiently.

At last Gawaine spoke. “I... I will, sire.” And then with real enthusiasm added, “Oh, I will.”

 

L
ATER, IN THE
throne room, the king was besieged by those he loved best.

“Are you mad?” Merlinnus asked, and Kay agreed with him.

Arthur gave a short, sharp bark of a laugh. “No. I think not.”

Kay leaned over the throne and said hoarsely, “But we know his mother has sent an assassin. To go off alone with him, out of the castle, is the very definition of madness.”

More quietly, Gawen spoke, and the king had to lean close to hear. “I know Gawaine, sire. From... another time. And place.”

Arthur's eyes became steely. “Yes?”

“And he is not to be trusted.”

Sitting back against the throne, Arthur said, “Well, I know him from
this
time and place. And I trust him. I rather think if any of the boys is the problem, it is Agravaine.”

“But you are not certain,” Kay cautioned.

Arthur nodded. “I am not certain.”

“But sire—” Gawen tried again.

Arthur cut him off with a movement of his hand. “I said I was not certain. And I am no fool. Gawaine does not know that I know about his mothers plans. I will be on the alert.” He ran his hands through his hair.

“You
must
be mad,” Kay said, trembling.

“Very,” Merlinnus agreed.

“Damn it!” Arthur said, slamming his fist down on the arm of the throne. “Do you three think so little of my skills? I am twice the fighter Gawaine is. He is a boy and I a man. I will be on my guard and he will not. What better way to find out his mind than by taking him far from all that might influence him here? Just the two of us in the woods and on the lea. Two companions hunting.”

“Let me at least bespell—” Merlinnus began.

Arthur stood. “No spells. No soldiers. And most of all”—he walked down the steps of the throne and away from them, turning his head at the last to call back to them—“no more discussion.” Then he strode out of the hall, the white brachet at his heels.

Merlinnus and Kay stood for a long while in silence, but Gawen could not keep still.

“Magister, we must do something. Truly.” Merlinnus would not look at Gawen. “Sir Kay?”

Finally the mage said, “Soldiers, definitely, but far enough away so that he is not aware of them.”

“I agree,” Kay said, his fingers toying with his mustache.

“I count on you, Kay,” Merlinnus said.

Kay pursed his lips solemnly. “I will not fail you, Magister.”

“You never do,” Merlinnus said, patting Kay on the shoulder, though he'd said the exact opposite of what he was thinking.

Gawen breathed a deep sigh of relief.

19

G
AWAINE MET
the king at the portcullis. Both were in their leather hunting costumes and, except for Arthur's great ruby ring, the signet of power, neither wore any jewelry.

Arthur sat upon a white horse named Boudicca and Gawaine on a grey called Hag. Each had a short sword at his side, the flat pommels covered with horn, and a five-foot Saxon yew bow slung across his back. A quiver of arrows hung on each mans belt. Capering around Boudicca's legs, as spirited as a pup, the white brachet hound had taken on new life.

Before they could leave, Kay raced across the forecourt, calling out and breathing hard as he ran. “Arthur!” he cried. When he caught up to them, he put a hand on Arthur's knee.

Arthur looked down and shook his head. “I
am
going, you know.”

“Then take care,” Kay said quietly, so Gawaine should not hear.

“You are like an old man, startling at shadows,” Arthur whispered back. “Now let me go.”

“Keep an eye on the boy,” Kay said. “If he makes so much as a move toward—”

“Do not teach me how to protect myself,” Arthur said. He pushed Kays hand from his knee and turned to Gawaine. “Are we ready?”

Gawaine grinned, unaware of Kay's worries. “Ready, my lord.”

Arthur kicked the horse with his heels and pulled back so hard on the reins, Boudicca rose up on her hind legs. The movement sent Kay scuttling away.

The brachet raced ahead of them as first Gawaine, and then Arthur, rode out under the portcullis, across the road, and up the small rise that led to the forest.

As soon as they were out of hearing, Kay called, “Guards!” Suddenly there were six guards on horseback, all well armed and armored, by his side. “Do not let them get too far, but do not let them see you, either.”

The men nodded.

Kay said again, “They
must
not see you. The king would be angry to know he is being spied upon.”

The leader of the small contingent looked down at Kay. “
Are
we spying on him, my lord?”

“You are keeping him safe,” Kay said.

“Safe from what?” the leader spoke softly. “If I may ask such?”

“From assassins,” Kay said grimly. “Sent by the North Witch.”

“Lord Gawaine?”

Kay put a finger to his nose and nodded, but did not speak Gawaine's name aloud.

The guards waited until Arthur and Gawaine were over the hump of the hill, and then Kay sent them on, thinking,
I have done what Merlinnus asked. But is it enough?

The question so worried him, he went back inside the tower. There he belted on his own sword, grabbed up a bow and quiver of newly fletched arrows—though he was never that good a shot—then came out again, saddled his brown mare, and went after the men.

 

T
HE AFTERNOON
was one of those glorious springtides, with a blue slate of sky, and birds singing on almost every branch. Both Arthur and Gawaine found themselves grinning much of the time they rode, like boys let off from lessons.

When they entered the forest, not far from where Merlinnus had his favorite oak, Arthur pulled Boudicca to a halt.

“We may be followed,” he said to Gawaine. “Followed, my lord?” There were light worry lines on Gawaine's forehead as he frowned.

“Kay has an overweening sense of protection.”

“What is he protecting you from, my lord?”

Arthur laughed. “From life!”

The boy laughed as well.

“So here is what I plan to do,” Arthur said, leaning forward and whispering low enough that Gawaine had to lean in to hear him. “We shall go through this small forest...” He used his forefinger to draw a map in the air. “Then plunge into the river, ride downstream about a hundred yards, come back out, and race away about a hundred more yards, where there is a second stream. There, we go into that one and then immediately back the horses all the way to the river again, where we will go on another hundred yards, coming out the other side.”

“Covering our own tracks, my lord?” Now Gawaine's face was bright with enthusiasm.

“Exactly. It should fuddle them for a bit while we get away.”

“‘Them'?”

“My bodyguards.” Arthur grinned again. “Are you game?”

In answer Gawaine gave two sharp kicks to his grey, and sped off toward the river.

Arthur was taken by surprise. “Hoy!” he cried out, then clapping his heels to Boudicca's side, he quickly followed after. The little brachet, tongue lolling, went, too.

 

T
HEY RODE EXACTLY
as Arthur had outlined and within an hour had left their keepers far behind. Cresting a hill, they found themselves at the edge of a high, grassy meadow rimmed with patches of
guildes
, that corn yellow flower also called gillyflower.

There on the far edge was a doe and her fawn.

They reined in the horses and dismounted, and Arthur patted his leg so that the brachet came to him.

“Guard!” he said sternly, and the dog stood at attention, keeping an eye on the grey and white mares.

“How shall we take them?” Gawaine asked.

“Never take a doe with her fawn,” Arthur said sternly. “Is that what passes for hunting in the Orkneys?”

“Well...” Gawaine's face took on a sulky, hurt look.

“There will be a stag nearby. I am sure of it.” Arthur wet his finger and held it up to the air to test the direction of the wind, then made a contented sound. He pointed. Closer to them, head up and already alarmed, was a large buck with a wonderful set of antlers. By his side was a second doe, as wary as her mate.

Arthur dropped at once to his belly, and Gawaine followed suit. Then they began to crawl under the shelter of new bracken and leafy trees, till they were close enough for an arrow to have a chance.

When they stood, both does and the fawn were gone, but the buck was still staring out, to where the horses were grazing unconcernedly.

Nocking their arrows swiftly, Arthur and Gawaine pulled back the bowstrings and let fly at the same time. Both hit the stag, one high on the shoulder, one in the neck, and he fell heavily to his knees.

“Well done!” Gawaine cried even as Arthur was sending another arrow toward the staggered buck. It hit him in the eye, and the creature fell over onto his side, silently, like a mountain crumbling.

With a whoop, Arthur raced across the meadow to the deer, bent down, and slit the dying bucks throat to save it further pain. When he looked up, Gawaine was racing toward him, his bow missing, but his sword held high.

“What...?” Arthur hurriedly stood, furious that he should have so misjudged the boy, his mother, the times. He put his now bloody hand to his own sword and was just bringing it up when Gawaine swept by him and, with a yell, swung his blade at a masked man dressed all in black who—with five others—had come out of the trees, attempting to encircle the king.

The ferocity of Gawaine's attack surprised the lead man, and he was already down on his knees with Gawaine's blade in his bowels.

Arthur wiped his sword hand quickly on his tunic so that it was not slippery with stag's blood. Then he gripped the hilt of the sword with both hands and plowed into the muddle of masked men, with a battle cry loud enough that the brachet left off guarding the horses and ran to her master's side.

With his first blow, Arthur struck off one of his attackers' arms and hacked halfway through the knee of another.

That left three men standing against two.

“To me!” Arthur cried, and Gawaine turned.

“Yes, my lord!” He ran to Arthur.

They placed themselves back-to-back and, with the brachet harrying the three men who were left, Arthur and Gawaine made swift work of them for, though they were outnumbered, the king and prince were well trained at this sort of bloody work.

But one assassin, as he died, gutted the little hound with his blade. She collapsed to the ground with an awful howl that went on and on and on.

Arthur knelt beside the brachet and picked her up tenderly. Her intestines, hot and bloody and tangled, spilled out across his arms.

“Na, na!” the king crooned, weeping, holding the dog as if she were a baby, rocking her to his chest. The dog shuddered and whimpered. “Na, na. Go gentle, my angel, my lovely, my pet.”

The brachet looked up at him, eyes glazing over. Arthur took out his knife, still red with stags blood, and drew the blade quickly across her throat.

When he looked up again, Gawaine was standing above him, holding something out to him. It took him a moment to realize that the thing was a mans head, caught up by its hair.

“This is the one that killed your brachet, sire. Do you want the rest?” Gawaine was painted in blood, his blond hair matted with it. He gestured to the side. All six bodies lay separated from their heads. The ground was soaked with their blood.

Standing, Arthur said none too gently, “I am more Roman than Celt, Gwalchmei. We do not take heads here.”

Gawaine dropped the terrible thing on the ground and squatted down beside it. Then he turned his face aside and vomited into the grass.

Still holding the dead dog, Arthur came over and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. “First kill?” he asked gently.

Gawaine nodded.

“It never gets easier,” said Arthur. “But it never gets harder, either.”

Just then there was a sound of horses' hooves.
Arthur set the dog down carefully and stood again, his sword at the ready.

Wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Gawaine stood up as well and stared at the force barreling toward them. He shuddered and whispered, “Too late.”

Arthur nodded. “We shouldn't have done such a good job losing them.” He waved to his guards, who came galloping across the meadow to his side.

“Sire,” the captain said, saluting him. “We caught these two with your horses.”

There were two men, tied with the binding of the three narrows—wrists, ankles, knees—slung over Gawaine's grey mare. One was an older man with touches of grey in his close-cropped hair, the other hardly out of childhood.

“Good work,” Arthur said, suddenly aware that he and Gawaine were both covered in blood. “If someone will gut that deer, and bring it back to the castle, you and your men will have venison with me tonight.” He picked up his dog, wrapped her gently in his cloak, and mounted Boudicca. Gawaine got on behind the captain. Then, leaving four men to bring in the deer and the corpses, they rode swiftly and directly for home.