King Ban nodded. "He arrived with one regiment as an escort. Mostly foot soldiers. But more troops have been arriving. I did not think that he had grown so strong, but he would hardly make such a demand without an army to support him."
"So even if he's acting on his own, he may have some support from the Empire," Arthur looked around him. "What advice do I hear, my knights?"
"Pay them nothing!" a gruff voice called out.
"That would mean war, Pellinore," Arthur said.
The knight who had spoken looked startled. "Yes, my liege. Do you ... do you not wish for war?"
"Only a fool wishes for war," Arthur said. "Do I hear any other counsel?" No one spoke. The king waited for a long minute, then nodded. "I too see no other option. Either we pay these cockerels tribute, which I will not do, or we fight. How shall we go about it? Kai?"
Sir Kai turned to King Ban. "How many troops can this Lucius raise, sir? Your highest guess."
"Surely he would not dare to send such a message with less than twenty thousand," King Ban said after a moment.
"We can raise that many, my liege," Sir Kai said, "but it will take months."
"Which will give Lucius time to cross the channel," Arthur answered. "And I'd rather not let him 'burn our lands,' as this gentleman put it. But there is a faster way to raise an army." He turned to King Ban. "You called this Lucius a nuisance, I believe?"
King Ban grinned broadly. "Indeed, sir. If you would not take it amiss, I should be delighted to join you in your endeavor. I shall return to Benouic at once and have my son prepare our troops. We will be ready by the time you arrive."
Arthur bowed grandly and said, "Bring the ambassadors back in."
Still flushed with anger, the spokesman for the delegation was ushered back into the banquet hall. "I am not used to being treated like a lackey," he said.
"Really?" Arthur answered politely. "How fortunate for you. I have a reply for your master, but I'm afraid I haven't had time to have it inscribed yet. Do you think you can remember it?"
The man turned even redder and said, "I shall do my best."
"Tell your master to go to the devil."
The man's eyes looked as if they would pop out. "Your answer is rebellion!" he announced incredulously.
"No," Arthur said firmly. "My answer is war."
***
Gawain took part in the first skirmish of the war. It began with a diplomatic mission. Arthur had swiftly gathered an army and crossed the channel to the continent to meet King Ban. Now, Arthur and Ban were camped only a mile from Lucius's fortifications. To all appearances, Lucius was outnumbered, and Arthur sent Gawain, Sir Bors, Sir Lionel, and Sir Bedivere to offer Lucius the chance to surrender. Though under the protection of a white flag, Gawain and the others were set on from behind and had to fight desperately to escape back to Arthur's camp. All four made it alive, but all were injured. Battered and bloody, Gawain reported to Arthur briefly—"They do not choose to surrender, my liege"—and then Terence helped him back to their own tent.
Gawain had a vicious-looking gash in his side and a deep cut in his sword arm, among what seemed like a thousand lesser cuts and bruises. Terence washed off the blood, then tightly bound Gawain's arm and side. When he was through, Gawain pushed himself to a sitting position.
"You lie still, milord. You've lost a lot of blood."
"No, I haven't," Gawain said.
"Yes, you have," Terence said. "Look at that!" He gestured at the pile of bloody rags he had thrown behind him.
"It's not all mine," Gawain said.
"Well, it should have been," Terence muttered. "Whatever possessed you to go fighting the whole army by yourself, I'd like to know."
"No no, not by myself," Gawain protested. "There were four of us, remember."
"Crack-brain," Terence said bluntly.
"They started it—" Gawain began, then broke off suddenly. "Why am I explaining myself to you?"
Terence snorted. "Can you think of someone else who'd bother to listen? I hope you realize you can't fight tomorrow," he added.
Gawain lifted his wounded sword arm and tried a few motions. He winced. "I could fight left-handed," he suggested. Terence looked pointedly at the wound in Gawain's left side, and Gawain shrugged. "How about if I only fight in the morning, and come back to camp after noon?"
This was more reasonable than it sounded. Years before, when he and Terence had first met, Gawain had been granted a special boon by Trevisant, the hermit who had raised Terence: Gawain's strength would rise and decline as the sun rose and fell. But Terence was not convinced. "And what would you do? Stop in the middle of a fight? Tip your hat and say that you're terribly sorry, but you have to be off?"
Gawain grinned. "It would be difficult, wouldn't it? How about if I prepare for battle but only watch? I won't fight unless things start to go bad for Arthur. Promise." Terence put a stern and dissatisfied expression on his face, but this concession was already more than he had hoped for, and he nodded. "Thank you, Mother," Gawain said.
And so it was that on the following day, when the two full armies met, Gawain and Terence sat on their horses on a hill that overlooked the battlefield. The day began with a cavalry charge. Arthur had divided his forces into two parts, and King Ban's men made a third. At dawn, Arthur's first group charged Lucius's lines from the east. Then, with King Ban's men awaiting their signal, Arthur's second group attacked from the north. At first Lucius's troops fell back, but before long the lines steadied, and the warriors settled down to hard battle.
Then, to Terence's amazement, Arthur's troops began to retreat, step by step. Every Roman warrior who fell was replaced immediately by another, and then by two, and then three. Roman soldiers seemed to be springing from the earth itself, there were so many of them. "Where are they coming from, milord?" Terence asked.
"This Lucius is no fool," Gawain said. "He concealed most of his troops until he saw what he was up against."
A trumpeter gave the signal, and King Ban's men raised a jubilant shout and charged into the battle. Leading the way was a knight in brilliant silver armor, the sort of armor that any one of the court dandies would have sold his soul to own. Terence sniffed and glanced with pride at his master's dented hauberk. You could always tell which knights were fighters and which were brightly dressed puppets.
"Who is that knight in the lead?" Gawain said, whistling softly.
"The one with the pretty armor, you mean?" Terence asked. "I hope he doesn't get it scuffed."
"He might not, at that," Gawain said. "What a horseman!"
Surprised, Terence looked again at the racing knight, who had just hit the Roman lines and disappeared into the chaos of waving arms and lances. With a rush, the rest of King Ban's men arrived at the battle, and the Romans began falling back again. Soon they were back almost to their tents and surrounding fortifications. The silver knight was everywhere, and where he went, Romans fell and the Britons and French surged forward. Gawain whistled appreciatively.
"I'd like to meet this—" he broke off. "Now who the devil is that?"
Terence followed his eyes and saw a regiment of knights making their way through a dense stand of trees at the foot of the hill where he and Gawain sat. One knight raised a standard, and Terence made out the golden eagle of the Roman legions. It was another troop of Romans, preparing to charge the British and French soldiers from behind.
Gawain put on his helm. "You stay here, Terence."
"Not likely," Terence said shortly, stringing his longbow.
Gawain hesitated only a second, then said, "Right. Shout as loudly as you can on the way down. Now!" He booted his great horse, Guingalet, and tore off down the hill, yelling like a banshee.
Occupied with guiding his horse down the hill, Terence heard, rather than saw, Gawain meet the Romans: there was a crash, followed by a scream of pain, followed by more crashes. He looked up and saw Gawain holding his great sword Galatine in his left hand, doggedly defending himself against three knights.
Terence slipped from his horse, clutching his longbow and arrows, and began shooting into the melee. He was able to draw some of the Romans away from Gawain, but they immediately charged at Terence.
They never got to him. A strange knight in black armor galloped past Terence into the battle. With a careless backhand blow, the black knight unhorsed one of those charging Terence and then went to Gawain's aid. In a few seconds, the new knight had freed Gawain from his opponents, and then together they charged into the Roman line. A shrill cry from his left drew Terence's attention, and there, galloping full-tilt across the battlefield, came the silver knight who had led King Ban's charge.
It was a glorious battle, and over in a minute. The black knight, the silver knight, and Gawain fought brilliantly and furiously. The Roman regiment, thrown into disarray, recoiled, tried to regroup, then recoiled again. Then, suddenly, the remaining Roman knights threw up their hands in surrender. The sounds of battle ceased. Terence looked across the field and saw that the other Romans had surrendered as well.
Gawain turned to the black knight and said, "Sir knight, I am doubly in your debt. You saved my squire's life as well as my own."
"And you, in your turn, saved my battle," the knight said, raising his visor. It was King Arthur. "I thank you."
"My liege!" Gawain exclaimed.
Arthur turned back toward the captive knights. "I am Arthur, King of the Britons and master of all England. Where is this Lucius, who calls himself Emperor of Rome?" A knight pointed wordlessly at one of the bodies stretched out nearby. "That one?" Arthur asked. The knight nodded, and Arthur said, "So that is why all the others have surrendered?"
The knight said, "No one to pay us now."
"I see," Arthur said. "You are not Romans at all, are you?"
"We are whatever pleases the one who pays us," the knight replied. "Now we are nothing."
"See that in the future you remain nothing before you fight against England or Benouic," Arthur said. "Go."
The mercenary knight hesitated for a second, then wheeled his horse and galloped away, leading the rest of Lucius's hired troops. In a few minutes, the battlefield held only the Britons, the French, and the dead. The silver knight who had fought beside Gawain and Arthur dismounted, walked to Arthur's side, and knelt.
"My father has told me of your wisdom," he said emotionally, in heavily accented English, "but now it is that I have myself seen your valor and your graciousness. To so great a king, I offer myself as his servant for the rest of my life."
"I have enough servants," Arthur said gently. "But I would be proud to call such a warrior my knight. Who is your father?"
"King Ban of Benouic, your highness."
"You are Ban's son?" Arthur looked startled.
"Yes, your highness. I am called Sir Lancelot."
II. The Green Knight
Sir Lancelot, the hero of Arthur's victory, remained in France after the battle, but he declared his intention of soon following the English army to Camelot and becoming a knight of the Round Table. All the English were pleased and sang Sir Lancelot's praises almost without ceasing. Indeed, by the time they had arrived home, Terence was thoroughly sick of hearing Sir Lancelot toasted as the Flower of All Chivalry and the Greatest Knight of All Time. Knights and ladies who had always toasted Gawain as the greatest of all Arthur's knights could now talk of nothing but the imminent arrival of Sir Lancelot.
The king planned a victory ball, but delayed it so that Sir Lancelot could be present. But Sir Lancelot did not come. After waiting two weeks, Arthur shrugged and held the ball without him. Terence and Gawain went to the dance, of course, but neither of them looked forward to the evening, Gawain because his wounds still pained him and Terence because he was weary of hearing people speculate on the wonderful Sir Lancelot's whereabouts.
So it happened that as the dancing began, Terence and Gawain stood apart from the crowd. After a few minutes, the king strolled over and joined them. "How are your wounds healing?" Arthur asked Gawain.
Gawain answered frankly. "Slowly. Or perhaps I am only impatient."
"Or perhaps you fought too hard after being hurt. I do not forget that you were weak and wounded when you charged that regiment, Gawain."
"I wish you would, my king. I ask no thanks."
The king nodded gravely and turned the subject. "Perhaps Morgan could do something for you."
"No doubt she could, if she were here," Gawain answered. "And if she felt like it."
"Ah, she is gone, then," Arthur said, nodding. "Perhaps it is as well. I believe that her presence sometimes upsets the ladies." Arthur moved away, and Terence unconsciously looked around for Queen Guinevere. Unquestionably the most beautiful woman at court now that Morgan was absent, the queen was in high good spirits, dancing with Sir Bagdemagus.
Just then, there was a stir at the great doors of the ballroom. Terence glanced over, then stared. There, amid a bevy of admiring ladies, was the long-awaited Sir Lancelot. He wore brilliant continental clothing, a vision in expensive fabric, from satin shoes with long curling toes to a muffin-shaped green silk hat. Eagerly, Sir Lancelot crossed the floor to Arthur. "My seigneur!" he cried. "I am desolate that I have taken so long to arrive, and now to interrupt this grand fête! It is too bad! And here am I in my traveling clothes!"
The king's eyes widened, but he bowed in gracious greeting. "You are welcome at any time, Sir Lancelot," he said. "Er ... those are your traveling clothes?"
"But yes!" Sir Lancelot replied. "I must go at once to change to my good clothes, no?"
"Perhaps you could be persuaded to join us as you are," Arthur said gently. "The ball is partly in your honor, after all."
The ladies eagerly added their appeals, and Sir Lancelot allowed himself to be persuaded. Terence, watching them from his squirely place a few steps behind his master, snorted, a bit louder than he had intended. Gawain glanced at him, one eyebrow raised, then stepped back beside him.
"Jealous, Terence?" he asked.
"Aren't you?" Terence replied bluntly.
"Mortifying as it is, I'm afraid I am. I used to scorn the admiration of the crowds. Now that they've forgotten me, it's harder."
"You fought in that battle, too," Terence muttered. "Why does everyone look only at Sir Lancelot?"
"Maybe because he's better looking," Gawain said with a smile.
It was true. Lancelot was impossibly good looking. His face was smooth and firm without having the hint of wild cragginess that marked Gawain's. His eyes were a brilliant blue. His shoulders were broad and manly, his hips lean, and his legs muscular and well-shaped. Terence nodded and said, "Pretty clothes, too."
Gawain's lips twitched slightly. "Well, they're not in my style, I think."
Gawain joined Sir Kai near a plate of ham, and they talked until the dance ended. Across the room Terence saw the king talking to the queen. In a minute the king crossed to where Gawain and Sir Kai stood. Guinevere and her ladies-in-waiting followed.
"Kai," he said when he was near enough to be heard, "how are our horses after the battle and crossing. In good shape?"
Sir Kai nodded.
Guinevere smiled delightedly. "There!" she said. "I knew there was no reason we couldn't!"
Arthur sighed. "Well enough to stand a tournament, do you think?"
"A tournament?" Sir Kai asked blankly.
"The ladies would like us to hold a tournament to honor Sir Lancelot's acceptance as a knight of the Round Table," Arthur said quietly. "Can we do it?"
Sir Kai glared balefully at Guinevere and said, "It would be very difficult now, my king."
Arthur shook his head. "The truth, Kai. Can we do it?"
Sir Kai scowled. "Yes, sire."
Arthur turned to Guinevere. "Very well, my love. We shall hold a tournament."
Several of the ladies squealed with delight and clapped ecstatically. One of them called out loudly, "Oh Sir Lancelot, did you hear? The king is holding a tournament for you!"
Sir Lancelot walked over to t
he group. "Do you so, your highness?"
"I do, Sir Lancelot."
"You honor me beyond my deserts, your highness." Sir Lancelot bowed.
Arthur said, "I only hope that you do not put us all to shame."
"But no!" Sir Lancelot said. "Truly, I expect to find much difficulty."
Arthur looked over the crowd of ladies behind Guinevere and said, "You may find your greatest difficulty will be in choosing which lady's favor you will wear to the tournament."
The ladies giggled, but most of them turned inviting eyes to Sir Lancelot. Sir Lancelot looked at them, and then his eyes met the queen's. He gazed at her, enraptured, then knelt before her. "After seeing such beauty as yours, fair lady, how could I ask a favor from another? If you will allow me to compete for your honor in this tournament, then tell me so by telling me your name."
The queen blushed even more fiercely and in a faint voice said, "My name is Guinevere, Sir Lancelot."
Sir Lancelot looked stricken. "Guinevere? But that ... you are..."
The king's face showed nothing. "It was not so difficult, after all," he said. "Sir Lancelot, I am honored that you should bear my queen's standard."
Both Sir Lancelot and Guinevere looked at Arthur. Sir Lancelot's face showed shock and despair, Guinevere's a pathetic and strangely sorrowful defiance.
***
The tournament concluded as everyone had expected and most had hoped: Sir Lancelot won the day, apparently without exerting himself. When he knelt before the queen and offered her the prize—a dainty grey mare—his shining armor was barely scratched, and he was not even breathing heavily. Guinevere's eyes sparkled as she accepted Sir Lancelot's tribute. Gawain, whose wounds had kept him from competing and who had watched the tournament from the king's pavilion, leaned close to Arthur and said, "It is gracefully given, my king."
"And rapturously received," Arthur said drily. Gawain was silent, and in a moment Arthur said, "For my love, Gawain, will you forget that I said that?"
The Squire, His Knight, and His Lady Page 2
