“Those men will be provided for, my Queen,” Merlin said confidently.
Guinevere stared at Merlin, somewhat vexed by his nonchalance. “Provided for? Merlin, contrary to the gossip of the common folk, you are not a sorcerer who can conjure fodder, bread, cheese, meat, and arms for over a thousand men from thin air. These things must be bought or taken by force, and we don’t have the gold to do the former, and I will not countenance the latter.”
Merlin nodded apologetically. “Forgive me, my Queen, I do not want you to think I am taking this grave matter lightly. It is just … well, there are secret storehouses filled with grain, cheese, salted fish, and meat—also with the arms needed to outfit an army.”
Guinevere looked at Merlin in disbelief. “Merlin, how … where did this wealth come from? Where are these storehouses?”
Merlin eased himself back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “Forgive me, my Queen. There is much that you don’t know … much that you should have been told, but were not. The Pendragon began to plan for this day, years before the fall.”
Guinevere shook her head in confusion. “This day? How could he know? How could he—”
“He had a foretelling, my Queen. He knew … what was to come.”
Cadwyn’s eyes widened, and Sister Aranwen made the sign of the cross. Guinevere just stared at Merlin in silence. A hundred disparate memories from every corner of her mind came together into a single whole, and she knew what Merlin said was true. It took her a moment to repress the feelings of grief, frustration, and anger that threatened to overwhelm her, and then she spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Tell me.”
The old Roman drew in a breath, like a man preparing to unshackle a great load from his back after a long and difficult journey.
“Two years before the fall,” Merlin began, “Arthur came to me and told me of a dream that had come to him more than once. In the dream, he was sitting in the forest near an ancient oak tree, a tree as old as the land itself. As he watched, a black vine wove its way up the trunk of the tree, and over time, starved the tree of light, killing it. Upon the death of the oak, a ghostly woman emerged from the tree. She told Arthur that if he sent ‘the Knight who forges the many into an army of one’ from the shores of Albion, then upon the Knight’s return, this man would replant the oak, and a mighty tree would grow again.”
Merlin was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant, and then he continued the story.
“I told Arthur that dreams were a thing of no moment, and he should ignore it, but it came to him a second time, and he said that he knew what it meant. The oak was his Kingdom and the Table, and both would fall, and—”
“That Sir Percival had to be sent away, so he might later return and resurrect what was lost,” Guinevere finished in a whisper.
Merlin nodded, a look of surprise on this face. “Yes, my Queen. May I ask how you knew—”
“That it was Sir Percival? It could be no one else,” Guinevere said softly.
Both of Cadwyn’s hands were now covering her mouth, and her eyes were nearly bulging out of her head. Sister Aranwen was quietly praying with her eyes closed.
There was a long silence, and then Guinevere’s eyes met Merlin’s. “So he prepared for this day … storing away the arms and the gold that would be needed to restore what he knew would be lost.”
“Yes, my Queen. Armor, shields, swords, spears, pikes, wagons, and yes, gold and silver to buy supplies.”
“Where?”
“In secret caves, my Queen. There is one in the south, not far from Londinium, one in the far north, near the Roman wall, and a third not more than twenty leagues south of here. As we speak, my Queen, a line of wagons carrying supplies for the men outside the gates, from that very cave, is on its way here. If you will allow me the use of a hundred more men, then I can assure you that those making up this new army will soon be both well fed and well armed.”
As Guinevere pondered his words, she realized he was not telling her the entire story. “And should I assume, Merlin the Wise, that you have taken the liberty of distributing the crown’s stores in the south to the man who now defends Londinium—Cynric the Archer?”
Merlin shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Why, yes, my Queen, that I have. It … it seemed the prudent thing to do.”
“Might it also have been prudent to tell me of these things before they were done?” Guinevere said in a tone that was both understanding and chiding at the same time.
“Yes, my Queen, forgive me. We … could not know when Sir Percival would return, and there were those who’d lost hope that the day would ever come. Once we came to know of his landfall, matters transpired so quickly that we had to make decisions in haste.”
Guinevere was silent for a moment, torn by two emotions—resentment and gratitude. She was angry at Arthur and Merlin for failing to share the burdens they bore and for failing to give her the opportunity to try to stave off the fall, or at least to prepare for its aftermath. At the same time, she was humbled by their sacrifice. They had chosen not to rip the veil of happiness from her eyes, but instead to bear the burden of what was to come on their own.
When she opened her eyes and stared at the man in front of her, Guinevere suddenly realized Merlin was a tired old man. Yes, he was brilliant, learned, and cunning, but none of those gifts could have lightened the load he had been compelled to carry in these last years. In the end, he, like herself, had made decisions, good and bad, and borne the consequence of both.
Guinevere leaned forward and said with quiet force. “Merlin, you have my gratitude for all that you have done for the Kingdom. However, from this day forward, you will seek my consent on all matters of importance.”
“Yes, my Queen.”
Guinevere nodded her approval and continued. “Now, I am still confused by the matter of these storehouses.”
Merlin nodded, but Guinevere sensed his unease when she continued. “Arthur could have stored arms, wagons, and gold, and things of that nature, but grain, meat, and cheese, these would have rotted over such a long time. If stores of food exist, then someone would have had to gather and store much of that food in the past months and years.”
“Yes, someone would have had to do that, and … that person would also have had to keep a watch over your person, as well, my Queen, but in a … let us say, surreptitious way … one that would not arouse the interests or suspicions of Morgana and her allies,” Merlin said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Indeed,” Guinevere said, her eyes narrowing, “and who might that have been?”
Merlin clasped his hands together before answering. “That would be … Bishop Verdino, or more precisely … myself, playing the role of Bishop Verdino.”
The instant Merlin finished, Cadwyn exploded out of her chair and shouted, “I knew you looked familiar!”
Cadwyn’s outburst so shocked Sister Aranwen that she let out a shriek and dropped her knitting to the floor. A moment later, the two guards outside the Queen’s quarters burst into the room, swords drawn, and stared at Guinevere in confusion as her peals of laughter filled the room.
After a semblance of order had been restored, and the bewildered guards had left to return to their posts outside, Merlin cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, “My Queen, might I provide some explanation for my … ruse, shall we say?”
“Yes, I think you should, Merlin. Some people might think your actions were in the nature of high treason,” Guinevere said in a cool reprimand.
“Like me,” Cadwyn said, her eyes filled with righteous anger.
“Well then, let me try to persuade you otherwise, Lady Cadwyn,” Merlin said with a tired sigh.
“As you know, my Queen, I was with the King at Camlann. I am not a warrior, but as a healer, I knew my place was there, doing what I could. For most who came to my table, it was little enough, for the slaughter was great on both sides and little quarter was given. Before the last charge that drove Morg
ana from the field, the one where … Arthur met his end, we spoke for a moment. He gave me a sacred charge on that day, one that I pledged to carry out until my dying day.”
“To keep me safe,” Guinevere said softly.
“Yes … that was his last order to me, in his last minutes of life. And although it is a charge that I willingly undertook, until Percival and that small army surrounded this abbey, it has been one that has taxed me to the limit of my resources.”
“Was I truly that difficult, Merlin the Wise?” Guinevere said with a small smile.
“Yes … I mean no, my Queen. It is just that you did not know the perils that you faced.”
“What perils?” Cadwyn interrupted in a voice full of scorn. “We have seen neither hide nor hair of an assassin or a Norse raider.”
Merlin was a silent for a long moment, and then he drew a small book from his cloak.
“Lady Cadwyn, I kept a diary of every attempt on the Queen’s life in the past seven years in this book. I wrote down the date that we caught or killed each assassin and what we learned from them. In the first year after she came to the abbey, fifteen men and three women came through yonder forest to kill the Queen. All of them were sent by Morgana. If you do not believe my words, I will gladly bring you to their graves, and to the graves of the forty-two men who either died discovering these plots or killing the assassins. They were all good men.”
“I didn’t know,” Cadwyn said, taken aback by Merlin’s quiet but intense words.
“I did not know, either, Merlin, but then you, or Bishop Verdino, if you will, did not tell me of these matters,” Guinevere said in quiet reproach.
“I did not,” Merlin said, with another apologetic nod. “And maybe I should have, but to do that I would have had to disclose my own existence, and that would surely have drawn a full-scale attack by Morgana, for she covets my death more than your own. We could not have held off such an attack. I could have sent a secret message through Torn or another trusted retainer, but how could you know it was me? None in this abbey except yourself, Sister Aranwen, and the abbess have ever seen me before, and … Morgana had eyes and ears within the abbey.”
“Spies? Here? And you let them be?” Cadwyn whispered incredulously, glancing at the door and window.
“Yes, there are at least three. The cook’s assistant, Bowen, Sister Ann, and Eldor, the man who brings firewood to the abbey. Bowen’s sister and Sister Ann’s brother were enslaved by Morgana. They work in the silver mines she seized after the fall. Morgana keeps them alive in return for information. Eldor brings their messages in and out. He does it for the coin. As for letting them be, Cadwyn, better the spy you know than the one you do not. If they were to … disappear, Morgana would just send others.”
“God save us from that woman,” Sister Aranwen said quietly as she made the sign of the cross.
“Why did you take on the guise of Bishop Verdino, Merlin?” Guinevere asked.
“During the first year, there were so many attempts on your life that I had to find a way to keep you inside the abbey’s walls but, at the same time, not alert Morgana to my presence. Verdino’s persona enabled me to do that. The more you hated me, and the more it was rumored that I stole from your lands, the less likely it was that Morgana would suspect
Verdino was Merlin the Wise. My Queen, the guise enabled me to keep my promise to my King. Unfortunately,” Merlin said with regret, “it was at the price of keeping the truth from my Queen.”
“Merlin, twice you have mentioned that the assassins came in the first year. Did something change after that?” Guinevere asked.
“Yes. I … I am not sure why, but for some reason, Morgana stopped sending assassins. There were other threats, but not from her.”
“Other threats?” Cadwyn interjected.
“Oh yes,” Merlin leaned back in his chair, “there were a number of others. A year after he seized Londinium, Hengst sent a force of men to kidnap you. The fool thought that if he forced you to marry him, it would somehow make him the king of Albion. Another time a band of brigands from the south started this way with designs of their own, and other Norse leaders have made noises about raiding the abbey from time to time.”
“And you … and your minions stopped them all,” Guinevere said, assessing the quiet, serene man across from her.
“Hengst’s raiders were served a pitcher of poisoned mead, the brigands were killed while they slept … and so on,” Merlin said, spreading his hands in an apologetic gesture.
Sister Aranwen made the sign of the cross again, her eyes widening.
Guinevere stood up, walked to the window, and looked out upon the growing army training just outside the walls, and the guards diligently patrolling the abbey perimeter with regular precision. For the first time in many years, she was truly safe. Although a part of her was angry at Merlin’s manipulative and deceitful tactics, the truth was they had kept her alive so she could see this day—so she could see Sir Percival again. She turned and walked back to her chair and sat down, her eyes fixed on Merlin’s.
“You have honored your promise to Arthur,” she said gravely, “in the fullest measure, Merlin the Wise, and although I cannot say that I … approve of your methods, I am in your debt. Why, I think even Cadwyn would agree that you can be quite the useful scoundrel, when the need arises,” Guinevere finished, smiling at the younger woman.
“Well … there is that,” Cadwyn said grudgingly, and then she smiled as well.
* * *
PERCIVAL STOOD ON a rise, two hours after sunrise, just outside the walls of the abbey. In the broad, open field below him, a nascent army was preparing for war. One group of men practiced swordcraft, another group was learning to maneuver in formation, while still others were struggling to master the long bow, spear, and pike. He glanced down at Capussa, approaching from the field below with an amused look on his face.
“Do not look so dour, Knight. All will be well.”
Percival nodded toward the men below. “I did not come home to start a war, Capussa.”
Capussa nodded agreeably. “And you have not done so. You merely invited the people of Londinium to take back what was theirs, and they did. Who could fault you for that?”
“The wives and children of the men who died in that taking and in the battle by the Wid River,” Percival answered.
The look of amusement on Capussa’s face faded, and he turned to face his friend.
“Let us speak of things as they are, Knight. This land is dying. Brigands control many of the roads, and every town and village is a fortress. The men, women, and children within those fortresses live in desperate fear that the morrow will bring enslavement or death. When you cut down Hengst the Butcher and Londinium rose, you gave those people hope, and that, my friend, the forces of evil in this land cannot abide. So yes, there shall be war. There are only two things that now lie in the balance: whether you will bring the war to them or they to you, and who will be the victor.”
Percival gave Capussa a skeptical look. “You’ve been talking with Merlin.”
Capussa’s smile returned. “We did share a cup of mead while you were with the Queen.”
The Knight raised an eyebrow. “More than one, I suspect.”
“Well, it was a fine mead.”
“And what,” Percival said dryly, “does Merlin the Wise counsel?”
Capussa looked out upon the field below and spoke in a solemn tone. “His spies say that Ivarr the Red has formed an alliance with Morgana, and it’s only a matter of time before they take the field against us.”
Percival stared into the distance, remembering how the men and woman on the northern coast would become restless and fearful as the spring thaw presaged the onset of the Norse raiding season. The lull before the first attack was always the hardest to bear.
“How much time do we have?”
“Merlin cannot say for sure. Ivarr must raise another army from his people, and Morgana must buy one. So we must do everything within our po
wer to prepare this small army for war as quickly as possible.”
“That’s not an army, Capussa. Those are farmers, hunters, shepherds, and who knows what else.”
Capussa looked over at his friend, an eyebrow raised. “Merlin told me you forged quite a formidable army from men very much like these. Moreover, he said your army of peasants soundly defeated Morgana’s raiders in the north in many a battle. You did that alone, Knight. Together, we shall build an even more formidable army.”
“Capussa, the men of the Marches were a hard breed, and I lived and trained with those men for almost a year,” Percival said quietly.
“There are more than farmers down there, my friend. Do you see those men over there?” Capussa pointed toward a group of men standing together on the far side of the field.
Some of the men were wearing uniforms Percival recognized. He nodded.
“They are soldiers,” Capussa said with satisfaction. “They served in the army of your dead King, and most of them have brought their arms with them. Yes, there are only a hundred or so, but more come every day. I have met these men, Knight. They know what they’re about, and they have a score to settle. They will be the backbone of this army.”
Although Percival felt reassured by the sight, he knew there were hundreds of other men who needed arms.
“What we need,” Percival said with quiet intensity, “are swords and shields for the rest of the men. If we could arm them … and train them in the use of those arms, then we would have a chance. Alas, we would need a town full of blacksmiths working day and night to forge the steel we need.”
Capussa walked over to the Knight and slapped him on the shoulder, a broad smile on this face. “Your prayers have been answered.”
The Knight looked at Capussa skeptically.
“I speak the truth. Merlin borrowed a hundred men and rode south at dawn with nearly every wagon and cart available, along with over two hundred horses. He promised to return in three days with enough arms to outfit an army of two thousand and to bring enough supplies to feed that army for a month.”
The Return of Sir Percival Page 27
