Surely he felt the irony. What could he have been thinking as he looked upon me, a skinny squire kneeling there, his bastard son fated to kill him? Perhaps he looked for something of himself in me. For my part, I wanted to lay claim to everything that was kingly about him; I searched his face for any sign of me, but saw none.

“Ask of me a boon,” he told me, “and I will grant it to you.”

How had I dared to think he might call me “son”? His courtesy was marvel enough. “But . . . but Sire,” I stammered, “I have not earned—”

“You are Gawain’s brother. Is that not worthiness enough? Speak.”

Still on my knees, I stared mutely back at him. When I looked upon him, it seemed right and fitting and just that he had tried to kill me when I was a baby; a King cannot be held to blame for any bloody act in defense of his throne. Why did he not kill me now? Why did he not call his guards to take me away and slay me? But there I knelt, within arm’s reach of him, and he was offering me a boon because I was Gawain’s brother.

I glanced up at Gawain to see him smiling proudly. I noticed the sword scars on his face. “My King,” he said, “there is no need for such words.”

“There is every need. It is seldom enough that I give you the soft words you deserve.” King Arthur turned to me, motioning me to my feet. “Of all my knights, Mordred, your brother Gawain is the one I most greatly trust. If I had to take my soul out of my body and give it to someone for safekeeping, he would be that man.”

“My liege!” Gawain protested.

“It is true.”

“But you need not say it.”

“I am the King, and I will say what I like.”

For some reason that started him and Gawain laughing. These jokes and understandings between people left me out in the cold. It seemed as if I was born old and serious. They laughed, and I stood silent, but Gull wagged her tail and barked.

King Arthur peered at her. “Greetings, brachet! Well met.” He patted her and rubbed her sides. “You’re a fine brachet.” His smile turned puzzled. “Is this Nyneve’s? But it can’t be. That was long ago.”

“She’s mine, my liege,” I said.

“Good, Mordred.” Glancing up at me, King Arthur nodded as if I had done something to praise, but what? He straightened in his seat to face me. “Cherish her well. Now ask of me your boon.”