The Table of Less Valued Knights (7 page)

‘We’re never going to find him,’ she said.

‘You need to be patient. These things take time,’ said Humphrey, aware of how lame he sounded.

‘Sir Alistair and I should be getting married right now.’ Her throat was cramped with the effort of not crying in front of them. ‘Instead I’m cold and damp and I haven’t slept properly for two weeks, and I’m in dirty clothes, sitting in a field with a disgraced ex-knight and a miniature giant, and we’re no closer to finding out what happened to the man who is supposed to be my husband, and if we don’t find him soon I may as well die.’

She got up from the fireside and went into her tent, pulling the flap shut behind her. It wasn’t as effective as slamming a door, but the message was clear.

She barely said another word all day. When Humphrey fought his duel, against a woman this time, who had hair cropped short and a surprisingly deft way with a lance, Elaine didn’t even watch, but chose that moment to go and refill their water skins at a nearby well. Humphrey, distracted by her absence, lost concentration, allowing the female outlaw to knock him from his horse, much to the delight of Conrad and the gathered crowd.

That night, Elaine went to bed without any supper. Humphrey decided to turn in early too, after enduring a seemingly endless meal of uninspiring food – breakfast’s beans reheated, which were in turn last night’s beans reheated – and relentless mockery from his squire.

Several hours later, however, he surfaced queasily from the depths of sleep to find himself being shaken by a determined hand.

‘Careful,’ he groaned, as the hand was gripping the very spot on his shoulder where the lady miscreant’s lance had hit.

‘Shh,’ whispered the voice of his awakener.

Humphrey blinked in the darkness. The owner of the hand was Elaine.

‘What are you –’

‘Shh,’ she whispered again. ‘I think I heard something. Men. Near my tent.’

Humphrey nodded. He emerged swiftly from his bedroll, pulled on his boots and a tunic over his long underwear, and buckled a sword over the top.

They crept outside. There was no moon, but the stars were bright. Elaine’s long white nightgown, unlaced at the throat, stood out against the darkness.

‘Do you see anything?’ she said.

‘Not yet,’ said Humphrey, who had seen nothing other than Elaine.

‘It was coming from down the slope, near the river. I thought I heard voices.’

Humphrey set off towards the riverbank. Elaine followed him, catching up and slipping her hand into the crook of his arm. He felt the heat of it like a burn.

‘Over here?’ he whispered, his voice a little shaky.

‘I think so,’ Elaine replied, moving even closer to him as they approached the river, its water glinting under the constellations. Humphrey caught the scent from her hair. She appeared to be wearing perfume, which was strange for the middle of the night. His heart beat hard in his chest and he tried to keep his mind on the brigands who might lie in wait.

‘I’m so glad you’re here,’ Elaine said to him. ‘I feel safe with you.’

This stopped Humphrey for the slightest moment. There was something about the way Elaine said it that didn’t quite ring true. Then he decided he was being ridiculous. Why
shouldn’t she feel safe with him? He was a knight. She was a damsel. That was the way things worked.

‘I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about,’ he said, ‘and if there is, I’ll deal with it.’

Elaine responded with a squeeze of his arm. Humphrey scanned the darkness, looking for any sign of movement. Nothing. He crept forward. The slope became steeper close to the riverbank, and as Humphrey picked his way down he felt the sudden loss of Elaine’s hand, as she slipped and fell with a shriek.

‘Are you all right?’ said Humphrey, dropping down beside her.

‘It’s my ankle,’ said Elaine, wincing. ‘I turned on it as I went down. I hope it’s not broken.’

She lifted her nightgown to rub her ankle, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Humphrey tried not to let his eyes stray towards the revealed skin. Then she said, ‘I think it may just be sprained. Do you mind checking?’

He hesitated.

‘I’m sure you’ve handled plenty of broken bones before,’ said Elaine.

Humphrey laughed nervously. ‘My own, as often as not.’

He took hold of her ankle, telling himself there was nothing strange about this. He had done it for plenty of friends. He and Elaine were friends, weren’t they? Her leg was delicately boned and pale, her skin impossibly smooth. To his annoyance, his hands were trembling a little, and he hoped that she wouldn’t notice. Gently, he turned her bare foot first one way, then the other. It moved easily. He placed her foot back on the grass, taking just a moment too long to let it go.

He worked hard to keep his voice steady. ‘It’s probably a sprain. How does it feel?’

‘A bit better,’ said Elaine. ‘It was probably just the shock of the fall. I’m sure the pain will pass. But do you mind if we
wait here until I’m ready to walk on it again? I’m afraid to be alone in the dark.’

Humphrey remembered how she had ridden all the way from Tuft to Camelot alone in the dark. ‘Take your time,’ he said.

‘Thank you. You’re very kind.’

She leaned towards him slightly, so that their arms were almost touching. Somehow it felt more intimate than a touch itself. He felt his mouth go dry.

Maidens used to do this when he was young. Before he was dishonoured. Feign injury, feign catastrophe, feign anything to get close to him. But it didn’t seem like the kind of thing that Elaine would do. She was so preoccupied with finding her fiancé, she’d been mute with misery all day. Of course, she didn’t love Sir Alistair. He knew that. Was it possible …? He felt flustered, as if she were the knight and he were the maiden. He didn’t know what to do next.

‘I think they’re gone,’ he said, sticking to the script they had agreed on.

‘Who?’ said Elaine.

‘The men you heard?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Elaine vaguely. ‘They must have run away when they heard us coming.’

There had been women in his life, of course. Plenty before Cecily and plenty since. Serving maids these days mostly, though there was nothing wrong with that, they were as sensible and good-humoured as any other girl, indeed more so than some ladies he could think of. When he’d sat at the Round Table, the bored wives of other Round Table knights, or the ambitious wives of Errant Companions, sometimes made it clear that his attentions would be welcomed. He’d try to avoid them, disliking their lack of sincerity and not wanting to risk his companionship with his brethren. Of course, once he got demoted to Less
Valued, he was suddenly invisible to those very same ladies who’d so admired him the day before. So he was no naïf. He could tell what Elaine wanted him to do, and he knew he wanted the same thing. But something about this situation was paralysing him.

‘The stars are beautiful tonight, aren’t they?’ said Elaine. She wasn’t looking at the stars, though, she was looking at him. He was almost sure he could see the invitation in her eyes. He cast his misgivings aside.

‘I couldn’t care less about the stars,’ he said, and he leaned over and kissed her.

Sometimes a kiss can hit you harder than a lance with the force of a galloping horse behind it. This was one of those times. But suddenly Elaine pushed him away.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, almost yelping in distress. ‘I can’t do this.’

And he realised that this was her true voice, and that everything else she had said since waking him up had come from a place of falseness. A hole opened up in his soul and his heart fell through it.

‘Lady Elaine,’ he said, looking away, across the water. ‘Surely you know that I will follow this quest through to the end, no matter what? You don’t have to repay me in this way.’

‘It’s not that,’ said Elaine, in a voice of anguish. ‘I wanted to … I mean, I felt … I truly felt … But my intention was base. Please forgive me.’

‘Of course I forgive you,’ said Humphrey. ‘There is nothing to forgive.’

‘I wish I could explain,’ said Elaine. ‘I’m so sorry.’ She reached towards him for a moment, then drew her hand back without touching him. ‘But I can’t. I can’t. I’m sorry.’

‘I understand. You are betrothed to Sir Alistair,’ said Humphrey.

‘It’s not that,’ Elaine said again.

‘Then what is it?’

Elaine shook her head. She wiped tears from her eyes. Then she got up and ran back to her tent, on her ankle which was not at all injured, leaving Humphrey alone under those stars which were indeed beautiful, but so cold.

The next day, Elaine rose for breakfast early. By the time Humphrey emerged from his tent she had finished her meal and returned to her own tent to pack up for the day’s ride. Conrad was still chattering about the woman who had unhorsed Humphrey, because in his world that had happened the day before, and not a lifetime ago. Both Humphrey and Elaine took extra care over the grooming and saddling of their horses that morning, thoroughly brushing manes and tails, closely examining hooves for mud and stones, ensuring the perfect alignment of bridle straps. If they didn’t speak to each other it was perfectly normal because they were preoccupied with the journey ahead.

The road took them along the riverbank that had been the setting for the scene of the night before. By daylight the river seemed innocuous enough, the water twinkling prettily under the sun, the road lined with chestnut trees which provided welcome shade. It should have been a pleasant ride. But the silence between Humphrey and Elaine grew until it was a fourth companion which even Conrad couldn’t ignore. First he stopped teasing Humphrey, put off by the lack of response, and started to sing instead. Then, when Elaine didn’t join in, he stopped that too. A heavy sleeper, he had no idea that his master had been woken by Elaine in the night, or what had passed between them. All he knew was that both Humphrey and Elaine had gone to bed angry and that they appeared to have got up even angrier. He fretted that he had done something wrong. Was it the food?
Was it just him, causing annoyance merely by being himself? He placed one of his hands palm down on Jemima’s warm neck, trying to take comfort in her steadfastness, but it wasn’t enough for the elephant to like him. He needed his companions to like him too. Meanwhile, for Humphrey and Elaine, enormous, anxious Conrad on his waddling elephant had no more presence than a cloud.

Shortly before noon they reached a point where the river diverted into a wood which grew so thick that Conrad and Jemima would not be able to pass without uprooting dozens of trees. Humphrey stopped, and the other two drew up alongside. Conrad looked down at him, awaiting instruction. Elaine gazed straight ahead.

‘I’m sure we can skirt around it,’ said Humphrey, in a light voice that sounded unnatural to him. ‘It doesn’t look that big a forest.’

‘Whatever you say,’ said Conrad.

Elaine only nodded.

So Humphrey led the way across the heath that bordered the wood. As he rode, he tried to think of the words he might say to Elaine that would make everything normal again. It was only a kiss. How many maidens had he kissed? He had thought her willing. He could simply apologise. But she had leaned into him, had responded, he was sure of it. Then why had she pushed him away? This was the path that his thoughts had been following all day, and it circled back on itself, over and over. There was only one other direction his thoughts were inclined to go, which was to remind himself of what he knew, that women were not to be trusted, and what happened when you followed your heart instead of your head; but that was a road he had fifteen years’ practice in ignoring, and he was able to turn away from it now.

As his thoughts started around the circle yet again, a horrifying scream came from the direction of the trees. Before he had fully registered that a man was galloping directly towards him
brandishing a huge black sword, blows were already raining down on him. Just in time he managed to draw his sword. As he fought for his life he realised that it was the man who was screaming, that he was, in fact, barely more than a boy, and that, even as he hacked at Humphrey with his sword, he had his eyes screwed tightly shut.

A week before Pentecost, the morning of her father’s death, Martha had been awoken by the sound of bells. This was wrong. Generally Martha woke up and rang a bell, and her maid Deborah came. Having been woken up, she did ring her bell to find out what was going on, but the delicate sound was drowned out by the clang of the louder bells outside, and nobody answered.

Growing tired of waiting, she pushed back her bed curtains and got out of bed. It was still dark in her room, and no one had been in yet to light the fire, so it must have been unfathomably early. She wrapped herself in a long, moss-green cashmere dressing gown, opened up a pair of shutters blinkering a window, and peered out into the icy morning. In the pre-dawn light she could see a few figures hurrying from one place to another, but no sign of an army, mob or fire. Nothing important, then. She yawned. Pulling the shutters to, she shuffled back towards her bed.

Just then, the door to her bedchamber burst open and Deborah flew in and prostrated herself on the floor. This was also wrong. Deborah usually strolled in chatting, as if she and Martha were already mid-conversation. There was never any prostrating.

‘Deborah, what –’ began Martha, but Deborah interrupted her.

‘The King is dead, long live the Queen!’ she said.

Martha sank down on the edge of her bed, while Deborah alternated bowing, curtseying, trying to make her mistress drink
a cup of hot brandy, and saying ‘The King is dead, long live the Queen,’ over and over. Martha waited for grief to come, but it too was drowned out by the incessant ringing of the bells.

The death of her father should have come as no surprise. He had been ill for many years, a feebleness of the mind that had taken hold not long after her brother, Jasper, had died. At first, the court had taken his confusion and mood swings for grief. By the time the King could no longer tell the difference between Martha and her dead brother, calling her Jasper and enquiring about her exploits at the Round Table, it was impossible to hide the severity of his condition, and a Regency Council had been established to take on the day-to-day business of ruling.