FORTY-FIVE
One of the new pages came tumbling down the hill. He righted himself for a moment, before falling to his knees before Lancelot, his eyes wide with panic. "Sir, it's the King."
Lancelot struggled to remember the boy's name. All three new pages were orphans, and if he didn't remember their names, who would? Surely Artorius had never forgotten his name. He would need to make more of an effort if he aspired to be as good a foster father as the King had been to him.
"Slow down, boy, and tell me your name," Lancelot said.
The boy obediently took a few deep breaths. "I'm Galahad, sir. My mother was Lady Elaine, and – "
The bastard boy, Lancelot recalled. Lady Elaine had died in childbed, never revealing the name of the boy's father. Now he'd taken the boy into his household, the
