Chapter Four

G awain and his fellows returned from the hunt to find the Great Hall already decked with celebratory banners. A strange triumph it was. Erec's absence may have foiled Guinevere's plan; however, Arthur would not be High King if he were not able to see his way through sticky situations. He rode down the stag and killed it himself, thus avoiding bloodshed between his subjects.

But now, the king had to award the kiss.

Arthur did not remain in the hall. He left them, saying he would eat with the queen when she arrived. That gave Gawain pause. Where the devil was Guinevere? For that matter, what had happened to Erec? And where was the lass in question? If she was with one of the two it had better be Guinevere.

Still, circumstances allowed little time for reflection. A very fine wine had to be attended to. And there was food to be eaten. At first, Gawain merely jested with Kai on his right and Gaheris on his left, neither of whom had been hunting in earnest. But shortly, Gawain became aware of the conversation going on beyond his immediate sphere.

The kiss.

"Therein lies the problem," Sir Tristan whined. "He will have to kiss Queen Iseult, or I'll have to defend her. But if he does kiss her, I will have to challenge him."

"Look here," Sir Yvain argued, agitating his knife so the meat speared upon it spattered flecks of gristle. "She's married. The kiss has to go to a maiden."

"She is the most beautiful," Tristan said stubbornly.

Yvain heaved an exasperated sigh. "Not only married but married to King Mark. So, if Arthur were to accidentally kiss her, it would not be your place to challenge him."

Tristan's prominent dimpled chin jutted out even more.

"He will not choose a married woman," Lancelot said, shaking his head. "If he were to violate the rules so flagrantly, he would kiss his own wife, no?"

From all corners of the hall, arguments over the kiss sprang up.

Fortunately, the High King reappeared before things grew too ugly. He frowned majestically, and the hall quieted. He cast his gaze over the assembly.

"King Cadoalant, Sir Kai, and Sir Jaufre," he said, "I need your counsel to decide whom I should kiss."

How very clever! Gawain thought. Those men—old, married, and without pretty daughters or nieces—had no dogs in the fight.

For several minutes, the discussion centered on whether the kiss even needed to be bestowed. Kai was of the decided opinion it was a ridiculous custom that ought not be encouraged. Although inclined to agree, Gawain held his tongue. When Kai was roundly shouted down, the debate moved on.

Did the king have to be the kisser?

Gawain rolled his eyes.

Suddenly, a disturbance erupted at the entrance to the hall. A mob? No, just the queen, who could sound like a mob when she wished.

The king stood. "Guinevere? What is it?"

She swished to the front of the room, all swaying skirts and loose flowing hair and hot indignation seeping from her pores.

"Milord, we were accosted!" As the crowd gasped and shrieked and quickly shushed to hear, she told a fantastic tale about their ill-fated encounter with a strange, elegant knight, his beautiful lady, and his nasty violent dwarf.

"See her hand!" Guinevere said. Her attendant dutifully held up her hand, now ugly with a purple bruise. "Sir Erec's face is worse. Although unarmed, he followed the knight to avenge this dishonor."

Gawain's dread returned. So, it was Erec whom the Fates chose to bonk with the mysterious end-of-the-grand-court-quest.

Guinevere took a deep breath and looked around the room, assessing the situation. Then she regarded her husband for a long moment. Fascinated, Gawain watched the way they communicated with their eyes. You killed the stag?… I had to, dear, or else… Well, Arthur, that bungles it.

Guinevere said, "Erec will be back in three days. I propose you postpone the kiss until then."

Kiss, what kiss? Who even remembered such trivialities after hearing such a tale?

Arthur had won a reprieve. But what about poor Erec? It hardly seemed fair to subject him to a quest and Guinevere's matchmaking.