Mists of Avalon - Marion Zimmer Bradley [197]
“You may,” said Arthur. “When will he come to join Gawaine and Agravaine at our side, Aunt?”
“This year, perhaps, if his brothers can teach him soldierly arts and keep him close,” Morgause said, then raised her voice: “No! Not you, Gareth!” and made a snatch at the chubby six-year-old. “Gaheris! Bring him back here!”
Arthur spread his hands with a laugh. “Don’t worry about it—boys run to stables like fleas to dogs. I have been told how I rode my father’s stallion when I was scarce six years old! I don’t remember; it was only a little before I went to be fostered with Ectorius,” he said, and Morgaine shivered suddenly, remembering a fair-haired child lying like death and something like a shadow in a bowl of water—no, it was gone.
“Does your ankle pain you much, sister?” Gwenhwyfar asked solicitously. “Here, lean against me—”
“Gawaine will look after him,” Arthur said offhandedly. “I think he’s the best man we have at training the young knights and riders.”
“Better than the lord Lancelet?” asked Gwenhwyfar.
Morgaine thought, She only wants to speak his name. But it is me he wanted, not long ago, and tonight it will be too late . . . better that than break Arthur’s heart. I will tell Gwenhwyfar if I must.
Arthur said, “Lancelet? He’s our best rider, though too much of a daredevil for my taste. The lads all adore him, of course—look, there’s your little Gareth, Aunt, tagging after him like a puppy—they’ll do anything for a kind word from him. But he’s not as good at teaching the boys their business as Gawaine; he’s too flamboyant and he likes to show off. Gawaine takes them slow and easy and makes them learn the art step by step, and they never get hurt through carelessness—Gawaine’s my best arms master. Look, there’s Lancelet on that horse he’s training for me—” He burst into a laugh, and Igraine said, “That little devil!”
For Gareth had swung like a monkey from the saddle leather, and Lancelet, laughing, scooped up the boy in front of him on his saddle and broke into a fast gallop, racing directly up the hill toward the sheltered place where the royal party sat watching. They raced at breakneck speed straight toward them, so that even Arthur gasped and Igraine stepped back, her face white. Lancelet pulled up the horse so that it reared into the air and wheeled it round.
“Your horse, lord Arthur,” he said with a flourish, holding the reins with one hand, “and your cousin. Aunt Morgause, take this little scapegrace and tan his breeches for him!” he added, letting Gareth slide down almost into Morgause’s lap.
“He could have been killed under the stallion’s feet like that!”
Gareth heard not a word of Morgause’s scolding, looking up at Lancelet, his blue eyes wide with adoration.
“When you get older,” Arthur said, laughing, aiming a playful cuff at the child, “I will make you a knight and you shall ride out to conquer giants and evil raiders, and rescue fair ladies.”
“Oh no, my lord Arthur,” said the child, his eyes still fastened on the white horse which Lancelet was riding up and down. “The lord Lancelet shall make me a knight, and we will go on a quest together.”
Ectorius chuckled and said, “Young Achilles has found his Patroclus, so it would seem.”
“I am quite in the shade,” Arthur said good-naturedly. “Even my new-made wife cannot take her eyes from Lancelet, and begs him to call her by her Christian name, and now little Gareth would rather be made knight by him! If Lance were not my closest friend, I should be mad with jealousy.”
Pellinore was watching the rider cantering up and down. He said, “That damnable dragon is still hiding in a lake on my lands, and coming out to kill my tenants or their cows. Perhaps if I had a horse like that, who would stand to fight . . . I think I will train a battle horse and go after it again. Last time I barely got away with my life.”
“A dragon, sir?” asked little Gareth. “Did it breathe fire?”
“No, lad, but it had