Children of the May (Children of the May Book 1)

Chapter Twenty: King Anguish (part four)

‘It's a challenge, aye,’ I say.

He laughs. ‘It would do me a great dishonour to duel with an unknighted man.’

‘Then knight me,’ I snap back, my mind clear. ‘You have that power.’

He likes that idea. Iseult does not.

He draws his sword. ‘Come on then.’

I hate what I have to do next. I kneel in front of the man who killed my brother, or at least ordered his death. I know that these could be my last moments. It would be so easy for him to stab me, or swipe off my head with his sword. But he does not. Though he does not pay attention to the duties a guest has towards his host, it seems he fears breaking the oaths of knighthood. He lays his sword on my shoulders.

‘Arise then, Sir – what is your name again, lad?’

‘Mordred.’

‘Arise, Sir Mordred.’

I stand. My hand is on my sword. ‘Have at it then,’ I say. My voice sounds like a man’s voice.

He shakes his head. ‘This early hour is no time for a duel. You’ve a lot to learn, Sir Mordred. It’s almost a shame you'll never get the chance of a good schooling. The first lesson will be your last. The morning will do.’

‘Then get out,’ I spit. ‘Prepare yourself to die, for the morning it is.’

 He turns to my sister. ‘I’ll see you in the morning, my lovely.’

It makes me feel sick, the way he disrespects her.

I guard my sister’s chamber through the night. I hear Iseult and Siobahn sobbing behind the closed door.

 

* * *

 

My family gather in the great hall that morning. My sister has dried her eyes. She stands between my mother and Siobahn of Braghán. I am at my father’s right hand. King Marhault is tall, broad and brave; but he is old. His beard is white. He shakes beneath his robes of state. Sir Tristan’s men enter the hall in little groups. They joke coarsely about my sister’s beauty. We try to ignore them.

It is past ten when Sir Tristan arrives. He drags Hetty from the kitchens in by her hair. Her eyes have been blackened by his fists. He flings her into the corner.

‘I’ve received a challenge, King of Erin,’ says Tristan. ‘It seems your son there is not keen on my plans for your daughter.’

My father looks down at me. His eyes are the most vivid part of his face; they are still a vibrant blue. ‘Is this true, Mordred?’ he says.

‘Aye, Father. My king. Father.’

My father’s lip trembles. His body begins to shake. ‘Isolde,’ he says to my mother, ‘take my cloak.’

Mother groans. ‘No, my king.’

‘Isolde, do as I say.’

My mother’s hands tremble, but she obeys.

There my father stands, stripped of his robe of state. His sword is on his hip, the jewels in its hilt sparkle in the morning air.

‘I claim a king’s right to try you by combat, Sir Tristan,’ says my father. His voice is stronger than his body. ‘Which supersedes a boy’s challenge.’