He doesn’t answer. Tristan gives me one of his rueful grins, and says, “Rotten timing, Gaheris.”
“Quite probably.” Tristan raises an eyebrow. I raise my voice, and repeat myself. “Prince Lamorak.”
Of all my family, I have the least public grace. When I still receive no response, it’s in me to give up and walk away. Then Safere smiles at me. Mother should practice that much malice.
Here goes nothing. “Prince Lamorak. I have offended against you. I was wrong. Therefore, I render you my unconditional apology; and I pray you will do me the honour of accepting it.” My voice should have carried to the furthest point of the room. Agrin’s going to love this. Safere’s smile vanishes, and he regards me thoughtfully.
Lamorak still doesn’t answer. I bow, then, and prepare to go.
Safere’s light voice stops me. “Admirably tactful, but quite unnecessary, in the circumstances. Very surprising.” He leans back on his bench, and draws a finger along his jaw. “Little snake is sulking. Little snake knows he doesn’t deserve apologies when he’s childish.” His eyes flick up and down me. “So perfectly charming.”
He manages what I could not: Lamorak looks up. He’s scowling. “Shut up. Saf. This is none of your business.”
“Indeed not? Shall relief overwhelm me?” There is in Safere’s voice all the compassion of wire rope. He turns back to me. “I shall not pretend I like you, king’s son of Orkney; but I grant you this much. You are doubly fair. There are those who are not.”
Well, I don’t like Safere, insofar as I know him at all, either. And I’ve never been any good at riddles. I mutter something non-committal, and begin to back off. Lamorak goes on glaring at Safere for a few moments, then rises, and follows me. “Gaher… My lord prince… “
“Yes?”
“He’s right. Safere. I’m at fault. I…” He hesitates, looking round him, then raises his voice. “Please accept my apology.”
I’m wary. He’s too much trouble, this morning… But half the hall is still watching us, so I bow, and offer a hand. “Of course. What is all this, Lamorak?”
He looks over his shoulder. “It’s just that… Are you really avoiding me?”
“Don’t start that again.”
“No, I’m sorry. It’s…” Again the pause. “Can you really not spare me a few minutes?”
Here we go again. Well, I suppose Kay can do without me for one morning. “All right. But no dramatics.”
“No… Can we go out of here?”
I shrug, and we make our way out in self-conscious silence to the stable. It’s only as we’re riding along the track from the postern that Lamorak sighs, and says “It’s the one reliable thing, isn’t it? I make trouble for you. And I never intend to.”
“I don’t suppose I think you do.”
“Is that why you put up with it?”
“No.” He looks concerned. I say, “It’s simply that I don’t like scenes. I’m lazy.”
“I see.” He sounds disappointed. “Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“I thought we agreed… Oh, all right. I hadn’t noticed that I was avoiding you. What makes you think I am?”
“I came back, and… You didn’t seem pleased to see me, and you were always busy, and...”
“Well, I am busy these days.” It isn’t a satisfactory answer. “I don’t know, Lamorak. It wasn’t deliberate. But you have your own place, now. And I suppose I saw you with Tristan, and so forth, and we’ve never got along… It’s lots of little things. People grow up, Lamorak.”
“Even me?” He smiles. “Is that a hint?” I don’t say anything. He goes on, “Well, it’s fair comment, I suppose. When I was away… It never occurred to me that things would be changing here, too. And when you didn’t show up in the summer, I thought… “
He stops, and shakes his head.
I look across at him curiously. “That was never a promise. As it turned out, I didn’t have time to leave court. I didn’t even get out to any of my own holdings. I assumed you’d realise that.”
“You hadn’t forgotten, then?”
“No.”
“Safere thought you had. And Margawse – I mean, your lady mother – said that Sir Agravaine… That is…” He has twisted his reins around his fingers; he won’t look at me. “She thought it possible that Sir Agravaine had told you certain… details that weren’t to my credit. “
Mother is a trouble-maker. Pellinor must once have turned her down. “Agravaine says a lot of things about a lot of people. Usually I ignore him.”
“But did he say anything about me and… Well, anything…?”
I frown; I can’t remember anything that struck me as being above Agrin’s usual level of malice. Nearly everyone young and promising is an effeminate fool in my dear brother’s eyes. “Nothing I specifically remember, no.”
“I see.” He looks at his fingers trapped in his reins, and laughs. “I’m idiotic, then.”
“You said it.” Something occurs to me. “You saw my mother?”
“Yes, I…” He stops, and to my astonishment, I realise he’s blushing. “I was a guest of hers at Belmotte for a while. She was very kind to me.”
Oh, was she? Well, that explains the apparent disappearance of his special lady here. Trust Mother. He’s far too young for her. And if one of my brothers gets to hear about it… “I wouldn’t build too much on her kindness, if I was you. She’s, umm, kind to a lot of people.”
He shuffles. “I enjoyed her company.”
I shouldn’t listen to this. “Hmm. Just don’t tell any of my brothers.”
“No.” He looks up at that. “I do know that much.”
“I should hope so.”
He’s looking thoughtful. “I did like being with her, you know. She made me feel… less isolated.”
I’ll bet. I favour him with my best sardonic look. “Well, it’s your funeral.”
“I hope not!”
“Be careful, then.” Blast the woman. Let’s just hope that winter court will take his mind off her. We ride on in silence in a few moments, then I raise an issue that’s been on my mind. “Lamorak, do you happen to know why Safere doesn’t like me? I barely know him.”
“I didn’t know he didn’t.”
I don’t quite believe that. “He said so not an hour ago.”
“Oh, that.” Lamorak looks awkward. “Well, you overthrew him at the tourney… “
“If I held a grudge against everyone who ever defeated me, I’d have no one to talk to!”
“I don’t know why, then. Why do you expect me to?”
“No special reason. I thought he was a friend of yours.”
“He’s all right.” He sounds defensive. He won’t look at me.
“I didn’t say he wasn’t. What’s the matter?”
“Nothing.” He pauses, then takes a deep breath. “I think I just… I’ve been on my own so much, and now it seems so crowded here.” I understand that one: I smile at him reassuringly. He continues, “And the whole time I was away, I missed being here so much. And now it’s all different.”
“Not completely.”
He smiles. “No. Not completely.”
Amran doesn’t come back.
Ever after, the time that follows is known in family memory as ‘Gaheris’ good year’. Perhaps it’s all the practice. Perhaps it’s just a change in my luck. Whichever, for a while the old awkwardness falls from me, and I find I have an aptitude I formerly lacked. It’s interesting, though I’m not wholly sure I like it. The winter is quiet enough, apart from Mother’s visit. Lamorak hangs around her rather more than is strictly wise, and I have to caution him before Agravaine notices and takes umbrage. He’s already cross enough with Lamorak: the latter has trounced him twice in tourneys, and picked three fights with Medraut. The cause of this turns out to be insults to me. I can’t take Lamorak in the field, but I still weigh more than he does: it takes me three-quarters of an hour and a lot of bruises, but eventually I have him convinced to leave m
y family quarrels alone. In the summer, Kay and I get grace to ride errant, and wind up tangling with a fair cross section of the Cornish knights. Somewhat to my discomfort, the local sub-king, Marcus, takes it into his head to pull Lancelot’s stunt of riding incognito, and I give him a hard fall. Luckily, he thinks it funny. I rather wish Lancelot had never started that fashion. It can get embarrassing.
Three weeks later, I resort to it myself. We’ve seen several of our companions, but heard nothing of Lamorak. He left somewhat later than we did, waiting for his brothers, and intending to ride west. But in mid-August, Kay and I come on two pavilions pitched in a largish clearing next to a ford. It’s a good spot for casual sport: indeed as we round the hill-crest, we can see two knights practising in full kit. One of the shields – a snake curled about a stylised rose – is unfamiliar to me. The other is Safere’s. Oh, joy. I’ve fought him three times since Christmas, and won every time, but his hostility unnerves me. Worse, he was travelling with Tristan, the last I heard. Tristan doesn’t like the Orkneys. It’s not his shield, granted; but he’s one who makes a habit of disguise.
Well, there’s no way out of it. And Kay beside me is cheerfully preparing himself for a friendly bout. If anything involving Safere can be said to be friendly…
I look across at him hopefully. “Umm…”
“Let me guess. You want to swap shields?”
“If you don’t mind. It’s just that Safere… But I think the other one’s Tristan… Of course, if you feel more glory…”
Kay shields his eyes with his hand. “No. He’s too slim to be Tristan. I think it’s Andred. You know, that bloody cousin of Marcus’? He has a different device every time I see him. So, do you want to swap?”
He’s looking at me quizzically. I shuffle a bit, and say “Yes.”
“The things I do for you!”
“I know. I do appreciate you.”
“Oh, really?” He raises a brow. Then he passes me his black tower shield.
I hand him the Rose-Knot. “Thanks, Kay. You’re a good friend.”
“Tell that to my contusions. Safere has a spite against you, Sir Duck.”
“Quack.” Kay pulls a face. “I had noticed.”
“You and the rest of the court.” He pauses to pull down his visor. “Shall we?”
“Lead on, foster uncle!”
Our direction of approach gives us a slight advantage: because of the rise, the knights encamped below don’t see us until we’re almost upon them. There’s a brief instant of chaos, then Evan yells “Give passage to my lords!”, and Safere’s Aidan yells back “Not without they fight mine, if they have the courage for it!”
I’m still trying to place the serpent-rose from the style of his riding, when his lance point impacts neatly with my shield, and punts me off my horse.
Well, I’ve been expecting to come back to the ground sooner or later… I pick myself up, duck out of Kay’s path, and draw my sword, as the serpent-rose comes back round for another go. He’s fast, but he’s not a master horseman… he has a slight problem managing reins, shield and lance. I wait till I think he’s about to strike, then duck, and come up under his shield arm, tipping him neatly to the grass. Then I stand aside, and wait for him to stand up.
This proves to be a mistake. On foot, he’s better than I am.
Sometimes, I think altruism is not a survival characteristic. I wind up desperately trying to hold my guard against a flurry of fast and rather accurate attacks. Holy saints be thanked this is only for fun… I’m certain by now that whoever he is, he’s not Andred. There’s a suspicion building at the back of my mind… Parrying in quarte, I find I’m being backed almost into the other combat, and have to step aside hastily. The grass is wet. I keep my footing, but behind me, some-one curses, and goes down.
Abruptly, the serpent-rose is wide open. He’s not even looking at me. Before I’ve quite finished debating whether it would be fair or not to hit him, he pushes past me.
There’s an “Ouf” from behind me. Then Safere says, conversationally “You little bastard.”
“He fell. Accidental advantage. You were going to follow up on it. That’s not fair.”
I know that voice… I turn, and start to fumble with my helm.
The familiar voice goes on, “This was meant to be in fun!”
“Who for?” Safere sounds scornful. “Not, me, most certainly.”
“You have no sense of honour…”
There’s a pause, then Safere throws his shield to the ground and stalks away.
Kay has climbed to his feet. Wrenching open his visor, he glares at me. “You and your damned feuds.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hrmph.” Then he looks at the serpent-rose. The latter has raised his visor, and is looking at us in some irritation. “Lamorak de Galis. I might have known.”
“Sir Kay!” Lamorak sounds embarrassed. He glances over his shoulder towards Safere’s retreating back. “I thought…”
I’ve finally got my helm off. “I’m here,” I say, apologetically. “We swapped.”
“You fought me?”
“Well, yes.”
“Deliberately?”
“No. Yes… Well, I didn’t know who you were…”
“You fought me…”
“Saint Michael and all the archangels!” Kay has no time for amateur dramatics. “Gaheris had simply had enough of fighting your homicidal Moorish friend – and I’m beginning to see his point, too. If you didn’t want to fight us, you should have said so; if you youngsters would stop changing your devices at the drop of a hat, this kind of muddle wouldn’t happen. Lamorak stares at him, warily. “I’d say you owe Safere an apology.”
“But he…” Lamorak looks at me, and stops. Then he bows, and goes across to Safere’s tent.
Kay and I exchange glances. After a moment, he shakes his head, and says “Don’t ask.”
So I don’t. About ten minutes later, Lamorak comes back, smiling, and invites us to stay the night and share their accommodation. I’m uncertain, but somehow I find myself cajoled into co-operation. Before I’m really ready to agree to it, I’m bathed, changed, and sitting in a nicely appointed pavilion drinking a wine that has been chilled to near perfection by the convenient river. The squires are pitching a third tent, and Kay is swimming.
Safere still seems to be sulking.
Lamorak is sprawled on a pile of cushions, looking Moorish enough himself. He’s picked up a fine tan, and there’s a new scar down his left forearm. He’s wearing a ring that looks vaguely familiar.
“Well, you’ve certainly made yourselves comfortable.”
“It is nice, isn’t it? We get a fair amount of action, being on the road. And it’s handy for… this and that.”
My aunt Elaine has a castle not half a day’s ride from here. Suddenly I’ve a context for the ring, too: what was it Gawain said about Mother’s summer itinerary…?
“Oh, Lamorak. You’re not still playing up to my mother?”
“I like her.”
“So you said. But…”
“And your aunt has an excellent library. Safere…”
I don’t want to hear Safere’s opinions on books. “I think you should stop seeing her.”
“Why?”
“Because…” I cast around for the right words. “Well, because your father may have killed mine – no, don’t butt in – and my brother Gawain certainly killed your father, and…”
“Aglovale…”
“Be quiet. And because my mother isn’t entirely… wholesome. She dabbles in things that aren’t very healthy. And…” And I fix him with my best Gawain-style glare, “Most importantly, if they ever get to hear about it, my brothers Agravaine and Medraut would probably try to kill you.”
“If they could.”
“If they could. By foul means when fair failed. And if you were to kill one of them, you’d have Gawain to answer to, and he isn’t a pushover. And after Gawain, Gareth and me.”
“Would you
care?”
“If you killed Gavin? Certainly.”
“If he – or any of them – killed me.”
“Of course I would. The last thing I want is the revival of that stupid feud.”
Lamorak looks down. “The feud. That’s all?”
“Don’t fish.” He swallows. “All right. Yes, I would mind if they killed you.” He looks up, eyes shining. “I wish you’d be a little more sensible, that’s all.”
“I can’t.” he smiles. “It’s in my family, you know. Aglovale got all that: the rest of us are unbalanced.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“No, I mean it. Percevale and I – and Dornar, too – we’re none of us quite… normal.”
“Tor was normal enough.”
“Tor was only half a Pellinor. My parents were cousins, you know.”
“My father was a homicidal maniac, and my mother’s a witch. I don’t think that makes me crazy.”
“Ah, but you’re like Aglovale.” Lamorak looks at me oddly. “Everything about you has such clarity. Like flawless glass.”
“Oh, aye. Completely transparent!” I laugh.
Lamorak starts to protest that he didn’t mean it quite like that, but halfway through gives up and starts laughing too. And somehow I lose sight of persuading him to give up Mother.
Late that night, as I’m falling asleep, Kay says suddenly “Heris?”
“Umm?”
“I think you should stay away from Lamorak.”
“Why? Because of Safere?”
He sighs, in the darkness. Then I hear him shrug. “No. Because of Lamorak.”
Five
The rest of the year is normal enough. Tristan breaks the monotony somewhat by starting a new scandal: in between running for his life, he still finds time to discuss knightly rankings with all and sundry. He tells Gauter, who’s an old Cornish gossip, that he’d place me in the top five, higher than any of my brothers. And Gauter tells Dinadan, who tells Ywain, who tells Gawain, who passes it on to me in high delight.
“I knew you had it in you. Don’t say I never told you so.”
Serpent Rose Page 6
