Under Camelot's Banner (17 page)

Lionel had taken on the duties for the mount Ewen had ridden down and Gareth caught his eye.

“He'll be tough, once my lord Lancelot's had a little time with him,” Lionel remarked.

Gareth nodded. “Tough or broken. Seems he knows how to take it, though.”

“Unlike some of us,” said Lionel with an abashed grin. His first day out in the company of Sir Lancelot and the squires, Lionel had broken a practice spear and sword, and had actually sworn he'd never come back. When Sir Lancelot coolly informed Lionel he could walk back to his father and it would do no damage to knight or king, Lionel had changed his mind. But he'd also had to fight hard to get the knight to take him seriously again. Sir Lancelot had no mercy on those who balked at his training.

Gareth and Lionel fell in behind the younger boys who were leading their own horses back up through the orchards and the earthworks to the town gates. They talked and joked with each other and shouted at the boys, who knew better by now than to jeer back. Gareth breathed deep.

God's Legs, it's good to be out again.

By the time they reached Camelot's keep and its stables, Gareth, tired and sweaty, was longing for the dinner that was being laid in the great hall, but the horses came first. After that, Sir Lancelot would need to wash and properly dress, and his gear needed to be cleaned and stored. There was work in plenty to do. Perhaps he'd just send one of the younger boys to bring him some bread and beef as he'd done the past few evenings. It would be easier than having to get himself presentable as well as his knight.

As he closed the door on Taranis's box, a flicker of bright movement caught his eye. He looked again, and saw a girl standing in the shadow of the stable threshold. She wore her rich brown hair loose around her shoulders, and across the full bodice of her otherwise plain dress. It was Rose, one of the fortress's many serving girls. He knew her eyes and her smile, and all that she kept under that plain wool. Gareth felt his own smile shift and broaden as he took in the sight of her. He had pulled off his training coat already, but now he casually stripped off his woolen over-tunic, carefully not looking at her as he did.

The past year had worked a change on Gareth's appearance, and he enjoyed the results. He'd always been a tall and lanky as a boy. He had grown taller still over the past summer, but he had also filled out to a man's build, with the broad shoulders and the strong legs of one who worked hard and rode frequently. His raven-black hair fell back in waves from a pleasing face. He'd found all these assets combined with a warm smile and some soft words well-seasoned with lover's honey had worked miracles upon the girls, and not a few of the women of Camelot, and he enjoyed that as well.

He had made Rose's intimate acquaintance just the week before, so it was no real surprise to find her lingering about the stables. Everyone knew he was first among Sir Lancelot's squires, and what duties and privileges that work entailed.

Tossing his over-tunic onto a stack of hay sheaves, Gareth gave Rosy a broad wink. She blushed, but returned his gaze boldly.
Perhaps I'm not so tired after all.

“Make sure Archius is fed and watered, will you, Lionel?” He said, only half-turning toward the other squire. “I'll be along shortly.”

“Shortly?” murmured Lionel, earning himself a kick toward the ankle, which he neatly dodged.

Gareth did not waste any more time on him. He sauntered toward Rose, and when he reached her, he bowed deeply, in mock courtesy. She smiled, a flush coloring her cheeks prettily, and curtsied in return. When they both stood straight again, Gareth moved closer, taking her hand gently in his own, and running the thumb of his free hand across her cheek, right where the color was brightest.

A shadow fell across them both. Gareth's head jerked up and he saw Sir Geraint, his nearest brother, standing in the stable doorway, his arms folded. Rose leapt backward, suddenly the very picture of blushing modesty, her fingers knotting in her skirts. Dark-haired and blue-eyed, Geraint looked at Gareth, and he looked at Rosy.

“Now then, Rose,” Geraint said quietly. “Your mother's looking for you. You'd best go to her.”

Anger hardened Rose's sunny features, but she did not question him. As she whisked around to stomp away, she cast a backward glance full of promise at Gareth. Gareth suppressed a mild curse. Well, it was just a delay. He'd find Rosy later, or she'd find him. But what did Geraint think he was doing?

“God be with you, Geraint,” Gareth said curtly. “What brings you out here?” It was still strange to be looking down on Geraint, on any of them, for that matter. Of all his brothers, only Gawain could still look him in the eye without having to lift his chin.

“A word with you, sir,” replied Geraint with perfect equilibrium. “When you've done here.”

“Well, you'll have a good wait. My lord Lancelot has much for me to do today.” Gareth deliberately turned his back on his brother and started into the stable's cool shadows.

“Is this an answer you give a knight, Squire?”

These words, and the sudden shift to a tone of command drew Gareth up short. He turned to look carefully at his brother. Geraint regarded him implacably. Gareth swallowed. He'd just made a mistake that too many did. He'd forgotten for a moment the seriousness with which his most quiet brother took rank and respect.

“My apologies, Sir.” Gareth bowed his head. “I will be finished shortly.”

Geraint nodded, satisfied, and walked a little ways off to the paddock to watch the young colts and their dams. Gareth stared after him a moment, a hollow feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. Then, he heard a horse stamp inside the stables and remembered his duties.

He kept at his work as long as he could, carefully wiping down and brushing both Taranis and Achaius. He inspected every inch of tack and harness and found depressingly little that needed to be cleaned or attended to. Too soon all was in order. Gareth walked back out into the evening sunlight to join his brother at the paddock fence.

Geraint acknowledged him with a nod and a glance, but no word. Instead, he led Gareth out across the yards and through the gates to the wide, sloping green that stood between keep and town. The last of the snowdrifts had finally vanished, leaving behind stretches of mud and mottled patches of sprouting plants. The long slope of the hill spread out, with the shadows already deepening around the town below, turning it black and grey. The early spring twilight was settling and the wind smelled of cold as well as fresh life. The vaguest hint of green lent a hazy look to the distant orchard beneath the leaden sky.

Geraint stopped there, and resting his foot on a stone.

“So, brother,” said Gareth with a sigh. “What do you want with me?”

Geraint watched him a long moment before speaking, taking in Gareth's stance and features while he considered his words. A long silence was one of Geraint's favorite tactics. It was meant to test the patience of the one who faced him.
But I know you, Brother.
Gareth just stood as he was and let Geraint look as long as he chose.

At last Geraint spoke. “I want, Brother, to warn you that your brave deeds with the females of Camelot and Cadbury have not gone unnoticed.”

I should have known.
Gareth shrugged. “So, I've tumbled a few girls. What of it? They were willing.”

Geraint arched his brows. “A few? From what I've heard, if there's a brace of virgins left for a mile around, it's because their fathers lock them in their dowry chests.”

Which told Gareth exactly how his brother — back from his new lands in the west only a week — had heard how Gareth had spent his winter. His patience snapped. “Agravain cares only that he's being …”

Geraint's brows shot up. “You're very sure my news is from Agravain. Has he spoken to you as well?”

Damn.
Gareth found he could not endure his brother's scrutiny any more. Agravain had in fact spoken to him, and lectured, and sworn, and thrown up his hands and declared him too much of a fool to live. But then, Agravain held that opinion of many men.

“Who else have you ignored, brother?”

As soon as Geraint asked the question, another recent speech sprang up in Gareth's memory.
You're emptying that purse of yours fast, nephew. It's the sort of gold that will put you in debt faster than it will buy you out.

Gareth felt his jaw tighten defiantly. “My lord Lancelot says any woman who wants to lie down should be laid down.”

Geraint's mouth twitched, just a little. Gareth was not sure whether his brother meant to smile or frown. Frown probably. Geraint was not fond of Sir Lancelot's matter-of-fact pronouncements, which was strange, as Geraint was everywhere praised for his honesty.

“That is no answer, brother,” Geraint said.

Gareth flushed, but this time he held his peace. Let Geraint wait for his answers, he had so little to do.

“Mother of God,” murmured Geraint after a tense moment. “Has the High King spoken to you?”

“No!” cried Gareth. How could Geraint believe he'd disregard their uncle's least word?
What do you think of me?

Geraint said nothing more, he simply waited, and waited.
Best get it over with.
Gareth would stick on him until Doomsday once he got his spurs in. “It was, Sir Kai.”

Much to Gareth's surprise, Geraint stared for just a moment longer, his face gone slack with disbelief. Then, he burst out laughing. “You brushed off Uncle Kai! God's Legs, Gareth you have lost your mind!” he whooped. “I'm surprised we've heard nothing of this at board yet. No, I'm surprised I didn't hear it all the way out to the West Lands …” he paused, drawing in a great breath and cocking his head toward Gareth as realization dawned. “But then, you haven't been to board the past few nights have you?”

Gareth hadn't gone into the hall for the evening meal for the past three or four nights. But, he told himself, it was not Uncle Kai who kept him away. He'd simply been busy.

This truth, as far as it went, was still not enough to give Gareth the strength to meet his brother's clear eyes. “I have my work to do.”

“That is not what I asked Gareth,” said Geraint, his voice suddenly stern again.

And again, Gareth's temper flared and he did set jaw and mind against his brother. “What business is it of yours?” he demanded.
I've no time for this. My lord Lancelot is waiting for me …

Geraint's mouth twitched again. “It is my business if you are making an ass of yourself, brother.”

The mildness in Geraint's voice drew Gareth up and he found his chest was heaving. “How do you get to be pious with me, Geraint? You and Gawain didn't exactly go virgin to your marriage beds. Especially Gawain.” His brother's travels in the king's name had given him a chance to sow his seed far and wide across the isle. If there wasn't at least one little “ap Gawain” out there, every man in Camelot would be shocked. That Gawain had married his last dalliance was equally surprising.

“Even Gawain was more judicious than you seem to have been,” replied Geraint evenly.

“I told you …”

“Yes, you did.” Geraint held up his hand. “Now, I am telling you.” He levelled one long, work-hardened finger at Gareth's chest. “You're already in deeper waters than you know. If you keep on, you'll jeopardize your chance at knighthood.”

Temper made Gareth brazen. “My lord Lancelot would never forsake me just for sticking a few slatterns.”

At this, Geraint remained quite unperturbed. “No,” he said. “Even if more than a few were high-born daughters fool enough to fall for that smile of yours, rendering themselves suspect when it comes time to make good alliances for themselves, their fathers, and our king. Even if one of them might be already married to Lord Jessup whose lands are bordered on the south by those still held by the Saxons and thus is our first defence against them. Even if your knight be willing to disregard all this, you at least should remember it is not my lord Lancelot who has the final word regarding the high cadre of the Britons.”

Gareth felt the blood drain from his cheeks. This was the second time Geraint had alluded to the king. What if Arthur had heard something some teary-eyed former maiden had said? Or, God's Teeth, what if it was from the
queen
Geraint had found out about him and Lady Jessup?

Geraint lifted his foot from the stone and moved closer. “Listen to me carefully, Gareth,” Geraint said, his voice low but deadly serious. “You and I are the younger brothers. We have nothing,
nothing
of our own save the good will of our families and our king. We squander that at our peril.

“I know you, Gareth,” Geraint went on before Gareth could find a word with which to answer. “You're thinking you might marry your land as I have. Think on these other things now. Without the king's blessing, you cannot do even that, and there are others who have the king's ear far more firmly than you.”

Gareth said nothing. His teeth had gritted themselves together so tightly, he was no sure he could have spoken even if he wanted to.

“Come to board, Gareth,” said Geraint. “Uncle Kai will serve you out a healthy portion of humility as your dessert. You can either face him now and take it like a man, or you can face the more bitter condemnation later from every hand. It is your choice.”

With that, Geraint walked away. Having delivered his warnings he evidently felt no more need to converse with his younger brother. A thousand things he could shout after Geraint filled Gareth's mind, but he held them all back, clutching them tight in his jaw that would not loosen.

Uncle Kai was waiting for him. Uncle Kai whose tongue was sharper than any blade forged by mortal man. He could reduce the whole court to tears of laughter with a single turn of phrase. More than one bard had picked up Sir Kai's quips and added them to songs to carry across the whole of the country. Others had been repeated around Camelot for
years
. God's Legs, how could Geraint cold-bloodedly tell him to walk in and face that?