The Table of Less Valued Knights

  ALSO BY MARIE PHILLIPS

  Gods Behaving Badly

  PUBLISHED BY RANDOM HOUSE CANADA

  Copyright © 2014 Marie Phillips

  All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review. Published in 2014 by Random House Canada, a division of Random House of Canada Limited, Toronto, and simultaneously in the United Kingdom by Jonathan Cape, an imprint of The Random House Group Limited, London. Distributed in Canada by Random House of Canada Limited.

  www.randomhouse.ca

  Random House Canada and colophon are registered trademarks.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Phillips, Marie, 1976–, author

  The table of less valued knights / Marie Phillips.

  ISBN 978-0-307-35994-0

  eBook ISBN: 978-0-307-35996-4

  I. Title.

  PR6116.H45T32 2014 823′.92 C2014-901521-6

  Cover illustration by Jonathan Burton

  v3.1

  For Sophie, Jean-Yves and Rebecca

  Know that there were three tables there. The first was the Round Table, with King Arthur as companion and lord. The second, the Table of Errant Companions, was for those who went seeking adventure and waited to become companions of the Round Table. Those of the third table never left court and did not go on quests or in search of adventures, either because of illness or because they lacked courage. These knights were called the Less Valued Knights.

  – Suite du Merlin, the post-Vulgate cycle

  Contents

  Cover

  Other Books by This Author

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Part One

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Part Two

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Part Three

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Chapter Fifty

  Chapter Fifty-One

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Chapter Fifty-Eight

  Chapter Fifty-Nine

  Chapter Sixty

  Chapter Sixty-One

  Chapter Sixty-Two

  Chapter Sixty-Three

  About the Author

  PART ONE

  One

  It was the feast of Pentecost at Camelot, and the air thrummed with anticipation. All of King Arthur’s knights had gathered together to re-speak their vows, to celebrate the successes of the year, and to toast the future. Pentecost was also when the most prestigious of quests came to the castle door, and the knights were waiting for this year’s to arrive.

  In the centre of the Great Hall of the castle, the Round Table gleamed by the light of a thousand candles, though nothing shone brighter than the faces of the good men who surrounded it. On a modest wooden throne sat Arthur, a simple circlet of gold atop his brow, telling the assembled knights the familiar tale of how he pulled the sword from the stone, a story as lengthy as it was uninteresting. On Arthur’s left sat loyal Lancelot, smiling at his liege’s tale, and wondering if he could feign the need to relieve himself so that he could go and visit Queen Guinevere (eating alone in her room tonight, as befitted a woman). On Arthur’s right was the Siege Perilous, said to bring instant death to anyone who sat in it, though this was rumoured to be a lie invented by Sir Kay so that he’d have somewhere to put his coat. The rest of the knights were arranged in what, in a less outspokenly egalitarian court, one might have called a hierarchy, with the best and most famous sitting nearest their king, and the ones furthest away casting nervous glances at the other tables in the hall, wondering if that was where their fate lay.

  For there were two other tables in the Great Hall of Camelot, two tables less sung of by storytellers and balladeers, in fact barely mentioned at all. One was known as the Table of Errant Companions. Oval in shape, tucked in the shadowy space beneath the minstrels’ gallery, it housed those young upstarts who aspired to the Round Table, who busied themselves with minor quests and prayed for a precious chair in proximity to Arthur. The other table, to be found in the draughtiest corner furthest away from either of the fires, was rectangular, and had one leg shorter than the other so that it always had to be propped up with a folded napkin to stop it from rocking. It was home to the elderly, the infirm, the cowardly, the incompetent and the disgraced, and was called the Table of Less Valued Knights.

  Amongst these Less Valued Knights was one Sir Humphrey du Val, a handsome if rumple-faced man, with hair on the turn from dark, and eyes that were tired and guarded. Sir Humphrey was bored. Bored and hungry. By tradition, nobody was allowed to eat until the Pentecost quest turned up, and this year, the quest was late. It was like waiting for the speeches to end at a long-winded wedding, and for Humphrey the wait was barely going to be worth it. The Table of Less Valued Knights was served last, the food was always cold, and if the kitchens had miscalculated how thick to slice the roast, as they often did, the portions would be smaller. Humphrey was fairly certain that they watered down the wine too, after an unfortunate incident a few years ago involving a confused retired knight who’d spent many years captive in a witch’s dungeon, and thought he was still there.

  He watched the Knights of the Round Table as they showed off to one another, pretending to share news but actually competing as to who had killed the most fearsome monster or rescued the most dazzling maiden. Humphrey’s days of monster-killing and maiden-rescuing were behind him. Knights of Lesser Value were forbidden from going on quests. He was doomed to live out the rest of his decades sitting at this table, with toothless Sir Benedi
ct to one side, who began every conversation with the words, ‘Have I ever told you about the time I fought the bear?’, and shivering Sir Malcolm on the other, who had a phobia of armour, and spent every meal staring fixedly at his plate muttering, ‘I’m alone in a beautiful meadow, I’m alone in a beautiful meadow, I’m alone in a beautiful meadow.’ Humphrey’s stomach rumbled. There was no bread, but he wondered whether anybody would mind, or even notice, if he took a swipe from the butter dish. He sighed. Sometimes he disgusted even himself.

  Meanwhile, at the Round Table, King Arthur had finally finished his story, and the knights had subtly shifted their chairs to get a better view of the door.

  ‘Have I ever told you about the time I fought the bear?’ said Sir Benedict.

  ‘Never,’ said Humphrey. ‘Do fill me in.’

  ‘I was a much younger man then,’ said Sir Benedict. ‘It’s probably hard for you to imagine …’

  Just then, the door to the Great Hall burst open at last. Everyone craned their necks to see who it was. Framed in the carved stone arch was a young man, tall, handsome and fair, clad in red velvet and wearing a crown several times more ostentatious than Arthur’s. A few coins discreetly changed hands on the Table of Errant Companions, where bets had been placed over whether or not it would be a damsel this year.

  Arthur stood. ‘Welcome, traveller,’ he said.

  The man bowed and smiled. There was an audible gasp in the room, quickly suppressed: the man had the most astonishingly colossal teeth, which ruined his otherwise impeccable good looks.

  ‘I am Edwin,’ said the large-toothed man. ‘King of Puddock, and next in line to the throne of Tuft.’

  King of Puddock? Humphrey frowned. The last King of Puddock had died only recently, and he’d left no living male heir – his only son had been a Knight of the Round Table himself, and had been killed a number of years ago. Puddock had a queen now. So this must be her husband. But surely that made him Prince Consort? As for Tuft, King Leo sat on the throne there, and he was young and unmarried. This Edwin must be his brother, and only next in line to the throne until Leo took a wife and begat an heir.

  ‘Good sirs,’ the self-proclaimed king continued, ‘I am in need of your most urgent assistance. Six days ago, on our wedding night, my beloved wife, Queen Martha, was snatched from our marital bed by miscreants unknown.’

  So it was to be kidnap. A few of the knights nodded knowingly. Kidnap was a classic quest scenario.

  ‘I was asleep at the time, and, alas, saw nothing,’ continued Edwin.

  That’s convenient, thought Humphrey.

  ‘Our village crone, however, said that she found a strange man in her cottage in the early hours of that morning, whom I can only assume was one of the gang involved in taking my bride. But unfortunately he absconded before he could be apprehended.’

  Edwin, Humphrey noted, spoke as if each of his words was going to be taken down for posterity.

  ‘Please,’ finished Edwin, ‘would one of you gentlemen be good enough to assist me in finding my beloved?’ He held out his arms beseechingly.

  As soon as he’d finished speaking, most of the Round Table knights jumped up to accept the quest. Whoever volunteered the fastest would be given the task, and in the weeks leading up to Pentecost, many of the knights practised leaping, so that they would be the first to their feet. There was a special eminence attached to the Pentecost quest, the successful completion of which might move you up the table a few seats closer to the King.

  To Humphrey’s disgust, though not his surprise, the swiftest to rise was Sir Dorian Pendoggett. Sir Dorian was the Errant Companion who had taken Humphrey’s spot at the Round Table when Humphrey was demoted to Less Valued status. Humphrey was therefore predisposed to disliking him, but even so, he was convinced Dorian was genuinely insufferable, swaggering through Camelot as if he was Percival himself, and always bowing with an exaggerated flourish to Humphrey when they passed in the corridors of the castle, which was worse than not bowing at all. He hung around Gareth, Gaheris and Gawain, who Humphrey assumed tolerated him out of politeness, and claimed to be ‘like a brother’ to them, which was patently untrue. He’d tried to flirt with the Grail Maiden, who was a virgin inviolate. And he was always looking out for the quest that would get him into a poem.

  Well, it seemed that he had found it. And with the Pentecost quest underneath his gold-buckled belt, he would be clawing his way still further up the Round Table hierarchy, while Humphrey continued to plummet inexorably downwards.

  ‘Thank you, good Sir Dorian,’ said King Arthur, ‘and best of courage to you!’

  Sir Dorian glowed with smugness. ‘I live to serve,’ he said, with a bow. Edwin returned the bow, though his was not quite so low as Dorian’s.

  ‘And now,’ Arthur announced to the room, ‘we dine!’

  The assembled knights cheered as the roast swan was brought out, but Humphrey found that he had lost his appetite.

  Two

  After the other knights had gone to their beds, or, in Lancelot’s case, to the Queen’s, Humphrey lingered in the empty hall. With everyone gone, it seemed impossibly huge, with its double-height ceiling, the long eyelet windows, the minstrels’ gallery above, and the twin fireplaces at either end of the room, each bigger than most of the peasant huts on the Camelot estate. He had belonged here once, truly belonged, before Castle Maudit and everything that had happened there. He’d been proud to be a Knight of the Round Table, had sent excitable letters full of his adventures home to his mother, may she rest in peace. That was a long time ago. He made his way over to his old seat, about a third of the way down the east side of the circle, not a bad position by any means. He sat down. It was more comfortable than his chair now – the Round Table knights got cushions. Humphrey ran his finger along a scratch on the table in front of him, softened with age but still deep, from the time that Sir Kay had thrown a knife during an argument with Lancelot, after the latter had nicked his armour. If Sir Kay hadn’t been the King’s brother, he’d have been busted down to Less Valued Knight a long time ago.

  The door to the Great Hall opened with a bang, and Humphrey started, embarrassed to be caught sitting at the forbidden table. But it wasn’t a knight, or even a servant. It was a girl. She was wearing a long grey cloak with the hood thrown back, revealing her windswept golden hair. She was pretty, he noticed, though she looked tired, and she was staring around the room with an expression of dismay.

  ‘I missed it,’ she said. ‘I was told they would wait.’

  ‘Can I help you?’ said Humphrey, standing.

  ‘I rode as fast as I could,’ said the girl.

  ‘You came here alone? A maiden shouldn’t be riding alone, especially not at night.’

  ‘So they say,’ said the girl. ‘Though I’ve noticed that if you do ride alone, other people tend to give you a wide berth. They probably think only a witch would go out by herself. So really it’s fine.’ She smiled, then sighed. ‘Anyway, it looks like there was no point. I got lost in the dark – I’ve never been to Camelot before – it’s big, isn’t it? And now everyone’s gone.’

  ‘I’m not gone,’ said Humphrey. ‘Sir Humphrey du Val.’ He bowed.

  The girl’s eyes widened.

  ‘Humphrey? Really? That’s such an old man’s name.’

  ‘It was my father’s. And his father’s, and his father’s, and so on.’

  ‘And have you blessed your son with this fine name too?’

  Humphrey hesitated. ‘I don’t have a son,’ he said. ‘What’s your name?’

  ‘I’m Elaine. Another Elaine.’ Every second maiden in the land was called Elaine. ‘Lady Elaine du Mont, of Tuft.’

  Humphrey nodded. He’d heard of the du Monts – they were a good family, but were known to have fallen on hard times. He looked more closely at the girl. Her cloak was well cut but faded, and some tears had been neatly repaired.

  ‘I was told that, if I came tonight, somebody would be sure to take on my quest,’ Elaine co
ntinued.

  Her quest? Her quest? This new piece of information made the world shift just enough to make sense, like the jiggle that you gave a poorly cut key to make it turn in the lock. An arrogant prince consort who was pretending to be a king couldn’t possibly be the bringer of the Pentecost quest. The court had simply assumed that he was, because he’d happened to arrive on Pentecost. What if it was just coincidence? Humphrey thought of Sir Dorian and chuckled to himself. He’d been so quick to jump up! And now here Humphrey was, alone on Pentecost night with a damsel in distress, a damsel with a quest. Though of course he wasn’t supposed to go on quests. What he was supposed to do was wake Arthur, so that a Round Table knight could be assigned.

  ‘Would you like to sit down?’ said Humphrey. ‘You must be tired from your journey.’

  ‘Thank you, that’s very kind,’ said Elaine.

  She pulled up one of the chairs at the Round Table – Sir Gaheris’s – examined a few of the leftover jugs of wine, and helped herself to a healthy cupful.

  ‘Do you want some?’ she said. ‘There’s loads left.’

  ‘Um, yes, I suppose so,’ said Humphrey, slightly taken aback.

  Elaine poured him a glass. He had a mouthful. This wine was definitely not watered down.

  ‘You mentioned a quest,’ he prompted.

  Elaine nodded, her face pinched with anxiety. ‘I’m supposed to be getting married,’ she said. ‘My parents held a tournament for my hand, just under a week ago. It was awful. It started with a melee, this horrible free-for-all fight, dozens of people were hurt, you can’t imagine how terrible it was. Well, I suppose you can, being a knight. But I could hardly bear to watch. Then after that there was a joust for those left standing, to decide the ultimate victor. So many knights were riding with my colours that I might as well have ripped up my whole dress and handed it out as streamers.’

  ‘Who won?’ said Humphrey.

  ‘This is the thing,’ said Elaine. ‘All those men got injured, in my name, but the winner was always going to be Sir Alistair Gilbert. He’s not a Sir by birth, he’s a knight at King Leo’s court. His family have money but no name. That was the exchange. It was prearranged, the tourney was just for show.’