Book One (CH 03): Avtandil's Quest
Chapter 03 - Avtandil's Challenge
The celebrations following Tinatin’s coronation offered no seat for the sad or distraught. Yet, one of her guests sat with his head down. The mask he usually wore to hide his emotions had slipped, despite this man being surrounded by warriors and advisors he had spent a lifetime with. Now, the field of years across his forehead was plowed with fresh lines of sorrow.
Some of the people around him began to whisper. They wondered what saddened him, for it was only one day since he crowned his daughter as King Regent. Two guests were particularly worried about his troubles, but they had no answer.
They were Avtandil, who sat closest to Rostevan’s heart, and Sograt, who understood the King’s mind best. Together they discussed the state of their Lord and decided he must be gripped by unpleasant thoughts. They knew none of their actions caused him to be so pale, though Avtandil further voiced his concerns.
“What brought such sorrow to our King on this most joyous of days? Come, Sograt, and let us find why our host is so displeased with us. It shames me to celebrate while he sits alone and grieving. Perhaps we may entertain him with some pleasantry.”
The aged advisor thought for a moment and rose from his seat. He filled their wine cups and called the youth to follow him. They made their way to the King, casting themselves down upon their knees and looking up at him with smiling faces. Ever wise, Sograt spoke teasingly, with eloquent and playful mischief in his words.
“My Lord, you are a tragedy to behold. The smile has run from your face like wine from a soldier’s cup. We, too, share your sadness. Only yesterday, your own daughter gave away your rich and costly treasure. Why bring such grief upon yourself? Better you did not make her King and spared your heart this pain!”
No one from his court would dare insult Tinatin, and Rostevan jerked his head up in shock when he heard what was said. Yet he burst out laughing when he saw the grinning faces of Avtandil and Sograt before him.
“I marvel at your courage and audacity! Those who speak ill of my daughter are liars and fit for the gallows!”
All three of them laughed at the bold words, but the King was still haunted by the shadow of sorrow. After a sip of wine, he shared the thorn in his heart with his friends.
“I am not concerned with wealth, and what better hand than Tinatin’s to rule when I am gone? No, nothing about my daughter troubles me. Rather, the years of my age drawing down around me disturb my mind.”
“I devoted all the days of my youth to Arabia and her needs. Yet nowhere in our Kingdom is a man who learned the knightly arts from me. Though Tinatin is without equal, God gave me no son. This pains my heart, for life is fleeting. None can compare with me in archery or the game of ball. Only Avtandil bears some small resemblance to my skill, and this only thanks to the little I taught him.”
The proud and young Knight bowed his head in modesty when King Rostevan spoke. Yet the slightest of smiles crossed his face before he composed himself. Though he looked down to hide the flash of his teeth, he had been seen.
“Why do you smile so? Are you shy with me? Pray, tell me what is laughable in my words?”
The youth was caught but quick on his feet.
“My Lord, if you grant me leave, I will tell you. But I will not disgrace myself if my thoughts offend you. I do not wish to court your displeasure and beg you not ruin me by inviting bold speech.”
Rostevan laughed at the audacity the young Knight spoke with.
“Why would honesty displease me? You have been like my son from a distance, and I often take pride in your accomplishments. Do not be afraid of me. Whatever you would say, accept my sovereign oath and speak without fear of reprisal. By the life of my beloved Tinatin, you are among equals.”
When his Lord spoke, Avtandil smiled, and it was like the sun glistening across a sea of pearls.
“By your leave, I must say you should be more modest when boasting of your skill, for I stand before you as an archer. Beneath me rests the world, and I say, let us have a wager.”
“A moment ago, you said none are like you in archery. To deny this would be in vain. So, I ask, will you compete with me to learn which of us is the better?”
Rostevan clapped his hands at the bold spirit of his Knight.
“Thus is the folly of youth shown! Let’s not delay this contest, for I cannot allow your challenge to go unsettled between us! Say the word, and we will seal our vows.”
“Do not be shy of your words now, beloved son of Arabia, for you will not hide from this. I will test you on the field tomorrow at dawn, where your armies will bear witness. We shall see whose praises will be sung on the fields!”
Then they laughed with one another and clasped hands, agreeing on their bet. Whoever was victorious would have his skill praised throughout the Kingdom. The loser would go three days in public with his head uncovered. On hearing the terms between Avtandil and their King, the soldiers raised their cups, laughing and cheering.
With the challenge accepted and the time of their contest agreed, they and the other merrymakers celebrated late into the evening. Though their bet was made in faith between men, a victor was still undecided. Heaven would judge what happened the next day, but the plans of God are often quite different than those of men.