The Camelot Spell - Laura Anne Gilman [6]
Gerard thought about that for a few steps. Sir Kay had said that honesty was a knight’s best virtue (even if that did make Merlin laugh).
“I was angry,” the squire said finally. “Not at him, I mean. When I went in there. And he was…”
“There?” Lancelot asked.
“Annoying.”
“That he is,” Lancelot agreed with a laugh. “Second only to his skill with horses. And you saw him as the first available target, didn’t you?”
Gerard opened his mouth to deny it, then shrugged.
“It happens,” Lancelot said. “Yes, even to me. You should hear some of the arguments Merlin and I have had. And yes, I know what sort of an idiot that makes me, to quarrel with an enchanter.” Lancelot smiled briefly. “Fortunately, Arthur has thus far kept him from turning me into a particularly pink-eyed rat.”
Gerard felt his lips turn up in a smile at the thought of Lancelot as a rat, but the sense of unfairness still burned inside him. There was no way Lancelot could understand, not really. He had everything he wanted.
Then Gerard looked sideways at Lancelot, noting the exhaustion in the knight’s face and remembering the weeks and months he spent away from Camelot. Some said he was on the king’s secret orders. Some claimed he was chasing a woman. Others merely narrowed their eyes, putting a finger to their lips and looking wise. Whatever his reasons, it seemed that only the Grail Quest could bring Lancelot home, looking even sadder than he had when he left.
Maybe even Sir Lancelot didn’t get everything he wanted. Not all the time. It was something to think about.
“And off you go,” the knight said as they reached the inner wall of the castle, not the door Gerard had used earlier, but a wooden gate that led to the east wing of the castle, where the King’s guests were housed. “Scurry, and I won’t have to make any excuses for you with the most fearsome Gracelan.”
Since everyone knew that the chatelaine, the woman who oversaw the daily keeping of Camelot, was sweet on Lancelot, Gerard wasn’t too frightened of the threat. Lancelot would avoid her the way squires avoided Sir Bors.
Shaking his head at what a strange, confusing day it had already been, Gerard hurried across the common area and up the narrow stone staircase and headed for his own pallet in his master’s room. If the bells hadn’t rung yet, he would still have time to wash up before dinner, but not much.
Twenty minutes later, his hair slicked back, the blood, straw, and mud washed from his skin, and the worst of his bruises treated with salve, Gerard skidded to a stop outside the great carved doors of the Feasting Hall. Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the guards standing on either side, and stepped inside.
Chaos immediately engulfed him, and a harried-looking server shoved a platter of pies into his arms and pushed him toward the rows of trestle tables set up along the far wall.
“And don’t be slow about it!”
The hall itself, so huge and daunting to Gerard when he first came to Camelot as a page, was now simply huge. It was difficult to feel daunted when you were being run off your feet.
But tonight, with all the banners of the knights in residence hung on the walls, it seemed even more impressive somehow; the colors fighting with the sounds and smells for his attention. This was the largest feast Gerard had ever seen. The addition of the squires to the usual serving pages was barely enough to keep everything running.
There were more than a dozen long, wooden tables set up, each one crammed with as many honored guests as could fit on the carved wooden benches, and each table was piled with plates and knives and goblets. The walls rose four man-heights to a beamed ceiling that curved in such a way as to swallow much of the noise rising from the tables. The tapestries and banners on the walls muffled even more, but it was still impossibly noisy.
Despite that, every page and squire was expected to hear every word said to them, and respond promptly and courteously with the speaker’s correct name and title.
Gerard hoisted his tray and set to work, dodging another