Sword of the Rightful King (11 page)

 

T
HE BOY
and mage worked well into the evening, hauling bottles upstairs to the tower room, settling them into the oak livery cupboards. Then they took down hanging herbs to be wrapped in soft cloth and stuck in the cupboards as well. All the scrolls that had been littering tabletops were rolled tight, tied with ribands, and stacked in a large wooden chest that was carved with runes of power. A covering of wool and silk topped the scrolls. It was heavy for just the two of them, but they managed.

“Why was this not all put away when the stone was first brought down here?” the boy asked.

Good question
, Merlinnus thought.
I like a boy who asks good questions. Such a boy will listen to answers
.

Aloud he said, “It was only a simple stone when it was carried here, and well disguised. It could be dropped with no more than a broken toe to result. Besides, I had much still to do before the stone was ready to receive the sword. And after—well, I had no boy to help me clean up.”

“But now you have a boy to do the work?” Gawen's smile eased the sting of what he was saying.

“Your coming is clearly a godsend. I do not have much time.” He did not say how little. Sometimes saying such out loud proved it true.

Gawen nodded, clearly at ease with this explanation. He glanced around the room as if studying it.
Not like a spy
, Merlinnus thought,
but like a contented housewife checking her work
.

“A bit more, my boy, till we are done.”

When all was put away to his satisfaction, Merlinnus had the boy sweep the floor of the tower room and carry the detritus upstairs in a basket. There they emptied it over the wall, scattering the pieces to the winds.

“Now go to the kitchen and fetch me some dinner.”

As Gawen went out the door, he added, “And something for yourself as well.”

 

T
HE KITCHENS
had the wonderful yeasty smell of bread. There were several dozen loaves of good-quality white cooling on a long table near the ovens. About the same number of black were just now being taken out of the ovens with the long bread paddles. On another table sat the trencher breads made for the servants. Gawen was unsure which Merlinnus would want.

Ale had been recently brewed, too. The heavy malt smell attested to that. Gawen had also passed barrels of wine, marked
WHITE
or
RED
or
MALMSEYN
.

Fresh game hung in a separate room: rabbit and pheasant and geese and woodcock, and large hams and mutton and joints of beef as well. Soon it would be time for the early lambs to be slaughtered. In a smaller pantry were rounds of cheese and vats of milk ready to be skimmed, as well as amphorae full of olive oil. A castle had many mouths and, Gawen knew, all of them were hungry.

Coming into the main kitchen, Gawen spotted the cook, a broad man with a spectacular wen on the side of his nose. The cook sat on a chair that reminded Gawen of King Arthur's throne, and he was directing his minions rather than doing the actual cooking himself. His face dripped with sweat, even though he was stripped down to his camisia and leather breeches.

“Cook,” Gawen shouted over the noise of the kitchen, for there was no other way to be heard in the place, “Magister Merlinnus would like his evening meal.”

Cook nodded. “Hungry from all that plottin' and plannin' is he?”

Gawen nodded back.

“I'll gie ye summat fer he, but ye will have to carry it oop yersel'.”

Gawen nodded again.

“And best ye tak summat fer yersel'. That old wizard'll ferget to feed ye.”

“He already said I could...” Gawen started.

However, it was clear Gawen's audience with Cook was over. Two of the kitchen boys gave Gawen a hand choosing what to put on a tray.

“Here, ye try that mutton,” said one, shoving a large slab toward Gawen's face, while the other popped several boiled potatoes onto a trencher for him.

Only then was Gawen ready to go back up the many stairs to the tower, with a tray overflowing with a chine of mutton, a quart of beer, a quart of wine, a dish of buttered eggs, and a half loaf of the black.

“He likes the black, do our mage,” said one of the boys. None of them volunteered to help carry the heavy tray.

Gawen managed to get the tray to the tower without spillage, but it was a close thing. By that time Merlinnus was fast asleep on the bed, snoring, his mouth wide open and showing a full set of yellowed and broken teeth.

Setting the tray down on a nearby table, Gawen drew a coverlet over the old man and left. But not before snatching another potato from the mage's tray. It had been a long day.

 

 

 

 

III

The stones of the churchyard and the stone of the church walls and the stone with the sword were all one color: the grey of sin, of celibacy, of mourning. The sword in the stone was grey as well, but it had a life to it, the blade the grey of lake water and the hilt the grey of vapor rising over the lake
.

15

F
IVE DAYS OUT
found Morgause's sons camped near a river. It was the first time they had found such a good spot. Gawaine wondered if it were
too
good and set three men to stand watch, including Hwyll, who was handy with a dagger if not a sword. He could always count on Hwyll's even temper not to get them into a brangle unless he was certain of danger. Unlike Agravaine, who always found danger even when there was none.

Agravaine complained, of course. He had been complaining every step of the way, since he had been expecting to stay in castles with some great lords, or at least in comfortable inns each night. He felt insulted and ill used and was not choosy about whom he whined to. Gawaine suspected that he was still feeling sick from the crossing.

However, the twins enjoyed the freedom of camping from the start.

“Mother would never have allowed...” they began together, then smiled at each other. That Mother would not have allowed seemed to be the biggest compliment of all.

Gawaine had nodded. “But Mother is not here now. She is busy at home ruling other folks' lives.”
(And ruining them
, he thought bitterly.) “We want to get to Cadbury on the fastest road possible. Besides, as long as we are still in the Highlands, what few inns there are, are scarcely safer than the road. Often they are run by cutthroats and thieves. And the great lords hereabouts are not all friendly to Arthur.”

The twins had listened, but whether they heard him or not, he could not tell. Still, they at least seemed happy enough with the arrangements.

 

T
HIS NIGHT
the twins were exhausted and, wrapping themselves in their woolen cloaks, fell asleep quickly.

Gawaine sat up by the fire, trying to think about what he should tell the king about his mother, about his brothers. Or wondering if he should say anything at all. Loyalty to family had been drummed into him from birth. But loyalty to the king was something he had learned on his own.

Hearing a noise, he turned. When he saw it was only Agravaine, he looked back to the fire.

“Tell me about Arthur,” his brother said, making no attempt to dress up his interest. He sat down heavily by Gawaine's side.

For a moment Gawaine thought to ask if Agravaine wanted to know for himself, or for their mother. But then he decided it did not really matter if Agravaine were the spy. He would speak the truth, but only such truth as his brother needed to hear. Agravaine would know what he wanted to know soon enough, anyway. Cadbury kept few secrets.

“The king is my size, but bigger all around,” Gawaine began.

“Fat?”

“Muscle.”

“And...”

“He is four years older than I am, but already the veteran of many battles.”

Agravaine smiled. “A good man to have at ones back, then?”

Sighing, Gawaine nodded and added, “He is honest, caring, and totally without vanity.”

Agravaine chuckled. “No man is without vanity.”

“So speaks a vain little boy,” Gawaine said.

“I am no boy.”

“You are fifteen.”

“I have a dog, a horse, a house, and a woman at home. What more makes a man?” Agravaine asked.

“Mother gave you the dog and the horse. Your house is a cottage by the river, where you played as a child. And the woman...”

“Be careful what you say, brother.” Agravaine was still looking at the fire, but Gawaine knew he was also watching every movement from the corner of his eye.

“The woman was given you by Mother, too. To make a man of you.” Gawaine said it carefully but not without intent to hurt.

Agravaine threw a stick at the fire. “And it worked.”

“No,” Gawaine said, “it did
not
work. A man is more than the sum of such things.”

“I bet you never had a woman.”

“If I have or not, it is nothing I would boast to you about,” Gawaine said, more angrily than he meant.

Agravaine stood. “I have a sword, too.” His voice was sullen, like a child's.

“You can have sword and whip and a hard hand. That still does not make you a man.” Gawaine sighed. “Go to bed, Agravaine.”

“Are you telling me man to child?” The voice was still sullen, and slightly dangerous, too. He was drunk on anger and years of being the second son.

“I am telling you brother to brother. Go to bed. We have another, longer ride tomorrow.” Gawaine stood as well, turned on his heel, and went over to the cloak that Hwyll had set out for him. Picking it up, he wrapped it around his body and lay down, sword at his side. He was rigid wi th anger, mostly at himself for getting into such a spat, like two farmwives over a fence.

Agravaine made some rude noises, but at last he, too, found a sleeping cloak.

Gawaine waited until he was certain his brothers were all snoring before he allowed himself to drift off, certain that Hwyll and the others would keep them from harm.

 

B
Y THE TIME
they came within a day's ride of Cadbury, none of the boys was on speaking terms.

Gawaine was at wits' end. He had spoken hurriedly to Hwyll as they kitted up the horses that last morning.

“It is not just Agravaine, though he is the worst,” he said. Anger had made a pronounced line between his eyebrows, and his handsome face was almost ugly with it.

“Agravaine is a second son and feels the weight of it every day,” Hwyll said. “I know. I was a second son as well, though with much less riding on any inheritance.”

“That he is second to me is not my fault.” Gawaine gentled the sweet-faced brown gelding he'd given to Agravaine, as if by soothing the horse, he could soothe himself.

“Not your fault, no. But it is your
duty
to overrule him,” Hwyll said. “With a harder hand than his if necessary.”

“You do not understand...” The horse nuzzled at Gawaine's neck and he pushed it away gently.

“I do not need to understand,” said Hwyll softly. “I need to speak for your mother. And she would tell you this: Agravaine only follows one rule.”

Gawaine waited, though he knew what Hwyll was going to say.

“Power.”

Gawaine nodded. He did not doubt that he could master Agravaine, but he did not want to. He just wanted to get to Cadbury and be shed of them all. The twins, too. For they had turned out to be whiners and complainers once the trip had gotten too long and rain in the valleys had broken into their sleep night after night.

Why
, he thought,
why am I cursed with such brothers?
And then added to himself,
And such a mother?
But he did not say any of this aloud. To say it aloud would be dishonorable. If he prided himself on anything, it was his honor.

Turning to Hwyll, he said, “Arthur will sort him out.

“Agravaine will hardly listen to someone he considers a usurper.” Hwyll finished saddling the last horse, his back to Gawaine, but his shoulders were tense with their conversation.

Oh, by the gods
! Gawaine thought.
That old mother curse again. Hwyll is hers, not mine, if he things of Arthur in that way. I shall have to bend him to me
. “Then why has Agravaine come?”

Hwyll turned and held up his hands, palms to the sky. His plain face, with its bicolored eyes, smiled at him. “Your mother sent him, my lord. How could he refuse?”

16

T
HE ROAD SOUTH
was rutted and ruined by recent spring rains. Only the Roman bridges still stood, strong testimony to the late masters of Britain. Every arch proclaimed that mastery.

The horses alternated trotting and walking, making swift time even on the awful roads. They moved best when given their heads, not reined in or pulled roughly about. Only Agravaine failed to understand that—or refused to listen—and so his poor horse was the slowest of all, and suffered many a kick because of it.

Finally Gawaine could stand no more of his brothers harsh treatment of the gelding. He stopped them all on the top of a small hillock, which was one deep valley from Cadbury.

“Time for a break,” he said. Then he got off his little mare and marched over to Agravaine. Before his brother could dismount on his own, Gawaine hauled him off his horse.

Agravaine fell onto his side with a loud thud that broke no bones but bruised his pride. He stood up slowly, grinding his teeth. His face was a map of feral fury.

“If you cannot ride without injuring your mount, you will walk,” Gawaine said.

“I will
not
,” Agravaine countered, and without warning, threw a hard punch that landed glancingly on Gawaine's cheekbone, beneath the right eye.

The pain was excruciating, radiating up to the top of Gawaine's head, and pulsating in his ear as well. He could not remember ever feeling such pain, and the embarrassment of the blow was as much of a shock as the blow itself.