Page 57 of The White Knight

With Gawain at my side, I head for the tent where Bagdemagus and his company have set up camp. This is a routine I have repeated for the last five days to plead for Lancelot. As I approach the makeshift prison Bagdemagus’ men had built to hold Lancelot, two guards halt me from proceeding further. “I would like to speak to my chancellor.”

“You must first speak withourking,“ the guard snarks, leaving strands of spittle on his rust-colored beard.

“I come here every day and am granted a visit.”

The other guard motions me to the extravagant tent sitting across from Lance’s prison. “Alright, alright. I am going in.” I glance at Lance hunched over on the ground. A beard hides his tired face. He keeps a brave face, hiding the desperation I know he feels. I will get him out. I nod in his direction before stepping into the tent.

Bagdemagus sits at a desk, his head in his hands. The other man in the tent, Alfred I think his name is, stands up abruptly. “My king is indisposed at the moment. Come back later.”

“No,” I say defiantly to Alfred, but he insists I leave as Bagdemagus is in no mood to speak with me.

“It is fine, Alfred. I will speak with Arthur.” He motions me to sit opposite him at his desk. As I sit in the chair Alfred had been occupying, I notice dark circles under Bagdemagus’ eyes. He has not been sleeping. I continue examining his face, even though he has not yet looked up at me.

“I know you are grieving, Bagdemagus, and I am truly sorry for your loss.”

Bagdemagus holds up a hand to stop me from speaking further, rising from his chair. “I have heard this speech from your mouth a dozen times, and I know what is coming next. The answer is ‘no.’ We will not release Lancelot. We will put him on trial.”

“Trial?” I suppress a laugh. “Bagdemagus, it was defense. The entire arena saw what happened. You saw what happened. Maleagent meant to kill Lancelot in cold blood.”

“And yet Lancelot is alive while my son is dead. Someone needs to pay.”

“I know you want justice, but you will not get it with Lancelot. He is my chancellor. He was defending my honor and that of my queen. After winning a respectable duel, your son attempted toslit his throat. How is it justice by imprisoning a man who was defending himself?”

Bagdemagus sighs, collapsing into his chair. “I cannot just let Lancelot go, Arthur. He killed my son.”

“Your son thought he could win a duel against Lancelot. And then, after he was humiliated by the loss and punishment you gave him, he attacked Lancelot. I understand you are upset. You had dismissed your son in public, and then he died. That must not sit well in your heart. I can only imagine how you feel. Just the idea of losing Galahad in such a manner, or at all, guts me. I truly am sorry.”

A laugh escapes from the hands that hide his grief. As Bagdemagus lowers his hands, his sharp laughter fades. “Your Galahad is nothing like my son. If ever you lost him, it would be a loss the entire realm would feel. Every kingdom would place a monument in his memory, even those who oppose your rule. Galahad is everything my son could never be. You are a lucky man to have such a son.”

“Thank you, Bagdemagus.” I pat my eyes before tears fall from them.

“Perhaps there is a way to get the justice my son deserves, for even though he was a cruel and selfish man, he was still my son.” I motion my hand out to Bagdemagus, letting him know to go on. “Mordred.”

A chill runs down my spine as he speaks my nephew’s name. I wait for him to continue, but he seems to be waiting for me to say something. What should I say? I know Mordred and Maleagent were…friends. Is that the right word for what they were? Mordred clung to anyone who would listen to his nonsense. Nonsense that bordered treachery and betrayal, even though it was true. But he has no proof. Elaine made sure of that.

“What of my nephew?” I ask, leaving the anger and disappointment out of my voice.

“He poisoned my weak-minded son into believing certain things about your queen and chancellor and continues to try and sway me. To me, he sounds like a jealous little boy upset at his uncle for giving away the throne he believes should be his. And my son, he ate it up. He loved to stir up drama, pit friends against each other, tear families apart. He was very good at it. Mordred used him to attempt an attack on your family. I do apologize on his behalf. I should have stopped him before he said anything to dishonor you and Guinevere.”

“No apologies are necessary from you,” I say.

Bagdemagus nods, accepting my forgiveness. “Let us put Mordred on trial. He has done enough damage in your court and now has brought down my son.”

My chest clenches at Bagdemagus’ suggestion. It takes everything I have to keep a calm demeanor as I think about what Guinevere has told me. About the last battle I will fight and the mortal wound I will receive by my nephew’s hand. For years, I have kept Mordred in my line of sight. Watching him glare in my direction. His love and loyalty for me turning into hate and anger. All because I have a son. Still, I give Mordred freedom at Camelot, only shutting him up when he crosses a line. And hehascrossed a line here. He got a man killed.

If I agree to this, if I put my nephew on trial, will this be the catalyst that leads to my final battle? I hold back a shiver and look into Bagdemagus’ eyes. A simple nod is all he needs to see that I have agreed to his request.

“Thank you, Arthur. I know this is a difficult thing to ask of anyone.”

“It is time that Mordred answers for his actions.”

I open the door to my private apartments, Lancelot following close behind. We walked the entire way here in silence; an understanding passed between us when the door to his makeshift prison opened. He nodded and fell in step with me. Looking straight ahead, I ignored all the curious faces staring at us.

The walk back to our little corner of the castle was an eternity. The entire way, I kept replaying my conversation with King Bagdemagus. There is no other way. But what does it say of me to sacrifice my nephew instead of my chancellor?

Still, I know I have made the right choice. When I see Lancelot holding his wife, our wife, in his arms, there was no other choice I could have made. I could never have punished Mordred before for simply passing on rumors about my son and wife. There was never much harm in his words because they were woven with jealously. He never attacked my family. Now that he has offended another king, we can safely denounce him.

“Father, how did you get King Bagdemagus to release dad?” I smile at my son, still shocked at how much older he is, not just his face but his voice and courage.

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