by C. J. Busby
There was a moment of silence, broken by Vortigern, who did a triple somersault and flapped his wings happily.
“Morgana’s defeated! Three cheers! Quack, quack, quack!” he shouted.
Adolphus breathed a huge celebratory gout of fire which nearly singed off all the captured knights’ eyebrows.
“She’s gone! Hurrah for Max! Hurrah for Merlin!” he whooped.
Olivia looked at Lancelot. She felt slightly weak at the knees, and almost sat down where she stood, but before she had a chance Lancelot had swept her off her feet and whirled her round joyfully, capering around in triumph. By the time he had put her down, breathless, Olivia had got over her shock, and could only feel a huge bubble of excitement. It was all over! They had done it! They had defeated Morgana and saved the king!
But at that thought, she stopped still.
“Lancelot!” she said urgently. “Where did Max put his saddlebag? Did he take it with him?”
Sir Bertram called over from the bridge, where he was already searching the ground for the bag.
“It’s all right, he left it here. But – er – I don’t suppose there’s anyone here who can undo a frogspell?”
He held out his hands. In one hand was a large dark-blue frog with regal purple spots. In the other was a small pink frog with long eyelashes.
Olivia tried hard not to laugh, but she couldn’t stop a small snort escaping. Neither Max nor Merlin were here, and although Lancelot had some magic, she doubted it was enough to restore the two frogs to human form.
“Someone’s going to have to kiss them both,” she said brightly, and looked at Sir Bertram, who shuffled his feet and coughed.
“Well, it’s – um – it’s the king… Er – Sir Lancelot?”
Lancelot looked taken aback.
“I’m not sure…” he started.
Adolphus came bounding up and sniffed the frogs cheerfully.
“I can do it!” he said. “I’ll kiss them!”
“No!” shouted Olivia, but it was too late. There was a WHOOSH!! and purple stars flew around the clearing. Two enormous dragons were suddenly facing each other, one blue and one a rather fetching shade of rose. They both looked thoroughly startled.
Olivia sighed. “Adolphus, you dozy idiot. You can only turn them into dragons!”
She stepped gingerly up to the large blue dragon and curtseyed.
“Excuse me, my lord,” she said, and planted a firm kiss on the dragon’s nose.
WHOOSH!!
More purple stars flew around, and there stood the king, still looking a little pale, but clearly himself. He smiled at her.
“Many thanks, Olivia,” he said, looking at her warmly.
Olivia hesitated, and then gestured at the beautiful rose-coloured dragon.
“You can kiss her yourself, if you like,” she said.
The king looked at the dragon with a broad smile, and gave her a smacking kiss on her long nose.
WHOOSH!!
Lady Guinevere stood there, looking as beautiful as ever, and her merry blue eyes danced.
“Well! That was an interesting experience. First a frog and then a dragon!” She turned to Sir Bertram and said, in a confidential voice, “You know, there was a fly in the saddlebag. It was a bit of a struggle between the king and myself, but I believe in the end I had the longer tongue.” She licked her lips daintily. “Very tasty.”
The king laughed, and clapped her on the back.
“I let you have it,” he said, with a wink at the others.
At that moment, Gawaine appeared and kneeled before the king, holding up his sword.
“I believe this is really yours, my lord,” he said, in a small voice.
Arthur took the sword, and weighed it carefully in his hands.
“It is Excalibur,” he said, with a dark expression. “It is enchanted to look different, but I’d know the feel anywhere. How did you come to use my own sword against me, Sir Gawaine?”
Gawaine coloured, and took a deep breath. “I am sorry for what I did,” he said. “I have no idea how it… I was not… I barely remember any of it. I seemed to come out of a trance, or a dream, when we were in the middle of the fight here. I think perhaps there was a spell…”
Olivia looked up at Arthur, and her voice was firm.
“He was under an enchantment,” she said. “As soon as it was lifted he started to help us. He saved my life at least three times.”
Gawaine’s mouth twitched.
“As did she, my lord – she must have saved my life at least twice.”
“Three times, I think you’ll find,” said Olivia, raising her eyebrow. “And actually, it might have been four.”
“No,” said Gawaine quickly. “I had that one totally under control. In fact—”
“Enough!” said the king, sternly. He looked down at Gawaine, and his eyes were as cold as a clear winter sky. “Do you swear this was an enchantment? Do you swear upon your life that you serve me, and not Morgana?”
Gawaine swallowed, but he looked up at the king and met his eyes firmly. “I swear,” he said.
“And I, my lord, and I,” came a twittering voice from behind him, and Sir Richard Hogsbottom flung himself prostrate on the ground before the king. “It was a terrible experience! I was trying so hard to fight the enchantment! I even managed to disrupt the Lady Morgana’s swordspell at the crucial moment by sneezing. I am sure that it spoiled the spell enough to save your life, my lord. I am your most loyal servant!”
Arthur drew back from the figure on his knees in front of him, and looked around, his expression suddenly weary.
“Sir Gawaine, I believe and forgive you,” he said. “These others – Sir Richard, his boy, his ward, Gawaine’s brother Mordred – I shall consider. Morgana is gone. Perhaps we should put it behind us, and start afresh.”
Olivia was outraged. “But—” she started, but the king raised his hand.
“Please, Olivia,” he said. “Morgana is – was – a powerful person. I was loyal to her for many years. Can I punish others too hard for being taken in by her when I allowed myself to be fooled for so long?’
“You are most wise and gracious, my lord,” said Sir Richard, getting up from the ground and dusting down his robes. “Please – anything I can do to show my loyalty… Whatever small trifle…” He backed away, bowing, and bumped into Snotty, who was standing crossly behind him, not even trying to look sorry, his hands clenched and his face full of rage.
“Bind them with the other knights, for now,” said the king, and Lancelot and Sir Bertram bowed, and moved in towards them.
But at that moment there was a huge roar from above, and they looked up and realised that an enormous green dragon was hurtling down towards the clearing like a mountain falling out of the sky.
***
Lady Wilhelmina, being four hundred and forty-three years old, was extremely large and very fast. After inspecting the cave and pronouncing it just right for her cauldron collection, she had graciously consented to take up her post as warden of the ice-bound Morgana le Fay. But she had agreed to return Max and Merlin to the island first, doing so in fine style.
When they finally skidded to a halt in the middle of the clearing, Max could see the others all staring open-mouthed. Then Olivia raced towards them and flung herself at Max.
“You’re all right! Max! You did it!”
After that there was universal joy and jubilation. Merlin went straight to the king, and embraced him warmly, while Arthur laughed, and winced, and protested that he was fine, and introduced Guinevere. Lancelot saluted Merlin with his sword, and was embraced in his turn, while Sir Bertram cheerfully punched everyone on the shoulder and sent most of them staggering.
Max thought he might never recover from the number of times he was slapped on the back by Sir Bertram and Lancelot. Even Arthur squeezed his shoulder tightly as he gave his heartfelt thanks – although Max thought that this might have been partly to help the king stay upright. Arthur was beginning to
look slightly green by that stage, and it wasn’t long before he gave up trying to stand and sank thankfully onto a couch that the Lady provided.
Meanwhile Max was bowled to the ground by Adolphus, who charged into him whooping loudly, and then bitten on the ear affectionately by Ferocious, who had immediately transferred from Adolphus’s shoulder to Max’s as soon as he saw him. Olivia thumped him several times on the arm till he wondered if he would ever have feeling in it again, and finally Gawaine came up and shook his hand.
“Well done, young Pendragon,” he said. “I believe I have you to thank for taking the enchantment off me.”
Max nodded, and grinned at Gawaine. He felt ready to be friends with anyone and everyone – it was such a relief to have stood up to Morgana and actually survived. Better – to have helped get rid of her forever. He glanced across at the other side of the clearing, where Sir Richard, Snotty, Jerome and Mordred were firmly bound together with Morgana’s knights, and he couldn’t help feeling even more triumphant at the expression of cold rage on Snotty’s face.
“So,” Max said cheerfully. “Isn’t it about time for a feast to celebrate?”
“That would be good,” said Olivia. “Where’s Merlin when you need him?”
They looked over to the bridge and saw that Merlin and the Lady were deep in conversation. They looked rather like they were having an argument, but also as if they were very glad to see each other.
“Actually,” said Max happily, “we don’t need Merlin for this one.” He pulled a small grey stone out of his pocket. “I’ve learnt how to undo Morgana’s magic – and this is Sir Peverell’s feast that she turned into a pebble. Roast boar’s head, anyone?”
The Festival of Chivalry
Olivia had given up raising her eyebrows and snorting at the number of knights they met who instantly fell in love with Guinevere.
“She’s worse than Lady Alice the Fair, in Gore,” she’d complained to the others, but Max rather liked Guinevere, and thought she was a lot more fun than the simpering Lady Alice. Lancelot had just smiled crookedly and said that he was still waiting for her to give him a proper apology for throwing his sword in the moat. And Gawaine, Olivia was pleased to note, was completely impervious to Guinevere’s charms.
“I prefer girls who know how to use a sword,” he had said, with a wink, and Olivia had blushed.
Now they were back at Camelot, where the castle was buzzing with preparations for the postponed Festival of Chivalry. Arthur had announced that the remaining events would take place in a week’s time, to give him a chance to recover and the castle kitchens time to prepare the largest feast the kingdom had ever seen.
Olivia was disappearing somewhere almost every day, and when Max asked her what she was up to, she just tapped her nose and winked, and said that it was to do with a promise Lancelot had made her while they were on the quest. This meant that, for Max, the week of preparations was rather dull. Even Merlin was busy arranging a special display of magic and fireworks for the celebratory feast, so there were no magic lessons. In the end, Max got so bored he turned himself, Adolphus and Ferocious into ducks, and they spent a number of enjoyable hours chasing fish in the moat with Vortigern, and playing ‘Who Can Cadge the Most Bread from the Castle Kitchens’.
The one other bright spot in the week had been the banishment of Sir Richard and Snotty. Arthur had officially pardoned Gawaine, and also Mordred, who’d not had much to do with the plot at all – but Sir Richard was not so lucky. Jerome had been sent back to his family in the Welsh marches, and Sir Richard and Snotty had been banished to the furthest outpost of the kingdom – a cold, rocky island off the northern coast, with a grim stone castle and nothing but seabirds for company. Max and Olivia had gone to see them and their armed escort off on their journey north and had delighted in waving cheerily at Snotty as he stomped off carrying his bags. He was looking completely furious and snapping at his father, who was doing his best to appear innocent and misjudged. Just as they passed under the castle gatehouse, Sir Richard had given a high-pitched yell, looking around in outrage. Ferocious told them later that he had managed to get close enough to give him a sharp nip on his velvet-clad backside.
Now, however, the festival was about to begin, and the castle was an altogether more interesting place to be. It was decorated with flags and bunting and there were brightly coloured tents and campfires and horses and other animals scattered across the surrounding meadows. There were stalls selling beautiful and exotic trinkets from all corners of the kingdom, jugglers and acrobats, bards with new and fantastic tales, and travelling wizards with strange and impressive spells to show off. Excitement was in the air and everyone appeared to be in a good humour.
The day announced for the Festival dawned bright and clear. The king had withdrawn from the Knights’ Cup, as he was not completely fit, but Sir Gawaine had been allowed to keep his place in the first half. Lancelot was also standing in the lists, with Olivia as his squire, ready to take on the knights who had been drawn for the second half.
The crowd was enthusiastic, and greeted each new pair of knights with enormous cheers and whoops, roaring in approval whenever any of them managed to disarm his opponent. After a morning’s hard hand-to-hand combat, however, it was clear that there were really only two knights in the running for the Cup – Sir Gawaine, who had fought like a lion and bested four knights in a row to win the first half of the draw, and the newcomer, the Knight of the Lake, who had coolly disarmed every single opponent within five minutes of each fight starting.
As the time of the final approached, Max could see money rapidly changing hands among the spectators, and there was an increasing buzz of excitement and speculation about who would win. Sir Bertram had put ten gold pieces on Sir Lancelot, remembering to call him the Knight of the Lake, and was standing at one end of the castle green with his hand on Lancelot’s shoulder, giving him the benefit of some last-minute advice.
“Want to hold back, keep defensive,” he was saying. “Got good footwork, Gawaine, really excellent – but he’s weak on his left side, and he’s impulsive. Hold off, let him make a mistake, then – wham! – in there and get his sword off him!”
Lancelot nodded gravely, the expression on his face watchful and shrewd as he eyed up his opponent. Gawaine was smiling and bowing to the crowd, and waving his sword around with a flourish, but his eyes, too, were on his opponent, and his expression was wary.
Olivia threw herself into the seat next to Max and let out a huge breath.
“Well, he’s all armoured up. Let’s hope he can do it.”
Max nodded. Ferocious was sitting on his shoulder, watching, and Adolphus was craning his neck over the heads of the crowd to try and see what was happening.
“Are they fighting yet? Has he won? Should I help?”
“Please don’t,” said Ferocious, rolling his eyes. “They’re both bound to end up burned to a crisp and then they’d have to give the Knights’ Cup to a brainless dragon. Not exactly what it’s meant for.”
Olivia was sitting on her hands and biting her lip as the two knights strode to the centre of the castle green, to a roar from the crowd. She could see the king and Guinevere in the Royal Box, Arthur’s blue eyes sparkling while Guinevere covered her face with her hands.
“He’s beaten Gawaine before,” said Max, looking at Olivia’s anxious expression. “And that was against Excalibur. He’s bound to win.”
“Yes – but Gawaine was under an enchantment, remember,” said Olivia. “He wasn’t himself at all. I’ve seen him fight since then and he’s really very, very good. It’s going to be close.”
It was indeed close. The knights circled each other for what seemed like ages before Gawaine finally decided to make the first move. He darted at Lancelot, who parried expertly, and Gawaine jumped back to avoid the return blow. After that they went for each other. The crowd hardly made a sound – the blows fell so fast it was almost impossible to tell who was striking whom, and there was no chance to cheer whe
n one of them made a hit because the blow was immediately returned, and harder. Max could hardly bear to watch – he couldn’t quite believe either of them was still standing. He was just at the point where he would have been happy to give Gawaine the victory if it meant they would just stop, when there was a collective gasp from the crowd and one of the knights fell to his knees, his sword arcing across the green with a flash of silver.
“Who is it, who is it?” cried Olivia, her fists clenched, as she peered into the middle of the green. There was a pause, and then a huge cheer as the standing knight removed his helmet. It was Lancelot, his hair drenched with sweat and his face bright with triumph as he waved his sword high in the air.
***
They hardly had time to celebrate Lancelot’s victory before it was time for the final event of the Squires’ Challenge, and Olivia was forced to set off to join the other squires, looking ever so slightly green. Just before she left, Lady Griselda appeared and gave her a hug, and whispered something in her ear. Olivia’s eyes widened and she gave her mother a delighted look, and then headed off looking altogether more jaunty.
Sir Bertram frowned at his wife. “What was that about, Griselda? Hope you’ve not put the girl off?”
Lady Griselda smiled, and raised her eyebrows. “You’ll just have to wait and see, my dear,” was all she said, before settling down next to Max and patting Adolphus on the head.
“Do you think she’s got a chance?” said Max to his father. Sir Bertram stroked his moustache.
“I don’t know. Mordred’s bigger and stronger and – well, really, Max, I have to say – he’s a better swordsman. But you never know. You never know.”
Max nodded, and crossed his fingers. Winning meant so much to Olivia. He really hoped she could pull it off. And then he saw Lancelot standing by the edge of the green, watching the squires. Lancelot caught his eye, and winked, and Max suddenly thought about all those days Olivia had gone off mysteriously on her own.
“She’s been practising!” he said, with rising excitement. “Lancelot’s been teaching her his disarming techniques – that’s what he promised her when she lost against Mordred on the quest!”
