Chapter Nine

A knight should never grow so self-important he forgets how to curry his own horse.

That, Gawain thought with a pleased smile, pulling a currycomb through the silver hair on Guingalet's hide, would be his new creed.

Dawn was breaking. The air outside had been crisp and fragrant with meadow grass, even if it was a bit…horsey…here in the stable. His good strong reliable steed was calming beneath his capable fingertips after a valiant midnight dash. Ah—

Gawain felt a mild ache in his back. He wasn't as young as he used to be, but he could still do such things. He'd up and flown to Camelot to see his lady—and returned—before his absence could be noted. He laughed to himself. It seemed love was in the air.

"Milord?"

Gawain jumped. "Bells and turrets!"

"I beg your pardon, milord, if you please."

Gawain turned to see a cowering stableboy.

"Well, what is it, lad?" he asked, feeling like an idiot. He hoped the boy had not been watching him long. He hadn't been whistling, had he? He'd resisted the urge to kiss Guingalet's muzzle, thank the Lord.

"The king asked me to find you, sir. He said if you weren't in your chamber, I should look for you here."

Gawain frowned. He hadn't told Arthur he was going anywhere.

"Where am I supposed to meet him?" he asked, resigned.

"The parlor."

Guinevere's domain. Why hadn't he stayed in Camelot? Left a note behind: Gone Questing.

"Tell him I'm on my way." He gestured to the empty manger. "I'll just finish up here."

*

Gawain hurried more for the stableboy's sake than for his own. To his pleased surprise, the parlor was filled only with scented candles, embroidered pillows, King Arthur, and Sir Erec. No Guinevere. Although to be certain, when Gawain shut the door, he checked behind it.

"Have a seat, nephew," Arthur said, looking uncomfortable, perched on a dainty chair behind his wife's delicate desk.

Gawain shot him a grin. It was "nephew" today. Arthur wanted something.

"Have you broken fast?" Arthur asked.

He had, but several hours ago. And it might have been supper, come to think of it. He eyed a small repast on a table near the window and strolled lazily to it. "I was about to take Guingalet for a canter. He can use a bit of exercise. What's this about?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the falsehood, but Erec didn't notice. What was so important that they were discussing matters at the crack of dawn?

Erec said, "I've asked permission to marry. Here."

"Ah. So, you're planning a wedding?" Gawain asked, turning to his uncle. "You and the queen?" He picked up an apple and crunched a bite.

"And you."

Gawain coughed. It was no use. The piece lodged in his throat. With a hack, he managed to expel it onto the floor.

Arthur murmured, "Guinevere said she trusted no other man to attend to these details."

Gawain narrowed his eyes. She would, too.

"What details?" he asked, sinking weakly into a pink-cushioned chair. "Please don't let it have anything to do with flowers."

Arthur pointed to a tall basket on the floor, full of scrolls. "Messengers have to go out to every one of my liegemen and allies, all the knights who've sworn fealty, all Guinevere's relatives…"

"Anyone who will be offended if no messenger should come."

Arthur nodded. "You understand. That's why she suggested you be in charge. We'll hold the wedding at Pentecost. I wanted to have a grand court anyway."

Gawain grimaced. Arthur and his grand courts.

Erec said, "Thank you, Sire. You are too good."

"Not at all," Arthur replied, sounding relieved now that he'd unloaded the worst of it. "The archbishop will be there. He can marry you and—" He uttered a nervous laugh—"Erec, how ridiculous of me. I don't know your lady's name."

"Her…her name?"

Gawain watched the color drain from Erec's face.

"Name," Gawain said. "You know, the thing people call her by."

Arthur shot him an exasperated look, then said to Erec, "Her given name. So we can tell the archbishop." Arthur paused, finally seeming to notice what Gawain had already seen. He finished in an embarrassed mumble. "So he can marry you."

Erec stared at them dumbly.

"Enide," Gawain said. "Her name is Enide."

For a long moment, Gawain and Erec stared at one another. Gawain watched color suffuse back into the young knight's face, but waited until it took on a good angry-red shade before saying, "I asked."

"You asked," Erec croaked.

Gawain let Erec see him relax. He slouched deep down into the cushions and crossed his long legs. "She'd been here a full day. No one bothered to introduce us, so I introduced myself. You were in the tilting yard, like you always are, and she was in the garden."

"Alone?" Erec demanded, taut as a drawn bow.

"She was weaving flowers into a chain. I went up right up to her and said, ‘Hello, Erec's maiden.' She smiled. You know, that beautiful smile she has. I said, ‘How are you finding Cardigan?' In a breezy way, as if she'd answered the question a hundred times, she said, ‘Oh, it's different from Laluth.'"

Gawain paused, waiting for a response, but Erec sat with his teeth tightly clenched.

It was Arthur who said, "Good different? Or bad different?"

Gawain turned to his uncle. "It does seem the obvious question, doesn't it? I asked. She laughed and said, ‘Good sir, the answer cannot be in doubt.' I didn't press her. I don't believe she wished to be pressed."

"No," Arthur said, his mouth turning down.

"I said rather, ‘We have not been introduced, but I am Gawain.' She said, ‘I know you, Sir Gawain. Everyone knows of you.'"

" Pssht ," Erec hissed.

Gawain glanced at him with pity edging toward dislike. Then he looked back at his uncle. "I said, ‘Do they?' And she said, ‘Of course.' But I noticed a knot in her pretty little brow, so I said, ‘What is it?' and she said, ‘Well, I thought you were younger.'"

Arthur burst into laughter. "What did you say to that?"

"I told her she was perfectly correct. I was younger. But that was a while ago. And that it was not me who was old, only her information."

Still chuckling, Arthur said, "She didn't apologize, I hope."

"No," Gawain said, grinning. "She saw no need, and neither did I. I'm not so old that I need be offended by it."

Another glance at Erec showed the knight to have sunk into his seat, not angry now, but dazed.

"I told her she had the advantage of me. If she did not think me too bold, I'd prefer to know her name rather than to keep calling her ‘Erec's maiden.'"

"Enide," Erec murmured.

Gawain faced him. "If you must know, we were alone. Queen Guinevere was at least three paces away, plucking daisies."

"Forgive me," Erec said heavily. "I should never have questioned you. I would trust you with my very life and…and with my lady."

You should trust her , Gawain thought. But what was the point in saying it? How could Erec trust a girl he did not even know?