Chapter Ten
Ten
And so those who had not been raised up to be knights were given the honor with haste in front of a small audience, and they swore their love in great voice, to the country and her cause, sword-kissed by the Princess Gwendoline, and by the King when he made himself available, which was not oft, as he had a great many offices to attend to.
—FROM AN EARLY DRAFT OF THE QUESTS OF KING GAbrIEL AND HIS ROUND TABLE BY SIR FLORIAN ARDEN
Sir Leonard and Sir Bowen were two of the most attractive people Gabriel had ever seen with his own eyes.
They couldn’t quite measure up to Arthur, who’d walked into the old council room freshly knighted and wearing his favorite maroon doublet with a black cloak draped jauntily over one shoulder, but they did somewhat draw the gaze.
They moved with the familiarity of two people who’d known each other forever, and Gabriel was fascinated.
When Sir Leonard tucked a lock of golden hair behind his ear, Sir Bowen’s head twitched slightly in the same direction without looking; when Sir Bowen went to adjust the position of his chair, Sir Leonard was already moving his own an inch sideways to make room.
Gabriel tried not to stare too obviously, methodically letting his gaze rest on each of his knights in turn, then wondering if it was too obvious that he was rotating between them and trying to mix it up a little bit, as was probably more natural.
Lady Adah, whom Gabriel had only ever spoken to in the mews, was sitting very upright with a guarded expression, like she’d wandered into a formal meeting of sharp-toothed eels.
Their last conversation had been about the consistency of bird mutes.
He’d even picked one up and broken it open, to check if Edith’s excrement was healthy.
Gabriel hoped she didn’t remember. She probably did.
Sidney, on the other hand—Gabriel couldn’t quite bring himself to think of him as Sir Sidney—seemed to have been physically inflated by his knighthood, his chest proudly puffed, a perpetual smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
In all the horror of admin, Gabriel hadn’t really considered what it might mean to Sidney Fitzgilbert, eldest son of six and heir to a modest cottage, to become a knight of the realm.
He was courting a noble lady too, whose father had no doubt been horrified by her choice. Now that Sidney was a knight, perhaps he’d be singing a different tune.
Everybody else was used to the pomp of court, although Gabriel noticed that Florian looked almost as uncomfortable as Adah.
He realized with a start that he had no idea how his cousin had been brought up—in a distant, lonely estate?
Fostered somewhere with those sympathetic to his cause?
Or had his father lavished him with attention and fine things, readying him to be the confident heir to a stolen throne?
From the way he was tugging compulsively at his collar, the answer to the latter seemed to be no.
Gabriel had given a brief speech of welcome—dreadful—and then drinks had been served and Lady Oakley had taken over, delivering lengthy introductions for each member of the round table so that those who weren’t acquainted might be better so.
“Lord Arthur Delacey is Lord of Maidvale, though he has eschewed that title,” she was saying now; Gabriel chanced a look at the man in question, and found him quietly radiant.
“His land and holdings include a great many farms, which make up a large proportion of our southern wheat crop. He played an invaluable part during the tourney uprising—” Sidney snorted, and Arthur jerked slightly in his seat, like he was trying to kick Sidney under the table and failing.
The table was simply too big. “While I’m sure he is a very able swordsman”—another snort—“ahem … his primary role here is as a spokesperson. He will work closely with the king to ensure that we are making a positive impression on the people.”
“Basically just grab him by the shoulders and point him at anybody you want to charm,” Gwen said. Arthur gave a shrug of feigned modesty, and grinned. If he’d been upset about joining the round table, there was no sign of it today.
“What role exactly did you play in battle during the coup?” Sir Hurst asked. He looked unimpressed by most of the people around this table, with a few notable exceptions.
“I fell down,” Arthur said, with an air of grave nobility. “A lot.”
“Yes,” said Sir Hurst, even more grimly. “I thought as much.”
“But he got back up again,” Sidney added, giving Arthur a thumbs-up.
Arthur rolled his eyes, amused, and Gabriel caught the moment his gaze landed on Florian, who shot him a tentative smile in return.
This was a nightmare. Why had nobody thought through the consequences of assembling a round table full of attractive people who had no choice but to look at each other? The shape of the table demanded it!
Lady Oakley was clinging to the last vestiges of order with both hands. “Sir Florian—Ah, I mean Lord Florian, my apologies—”
“Sir is fine,” Florian interjected. “Better.”
“Sir Florian,” Lady Oakley continued smoothly, “is an extremely gifted swordsman and horseman. He’s fluent in six languages, an expert archer, managed the affairs of his father’s holdings from the age of twelve, and has been a cultist since birth, so he is very familiar with their teachings and practices.
Of further note, and particular interest to our proceedings here, he is a great wordsmith and storyteller, and I think would be best placed to record the events of this quest.”
Arthur was definitely looking at Florian now, with a slightly creased brow that betrayed his interest.
Florian cleared his throat, and everybody waited in suspense until he said, “I wouldn’t say fluent. My German is middling.”
“Where were you when your father came to soak the fields of Camelot with our blood and end the de Gray line?” Sir Hurst asked, tactful as always.
“Sir Hurst—” Lady Oakley interjected, but he shook his head.
“I think it’s pertinent information, don’t you? It is utterly ridiculous that he sits here at this table.”
“It’s all right,” said Florian. He was speaking directly to his hands, which were pressed white-knuckled against the table. “I was at my family house, dealing with domestic matters,”
“Domestic matters,” Sir Hurst repeated disbelievingly. “So you weren’t kept out of the way so that in the event of your father’s death, but a cultist victory, you might be offered instead for the throne?”
“Not really how uprisings usually work, is it?” Florian replied evenly. “My father’s was a cult of personality. The two of us were not interchangeable, and I had no designs on the throne. We were … not in agreement about that, or a great many other things.”
Sir Hurst was unmoved. “I still find it hard to believe—”
“If I may interject on behalf of sons with bad fathers everywhere,” said Arthur, raising his hand, “my father threw our lot in with his father, and everybody here thought I was a traitor to the crown for a bit, and we’ve managed to sort that out.
Why can we not also offer Sir Florian the benefit of the doubt? ”
“Because we cannot account for him or his true motives!” Sir Hurst slammed his hand down onto the table. “Nobody here knows this man or what he might do, now that he is privy to every movement of this court.”
Florian stood up suddenly, and Sir Hurst actually went to draw his dagger. Gabriel saw this fact register on Florian’s face; saw him flinch and then take a deep breath to help absorb this blow. “I’ll go,” he muttered. “This was a mistake.”
“No,” Gabriel said. He didn’t say it with much force, but all eyes snapped to him anyway. “Florian, please sit down. Lady Oakley, continue.”
Florian hesitated, but then sat back down, his shoulders still angled toward the door for economy of movement in the event of his escape.
“Let’s talk about the itinerary then,” Lady Oakley said brightly, handing a pile of parchment to a member of staff, who started distributing them around the table.
Gabriel picked up his and felt the cold teeth of anxiety close around his stomach.
This schedule took them all the way through to November, when the worsening weather would force them to retreat to the hearths of Camelot.
“So as you can see,” Lady Oakley said quickly, perhaps sensing that Gabriel was about to object, “the plan is to visit a number of influential nobles at home, but also to be seen in towns and villages, and to meet with local authorities who have been keeping track of these Arthurian happenings. The route is roughly circuitous, heading north first so that you are as southerly as possible later in the year. Back well in time for Yuletide. A longer campaign would obviously have been preferable, but I’ve designed it to be as brief as possible. ”
Gabriel scanned the page again. Unfortunately she was right.
He could try to argue that they shouldn’t visit Lord Faber so that they might be home a few days earlier, or that rumblings of an actual Lady of the Lake weren’t worth investigating, but it was so much harder to argue with people when you knew from the outset that you were wrong.
“The Green Knight?” Sir Leonard said, looking up from the page, his eyes dancing with mirth. “We’re seeking the actual Green Knight? Is that … wise?”
“It’s not really him,” Gwen replied. “But people have been begging Gabriel to come and verify, or put the whole thing to bed, as the case will certainly be.”
“The Green Knight,” Sir Leonard repeated, smiling, and Gabriel could tell that he was at least half a believer.
If he’d believed in any of this himself, it might all feel a bit more portentous; instead, it was rather like being a glorified candle-safety man, going from town to town to check that nothing was about to be set alight.
Lady Oakley started discussing practicalities, food supply, the size of the party, and Gabriel let her voice fall away as he watched Arthur, who was drumming his fingers on the freshly oiled table and watching Florian, who was still wistfully watching the door.
So Arthur and Florian were probably going to fall in love and spend the following months laughing together in the next tent.
Great. From the way Gwen kept darting looks at Bridget, that particular romantic epic wasn’t nearing its conclusion anytime soon.
Sirs Leonard and Bowen would continue to act like twin angels of devotion; Sidney behaved like a man already married and very proud of that fact; and considering Gabriel’s luck, Lady Adah would probably trip and fall into a relationship somewhere along the road.
Everybody would be merry and lusty and in love, and Gabriel would be alone in his tent, isolated by his crown, shaking like a small dog shown a picture of a rabbit.
December couldn’t come soon enough.
“If anybody has any questions, please do come and speak to me, but I will also be providing you with more information before we depart. There will be fittings for your new armor tomorrow, and I believe Sir Bowen has volunteered to demonstrate some of the courtly manners and formalities expected of a knight of the realm, for any who are unsure.” Lady Oakley shuffled her parchment and looked around at them all, her expression cheery.
“All that remains … I know you’ve already sworn your oaths as knights, but I thought perhaps to mark the occasion… ”
She nodded to Gabriel, who pushed the itinerary away to uncover the parchment she’d delivered to him upon his arrival. He stood, and so did everybody else. His mouth felt dry, but it would have been unseemly to moisten it. He couldn’t start a historic and important ceremony with a lip-lick.
“Do you swear to defend the order of the knighthood and the sanctity of this table, in the name of which we hold sacred our bonds to each other and to … to the king? Do you swear to lay down your life in the defense of the kingdom we set out to build? Do you agree to uphold the principles of our endeavor; of chivalry, knowledge, and a just hand to every fellow being? Do you swear to meet each other in friendship, and to only raise your sword in the company of those gathered here to shield against any who might seek to harm them?”
It was a bit lengthy, but Lady Oakley had thought that proper. Gabriel was just glad he’d gotten through it without switching any of the words around.
“I do so swear,” Sir Bowen said seriously. It was too awkward to kneel with a massive table between them, so he removed his sword from its sheath and placed it reverently on the table.
“I so swear,” Sir Leonard added, his voice smooth as honey, as he did the same.
Everybody swore; every sword was placed on the table. Gabriel was surprised and slightly alarmed to see that Gwen was apparently now carrying around a wicked-looking shortsword, which she produced with unsettling glee.
“I swear the same to you,” Gabriel said, which was quite a nice little addition of Oakley’s. “From this day forth, until the crown or death release you, you nine will be known as the knights of the round table of Camelot.”
There was a spark of something then, the disquieting notion that perhaps this really did matter; Gabriel felt it, and felt silly for feeling it, and then realized that everybody else was feeling it too.
There was an energy in the room, a shudder of something that was rippling through all of them like the chill of a breeze.
He could see this second being inked indelibly on to history, but not just capital-H History; his own history.
This moment was going to be part of him until he died, and long after.
He looked at Gwen, and she looked right back, every part of her face smiling except for her mouth.
Then the silence went on too long, and Lady Oakley said, “Well then,” and everybody had to start picking up their swords; Arthur somehow knocked Sidney’s onto the floor, and Gabriel could hear them swearing at each other with quiet enthusiasm as Sidney scrambled to pick it up.
“Oh,” Adah said. “Sorry, Sir Bowen, I think this one is yours.” Sir Bowen glanced down at his blade, then nodded. They swapped.
The moment was well and truly over.
Gabriel had enjoyed it. For half a breath there, he’d almost felt like a real king.