The Squire's Quest (2 page)

Terence avoided Eileen's eyes and cast about desperately for something to say. Nothing came to him.

"He sends his
squire
to you with love messages!" Fenice said. "Me, I haff seen this squire, and I know!" She turned back to Eileen and said, "You and Sir Gavain are very sly, yes? But you may trust me! I will say nothing! Oh, it is so
romantic!"

With that, Lady Fenice swished away. Eileen looked steadily at Terence for a long second. "Oh, marvelous. Terence, the uncanny woodsman who can creep through the densest of shrubbery without a sound! Can't make it across a blinking bedroom, can you?"

"I am, er, better in the woods," Terence admitted.

"And now she's off telling everyone about my love for Gawain."

"She said she would tell no one," Terence pointed out.

Eileen shook her head sadly. "You weren't listening. What she really said was 'I can't wait to tell everyone I meet.' "

"That's
what she said?"

"Of course. Soon the whole court will think I've had a long-standing affair with Gawain."

"Well, at least you both have good taste," Terence said.

"Shut up, my love."

That evening King Arthur was hosting a state dinner for his guests from the Holy Roman Empire. In recent years, state dinners had become the most frequent event at court. When alone in Gawain's chambers, with those he trusted, Sir Kai would often complain about such affairs. "When I started out," he would say, "I organized armies and planned for battles. Now I spend my time making sure that the linens are clean for the banquet tables." And if anyone suggested to him that it was the price of peace, Sir Kai would reply, "Not sure it's worth it."

Having no plausible excuse to skip the banquet, Gawain went, which meant that Terence was there as well, standing correctly behind his knight's chair. He didn't mind. He, at least, could move about the room and stretch his legs. This evening, as dinner entertainment, the guests from the continent offered their very own minstrel—a spindly fellow named Gottfried—to sing a song of his own composition. After apologizing to all for his English, which actually was excellent, the minstrel launched into the tale of Sir Tristram de Liones and his adulterous love affair with Queen Iseult, wife of King Mark of Cornwall. Gottfried played it up in the best courtly tradition, praising the purity of the pair's love and treating King Mark as a jealous buffoon. Never once did he hint that King Mark might have had reason to be angry about his wife's love affair with another. Terence decided that this would be a good time to stretch his legs, and he casually made his way to the kitchens.

He had been there only a few seconds when the doors opened again and he was joined by one of King Arthur's knights, Sir Dinadan. "Is the dinner over?" asked Terence, grinning.

Sir Dinadan smiled back, ruefully. "I couldn't stomach it," he admitted. "Even leaving aside that this Gottfried has no touch for his instrument—he plays the lyre like he's currying a horse—I just can't sit still and hear Tristram and Iseult treated as tragic heroes instead of the selfish lackwits that they really were."

Terence's eyes rested on Dinadan's face. "Don't I remember hearing ... you were there, weren't you?"

Dinadan nodded. "I saw them die, and there was nothing noble or romantic about it. It was stupid and pointless." Dinadan made a quick head motion as if to shake off a fly, then crossed through the kitchen and went out the far door. Terence watched him thoughtfully. When Dinadan had first arrived at Camelot, a callow youth not knowing whether he wanted to be a knight or a minstrel, Terence had not thought much of him, but in late years he had reconsidered that opinion. At any rate, he felt a bond of sympathy with anyone who lived in one world but really belonged in another.

Gottried finished his maudlin poem, to loud cheers from the younger knights and courtiers and polite applause from the older ones, and Terence returned to his place behind Gawain, who whispered to him, "Coward!" Terence grinned but didn't answer.

As the third course was concluding, a diversion broke the predictable monotony of the state dinner. A guard hurried into the hall, spoke privately with King Arthur for several seconds, then trotted away. After a moment, Arthur and Queen Guinevere rose to their feet. "My friends, I apologize for the interruption, but we have just received word that a dear friend has arrived at the court, and we must leave you for a moment." He smiled to the party from the Holy Roman Empire and said, "We shall not be gone long. Indeed, I hope to persuade our guest to join our dinner."

A buzz of whispers began as soon as King Arthur and Queen Guinevere were gone. Terence exchanged a glance with Gawain, but neither joined in the speculation. They would be told who this guest was when the king was ready. Sure enough, a minute later, the king and queen returned, with their guest between them. She was a young lady with reddishblond hair and a firm step. Terence smiled with genuine pleasure.

"My lords and ladies," King Arthur announced. "I present to you the Lady Sarah of Milrick."

The king needed to say no more. Everyone at Camelot—and, from their awed expressions, even those from the Holy Roman Empire—had heard of Lady Sarah. Only a few years had passed since she, aided by Sir Lancelot, had rescued Queen Guinevere from a knight who had kidnapped her, a certain Sir Meliagant. Since then, Lady Sarah had lived quietly in the small castle that King Arthur had given her and had not been to Camelot, but Terence and Gawain had ridden with her for a time on that adventure and knew her very well. From the king's table, Sir Lancelot rose to his feet and crossed the hall to Lady Sarah. "My lady," he said reverently, kneeling at her feet.

Lady Sarah suppressed a smile. "Oh, get up, Lancelot. It's good to see you again, too." She stood in the center of the hall, clad in her dusty traveling clothes, and gazed around the brilliantly decorated room filled with richly clothed courtiers and foreign dignitaries. "Forgive me for interrupting your dinner," she said, "but I
am
hungry." Queen Guinevere took her arm and began leading her to the head table, but as they passed by Sir Gawain's seat, Lady Sarah looked intently into Terence's eyes and mouthed the words, "Can we talk?"

Until the contingent from the Holy Roman Empire left, there were no available guest rooms at Camelot, which Terence used to his advantage. By strolling among the tables during the dinner, dropping a word in Kai's ear and whispering for a moment with Eileen, he saw to it that Sarah was assigned to stay with Eileen during her time at Camelot. Having arranged that, it was easy for him simply to drop in on Eileen after dinner, once he was sure that Sarah was there. Sarah and Eileen were sitting by the fire when he swung through the open window, and Sarah gave a start. "Lud!" she exclaimed. "Does he often do that?"

"No manners at all," Eileen said without looking up from her embroidery.

Sarah glanced curiously at Eileen, then at Terence. Terence said, "It's good to see you again, my lady. You're looking well. Older, but well."

"And you look exactly the same," Sarah said frankly.

"He never ages," Eileen commented, setting a tiny stitch. "It's infuriating."

"And how about our mutual friends? Lady Charis?" Terence went on. "I trust she's well? And Ariel?"

Sarah frowned. "Charis is fine," she said. "I haven't seen Ariel in months."

Terence allowed nothing to show, but his heart sank. Ariel was from the World of Faeries.

"That's what brought me here," Sarah continued. "Ariel used to drop in every week or two, and then about six months ago, her visits stopped." Eileen looked up from her stitching, met Terence's eyes, then looked down again. Sarah went on, "I was concerned, but I didn't want to overreact and get all worried over nothing."

"I know just what you mean," Terence said.

"Then someone came to me and gave me a message for you."

"Someone?"

Sarah hesitated, glancing quickly at Eileen. "I was told to tell no one but you," she said.

"Who told you that?"

Sarah considered this. "Well, she didn't say I wasn't to identify
her.
It was Lady Morgan."

Terence nodded. Morgan Le Fay was another of Gawain's aunts, an enchantress like her malevolent sister Morgause, but not as dependably wicked. "I see," Terence said. "Well, you can take my word for it that you may trust Eileen."

"Still..." Sarah said.

"If it makes any difference, let me assure you that whatever you tell me in private, I will certainly tell Eileen. So why not save time and tell us both?"

Sarah looked between the two one more time, a faint smile on her lips, then shrugged. "All right. She said to tell you that it has started again, and that this time there would be no help from your world."

She paused, and Terence asked, "Is that it?"

"No, but what does that much mean?"

"It means," Terence said, "that Morgause the Enchantress has begun yet another plot to destroy Arthur."

"That's what I thought. She was the one behind the queen's abduction, wasn't she? And when she says there will be no help from your world, that means the faery world, doesn't it?" Terence nodded. "Why not?"

"I haven't any idea."

Sarah frowned. "How disappointing," she said. "I had come to think that you knew everything."

"A lot of people think that," Eileen said. "Odd, isn't it?"

"What else did Morgan tell you?"

"She said that this time the threat would come through pretense and falsehood. And that's it. Oh, except that she said that you're to trust no one."

Terence nodded. "Yes," he said. "Morgan isn't very trustworthy herself, so she has trouble understanding the concept of trust. But I don't choose to live like that." He pursed his lips and thought for a moment. "Well, that doesn't help much, but at least it confirms what I've been feeling. Thank you, Sarah."

He fell again into a reverie, so that he was only vaguely aware of Eileen asking calmly, "Do you make a long stay at Camelot, Sarah?"

"I should like to stay for a while, anyway," Sarah replied, "but I don't want to put you out."

"Oh, it's no trouble. My rooms are quite large enough for two people."

Sarah looked puzzled. "Two people? You mean you usually live here alone?"

"Yes," Eileen replied. "Had you heard otherwise?"

"No, but..."

"But what?"

Sarah took a breath. "I'm probably breaking some important rule of courtly etiquette that I never learned correctly, but I never understood why it's sometimes ill manners to say out loud what's obvious." She looked at Eileen, then at Terence, then back at Eileen. "I assumed that you two were married."

Terence and Eileen both stared at her, but neither spoke.

"It's as plain as day. I've never seen two people who fit together as perfectly and who were as comfortable with each other as you two are. You love each other. If you aren't married, then it's a crying shame. Are you?"

"Yes," Terence said.

"In a manner of speaking," added Eileen. "Mostly."

"What does that mean?" demanded Sarah. "I didn't think you could be
mostly
married."

Terence hesitated, not really wanting to tell Sarah what was known only to the two of them and Gawain, but he had every reason to trust Sarah. Besides, he had just declared in front of her that he refused to be as untrusting as Morgan, so he said, "About fifteen years ago—"

"Sixteen," corrected Eileen, who had gone back to her embroidery.

"Sixteen, then. Eileen and I had a private sort of wedding ceremony. It was just a few months after Gawain and I brought her to court. We slipped out on our own and went to a religious man that I knew, named Trevisant, and with him as a witness we promised to love each other faithfully.

"Then you're married, Sarah said.

"Sort of, Eileen said.

"It's not exactly official," Terence admitted.

"Why not?"

"Well, Trevisant was a holy man, as I said, but he wasn't a priest.

"Oh. Sarah seemed to digest this for a moment. "So why not go to a real priest? Why the secrecy?

"We went to Trevisant because he was the man who raised me, Terence said. Then he grinned ruefully. "Also because I knew that he would forget it within a few days. Trevisant was peculiar that way. You see, I'm a squire—and as far as the court is aware, a squire of unknown parentage. Lady Eileen is a noblewoman from one of the oldest families in England. For her to marry so far beneath herself would ruin her socially.

Sarah glanced at Eileen. "Does that matter to you?

Eileen smiled briefly. "At the time it did, a little. At any rate, I agreed to the plan readily enough. It doesn't seem so important anymore, but it still matters to Terence.

"And so," Sarah said, "for fifteen years—"

"Sixteen, said Eileen.

"Sixteen, I mean. For sixteen years, you've been married, sort of, mostly, but have told no one.

"Gawain knows, Terence said. "But, yes, that's essentially it.

"Haven't you ever thought about going ahead and making it official?"

This time Eileen replied. "Yes, of course we have. But the longer the current arrangement goes on, the harder that becomes. To get married now, suddenly, after years of pretending to be only casual friends, would give rise to all sorts of speculation as to what had really been going on all that time. And if we explained that we hadn't been having an affair, that we had really been married—

"Mostly," Terence qualified.

"Sort of, added Sarah.

Eileen ignored them. "As I say, if we told people we'd been married all along, then we would have to explain why we'd deceived them. Awkward.

"And besides, Terence said, "we are, as you say, comfortable together. There hasn't really seemed to be a need to change.

Sarah looked dubious, but Terence reminded himself that she was still young. Young people sometimes place excessive value on external forms and ceremonies, he remembered, so he let it go.

"And now, Terence, Eileen said, breaking into his thoughts, "you go report to Gawain and Arthur and whoever you feel should know Sarah's news. We ladies will go to bed. It really isn't seemly for a man to be in our quarters so late, you know. We're virtuous ladies, we are.