The Legend of the King (12 page)

Parsifal frowned and asked, "But does a treaty qualify as a legal precedent in a case like this?"

Mador smiled and said, "I thought you might ask that, and so I have asked Clerk Geoffrey of Glastonbury to speak to that question."

Arthur leaned back in his chair and half closed his eyes as a slight man with thinning hair stood up. He held a tall stack of books and papers and was clearly prepared to defend his perspective at length. Arthur sighed as the scholar began his evidence, clearing his throat deferentially every ten or fifteen seconds. His main point seemed to be that treaties were held to be in effect until replaced by other treaties, exactly like laws, and so should be regarded as having the same power. The crowd began to grow restless, at least those who weren't dozing, and Arthur himself found his attention wandering. He couldn't see where all this was leading, unless Mador wanted to make the trial last as long as possible. But that made no sense.

Then Goodwife Grete, who alone of the three judges had made no effort to pay attention to the clerk, said, "Enough of this!"

Clerk Geoffrey blinked. "My lady? I mean, my good woman?"

Grete ignored him. Instead she looked at Mador. "What're ye sayin' the queen did to betray the king and his family? I thought she
was
his family."

Mador scowled, but he had to answer. "She betrayed her husband with one of his knights, Sir Lancelot, as I will prove with over a score of witnesses, once we have established—"

Grete interrupted him, turning her head to look at Guinevere and saying, "Is that so, Yere Highness?"

"Yes," Guinevere said calmly.

"Shame on ye!" snapped Grete.

"You are right, your honor," Guinevere said. "It is the deepest shame I can imagine."

"When was this?" Grete asked.

"It ended fifteen years ago."

"Did your husband know?"

"Yes."

"What did he do to ye?"

"He forgave me and took me back," Guinevere said.

"Hmm. Better'n ye deserve," Grete said. "But that's his business." She looked at the king. "Why'd ye do that, Yere Majesty?"

Arthur had been watching Mador, whose anger at Grete's interruption of the trial was evident. Mador kept glancing behind him, at the gates of the castle, and Arthur was trying to imagine what he was expecting to see there when Grete's question broke into his thoughts. "I beg your pardon, Goodwife Grete?"

"Why'd ye take yere wife back after she betrayed ye?"

Arthur blinked. "I love her," he said.

"Then what're we doin' here?" Grete snapped. "I've work to do at the shop."

In the voice of one speaking to a child or an idiot, Mador said, "My good woman, I don't expect you to understand the intricacies of the law but—"

"But I do," said Bishop Nacien gently. "And I can tell you that where a husband or wife forgives, the law has no interest."

"But, as I was
trying
to demonstrate before this woman interrupted, the king is not just a husband—he represents England itself!"

"Why then, it would appear that England itself has forgiven her," Bishop Nacien said calmly.

Mador looked harried and glanced again toward the outer gate. "But I tell you, this is more than just a wife being unfaithful," he said at last. "She was unfaithful with a
traitor!
"

There was a hush as every eye turned toward Mador. But Arthur ignored him. Instead, he caught Gareth's eye and gestured to him.

"Are you trying to tell this court that Sir Lancelot du Lac is a traitor?" asked Parsifal in a quiet voice that nevertheless seemed thunderous in its intensity. Gareth stepped up to the king.

"Gareth," Arthur said softly. "It appears to me that Sir Mador is expecting someone to arrive through the front gates. Would you be so kind as to lower the portcullis?" Gareth nodded and walked away, his hand on his sword.

"That is
exactly
what I'm saying," Mador said clearly. "Sir Lancelot left this court, in the dark of night, and went to the east, did he not?"

The judges looked at Arthur, who nodded. "Yes, toward his castle, Joyous Garde."

"Toward Joyous Garde," repeated Mador, sneering, "or to join Mordred's White Horsemen?"

Arthur's attention sharpened suddenly, and he leaned forward in his seat looking intently at Mador. "Why, Mador, what makes you think that Mordred's armies are to be found east of here?"

Mador froze, his eyes suddenly blank.

Arthur continued. "We have reports of the White Horsemen in Cornwall and in Scotland, but we've heard nothing about their presence in the east. Do you, perhaps, have sources of information as to Mordred's movements that we do not?"

Every eye turned toward Mador. Parsifal and Kai rested their hands on their swords and stepped toward Mador. Mador placed his hand on his sword, his face flushed and ugly with anger, and then came a roar of galloping hooves from the gate, a clash of steel, a cry of pain, and chaos as dozens of horsemen burst into the courtyard. Arthur recognized Lancelot's armor in the lead and leaped to his feet, but he was immediately knocked backwards by Kai, who had thrown himself in front of his king. Shrieks rang out in the courtyard, but above them all, Arthur heard Guinevere's voice screaming, "No, Lance! Don't! Stop!" Arthur shoved Kai off of his legs and scrambled to his feet.

"Gwen!" he shouted.

The horses reared and turned, scattering knights and ladies and townspeople on every side, and then they rode away at a full gallop. Arthur saw Guinevere seated precariously before Lancelot on his saddle, clinging to his neck.

"After them!" Arthur shouted furiously. But the cavalcade was already out of the castle gates and had scattered, with each rider going in a different direction. "Kai!" Arthur roared.

"Here, sire!" came Kai's voice.

"Gather the troops. We march at once."

"March where, Arthur?"

"Joyous Garde! Three regiments. You lead one, Parsifal another, Gareth another. I'll ride before you all. At once, Kai!"

Kai hurried away to begin the preparations, but Parsifal's voice, from the front gate, stopped him. "Not Gareth, sire."

"No?" Arthur said, fighting to bring his rage under control. "Has Gareth joined the traitors, too?"

"No," Parsifal said. "Gareth is dead."

Lynet, Gawain, and Gaheris were still more than a day's journey from Camelot when they met Sir Griflet riding in the other direction. Gawain sighed and rolled his eyes, as he generally did when he encountered the court dandy, but Gaheris smiled a greeting and waved.

"Sir Gaheris, Lady Lynet," Griflet said, adding, more stiffly, "and Sir Gawain. How do you?"

"Well enough for the times, I suppose," Gaheris said. "And you? Do you come from Camelot?"

Griflet raised his eyes and gazed sadly into the ether, then sighed and said, "Camelot. Speak not to me of what glory once was."

Gawain's jaw clenched, and Lynet sympathized with her brother-in-law. When Griflet began striking dramatic poses, it
was
rather hard not to reach over and shake him by his silken blouse. But Gaheris answered with unimpaired friendliness. "Er ... I'm not sure exactly what that means, old fellow. Are you saying something's amiss at Camelot?"

"Something? Everything!" Griflet declared dramatically.

"Well, that's certainly comprehensive," Gaheris said, nodding amiably. "Why don't you take a load off your horse and tell us about it? We were just looking for a place to camp, and we'd be glad if you'd join us."

Lynet heard a faint moan from Gawain, but she immediately added her voice to Gaheris's. "Yes, please do. We've heard no news at all."

Griflet gave Gawain a nervous sidelong glance, but he allowed himself to be persuaded. They rode a little ways off the trail to a sheltered area near a stream and made camp. When they were settled around a cheerful campfire, Gaheris turned again to Griflet and said, "Now, start at the beginning and tell us what's happened at court."

"The kingdom has been divided," Griflet declared dramatically, "the Round Table riven in two!"

Gaheris nodded slowly, then said, "You know, again, I'm not sure I'm following you. Are you talking about Mordred's rebel army?"

"Mordred! Ah, if only that were all! Lancelot and the queen have joined the rebels!"

"What?" the others exclaimed together.

"I don't believe it!" snapped Gawain.

"Nevertheless, it is true," Griflet said, holding his chin high. "Lancelot was discovered at midnight in the queen's bedchamber. Several brave knights fought to subdue him, but he escaped, killing many fellows of the Round Table." As he said this, Griflet's eyes suddenly widened as if he had just realized something. Abandoning his oratorical intonations, he looked at Gaheris and Gawain and added, "One of the knights Lancelot killed was Agrivaine." The brothers were silent for a moment, and Griflet added simply, "I'm sorry."

"Go on," said Gaheris.

Griflet continued in a more normal voice. "Lancelot escaped from the court, taking with him many other traitor knights, but a letter to Mordred was found on his desk. There is no doubt. He has thrown in his lot with King Arthur's enemies."

Lynet still didn't believe it. But she could not imagine a reason for Griflet to make up such a story, or an innocent explanation for what he had described.

"Go on," Gaheris said grimly.

"The queen was arrested and confined to her rooms for several days, then brought to trial."

"Trial?" Lynet exclaimed.

"For treason," Griflet said. "Lancelot has been proven a traitor, and she has certainly been consorting with him, betraying both the king's love and the king's rule. Sir Mador de la Porte brought charges against her, and the trial was held two days ago."

"Mador again," murmured Gawain.

Griflet ignored him. "The queen claimed that her relationship with Lancelot had ended long before, and it almost seemed that she would be set free, but just then Lancelot reappeared with all his knights, rode into the court, and rescued the queen."

"Didn't anyone fight back?" demanded Gawain, his hands opening and closing spasmodically. Lynet knew he was imagining himself there, defending the court.

Griflet hesitated, looking between Gawain and Gaheris. At last he said, "Yes. Several were killed. Sir Mador is missing and feared dead and ... your brother Gareth."

"What about Gareth?" Gaheris asked.

"He tried to stop them at the gates. Lancelot killed him."

Gawain and Gaheris were struck dumb. It was Lynet who whispered, "Lancelot killed Gareth?" It made no sense. Gareth had idolized Lancelot, had even insisted that Lancelot, rather than King Arthur, knight him. Lynet could remember Gareth as a callow youth challenging strange knights to duels for speaking less respectfully of Lancelot than he thought proper.

For several minutes no one spoke, all staring bleakly into the fire that no longer seemed cheerful. Even Griflet was subdued, his face looking very old in the moving light of the flames. At length he went on, "Arthur has gathered his armies and left Camelot, following Lancelot to Joyous Garde. I've no doubt he'll meet Mordred's armies there."

"Then what are you doing heading north?" Gawain asked.

Griflet flushed, and his voice took on its theatrical tones again. "I go to rally the people of my own lands in Lincolnshire. We shall join Arthur as soon as ... we must fortify ourselves against the evil..." His face sagged again, and he didn't finish.

"You're running away, in fact," Gawain said harshly.

Griflet's lips grew tight. "What difference can one like me make?" he asked bitterly. Lynet heard no trace of play-acting in his voice. "I'm a buffoon. An old fool, fit for nothing but decoration. I'm no more than a tapestry of a knight, and a threadbare tapestry at that. Did you know that I'm older than the king? Without ... without
help,
my hair would be completely white. I can't fight. I'm useless to Arthur. Why should I die if there's nothing I can do for him by staying?"

Gawain didn't answer. He simply turned his eyes away and curled his lip scornfully. Griflet stood abruptly and began gathering his gear. "I'll leave you," Griflet said. "You'll sleep better without the smell of me among you." He threw his saddle on his horse, tightened it, then climbed up. "But I'm glad I met you today, anyway. You at least might be able to help the king, and if I've told you something useful, then I've been good for
something
in my life."

Gawain didn't look up as Griflet rode away. Gaheris stirred the fire. "Poor old Griff," Gaheris said softly.

"Poor?" snapped Gawain. "Despicable, you mean."

Gaheris smiled softly and shook his head. "You've never had any patience with him, have you?"

"And you have?"

"Oh, yes," Gaheris said. "I was once just like him, you know. I'm a duffer with a sword, too. I'm no knight. The only difference between Griflet and me is that, with Lynet's help, I was able to find out what I really am. Griflet never did. All he knew was what he wanted to look like. It wasn't enough."

Gawain shook his head. "A coward's a coward, and you were never that. But enough about Griflet. Let's go."

"Go where?" Gaheris asked.

"Joyous Garde," Gawain said. "The king's at war, and my place is at his side."

Gaheris frowned. "Can we think about this for a minute?"

"What's to think about?" Gawain snapped impatiently.

"Do
you
believe that Lancelot and the queen have betrayed Arthur?" Gaheris asked.

Gawain hesitated, and Lynet said, "No."

"No more do I," Gaheris said. "So what really happened?"

"I can't imagine," Lynet said.

"Gawain?" Gaheris asked. "Why did you comment on Sir Mador? He's about the least known of all Arthur's knights."

"Mador was involved in something just before I left Camelot," Gawain said. "Agrivaine got Gareth drunk, and Gareth began spouting all that old stuff about Lancelot and Guinevere, from all those years back."

"And Mador was there?" Gaheris asked. Gawain nodded. Gaheris continued thoughtfully, "And Griflet said he was the one who brought charges against the queen and that he disappeared after the rescue."