The Legend of the King (16 page)

Then a new voice broke into the parley. "What if the king chose someone to fight in his place? Would you accept single combat then? Will you fight me instead?"

It was Gawain.

The rest of that day was like a nightmare for Terence as the arrangements were made for a single combat between Gawain and Lancelot. A part of his mind refused to accept the notion that his two friends—and two of Arthur's most loyal knights—would prepare for a fight to the death. Terence thought he knew what had prompted Gawain's offer: Gawain had always tried to relieve deep pain through fierce activity, and avenging his brothers' deaths on Lancelot would certainly do that. But why had Lancelot accepted Gawain's challenge? At first, Terence was bewildered by this, but as negotiations for the battle drew on, he began to understand. Lancelot set only two conditions. First, whatever the result of the battle, Guinevere was to go free. If Lancelot won, then Guinevere would be restored to her former position and held to be innocent. If Lancelot lost, she would at least be permitted to live. His second condition was that all the knights who had followed Lancelot to Joyous Garde were to be held innocent of treason and restored to the king's favor as before. Lancelot asked for nothing for himself, and so long as the king agreed to those two terms, Lancelot accepted every other condition. He didn't protest when Arthur suggested that the battle be fought with swords only, even though Lancelot's greatest advantage was in his superior jousting. He didn't even blink when the king called for the battle to begin at nine in the morning.

This last condition was significant, more than even Arthur knew. At the beginning of his career, Gawain had received a blessing from a holy man, by which his strength was tied to the sun and would increase as the sun rose. Only Gawain and Terence knew about this blessing, but everyone at court was aware that Gawain was at his best before noon. For years—before Gawain and Lancelot had stopped participating in tournaments so as to give the younger knights a chance to shine—a tournament held in the morning had been called a Gawain Tourney and one held in the afternoon a Lancelot. A swords-only contest in the morning gave Gawain a clear edge, but Lancelot made no demur. Terence suspected that Lancelot didn't care if he lived, so long as Guinevere and his friends were given their freedom.

Terence said nothing to Gawain that evening about the upcoming fight. At this point recriminations and arguments were useless. A challenge had been offered and accepted, and neither knight would dream of backing out now. Instead, Terence and Gawain sat around their fire in silence. With the prospect of action, some of Gawain's bitterness had lifted, and though Gawain still spoke little, Terence no longer felt excluded by his friend's melancholy.

Gawain glanced at Terence and said, "Wondering if this is the last night you'll see me alive?"

Terence shrugged. "Not really. Remember the life we've led, milord. I've had that thought off and on for twenty years. I suppose I must have worn it out by now."

Another long silence was followed with another question. "What do you suppose will await me after I die?"

Terence stared into the fire for a long time, watching the wood change into light and warmth, before answering, "In our journeys to other worlds, we've met some who left this world by dying out of it. Some of those people seemed alive; some didn't. I don't know what awaits anyone. All I'm sure of is that this world isn't all there is."

Gawain poked the fire with a stick, and a log crumbled into a heap of coals and glowing embers. "Everything falls apart," he said.

"But nothing is ever lost," Terence replied.

The battle began promptly at nine, with Lancelot immediately pressing a furious onslaught. He was clearly hoping to take Gawain by surprise and negate his morning advantage, but Gawain was waiting for this and matched each lightning blow with an equally swift parry. Gawain ended this opening assault by slipping under a swing and landing a solid blow on Lancelot's breastplate, which sent the French knight staggering backwards. Gawain followed up quickly, but Lancelot desperately deflected one blow with his sword and a second with his shield. A chip the size of an oak leaf flew from the edge of the shield, but the shield held, and Lancelot regained his balance.

After that, Lancelot grew more cautious and deliberate. Having failed to achieve a swift victory, he seemed content to reserve his energy, keep himself from serious harm, and watch for openings. Since Gawain was as skilled and experienced as Lancelot, such openings were brief and few. Over the next hour, Lancelot's shield became more and more chipped as Gawain grew stronger and pressed his attack. Gawain was fighting brilliantly, judging every blow to a hair and deflecting all of Lancelot's counterattacks without apparent effort. Twice Lancelot managed to clinch and throw Gawain staggering backwards, but in neither case did Lancelot have the strength to follow up. Instead, he backed away and drew in great, gasping breaths while Gawain recovered his balance.

The crowd watched the battle without shouts of encouragement, but rather in awed silence. Even Terence, with all his years of experience, had never seen such skill at arms. Again and again he witnessed some amazing pass that perhaps only two knights in the world were capable of executing. These two knights.

Beside him, Kai's gruff voice muttered, "Good Gog! Are they even human? It's Hector and Achilles."

After a moment, Terence whispered, "But which one will be Hector?"

Kai didn't answer. Terence glanced up at his friend's face and saw tears streaming down his cheeks, dancing over his bristly gray beard, and splashing on his shirt. The clang of sword on sword, the shuffle of feet, the gasping and wheezing, and the dull thud of sword against shield continued without interruption. Terence could count on one hand the number of swordfights he had witnessed that had lasted even an hour. This one was now approaching three.

And then, as the sun neared its zenith, Gawain threw himself into a new attack, suddenly appearing as fresh as when the battle had begun. Lancelot was helpless to do anything but desperately deflect blows away from vital areas and absorb them on his arms and shoulders. He was taking tremendous punishment, but he stayed on his feet until a colossal swing, aimed at his neck but landing on the back of his helm as he tried to duck beneath it, sent him sprawling, stunned. Gawain stepped up to the prone form and raised his sword for the blow that would end it. Terence closed his eyes, but all he heard was the soft crunch of a sword being driven into the earth.

"No, not like this," Gawain gasped. "Not helpless. No man should die helpless, least of all this man." He looked over his shoulder at Lancelot's escort. "Bors! Lionel! Take him!" Then Gawain removed his helm and looked into the eyes of King Arthur. "We'll finish this tomorrow," he said. Terence's heart leaped. The blankness of grief was entirely gone from his friend's eyes. Gawain was himself again.

Bors and Lionel each took one of Lancelot's arms and raised him, dazed and weaving, to his feet.

Gawain said, "We'll pick up tomorrow where we left off." Bors and Lionel nodded, and Gawain added, "We start at noon."

That afternoon, after Terence had treated his wounds and rubbed liniment into every muscle in his body, Gawain lay down and slept the deep and motionless sleep of the exhausted. Terence stationed himself outside their tent and kept people from disturbing him. More than one man asked him why Gawain had set the next day's battle at noon, but Terence evaded the question. Even when King Arthur himself, his eyes still betraying the grim emptiness that Gawain's had finally lost, asked that question, Terence only replied, "Gawain didn't say, sire."

"And why didn't he end the battle?" Arthur asked.

For a moment, Terence didn't answer. Then he said, "Would you have done so, sire? Struck down Lancelot while he lay stunned?"

The king turned on his heel and strode away.

Gawain slept for six hours, awoke and ate a hearty meal, then went back to bed, not so much to sleep as to avoid people. He and Terence talked quietly inside their tent for several hours, mostly about Gawain's faery wife, Lorie, on the Island of Avalon, until at last, sometime after midnight, Gawain went back to sleep.

Terence woke his friend at ten, which left enough time for him to eat well but not feel heavy from the meal at noon. They made the rest of their preparations in silence, and when Lancelot emerged from Joyous Garde at midday, Gawain was armed and ready. The knights nodded to each other, waited for the signal, then threw themselves into battle.

The contest was more deliberate than the one the day before. Both knights moved more slowly, even stiffly at first, but Gawain clearly held the early advantage. He continually pushed Lancelot backwards and once even drove him to his knees, but Lancelot escaped by lunging forward toward Gawain and making him stumble, rather than trying to avoid Gawain's sword. A blind parry behind his back deflected Gawain's off-balance stroke, and then Lancelot rolled to his feet, ready to fight again.

Terence shook his head with awe. No other man, driven to the ground before a swordsman such as Gawain, could have escaped unharmed. In fact, Terence was surprised that even Lancelot had survived. Had Gawain hesitated? Frowning, Terence began to watch more critically. Within another half-hour, Terence was certain. Three times Gawain had had a slim opening and had either missed it by hesitating or had simply let it pass.

Then the tide of the battle turned. Gawain's strength began to flag, and his blows were neither as swift nor as precise as they had been. Lancelot, encouraged by the signs that Gawain was faltering, seemed to find renewed strength. Now Gawain was on the defensive, fighting as Lancelot had the previous morning. Unfortunately, by nature Gawain was a less patient fighter than Lancelot, and thus was less adept at the defensive stance. With one perfectly aimed blow, Lancelot split Gawain's shield in half, rendering it useless. Gawain tried to defend himself with the largest half, then tossed it behind him impatiently. Lancelot stepped back and let Gawain recover his breath, then calmly threw his own shield aside.

Gawain attacked; Lancelot parried. Gawain dived to one side and swung at Lancelot's legs; Lancelot leaped over Gawain's blow without losing his balance and landed a counterblow on Gawain's side. Gawain hit the turf hard and rolled to his feet, more swiftly than Terence would have imagined possible for a man in full armor, but Lancelot was waiting for him as he rose and knocked him backwards again. Lancelot lunged, clinched briefly, then threw Gawain to the ground. Gawain sat up and, with his sword, deflected one blow aimed at his helm, then a second one. He managed to get his feet under him, but as his sword arm lowered, Lancelot finally landed a heavy blow on Gawain's temple. Gawain sprawled to his right, nearly rolling over completely. His helm flew from his head and his sword to the ground, yards away from where he lay. Dazed but unconquered, Gawain pushed himself up and climbed shakily to one knee, but there he stopped. Lancelot stood before him, his blade at Gawain's throat.

"Do you yield, Gawain?" gasped Lancelot.

Gawain said nothing.

"Do you yield?" Lancelot repeated.

Gawain shook his head.

"Damn it, Gawain! You're disarmed! Yield, I say!"

Finally Gawain spoke. "Sorry, Lance, but I don't fight for myself. I fight for Arthur. You'll have to kill me."

Lancelot raised his arms, and for a horrible, sick second Terence thought he was about to see Gawain die, but Lancelot only tore off his own helm and threw it on the ground behind him. His cheeks were streaked with tears. "No, by God! I will not! I'll die myself first!" Then he let his sword drop to the ground and knelt beside Gawain. "Forgive me, my friend."

His own eyes wet, Gawain embraced Lancelot. Then he pushed him away and looked into his eyes. "Whatever I have to forgive is forgiven," he said.

"I suppose we might all be wondering where we go from here," interposed a quiet voice. A slight man in black robes stepped out of the crowd of onlookers into the very center of the battleground. It was Nacien, Bishop of Glastonbury.

Arthur rose from the chair where he had sat watching the combat. "Bishop Nacien," he said dully. "What brings you here?"

"I sent for him, Arthur," growled Kai. "To serve as mediator."

"And if I might presume to correct you, Your Highness," Nacien said, "it is no longer
Bishop
Nacien. At least I don't think so. A few days after I served you at the queen's trial, and just one day after you left Camelot, I received a letter from the Holy Father appointing me Archbishop of Canterbury."

"Archbishop, then," Arthur said impatiently.

"I only mention the fact," Nacien continued, "because if I choose to accept this dreadful position, I will have the job of doing my utmost to preserve the peace of God in England. Do you mind if I give it a go right away? As official representative of the pope, I mean?"

All this was said in such a deferential, almost apologetic tone that it took King Arthur a few seconds for the import of it to sink in. "Do you mean to say that you've come as a papal legate to mediate peace?"

Nacien smiled. "Yes, actually. If you don't mind."

"Does it matter if I mind?" Arthur asked.

"No, but I'd rather have your approval."

Arthur scowled, but after a moment he waved his hand resignedly. Even the king of England had to recognize the authority of the pope in mediating disputes. Nacien turned to Gawain and Lancelot, who had both struggled to their feet, holding on to each other for support. Nacien spoke to Gawain. "I heard you say, Sir Gawain, that you have forgiven Sir Lancelot. I'm very glad to hear it. What exactly had you to forgive?"

Gawain took a breath, then said, "He killed my brothers."

"Brothers?" demanded Lancelot, his eyes widening. "I knew I killed Sir Agrivaine, but—"

"The man you killed at the gate when you rescued the queen," Gawain interrupted. "That was Gareth."

Lancelot's face grew still and empty. Then he bowed his head. "I did not know," he said at last. "In the heat of an attack ... but still, I am sorry. I loved Gareth, you know."