by C. J. Busby
Lancelot bent down and put his arm around her and murmured in her ear. Olivia’s eyes brightened.
“Really?” she said. “You promise?”
He nodded.
“Right, you’re on. As soon as we’ve finished the quest.” She seemed a whole lot happier and Max felt relieved. Whatever Lancelot had said, it had worked.
“Two wins to each side,” announced the man on the bridge. “Jerome Stodmarsh may choose his opponent from the remaining members of the Pendragon party.”
“Remaining members?” said Sir Bertram. “What does he mean?”
“He means me!” said Adolphus eagerly, and shot into the clearing. “I’ll fight him! I’ve fought him before! Whoosh! I chased him away in the forest!”
“Or me,” said Ferocious, scampering after him. “I’ll bite him, and then I’ll bite him again. I’ll bite him in places he didn’t even know he had.”
“Quack!” said Vortigern, flying after them. “It’s me, of course. I’m the next in line. I’m a royal duck! Quack!”
Jerome stood on the other side of the clearing, looking completely taken aback at the idea that he was now called upon to fight. He took a quick look at the opposition and decided almost immediately.
“The duck,” he said. “I’ll fight the duck.”
It was over in seconds. Vortigern was a small whirlwind of wings and beak and webbed feet. He smacked Jerome repeatedly around the head with his wings and pecked his ears. He dodged Jerome’s flailing arms with ease, and then went back for another go, poking him in the eye with his webbed feet.
“I yield!” shouted Jerome. “I yield! I yield! Get him off me!”
Vortigern retreated to the middle of the clearing, where he strutted proudly, rearranging his feathers.
“I told you so,” he quacked. “I am King Vortigern the Sixth. Never been beaten in a fight before.”
The man on the bridge waved his piece of straw at them all.
“The Pendragon party wins. They can leave their horses here safely, and proceed to the island.”
He stood to one side, and gestured at the bridge. Max and the others looked at each other, and then warily stepped forward. Snotty tried to move in front of them, but he was held back, as if by an invisible wall. His face was distorted with rage as he spat at them.
“Don’t think you’ll get away with this! We’ll be waiting for you when you come back! And not just us, either. You won’t make it to Camelot, I can promise you that!
Max stepped on to the wooden bridge, and as he did so, he felt the cool greeting of the Lady’s magic. They had made it. They were on the island. But it seemed distinctly possible that the real challenge was going to be getting off it again in one piece.
The Lady’s Island
The Lady was exactly as Max remembered her. She was kneeling down in the cabbage patch, with her long frizzy brown hair tied back with a colourful bit of cloth, her hands muddy and her sleeves pulled up to the elbows.
“Ah,” she said when she saw them, wiping a streak of mud across her forehead as she pushed a stray bit of hair out of her eyes. “You’ll be here for Arthur. He’s in there…” She gestured at the little cottage behind her. “I brought Leogrance’s girl here to look after him, couldn’t spare the time myself. Got the cabbages to see to.”
She waved them on. “I’ll be in in a minute. Go and introduce yourselves.”
Lancelot bowed low to her and passed eagerly on to the cottage, the others following behind.
They had to duck through the low door, but once inside, the cottage seemed much larger than it did from the outside. A fire was burning in the grate and a pot of stew was suspended above it, bubbling gently. A wooden chair had been pulled close to the fire, and Arthur was sitting on it, looking weak but very much alive, with a small black cat purring gently at his feet.
“My lord,” said Lancelot, and went down on one knee in front of the king. “We are relieved to see you well and safe.”
Arthur looked at them all, their faces weary but triumphant. They had found him. They had the king back. They had succeeded in the quest!
He sighed and tried to sit more upright, grimacing slightly.
“Well done. You have found me, and I am alive – though I never expected to be. I thought I was dead when I woke up here – but then I realised that I hurt too much. I imagine that when you are dead, you don’t feel anything.” He smiled, and then winced. “So. I suppose I’d better see about coming back with you.”
He didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic about the idea. Olivia looked at him carefully. The king was pale, and clearly in pain, but there was something about him that made her think he was happier than he’d been for a long time. Lines of care and worry seemed to have been smoothed out, and his face looked much younger.
At that moment a door at the back of the room opened, and a young woman came in. Arthur looked up, and his whole face brightened.
“My nurse,” he said, gesturing at the young woman. “The Lady Guinevere.”
Guinevere was tall, with long nut-brown hair and eyes exactly the same shade of blue as the king. Max thought that she was the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, but her beauty was in more than just her features – it was in the way she moved, the way she tilted her head, the hint of amusement in her eyes, and the twitch at the corner of her mouth. When she spoke, her voice was musical, and it made each one of them feel they had known her forever.
“Welcome, all of you. Please – have something to eat.”
She waved, and immediately there was wine and pastries, apples and mulled mead on a table by the fire, along with roasted woodlice for Adolphus, bacon rind for Ferocious, and bread for Vortigern. Max looked up at her, startled. Was she a witch? She smiled and winked at him, and he coloured and tried to neaten his messy hair. Olivia snorted. She was the only one not charmed by Guinevere’s long eyelashes and merry blue eyes. She kicked Max on the shin, in a bad temper, and sat down by the fire with a pastry.
“So,” said Arthur. “Lady Guinevere – this is Sir Bertram Pendragon, and his excellent children, Max and Olivia. The handsome duck you see over there is, I believe, King Vortigern, and his fiery companion is Adolphus. And the rat on Max’s shoulder is Ferocious, who is extremely useful in a scrap. Is that everyone?”
“Not quite,” said Guinevere, looking hard at Lancelot. He had been sitting in the shadows, half hidden. Now he looked up, and his crooked face was slightly stern.
“Guinevere,” he said, with a nod.
She bit her lip.
“I thought so! Lancelot! What are you doing here?”
“You know each other?” said the king, surprised.
“The Lady Guinevere and I grew up together,” said Lancelot. “When I left, we were not on the best of terms.”
Guinevere coloured slightly.
“I threw his best sword in the moat,” she said.
Arthur raised his eyebrows, and she pouted slightly.
“Well, he lost my favourite hunting hawk. And broke my harp.”
“Because you left it where I would trip over it!” said Lancelot hotly. “And I never lost Gloriel, you lost him yourself!”
The two of them looked thoroughly cross with each other, and about ten years younger than they actually were.
Arthur laughed, and pulled Guinevere to him.
“I think we can agree to put this dispute behind us, can we not?” he said, smiling at them both. Guinevere hesitated, and then smiled back, and squeezed the king’s hand.
“Of course,” she said, and turned to Lancelot. “Sir Lancelot, I hope you can forgive me the wrong I did you. Shall we be friends?”
Lancelot took a deep breath, and nodded. “As you wish.” But he remained slightly stern for the rest of the evening, and Guinevere avoided his glances.
It was much later that the Lady entered, with a gust of wind, and slammed the door behind her.
“Right then. Plans made, I take it? Worked out how you’re going to get back to Camelot
?”
They all looked blankly at each other. They had been too busy enjoying the fire and the food, and the feeling that everything was going to be all right now they had found the king. They hadn’t begun to think about how to get back to Camelot.
The Lady looked at them all brightly, and took an apple from the bowl.
“It’s just I imagine Morgana will be waiting for you on the other side of the bridge.”
Arthur’s face darkened.
“Morgana,” he said, and for a moment all the old weariness and care was back in his face. “I was wrong about her. She was the only one who could have worked that spell on Excalibur, and then changed its form. I have been blind…Merlin was right all along.”
“Oh yes,” said the Lady tartly. “Of course. Merlin’s always right.” She snorted, and threw her apple core at the cat. “The question is, how are you going to get away, when he hasn’t seen fit to come along and help? And when I can’t leave the island?”
Arthur looked taken aback.
“Well, I’m not much use in a fight at the moment. And I haven’t got Excalibur.”
“Lancelot’s a pretty nifty swordsman,” said Sir Bertram, stroking his moustache. “And I’ll do my best, of course. And we’ve got Adolphus…”
“I’ll fight too!” said Olivia, fiercely. “We’ll all die before we let that evil witch rule the kingdom!”
Ferocious rolled his eyes.
“Yes, well, very noble – but it would be better if we didn’t actually have to die. So I suggest we pretend we didn’t find the king at all, and we smuggle him back to Camelot in the saddlebags, as a frog.”
Max whooped and clapped his hands.
“Genius!” he said. “That might just do it!”
“I’ll need Guinevere with me,” said Arthur quickly. “She’s an excellent nurse, and I’m still not feeling completely healed.”
“That’s fine,” said Olivia instantly. “Guinevere can be a frog as well. Better that way, or they’ll wonder why she’s with us. She’ll make a lovely frog.”
She smiled at Guinevere, and Guinevere smiled sweetly back, but her beautiful blue eyes were narrowed.
***
Max sent his swift to Merlin later that evening. They had decided to start back for Camelot in the morning – Arthur needed another night’s rest, and it was already late. No one felt like facing an ambush by Morgana in the dark.
When morning came, it was sunny, and a slight mist rose off the still waters of the lake so that it was hard to see the other end of the bridge. Sir Bertram and Lancelot were in full armour, ready for whatever awaited them, and Olivia had her sword drawn. Max had turned the king and Guinevere into frogs earlier. The king was now a large midnight-blue frog with purple spots, while Guinevere was a very fetching pink frog with long eyelashes. Both of them were carefully stowed in an old saddlebag, which was slung across Max’s shoulders.
The Lady was standing by the bridge, peering across the lake.
“I can come with you to the far side” she said. “But I can’t do any magic on the shore. You’ll have to hope Merlin got your swift, and that he will actually turn up.”
“What about the man we met before?” said Olivia. “The one who made us fight? Where is he?”
The Lady coloured.
“He… well… um… actually – that was me. It is the rule, you know. If two groups seek entry at the same time…” she trailed off. “Anyway,” she added, in a brighter tone. “You all did very well. Especially Vortigern.”
“Quack!” said the duck happily. He was perched on Lancelot’s shoulder, flapping his wings a bit to keep balanced. “Always glad to help. Ready to defend the king with all my might.”
“And me!” said Adolphus, flying round their heads noisily. “I’ll fight them! Just you watch me. And Ferocious will help too!”
“If you don’t tip me off with your ridiculous flying stunts,” said the rat, clinging on to Adolphus’s shoulder.
“Good. Excellent. Right then,” said Sir Bertram, and gave his moustache a last twirl. “Forward, and be ready for whatever meets us!”
They strode onto the bridge, Sir Bertram first, followed by Lancelot and Olivia, with Max at the rear. The bridge seemed to expand as they stepped onto it, so that by the time they reached the shore they were more or less four abreast, with the Lady walking behind them.
As they reached the end of the bridge, they saw Snotty and Sir Richard, standing with Sir Gawaine behind them, and Mordred not far away.
“Where’s the king?” said Sir Richard, looking at them hard.
“Haven’t got him,” said Sir Bertram airily. “He wasn’t there. So you’ve waited here for nothing, I’m afraid. Better try somewhere else.”
Sir Richard frowned, and looked taken aback. Snotty narrowed his eyes at Max.
“What are you up to, Pendragon?” he snarled. “The king was on the island. If you don’t get him back to Camelot today, then he won’t be king any more.”
“Sorry,” said Max with a shrug. “He really wasn’t there. We just stayed for a chat and some roast venison. So out of our way, please – we’re going home.”
There was a pause, while Sir Richard and Snotty put their heads together. For a moment, Max thought they might actually get away with it. But then a voice called out of the trees. A voice that filled him with cold dread.
“He is lying. The king is with them – I can feel it. Kill them all!”
From out of the shadows stepped a tall figure – a figure with long black hair and a white face. Morgana le Fay. She had come to stop them herself.
The Battle for the Kingdom Begins
From behind Morgana, ten or twelve knights in full armour moved out of the trees, their weapons raised. Max gulped. But Sir Bertram didn’t hesitate. He drew his sword, and with a cry of “Up and at ’em!” he swept off the bridge, Lancelot beside him and Olivia not far behind. There was a clashing of metal as their swords met those of the oncoming knights. Sir Richard rapidly got out of the way, but Snotty and Mordred and Gawaine joined the battle with a will.
Max hesitated, put down the saddlebag with the two frogs inside, and then drew his sword – but the Lady put her hand on his shoulder.
“I think it’s your magic they’ll be needing, Max, not your sword,” she said gently.
He took a deep breath and nodded. There was one thing he could do to start with which would even the odds up a bit. He concentrated on Gawaine, down there in the frenzy of fighting, and felt for the enchantment he knew was binding him: Morgana’s magic, stored in some small object. He was guessing it was in Gawaine’s clothes somewhere, hidden there by Snotty and Jerome that day at the castle…He began to sense the magic, and started to unravel it.
***
Meanwhile, Olivia was fighting for her life. Sir Bertram and Lancelot were back to back, holding off five or six of the knights between them, while Adolphus was proving himself a useful ally, chasing at least four of Morgana’s men around the clearing in circles and breathing fire at them. Ferocious, clinging on for dear life, was urging him on. Vortigern was harrying another knight mercilessly, flying into his face and repeatedly pecking him on the nose. But that still left Olivia to defend herself against Gawaine, Mordred and two other knights. This she was doing by a combination of dodging behind trees and dealing swift blows to their legs when they were least expecting it. Being shorter than everyone else was proving a distinct advantage – but it wasn’t enough.
One of the knights had her cornered now, and although she was still parrying his blows bravely, she thought she probably only had a few seconds before he sliced her head off. Just as she thought this, however, there was a shout from behind her, and her opponent fell back, his shield shattered by a blow from… Excalibur!
She turned in surprise to see Gawaine’s bright blue eyes regarding her with an amused expression.
“A thank you would be nice,” he said, with a grin.
“But… what?! You were on the other side a minute ag
o!”
His face darkened, and he frowned.
“I’m not sure what’s been going on,” he said. “I can’t remember much. But I know an unfair fight when I see one. So now I’m on your side!”
Olivia gave a shaky grin.
“Well, good. That might even things up a bit.”
Almost immediately they were set upon by another couple of men, and then a few seconds later by Mordred, who made a fierce thrust at Olivia’s shield.
“Mordred, you little tyke!” shouted Gawaine. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re on my side! Brothers fight together!”
Mordred looked startled, and pulled back. He stood for a moment, as if not quite sure what to do. Then, with an extremely sulky expression on his face, he half-heartedly started to help Olivia and Gawaine. It wasn’t long, however, before he managed to get himself hit on the head by the flat of someone’s blade. He sank to the ground immediately and crawled into a bush to avoid further fighting.
***
Max had felt the magic on Gawaine unravel, and watched with satisfaction as the knight’s blank look faded, to be replaced with his usual alert and shrewd expression. But there had been no time to watch what Gawaine would do next. He needed to find Morgana. He needed to try and neutralise any magic she might throw at the fight. He needed to make sure she didn’t find the king.
As he carefully edged his way around the fighting, he noticed a small sparrowhawk perched on a tree branch above him. It was looking at him with one fierce yellow eye, and as he stopped, it flew down to his shoulder and put its beak close to his ear.
“Can we get a little further from the bridge, Max, before I transform? We’re really rather closer to the Lady’s island than I’d hoped to be when we had this final showdown.”
“Merlin!” said Max. “Troll’s toenails, I’m glad to see you! I thought I’d have to deal with Morgana on my own!”
“Very brave of you to even think of trying, Max,” said the hawk. “But I think it will need both of us. Morgana is a formidable opponent.”
