Queen of Camelot

by Nancy McKenzie

  Lancelot could not ignore his son’s censure. “He is my conscience speaking,” he would say to me. “He knows that in my heart, I sin against God, for I covet what is Arthur’s. I am not able to ignore him.” Pleading with him did no good. He felt he deserved the torture the boy put him through. But I did not feel I deserved it, and there was no one I could confide in. I certainly could not talk to Arthur about it. He would let no one bring the subject up in his presence; and even when we were alone together, he would steer around it. Since the day he had opened his heart to me about Lancelot, he had grown so sensitive, it was as if he protected a tender wound. My love for Lancelot he had accepted long ago, but he did not want to be reminded. On occasion I would find him looking at us both with helpless compassion, but truly, there was nothing he could do.

  Galahad’s closest friend at court was young Gareth. Although the Orkney prince was nine years his senior, Galahad was always ahead of his age in everything. Gareth treated him as a beloved younger brother and took him on outings and taught him tricks with bow, sword, and spear. He had the boy’s confidence, if anyone had. And yet, although Gareth loved and honored Lancelot above all men, he was never able to sway Galahad toward a more lenient regard for his father.

  When Gareth entered Arthur’s service at fifteen, he and Linet became formally betrothed. Being a gentleman, he promised her he would not come to her bed until they were married. Before that, he wished to have the approval of her father, who lived in York. So one fine spring day in Gareth’s sixteenth year, Arthur sent Gareth and Gawaine on a mission to Festus, governor of York. He had appealed to Arthur for settlement of a minor dispute among the bishops there, which touched not on religion but on their property. Gawaine was now a man of eighteen, newly knighted, and one of the King’s Companions. This was the first time he had been the leader of a diplomatic mission, and he carried himself with great pride. He did not know that Arthur was relying on Gareth’s presence to ensure that proper judgment was rendered.

  Linet’s father Lucius was a prominent man in York, a landowner and a knight in good standing with Festus and with Drustan, King of Elmet, whose stronghold at Caer Mord lay but a day’s ride beyond. Linet’s grandfather was old Caius Lucius, who had served with both Ambrosius and Uther in Britain’s wars and had gained for himself the honorable reputation of being the most battle-scarred man in the Kingdom. He was himself descended from a Roman governor in the time of Maximus. Linet could hardly come of higher lineage, and the match pleased both Arthur and Lucius.

  Festus held a great feast upon their arrival, and unbeknownst to them, he had invited Drustan himself to the celebration. Drustan was a big man, a graybeard by this time, but hard as iron and with a reputation of a tough and deadly fighter. He was a proud man and had only been slowly won to Arthur’s service. But the Angles lived close along his southern borders, and he saw the sense in uniting against the barbarian foe. He was an honest soldier and a just man, and since he gave thought to what he did, he had small patience for quick tempers or hotheadedness. Thus he was not well pleased to find Gawaine sitting near his elbow at dinner, for Lamorak, whom Gawaine had sworn to kill, was his nephew by marriage. Being Drustan, he took this bull by the horns and asked Gawaine outright how the matter now stood with him.

  “Are you my sworn enemy, Sir Gawaine?” was how he put it. “Or, have you grown into sense since you swore vengeance upon my nephew Lamorak?”

  He had a booming voice, and everyone near him heard this: Gareth, Festus, Lucius, and a score of other men. Gawaine had to think quickly, which was never his strength. He and Gareth were surrounded by Elmet’s friends, and many of Drustan’s own soldiers sat in the hall. And even Gareth might not defend him, for he abhorred blood feuds. To declare himself Drustan’s enemy would be the height of folly. So he denied it.

  “My lord,” Gawaine said stiffly, “I bear no one in your house ill will. Once I was Lamorak’s enemy, for I felt he shamed our mother. But it is true that our mother was herself as guilty as he.”

  “Then you forgive Lamorak,” Drustan pressed, “and withdraw your challenge to him?”

  Gawaine swallowed hard. “Yes, my lord. As far as I am concerned, he is one of the High King’s Companions, as I am, and I would greet him as such.”

  Drustan slapped him hard upon the back. “I am glad you have come to your senses, lad!” he cried. “For I have called Lamorak out of his Breton fastness and bid him stay the summer with me. I intend to apply to King Arthur to have him accepted as one of your number in Camelot. It is appropriate he should have your backing. Thank you, boy. You may tell the King, when you return, that Lamorak should be here by the solstice.”

  Gawaine was silent and continued so for the rest of his visit in York. This was unlike him, as everyone knew, but no one could fathom the cause. The judgment he gave in the bishops’ case was a fair one, being a compromise, and everyone praised his sense. When he left, he left with everyone’s thanks and best wishes. Gareth stayed on at Caer Mord at Drustan’s invitation; Gawaine returned to us alone.

  He never gave Arthur Drustan’s message. Instead, he gave it to Agravaine, who was in secret communication with Gaheris. In doing so, he considered he had kept his bargain; for he did not come against Lamorak himself, and he had not promised Drustan, or so he thought, that he would send no other. In this and in other things, his mind worked like a child’s. Although even children knew that truth must be told from the heart, and not from the lips only.

  One day not long after, Agravaine disappeared. Mordred came to Arthur as he walked with me, to tell him this, and to discover whether the High King had perhaps sent him on a mission. On learning Arthur had done no such thing, Mordred told us he was sure Agravaine was on his way to meet Gaheris.

  Arthur frowned. “Where is the boy hiding, Mordred? Do you know?”

  “My lord, I know nothing with certainty, but I believe he is somewhere in the hill country west of York.”

  “And what do you think this disappearance signifies?”

  “My lord, I know not, but they rarely dare a meeting. Something important must be going on. And it cannot bode well.”

  Arthur looked at his son a moment and then nodded. “Well, then, I will send you to York with greetings to Festus and a message to Lucius. Keep your eyes open, Mordred, and see if you can find them or discover what they may be up to. It is time I spoke with those boys. If you can get word to them, say that I have charged you with a message for Gaheris; that if he publicly repents his crime and swears to accept such penance as I shall give him, he may be received again at court.”

  Mordred bowed. “You are merciful, my lord, to treat the ruffian so. Truly, it is more than he deserves.”

  Arthur sighed. “Men like Gaheris have a way of getting what they deserve. Yet he is my nephew; I must do what I can for him. Gareth is staying the summer with Drustan; perhaps he can help make Gaheris see sense.”

  So Mordred departed and Lancelot breathed easier at court. Mordred traveled north into wild and hilly lands. There were still outlaws in the deep forests there, and travel could be chancey, but he was a King’s man, well trained and young, and he reached York without trouble. Festus received him with delight.

  “You’re just in time, my lord,” he cried, “to celebrate Lamorak’s return from Brittany! He’s here now, a guest in my house, and tonight we will feast him long and well!”

  Mordred knew at once why Agravaine had come. He asked quietly after the twins; no one knew anything about them. But York was a big place, nearly a city, with a thousand places to hide.

  Lamorak was guest of honor at the feast. He looked fit and healthy, and younger, Mordred thought, now that he was free of the witch’s curse. The feast lasted late into the night, with an excellent bard and excellent wine, Lamorak’s gift from the vineyards of Gaul. Before they broke for bed, Mordred pulled Lamorak aside and bade him take an escort on his journey to Elmet, and told him why. But Lamorak, full of wine and confidence, scoffed at the idea that two such ru
ffians could harm him.

  “Then let me ride with you, Lamorak. If we are together, they will not chance a meeting, and I have messages to give you from the King.”

  Lamorak grinned drunkenly. “You carry messages from the King? A fine thing—I’d rather go alone than with a bastard of that witch. Oh, all right, Mordred. I owe you my life, after all. If it’s so important . . . Be ready at noon, I’ll meet you at the town gates.”

  But when Mordred arrived at the gates near midmorning, he found Lamorak already gone. He had left after breakfast, the sentries told Mordred, he had ridden out alone, chuckling to himself.

  Grimly Mordred set his spurs to his horse. After a half-day’s hard gallop on the dusty road, he had given up all hope of preventing disaster when he heard shouting beyond the next bend. Summoning one last burst of energy from his exhausted horse, he galloped forward.

  He was almost in time. Even as he watched, Lamorak, whose sword was engaged with Agravaine’s, was felled from behind by Gaheris in a coward’s killing. He toppled from his horse, pulling Gaheris’ sword from his hand. Gaheris leaped down and, whipping out his dagger, cut Lamorak’s throat. At this Mordred shouted, and his shout was echoed by another farther up the road. Drustan himself had come to greet his nephew and rode forward at the head of a small party of knights. Foremost among them was Gareth, who galloped forward, screaming.

  “Agravaine! Gaheris! Touch him not! Oh, oh, what have you done?” He went white when he saw Lamorak was beyond help.

  Gaheris retrieved his sword and wiped it on Lamorak’s clothing. “Fear not, little brother. I have revenged our mother’s honor.”

  “Honor!” Gareth cried in horror. Then, seeing Mordred: “Dred, are you in this?”

  “Certainly not,” replied Mordred coolly. “I came to stop them, but I was too slow.”

  As the High King’s deputy, it was his duty to arrest the twins, but already Drustan’s troops surrounded the four Orkney boys with drawn swords.

  “So,” Drustan said, hard and furious, “this is how Sir Gawaine repays my trust! I will see you both hanged.”

  “You dare not!” Agravaine shouted. “Our uncle the High King will destroy you!”

  Gaheris, looking spent now that his goal had been accomplished, remounted sluggishly and swung his horse to Agravaine’s side. “We have no quarrel with you, sir. You would be wise to let us go.”

  “My lord,” Gareth quavered, seeing Drustan losing control of his rage, “let me speak with them a moment.” Drustan glared at him, then finally nodded and drew his knights away.

  Gareth faced the twins, with Mordred behind him. “Please my brothers, be reasonable. You cannot expect him to let you go, when you have killed his nephew in cold blood. You have broken the High King’s laws.”

  “It was a fair fight,” Agravaine insisted. “We challenged him outright with his crime.”

  “Two against one is not fair,” protested Gareth.

  “I saw the killing,” Mordred said quietly, and Gaheris stiffened. “Gaheris took him from behind. That’s not in any of the rules of combat I know.”

  Gareth looked sickened. “You dishonor us all, Gaheris. Drustan is a fair man, and his anger is righteous. Let yourselves be taken captive; behave and beg his pardon. I can probably get you off with your lives.”

  “The High King—” Agravaine began, but Mordred cut him short.

  “I would not wave the High King’s name about, as if it were a banner of protection. You know well whose side he will take in this affair. You have shamed Gareth, you have shamed me, and you have shamed Arthur by this deed.”

  “Then,” Gaheris said boldly, “do not tell him of it! You always were a snake in the grass, you bastard brat!”

  Mordred stared him down and then turned away to fall back with Drustan’s men. But Gaheris, suddenly enraged, raised his sword and attacked. Gareth blocked his way and parried his sword thrust, crying a warning to Mordred. Many things then happened at once: Mordred whirled, Drustan’s knights spurred forward, Gaheris attacked Gareth, screaming in fury. Gareth, Lancelot’s star pupil, fought his brother off and pierced his sword arm to make him drop the weapon. But one of Drustan’s knights, eager for vengeance, threw a spear. It struck Gaheris’ chest and came out his back. He screamed and fell from the saddle. Agravaine lifted his sword, to find it taken from his hand by Mordred.

  “Don’t be a fool,” Mordred growled. “That way lies death.”

  Gareth, in tears, knelt in the dust by his brother, and with Drustan’s help cut the spear shaft so he could lie easily on the ground. He was senseless, but did not die. They fashioned a body sling, and several of the knights carried him on foot back to Caer Mord. Lamorak’s body was slung over an empty saddle. Gareth rode back beside Agravaine and argued with him all the way. Mordred, feeling both helpless and responsible, rode at Drustan’s side. At last Drustan turned to him and spoke.

  “I have heard about you, Sir Mordred. You are Arthur’s son, are you not? By the witch-queen, mother of these boys?”

  Mordred froze. In all his life, he had never been asked this question outright, had never even discussed it except with Arthur and with me. He had grown used to the fact it was a subject everyone avoided. And as the King had not publicly acknowledged him, he was at a loss for a reply. But he felt, after what had just passed, that he owed this man the truth.

  “My lord king,” he said at last, “I am.”

  “And why are you here, then? In the cause of your brothers? Or in your father’s cause, if the two are different?”

  “My lord Drustan, the causes are indeed different. I came north at King Arthur’s request to find out how things stood with Gaheris. We suspected Agravaine would get in touch with him, and I had instructions from the King to find them both and discover what they were up to. But I was too late. As for Lamorak, my lord, he was well loved by my father and would have been welcomed back at court. I believe the High King was trying to clear the way to bring him back, when he sent me to seek Gaheris.”

  “Ah, then Agravaine’s boast is a vain one.”

  “Indeed it is!” Mordred cried. “I have made it clear to him, as well. You need not fear Arthur’s vengeance, my lord. His anger will be all on your side. He will never hold Gaheris’ death against you.”

  “And you yourself, Sir Mordred?”

  Mordred looked away. “Like Gareth, I am ashamed to be their kin. Gareth is an honorable man. But I have had a bellyful of the others.”

  Drustan laughed shortly. “It was Gawaine who set this up, for besides Gareth, he alone knew Lamorak was coming. Let King Arthur know this, Mordred, when you return. I have no wish to pit kingdom against kingdom in a blood feud, when we have enemies enough beyond our borders. But let him know that when I next come to Camelot, I would speak with Sir Gawaine. Alone.”

  Mordred nodded, heartsick and weary. What Arthur had most wished to avoid had come to pass. Morgause’s curse lay upon his Kingdom still. With Gaheris dead, and Gawaine’s future so threatened, what would Arthur do?

  But as it turned out, he did not need to do anything, for Gaheris did not die. He was a year recuperating in Drustan’s castle, under guard, but he lived. Mordred and Gareth stayed at Caer Mord a full month, doing Drustan service, and they kept Agravaine with them. Finally, after Agravaine had begged Drustan’s pardon most abjectly, Drustan formally forgave him and allowed him to go. For Agravaine had at least engaged Lamorak face to face.

  These three returned to Camelot one hot day in July, and that was the first any of us heard about this terrible affair. They came to the King in the library, where he sat working with his scribe, while Bedwyr, Lancelot, and I waited upon his pleasure in the garden. Thus we all heard this tale together. Bedwyr was stricken with sadness; Lancelot alternated between fury at the insult done the King and pride in Gareth’s noble behavior. I watched Mordred’s face throughout, and saw his grief and his anger at his inability to prevent this tragedy. How he longs for power! I thought to myself. Arthur alone was still.<
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  When they had told everything, all eyes turned to the King. He rose and walked out into the garden, staring at the sky. When he returned, his expression was grim.

  “Agravaine.” The youth paled and went down on one knee.

  “My lord.”

  “When you took service with me, you took an oath not to lift a sword against any man, save only the King’s enemies. Lamorak was not my enemy. He was a trusted knight and still served me. Your oath is broken. You are dismissed from my service.” Agravaine gaped, and Gareth closed his eyes in sorrow.

  “But, my lord—” Agravaine whispered, unable to believe it.

  “Go,” Arthur said flatly. “Get your belongings from the barracks. You can find a room in town, if you want to stay. Gawaine will give you protection, no doubt, since I judge you did his bidding.” Dumbfounded, Agravaine opened his mouth to protest yet again, but Arthur cut him off, showing temper.

  “Be gone before I call the guard!” Agravaine fled.

  Arthur paced back and forth, scowling. Lancelot and Bedwyr stood at attention. Mordred and Gareth were on their knees. At last the King sighed deeply and put his anger behind him. He stood before Mordred and Gareth and addressed them solemnly.

  “I thank you both for your noble efforts on my behalf. If Drustan remains my ally, you have done me a great service. Gareth, I will honor you publicly in Council; you have shown calm and sense and honor in a matter that must have touched your heart nearly. For this, I am grateful.”