night,” I said, “and more this morning. Threescore in all.”
“I will send out more, chosen from among the best of my own men,” said Cadorson. “And I will ride out myself, for seven days, but I will do so without taking the oath.”
“I’ll take the oath,” said Ywain. “Futile it may prove to be, but I would rather be bound to the quest than remain here to see such a great lady burn.”
“If Sir Bors had not come forward, cousin,” said Gawain, choking a little on the words, “I would have asked you to remain and fight the Queen’s battle. I can think of no better man.”
“Maybe he should anyway, to spite Bors,” I said. “Sir Sangreal promised to step down if a better champion appeared, as I understand it.” If I could not fight for Her Grace myself, I would have preferred that one of Gawain’s kin did it than one of Lancelot’s.
“Once I should have called myself the better knight of us two,” said Ywain. “But Sir Bors achieved the Holy Grail, and I did not.”
“So, at least, Sir Bors informs us,” remarked Mordred, who sat whittling one of his ugly serpent rings. “But Bors may have other reasons to know the Queen innocent.” Finishing his newest ring, he slipped it on his finger, sheathed his knife, and stood. “Come, brother, if we are to swear this oath, let us swear in God’s Name and go to supper.”
We swore, agreed to travel in pairs, and went to supper. No one openly brought up the reason for traveling in pairs—so that those of us who were most likely to come under suspicion could watchdog one another. Half a score of the younger knights left that same evening. It was a foolish, half-witted idea, starting out after the time of day when a man adventuring usually begins to look for his night’s shelter. They would either get hardly far enough from London to make much difference and then have to settle, likely as not, for bad cheer and a poor night’s rest; or travel all night in the dark and sleep for pure exhaustion in the daylight when they could have made better speed. They were idiots, and I envied them. I was ready to have started at once with them.
“Then you must find another traveling companion,” said Mordred. “I have work to do here. And I doubt you will find another man fool enough not only to leave here tonight, but to spend his quest in your company, Sir Senseschal.”
“I could find another companion more easily than you could, Mordred,” I said.
“Now, perhaps. Once, of course, I had Lancelot himself as my mentor and companion.”
That had been during Mordred’s first two years of knighthood, before something happened to twist his soul out of shape about the time of the Peningues tournament. In fact, he had been traveling with Lancelot when they came to that tournament. From Mordred’s tone now, I wondered, as I had sometimes wondered before, if the great Hero had played some part in whatever happened to warp King Lot’s youngest son.
But Mordred was right that we could get a more profitable start in the morning, after a decent night’s sleep. I found Dame Bragwaine and bought one of her Irish herb concoctions to help me get that night’s sleep.
I awoke late—half of the sun was already showing above the horizon—cursed my squire Gillimer for not calling me at first cockcrow, and went to Mass with a headache and a black temper. I did not see Mordred until I was almost ready to leave without him. He found me just in time, waiting in the courtyard with Gillimer, our palfreys, and my charger Feuillemorte. Mordred was still in his tunic and light stockings.
“If you’re not armed, mounted, and ready to ride in a quarter of an hour, squire and all,” I said, “you can go to the Devil.”
“In my own good time, Seneschal. Meanwhile, calm yourself. I’ve had certain matters to see to before we could leave.”
“What ‘certain matters’?”
“Matters of some relevance to our game, Sir Kay. I’ll tell you of them as we ride. In the meantime, the doubt will give you something to occupy your mind while I ready myself for the road.”
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