Chapter 33
Agravain was the first to speak.
“Sire,” he said, bowing to the sultan, “I am a knight from the court of King Arthur, come here to beg a boon for my King. These other knights set upon me as I rode beside your city walls.”
“He lies!” Darin burst out.
Sultan al-Din lifted his chin and turned his remote eyes towards the ceiling. Darin understood and said no more.
The sultan returned his attention to Agravain. “And what does your king want of us?”
“Sire, he asks for the axe Lord Bertilak brought to these shores. He has need of it against his enemies.”
The sultan raised his eyebrows. “The axe?” He turned to Broderic. “And what do you have to say to this, Sir Knight?”
“My lord,” replied Broderic, “this man is lying. He is a traitor to his king. Arthur sent Darin and me to find the axe; I have his royal seal to prove it.”
The quick-eyed man in the blue robe by the sultan’s side stepped forward and took the seal from Broderic’s outstretched hand. He perused it for a moment, then nodded and showed it briefly to Sultan al-Din.
“Sire,” Agravain said, “they stole the seal from me just now when they attacked me.”
Darin’s throat ached, but he fought the urge to protest. The man in the blue robe went over and had a whispered conversation with the leader of the guards. Then he took his place beside the sultan again. “My liege,” he said, so that the visitors from Logres could understand him, but with a strong accent. “This knight was not alone. He had two others with him and they started the fight.”
Sultan al-Din looked mournfully at Agravain. “You can see how this report might incline me to believe these other knights,” he said. Then he sighed wearily. “But it makes little difference whose story I choose to believe—the axe will decide.”
He looked for a moment at each knight in turn. “To tell the truth, I hope and pray that one of you may succeed in this. We have always honoured King Arthur as a brave and good man. My uncle, Palomides, once sat in the company around his great table.”
“Sir Palomides the Saracen!” said Broderic. “I have heard them tell of him at Camelot. A noble knight!”
The sultan bowed his head graciously. “Do you know anything about the special powers possessed by this axe?”
“We have been told that only a virtuous man may lift it. And that it will punish any man impudent enough to make the attempt with evil deeds on his conscience.”
The sultan nodded. “That is so. Many men have come here from all over the world to try the axe, but not one has succeeded. As long as it remains here, I am sworn to make use of it to uphold the law of the land.” He glanced at the man in blue beside him. “And my Vizier here makes sure that I do,” he added dryly.
The Vizier shut his eyes for a moment. “It is a very efficient way of administering justice.”
“But not to my liking,” the sultan murmured. “In my opinion, everyone deserves to be tried by a group of his fellow citizens. The judge who passes sentence should first look well into the accused’s heart—and into his own. A man may find himself in circumstances that would make thieves of us all—a man who might well mend his ways given half a chance. But the axe will slice off his hand, and that’s the end of it.”
“Cruel justice, indeed,” Darin said.
“Yes. That is why I wait for the one who will deliver my realm from this axe. Then the Old Law shall pass away and I will establish the New!” The sultan’s proud eyes flashed and he turned to address Sir Agravain. “Sir, will you be the first to try your luck? I warn you, the axe does not take kindly to traitors!”
Agravain shifted his feet and cleared his throat. “Sire, I would not presume to attempt what so many worthy men have tried before me without success. I had hoped that some virtuous elder of your court would place the axe in its case at your behest. I was informed that then I could easily carry it to my L . . .” He stopped for a moment. “To my Lord Arthur,” he finished.
“To your lady, Morgan the Enchantress, rather!” muttered Darin.
“Morgan?” The sultan stroked his beard. “Has she turned against King Arthur then? Is her love changed to hatred?” He turned to Broderic. “Will one of you, then, attempt the axe?”
Broderic looked over at Darin. “Sir Darin of the Western Forest is surely the most honest and virtuous knight alive. If anyone can do it, I’m sure he can.”
“Ah, sire!” said Darin in confusion, “my friend here always thinks so highly of everyone! I think there is little chance that I shall succeed where so many have failed. But it is my duty to King Arthur to try.”
“Well spoken, Sir Knight!” said the sultan. He stood back and, with a sweep of his arm, invited Darin to approach the dais where the great axe lay waiting.
Darin could feel the eyes of all the lavishly dressed and turbaned courtiers upon him as he crossed the chamber. He was remembering the day King Arthur made him a knight—the noble exaltation that filled his heart as Excalibur pointed out the glorious path that awaited him. Ah, had he but followed that shining way, he would now be approaching this monstrous axe in calm humility, not in trepidation like this, with the memory of his jealousy shadowing his heart. For, in the uncompromising light of that youthful vision of knighthood, the ungenerous thoughts his infatuation with Stella had once caused him to harbour against his father, short lived though they had been, did, indeed, cast a bitter shadow across his soul.
Darin stepped up onto the dais. He leant forward and put both hands on the handle of the axe. For a weapon of such size, it seemed remarkably light as he lifted it carefully from its bed of purple velvet; he had the impression it was rising into the air of its own volition. A sudden tremor passed through his arms and made him tighten his hold on the green leather of the handle. In an instant, without his ever knowing how it happened, it was free of his grip. He watched transfixed as the great battleaxe hovered in midair, level with his eyes, emitting a faint humming sound. The whole axe was vibrating, making all the gems in its green and golden head sparkle; Darin saw once more the flash of Excalibur as Arthur raised it on high to dub him knight.
Suddenly the great green axe darted forward. The handle swung round and dealt Darin a blow to the cheek. He staggered back, tears misting his eyes. In truth, the blow had been a light one; the sting on his cheek was as nothing compared to the sting of shame in his heart. As the enchanted battleaxe sank down to rest in its former position on the velvet-covered table, Darin hung his head, mortified.
He felt a hand on his shoulder.
“Bravely tried, young Sir,” said Sultan al-Din gently. “Do not blame yourself. So light a reprimand can only have been for some trifling human imperfection such as no man who has reached maturity can hope to escape.”
The kindness he saw in the sultan’s eyes made Darin think of his father, which only deepened his sense of shame. However, he was grateful to him for his understanding words and held his head high again.
“A lesson I hope I may profit by,” Darin said. “I’m sorry I could not free you of the axe, Sire, or help my Lord Arthur.”
The Vizier appeared at the sultan’s side and murmured a few words. Then he called out something to the guard at the door who relayed the order to someone outside. Two more guards now entered the room, leading a man dressed in patched clothing. It was the captain of the Petrel, one arm in a sling and his shoulder bound with a bloodied bandage. Darin shot a glance at Broderic.
“At last we have this thieving pirate in our hands, Sire!” said the Vizier. He looked enquiringly at Broderic. “Is his presence here at the same time as yours nothing but a coincidence?”
“My lords,” answered Broderic, “our mission was of such urgency that we took the first ship to hand. We did not learn until later that this man had committed offences here. We hoped to obtain safe conduct for him, as he and his ship are vital to our mission. Pledging, of course, that he shall never come near your kingdo
m again.”
“He is of no use to you now,” the Vizier said. “His ship has been burnt.”
Broderic started forward. “What’s that?”
Sultan al-Din spread his hands. “Have no fear, good sir,” he said. “I shall see to it that you return in safety to your King.”
“This man must face trial by axe. At once!” declared the Vizier. He turned to the prisoner. “Do you know what that means, wretch?”
The captain nodded dumbly.
The sultan sighed again. “It is the law of the land,” he said, glancing at Darin. “Let it be done.”
At a signal from the Vizier, the two guards dragged the captain across the room and up onto the dais. They left him by the table where the Green Knight’s axe lay, and stepped back, scimitars in hand. The unfortunate seaman stood there, white-faced, chewing at his lip.
“Now,” commanded the Vizier. “Pick it up!”
Keepers of the Western Forest Page 33
