Agravain’s entrance brought him considerable embarrassment. Without preamble, he launched into lies of how he was set upon by a contingent of twenty knights sworn to Mordred’s service. He had not even begun to warm up to his story when his eyes fell upon Sir Robert, Margot, and me. Stopping mid-sentence, his jaw dropped.
I almost felt a smidgen of pity for him — almost. Had he not threatened Margott, I may have been a little more sympathetic, but in reality, I think the bastard got his just desserts. Knowing the truth of his misadventure had already been told, he departed in shame but not without first casting an angry look our way.