Sword of the Rightful King by Jane Yolen Page B

mother. But then he decided it did not really matter if Agravaine were the spy. He would speak the truth, but only such truth as his brother needed to hear. Agravaine would know what he wanted to know soon enough, anyway. Cadbury kept few secrets.
    â€œThe king is my size, but bigger all around,” Gawaine began.
    â€œFat?”
    â€œMuscle.”
    â€œAnd...”
    â€œHe is four years older than I am, but already the veteran of many battles.”
    Agravaine smiled. “A good man to have at ones back, then?”
    Sighing, Gawaine nodded and added, “He is honest, caring, and totally without vanity.”
    Agravaine chuckled. “No man is without vanity.”
    â€œSo speaks a vain little boy,” Gawaine said.
    â€œI am no boy.”
    â€œYou are fifteen.”
    â€œI have a dog, a horse, a house, and a woman at home. What more makes a man?” Agravaine asked.
    â€œMother gave you the dog and the horse. Your house is a cottage by the river, where you played as a child. And the woman...”
    â€œBe careful what you say, brother.” Agravaine was still looking at the fire, but Gawaine knew he was also watching every movement from the corner of his eye.
    â€œThe woman was given you by Mother, too. To make a man of you.” Gawaine said it carefully but not without intent to hurt.
    Agravaine threw a stick at the fire. “And it worked.”
    â€œNo,” Gawaine said, “it did
not
work. A man is more than the sum of such things.”
    â€œI bet you never had a woman.”
    â€œIf I have or not, it is nothing I would boast to you about,” Gawaine said, more angrily than he meant.
    Agravaine stood. “I have a sword, too.” His voice was sullen, like a child’s.
    â€œYou can have sword and whip and a hard hand. That still does not make you a man.” Gawaine sighed. “Go to bed, Agravaine.”
    â€œAre you telling me man to child?” The voice was still sullen, and slightly dangerous, too. He was drunk on anger and years of being the second son.
    â€œI am telling you brother to brother. Go to bed. We have another, longer ride tomorrow.” Gawaine stood as well, turned on his heel, and went over to the cloak that Hwyll had set out for him. Picking it up, he wrapped it around his body and lay down, sword at his side. He was rigid wi th anger, mostly at himself for getting into such a spat, like two farmwives over a fence.
    Agravaine made some rude noises, but at last he, too, found a sleeping cloak.
    Gawaine waited until he was certain his brothers were all snoring before he allowed himself to drift off, certain that Hwyll and the others would keep them from harm.
    Â 
    B Y THE TIME they came within a day’s ride of Cadbury, none of the boys was on speaking terms.
    Gawaine was at wits’ end. He had spoken hurriedly to Hwyll as they kitted up the horses that last morning.
    â€œIt is not just Agravaine, though he is the worst,” he said. Anger had made a pronounced line between his eyebrows, and his handsome face was almost ugly with it.
    â€œAgravaine is a second son and feels the weight of it every day,” Hwyll said. “I know. I was a second son as well, though with much less riding on any inheritance.”
    â€œThat he is second to me is not my fault.” Gawaine gentled the sweet-faced brown gelding he’d given to Agravaine, as if by soothing the horse, he could soothe himself.
    â€œNot your fault, no. But it is your
duty
to overrule him,” Hwyll said. “With a harder hand than his if necessary.”
    â€œYou do not understand...” The horse nuzzled at Gawaine’s neck and he pushed it away gently.
    â€œI do not need to understand,” said Hwyll softly. “I need to speak for your mother. And she would tell you this: Agravaine only follows one rule.”
    Gawaine waited, though he knew what Hwyll was going to say.
    â€œPower.”
    Gawaine nodded. He did not doubt