The tales of King Arthur and the knights of his Round Table, though barely a generation past, have already gained the status of legend. He united the land, defeated the foreign invaders and eventually brought peace to a war-torn Britain. Every historian in the land wishes to know the details of his reign: the battles fought, the laws he made. The names of Lancelot and Guinevere, Tristan and Isolde, Gawain, Perceval and many others are on the lips of every bard and storyteller from Scotland and Britain, south across the continent and on into lands unheard of. I am neither historian nor bard. I am simply a man who was blessed to live at the time of King Arthur. You may have heard my name, though there are precious few stories told of my exploits. I need no tales, for I lived the greatest of them all. I am Bedivere, the King’s best friend, his right hand man. I was his horse lord and the first Knight of the Round Table. I was the first man to know him and the last man to see him alive. I followed his orders and carried his secrets. Where others saw only his crown, I was privileged to know the man. This is my story. But my story is his story.