small chapel we found until I could ride without falling off. That’s it.”
“That still is quite the tale,” Britt said loud enough for all to hear as the hound was led from the room. “You have done well for yourself, Sir Tor. You have made me proud to have you within the ranks of the Round Table.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Sir Tor said before sitting and attacking his food with relish.
Britt leaned closer and said to the young knight, “Did you keep the recreant knight’s armor and horse?”
Sir Tor swallowed the wad of food in his mouth. “I did, My Lord. You were right. I didn’t need to worry about money to keep my squire. T’was quite enjoyable to quest. I would like to do it again soon—though I think I need more training.”
Behind Sir Tor, Lem grunted in agreement.
Britt grinned and leaned back in her chair, slipping a bit of her dinner to Cavall. “Well done, Sir Tor,” she repeated in her announcer’s voice. “Nephew, it’s now your turn.”
Sir Gawain sighed and stood up, as if it pained him. “My quest was to track the white hart, and to bring it back to Camelot. It was a fiercely swift creature, and it took me days to catch up with it. During that time I fought a rogue knight who was demanding compensation from peasants for so-called protection—of which he offered no such thing. I defeated him. He asked for no mercy, so I gave him none.”
“Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said, although it was with sad eyes that she looked back and forth between Sir Gawain and Sir Tor. She didn’t think questing would be so…bloody. “Although it seems there are more evil knights in the world than I thought,” she added.
Sir Gawain nodded and squared his shoulders. “I eventually tracked the white hart to a castle, where I captured it and brought it home.”
As Sir Gawain spoke, the white hart was led into the room by a man. The room buzzed with whispers and murmurs as they studied what Britt recognized to be an albino deer. It was a beautiful animal, and in spite of the huge amount of people present, it calmly looked about the room—much like a dog—and wore a scarlet red halter.
“I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you would be able to actually bring the deer back. Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said.
Sir Gawain shook his head. “It is not so, My Lord.”
“Why?” Britt asked.
“I did something most dishonorable—especially given the vows I swore at the Round Table,” Sir Gawain said. “When I tracked the hart to the castle, a knight rode forth to match me in combat. I was…angered, and so I fought him with much hatred, first in a jousting match—in which I knocked him from his horse—and then in a sword fight. The knight—Sir Athmore—was…proud, and did not wish to lose to me, though I was steadily winning. His lady was present, and called for him to yield. As a knight of the Round Table I should have known better. I should have offered him mercy even though he would not ask for it. Regardless I was too angry and too eager to end his life.”
Sir Gawain was silent.
Britt patiently waited.
“The lady could see as much,” Sir Gawain finally continued. “So when I disarmed him, and moved to smite him…she stepped in between us. I-I could not stop the blow in time, and I slew her,” Gawain said, swallowing with difficulty.
The hall was silent.
“I brought dishonor to you, and dishonor to Camelot with my actions, My Lord. And I am sorry for it,” Sir Gawain said.
For a while, Britt didn’t know what to say. Gawain—the sweet, loyal knight—had killed a woman? “What happened to Sir Athmore?” she asked.
“He immediately regretted his actions—our actions—for he deeply loved his lady. He bid me to slay him, but I could not. It was he who led forth the white hart,” Sir Gawain said.
Britt nodded. “And why did you fight him with such anger?”
Gawain lowered his eyes and could only whisper the words. “He killed one of the hounds you gave me, My
“That still is quite the tale,” Britt said loud enough for all to hear as the hound was led from the room. “You have done well for yourself, Sir Tor. You have made me proud to have you within the ranks of the Round Table.”
“Thank you, My Lord,” Sir Tor said before sitting and attacking his food with relish.
Britt leaned closer and said to the young knight, “Did you keep the recreant knight’s armor and horse?”
Sir Tor swallowed the wad of food in his mouth. “I did, My Lord. You were right. I didn’t need to worry about money to keep my squire. T’was quite enjoyable to quest. I would like to do it again soon—though I think I need more training.”
Behind Sir Tor, Lem grunted in agreement.
Britt grinned and leaned back in her chair, slipping a bit of her dinner to Cavall. “Well done, Sir Tor,” she repeated in her announcer’s voice. “Nephew, it’s now your turn.”
Sir Gawain sighed and stood up, as if it pained him. “My quest was to track the white hart, and to bring it back to Camelot. It was a fiercely swift creature, and it took me days to catch up with it. During that time I fought a rogue knight who was demanding compensation from peasants for so-called protection—of which he offered no such thing. I defeated him. He asked for no mercy, so I gave him none.”
“Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said, although it was with sad eyes that she looked back and forth between Sir Gawain and Sir Tor. She didn’t think questing would be so…bloody. “Although it seems there are more evil knights in the world than I thought,” she added.
Sir Gawain nodded and squared his shoulders. “I eventually tracked the white hart to a castle, where I captured it and brought it home.”
As Sir Gawain spoke, the white hart was led into the room by a man. The room buzzed with whispers and murmurs as they studied what Britt recognized to be an albino deer. It was a beautiful animal, and in spite of the huge amount of people present, it calmly looked about the room—much like a dog—and wore a scarlet red halter.
“I’m impressed. I wasn’t sure you would be able to actually bring the deer back. Well done, Sir Gawain,” Britt said.
Sir Gawain shook his head. “It is not so, My Lord.”
“Why?” Britt asked.
“I did something most dishonorable—especially given the vows I swore at the Round Table,” Sir Gawain said. “When I tracked the hart to the castle, a knight rode forth to match me in combat. I was…angered, and so I fought him with much hatred, first in a jousting match—in which I knocked him from his horse—and then in a sword fight. The knight—Sir Athmore—was…proud, and did not wish to lose to me, though I was steadily winning. His lady was present, and called for him to yield. As a knight of the Round Table I should have known better. I should have offered him mercy even though he would not ask for it. Regardless I was too angry and too eager to end his life.”
Sir Gawain was silent.
Britt patiently waited.
“The lady could see as much,” Sir Gawain finally continued. “So when I disarmed him, and moved to smite him…she stepped in between us. I-I could not stop the blow in time, and I slew her,” Gawain said, swallowing with difficulty.
The hall was silent.
“I brought dishonor to you, and dishonor to Camelot with my actions, My Lord. And I am sorry for it,” Sir Gawain said.
For a while, Britt didn’t know what to say. Gawain—the sweet, loyal knight—had killed a woman? “What happened to Sir Athmore?” she asked.
“He immediately regretted his actions—our actions—for he deeply loved his lady. He bid me to slay him, but I could not. It was he who led forth the white hart,” Sir Gawain said.
Britt nodded. “And why did you fight him with such anger?”
Gawain lowered his eyes and could only whisper the words. “He killed one of the hounds you gave me, My
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