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chapter eighteen
sword point
I still
slept poorly that night, but I am glad to say it was for a different reason
than the one that normally seemed to be keeping me up of late and plaguing my
dreams when I did manage to fall asleep. I retired early from the feast, unable
to apply myself to having a good time, thinking far too much on the second half
of the tourney the next day and what I would do, and how I had to defeat Lancelot or it would only bode ill for everyone. But
at the same time I felt light and joyful, happy to once again be on good terms
with Arthur. I was willing to start over and re-think everything from the time
I ran away and make my life with the curse work. Besides, if fortune was on our
side, Merlin would be able to break it. I wondered briefly where the sorcerer
was, but didn’t worry for him overmuch. I knew that if anyone could take care
of himself, it was Merlin.
The next morning after I woke, Miles
came to help me prepare for the day. I wore my lighter armor that consisted of
simply a mail tunic and arm guards so that I would be able to move. I wore a
tabard with Camelot’s colors on it as I did not yet have my own personal coat
of arms. I took up the sword, sadly not the one that Arthur had given me, for
it had been stolen by Lancelot’s outlaws, and took a deep breath as I waited
for Miles to finish buckling my bracers on.
“Don’t worry, Sir Mordred, I’m sure
you’ll do fine,” the boy said with a smile. “I’ve seen you fight and you’re
awfully good. I wish I could fight as well as you.”
“One day I’m sure you will,” I told
him, smiling back as I sheathed the sword once again and took up my shield to
inspect it. “I am just thinking of other things. Of duty. That is certainly
something that weighs heavily on one at times, Miles.”
He nodded sagely and then gave me my
helm, which I tucked under my arm and started out of the tent. The stands were
once again full up, but now the jousting field had been turned into an arena of
combat. There was a roped off area in the middle where the knights would face
each other using their choice weapon.
Gawain came up to stand beside me.
His injured arm had been put into a sling and he watched the knights practicing
off to one side of the field with regret.
“I wish I hadn’t hurt myself,” he
sighed. “Aye, well, it shall give you a chance, Mordred.” He grinned and I
smiled back and that seemed to please him all the more. He put his hand on my
shoulder. “I hope you have figured out what’s been bothering you.”
“I will,” I told him firmly. “I’m
sorry I’ve been so dark of late, Gawain. It’s not very kind of me.”
“As long as you are willing to admit
that,” he replied sternly and then smiled up at the stands. “They’re filling
up, it’s time for me to go. Arthur offered me a seat in the box. I’ll be able
to see everything from there. Good fortune in the fight, Mordred. I know the
fight you wage this day is far more important than for just the sake of proving
your knightly manhood to the ladies.”
“Yes,” I replied grimly, clasping
his arm.
“Of course,” Gawain added before he
left. “One can always accomplish more than one thing at once. You defeat
Lancelot and I’m sure you’ll get several beautiful admirers by the end of the
day.” He winked.
I grinned back. “The only one I have
time for right now in the queen.”
Gawain made a face. “You’ve got to
learn to live a little, Mordred. You’re still young.”
“Go find your seat, old man,” I shot
back at him and he glowered at me before he grinned, unable to help himself,
and went to find his seat. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. At
least my bruises from the day before weren’t giving me too much trouble. I had
performed an easy healing charm on the poultice I had made last night and when
I peeled it off that morning the bruising had been minimal and the pain had
been no worse than that of my sore muscles. I felt confident that I would be
able to swing a sword well enough that day.
I happened to look across the field
and saw Lancelot, still dressed in his black armor and helmeted against
anyone’s seeing. I could not see his eyes for certain behind the small slits,
but could feel him looking at me, seeming to challenge me. He raised his sword
and I saw, with a start, that it was the one he had stolen from me. The one
Arthur had given me! That fueled every confidence I had. I would surely beat
him now. I would never let him hurt me with that sword, nor would I let him
win. Now all I had to do was make sure I was pitted against him at least once.
And I knew I would be. Arthur would have seen to it.
Speaking of Arthur, he and Guinevere
were coming onto the field now and ascending into the royal box to the cheers
of the people. I clapped along with them as I and the others knights filed over
to the box and stood beneath to acknowledge the king and queen before the
fight. I met Arthur’s eyes and he nodded to me. Guinevere met my eyes as well
and I knew Arthur would have told her about Lancelot. She reached into her
sleeve and took out a handkerchief, motioning me forward.
“I wish you to fight as my champion
today, Sir Mordred,” she said with a sweet smile that made me glow with pride
and boyish admiration, even though I was fast becoming a man. I took the silken
token, feeling Arthur’s approval without having to look at him, and tucked it
into the top of my bracer before I kissed Guinevere’s hand.
“It would be my greatest honor, your
majesty,” I told her before I stepped back toward my men.
Percival and Bedivere and the other
knights of Camelot grinned at me and clapped me on the back.
“Fighting as the queen’s own
champion!” Percival said teasingly. “My my, you really have gotten up in the
world, young Mordred.”
“Well, Percy, you must remember that
out of all of us, he has been the one who has fought Lancelot three times on
the queen’s behalf. He deserves it above us all,” Bedivere said with a proud
smile at me.
“Yes, and I won’t be able to fight
if you keep embarrassing me,” I told them, ducking my head as I felt my cheeks
redden slightly, but I was so happy that I couldn’t let it bother me.
Now came the hard part, waiting for
my turn to fight. I had checked the lineup, and noticed there were five fights
before I got my first one, and that was not with Lancelot. I was a bit worried
about being pitted up against someone with the chance of going out before I
even got to Lancelot, but as soon as I started the fight, I realized this must
have been a purposeful plant on someone’s part, for the knight I was up against
was not nearly as experienced as myself, and it only took me around two minutes
to finish him completely. Then I just sat back and watched Percival and Bedivere
fight their rounds, and then Lancelot fight one where he came out victor and
then it was down to the second round in which I would face Lancelot for the
first, and hopefully, the final time.
I had thought long and hard on
whether I should kill him in the fight. I wanted to, for all he had said and
done, I wanted to end him where he stood, but I also knew that I had to show
some restraint, and, as I was now a knight, mercy and compassion. I had not
spoken to Arthur on the matter, but I knew he and Guinevere both would want to
see Lancelot punished formally, by the law, and not by some young knight’s
hand.
I stepped into the ring with
confidence and stood opposite Lancelot. We saluted each other in the proper
way, but I wanted him to know I knew his game. I stepped closer as we turned to
salute Arthur and Guinevere and whispered into his helmet.
“I will not let you kill me with
that sword, Lancelot,” I said simply. “It is not yours to wield.”
“I’m done with you, boy,” he growled
back and we went to take our places.
It was instantly apparent to the
crowd that this fight was different. Lancelot lunged at me without preamble,
and our clash was like that befitting a battle. It was fast and vicious and the
crowd was hushed as they watched us. I think they somehow knew this was a fight
to the death, or at least to some end, because we fought more violently than we
should have in a tournament.
Lancelot was a good fighter, he
always had been, but the joust was his specialty, and I had been training
non-stop since I had recovered from my injuries and I had a deadly
determination behind my blows, knowing that I was not about to let him get the
best of me again. Not this time.
We fought until we were panting, and
my bruised chest and abused muscles from the day before ached, but I kept on,
striking hard and receiving blows both on my sword and shield. Lancelot was
getting frantic, and I knew he was tiring. He was going to try something
desperate in a moment, and I was going to be ready for him.
And then he did. He lunged forward,
far overstepping in his desperation to reach me and run me through and I was
able to easily side-step the blow and grab his sword arm by the wrist, throwing
him to the ground behind me where he fell, winded. The crowd gasped, some
calling out foul play, but they hushed as I turned back around to face my
enemy, taking my helmet off, and reveling in the feeling of the cool air
running through the sweaty locks. Lancelot had lost the sword in his fall, and
I stepped on his chest so that he couldn’t move. I dropped the sword I had been
using and picked up my old one, pressing it against his throat.
“Yield,” I told him as he struggled.
He growled and I reached over and
jerked him to his knees, holding my sword across his neck and turned him toward
the crowd as I tore the helmet from his head. There were gasps of shock and
anger as the black knight was revealed for who he really was. I looked up at
Arthur.
“My lord, I present to you the
traitor Lancelot, disgraced knight of Camelot. He has yielded to me, and his
life is in my hands. Tell me what you wish done.”
Arthur stood up and raised a hand to
quiet the people. He had a grim look of duty on his face and he said in
determination, “Lancelot will pay for his crimes as he should. He shall die on
the gallows tomorrow at dawn without trial. His crimes are well known and there
is no reason to prolong what should have been done from the beginning.” He
turned away and took Guinevere’s hand in his and escorted her from the box. It
seemed that the tournament was over.
I hauled Lancelot to his feet and he
sneered at me.
“You think you’re clever, well, you
have not escaped Lady Morgan la Fay’s clutches yet, boy. She will find you, she
sent me to give you that message. If I’m to die, I want to do so by leaving you
as uncomfortable as possible.”
“She does not control me,” I told
him firmly. “She has no hold on me any more. Nor do I fear her.”
Lancelot laughed. “Oh, you naïve
boy. You have no idea what is even going on. I almost pity you.”
He pressed my sword to his throat
again. “You are the one in need of pity now, Lancelot.”
He laughed, sneering in my face, as
if daring me to cut his throat. “We’ll see if you still think so when you can’t
stop yourself from plunging the sword into your beloved Arthur’s heart.”
I had the sudden urge to slam the
hilt of the sword into his face, but Percival and Bedivere came forward to help
me escort Lancelot to the prisons. They tied his hands behind him and jerked
him away. He looked over his shoulder at me and smirked again.
“Remember, Mordred, this isn’t
anywhere near over yet.”
Gawain had come up beside me and as
I shook in anger and hatred and fear all together, he turned to me with a
frown. “What did he mean by that, Mordred?” he asked worriedly.
“I wish I knew,” I replied through
gritted teeth and went off to find Arthur.
©Copyright 2014 by Hazel B West
Until next time :)
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