“That belongs to my brother Gawain,” Agravaine said clearly. He knew how the man felt; both Gawain and Gaheris had been chosen before he was. All the same, Mallton would get nothing by making a scene. “We all know that his infirmity keeps him from being here at night.”
“Then what about that one? No one sits there. Why shouldn’t I?”
“Your name is not ‘Siege Perillous,’ is it?” Arthur’s voice held a threat, but the man didn’t heed it.
“My Lord, please,” Dyfnwal said urgently, “let him have my place. He’s right. I’m not worthy.”
“I think you are.” Arthur was a king now. His eyes were hard. “Mallton, you will return to your father in the morning. No one can stay at Camelot who questions my decision and that of the Table.”
Mallton had been drinking too much to listen to orders. He was accustomed to being deferred to as Meleagant’s heir. He grabbed a chair, set it in front of the Siege Perillous, and, defiantly, sat.
There was a gasp in the room and a shuffle as several men rushed to drag him away. Mallton leaned back with an exultant smirk, which suddenly changed to a look of horror. His eyes bulged and his veins knotted. He gave one hideous, drawn-out scream and slumped forward.
“My God!” Guinevere shrank back in her chair, her fingers making the sign against evil. This was a sort of magic she would rather do without.
Father Antonius, who had followed the knights from the chapel, stepped forward and gently lifted Mallton’s head. He looked into the dead face. Those behind him turned away. He closed the man’s eyes and straightened.
“He has paid the price for his blasphemy,” he said softly. “I will take him home to his father.”
Dyfnwal threw himself on his brother, weeping bitterly. Father Antonius drew him away and signaled for someone to remove the body. He then half-carried the shattered newly made knight from the hall.
“There’ll be hell to pay for this,” Cei murmured to Arthur.
“Hell’s been paid. It’s Meleagant I’m worried about. He won’t believe his oldest son died without my conniving it.”
No one could think of anything more to say and everyone wanted to be away from the Table as quickly as possible, so the ceremony ended abruptly. Arthur let Guinevere lead him to their rooms, where he sat up the rest of the night, trying to understand what had just happened. Lydia stopped by the kitchens and made a strong cup of hot herbed mead for herself and Cei. She wasn’t the only one.
Constantine and his father, Cador, were nearly the last to leave. Cador moved slowly now, his legs weak and his eyes blurred. But his mind was still clear and one thing puzzled him.
“Who was the man standing in front of me?” he asked. “He was close enough for me to make out his face, but I think my brain must finally be going.”
“I don’t remember who it was, Father. Why?”
“I could have sworn that it was Uther Pendragon.”
“Uther’s been dead for over thirty years, Father. Let me think. Yes, the man you saw was Modred, Morgan le Fay’s youngest.”
“I don’t see how it could be. He was even standing like Uther, his hands opening and closing on his thighs, just as Uther’s did when he was waiting to take something he wanted. ”
“You must have been mistaken. He wasn’t even born when Uther died.”
“No, of course not. You’re right. I’m getting old. Yet, they are enough alike for the boy to be Uther’s ghost.”
Chapter Seven
Sir Percival, at last a knight of the Round Table, was heading, not too quickly, toward Camelot. He slumped in the saddle in a way which would have horrified Palomides. He sighed deeply. He scratched at a flea in his tunic. They were going to laugh at him. And, if they didn’t laugh, they were going to be angry. He sighed again. How could he have known? “It’s rude to ask questions.” Palomides had told him so a hundred times. “If people want you to know something, they will tell you. If they don’t tell you, then use your eyes and brains and find the answer yourself.” Well, he had tried, but none of it made any sense to him. From the time they welcomed him to the castle on the river island to the minute they threw him out, he had not understood a single thing that happened. Sir Lancelot had told him that there were many strange places in the world. He had not lied.
Well, he would have to tell someone about it. It was too strange to keep to himself. But who? Lancelot would share his curiosity and Galahad would sympathize but only Palomides would try and explain it all. And Palomides was sure to yell at him.
Sir Percival sighed yet again. This being a knight was not exactly what he had expected. Considering that he had had to work nearly five years before the Table, if not the other knights, accepted him, it was awfully disappointing. He had daydreamed of honor and glory and a certain reverence on the part of those he helped. He hadn’t thought that his first job would be to mediate between two blustering farmers on the matter of fouling the communal drinking water. Arthur had prepared him fully before he left and he had handled the matter quite well, he thought. He had even politely rejected the offer of the winner’s niece as reward. But it wasn’t really dangerous or exciting. Still, everything would have been fine if he hadn’t stopped at that castle. Well, there was nothing for it but to confess to Palomides and then try to forget the whole thing.
The walls of Camelot had recently been whitewashed, and they gleamed in the sun like snow. The maze leading up to the fortress was overgrown along the top with wild flowers and herbs. From all the towers pennants flew, and the armor of the guards glistened from the lookout posts like jewels. It was no wonder that those approaching it for the first time often stopped to give a prayer or sacrifice of thanksgiving for the privilege of coming so close to such unearthly splendor.
Percival paid no attention as he threaded his way up to the main gate. He saluted the guard, dismounted and led his horse to the stables. Then he squared his shoulders and went in search of Palomides.
In the small courtyard Guinevere was playing hoop and ball with Galahad and listening to the complaints of Constantine.
“I’m sorry,” she panted as she reached the hoop to pass it around the ball as it went by. “If Letitia won’t marry you, I won’t have her forced.”
“But she loves me; she says she does. But since your father died, she’s had this perverse idea about being needed by her mother and grandmother. She doesn’t want to leave them. I even said she could bring them with her. Cador Castle is gone, but we have a fine villa farther inland where they could be perfectly comfortable. What is the matter? Do I have two heads or warts or what? You’ve got to do something.”
Guinevere changed her tactic and swirled the hoop in a ragged arc over her head, to keep Galahad from getting through it. But he judged her movements so well that he never missed.
“That was a good one, Love,” she told him when he had run out of ammunition. “Now pick up all the balls and put them in the basket and then fetch me something cool to drink. You’ve worn me out.”
She sat down, fanning herself, and turned her attention more fully to Constantine’s problem with her niece, Letitia.
“I must say that you deserve some consideration simply for your fidelity these past few years. And I don’t think that Rhianna or my mother want Letitia to spend her life caring for them. They have plenty of servants, and the farmers and shepherds all owe duty to them and pay it without trouble. I’ll try to help you. Perhaps I can get her to come here for a few weeks. You will have time to court her, and when she finds that everything goes well at home while she is gone, she may change her mind.”
“Thank you, Guinevere. I don’t know how much longer I can wait. I’m past thirty now. Letitia is twenty-five. We don’t have much time left. Please help me make her see that she is wasting all our chances for a life together.”
“Certainly, Constantine, I’ll do my best. Now, can you see what’s keeping Galahad? I am exceedingly thirsty.”
When he had gone, she closed her eyes and leaned back agai
nst the wall. Although Constantine was handsome and loving as well as intelligent, she felt a sympathy for Letitia. It was hard to leave a safe quiet home for the bustle and cacophony of the court. She smiled. Each shriek and quarrel and clank and chuckle outside her windows meant home to her now. It would be the same with Letitia when she overcame her shyness. Yes, she would do her best for her niece. Letitia, at least, could not complain of being given too little time to discover where her heart lay.
Palomides was lying in the sun at the edge of the practice field. His sword and shield lay next to him. His tunic and trews were still damp with perspiration. His eyes were closed and Percival considered slinking away rather than disturbing him. But as he did a hand flashed out and grabbed his ankle.
“Well, young Percival, you would pass by and not greet your mentor? And how did your mission prosper? Did you resolve the dispute?”
Percival sat down next to him. He began fiddling with the thatch, pulling it out and separating the strands of dried grass.
“It went well, Sir. I saw it was as the King suspected, that the farmer upstream was guilty of fouling the water, but that the farmer on lower ground drove him to it by not allowing the first man free use of the common midden. It was settled amicably enough. Both wanted peace, but not at the cost of pride.”
“You succeeded, then. I’m proud of you.” Palomides gave him a wallop that would have taken the breath out of him a few years earlier. But Percival had grown and toughened. He merely coughed lightly.
Palomides gave him a sharp glance.
“What is it, then? If nothing more had happened, you’d not look so morose. Did you have a problem with a woman?”
“Me? Oh, no! She didn’t mind at all when I declined. It was later, on the way back.”
“Go on; you might as well tell me now. You’ll not rest until you do. We have some time before dinner.”
Percival took a deep breath and began.
“I was halfway here. It was growing dark and I knew there was no good habitation or village near, so I looked around for a spot to camp or a farmer’s hut to find shelter in. I was following the river and chanced upon an old man, fishing. I asked him where I could go for the night, and he told me that farther upstream there was a castle where the lord would make me welcome.
“I had heard of no such lord, but there are so many things yet I don’t know. So I went on a mile or more until I came to a place where the river widened. On an island in the middle was a great castle in good repair. There was a drawbridge down and no guard so I crossed it and went in search of someone to ask lodging of.”
Palomides groaned. “What were you thinking of, lad?”
“But it was all right. No one attacked me. I found a group a people who welcomed me royally. Cundrie, the daughter of the house, gave me a room and a place to bathe and escorted me to the great hall with honor. The lord was a terribly old man. They called him the Fisher King.”
“Why?”
“They didn’t say. He was very feeble, though, and seemed to be in some pain from a wound to his leg or groin. He ate very little, and reclined through the meal. Everything was fine, I swear! Then, after dinner this strange procession came through the hall. First came a girl with a towel about her neck and two silver plates in her hands. Then came a man carrying a spear and from it, truly, blood was dripping! Then came a boy holding up something covered in a cloth high above his head. As they passed through, everyone bowed their heads and struck their breasts so I did, too. You told me always to respect the customs of my hosts.”
“Yes, of course. Then what happened?”
“Then? Nothing. They simply bade me good night and I went to my room and slept. But the next morning, when I prepared to leave, no one would speak to me. They wouldn’t even give me breakfast. My horse was saddled and waiting at the gate and so I left. But Palomides, that wasn’t the strange part. When I crossed the bridge and looked back, the castle was gone! There wasn’t even an island. Palomides, where was I?”
“Didn’t you think to ask your host?” Palomides’ voice rose.
“Yes, I wanted to, but you always said I should not ask questions!”
“I didn’t mean that sort of question. You ask people why they have a red nose or whose room they slept in the night before. You ask their age or how they can be so fat and still mount a horse. Those are questions that manners forbid one to ask, but there are others one is required to ask as well, you dolt. I have told you that, also. You didn’t inquire as to the man’s health? You didn’t ask the meaning of the ritual? How will you gather information for Arthur if you don’t learn how to ask the proper question?”
“I know. I made a mistake. There are so many rules to remember! But why did the castle disappear?”
“Now you’re asking the right question but the wrong person. How should I know? Perhaps it was sorcery or a dream or a trick of light. All right, never mind. You did as you thought best. I don’t suppose any harm will come of it. Don’t worry. I don’t see any need to mention this to anyone else. Just try to learn from it.”
“Yes, Sir. But I do wish there weren’t so many ways to offend people.”
“There are though, Percival, and I do believe you may discover them all.”
• • •
That night was a more formal dinner. Arthur was entertaining emissaries from one of the Armorican kings. He was doing his best to impress them with the wealth and stability of Britain, since these men were descended from those who had fled when the Romans left and it looked as though anarchy or barbarians would rule. Now times were changing and the Armoricans were being threatened by the Frankish kings. Arthur hoped to convince them to re-emigrate or at least to start sending their children to him for fostering. They were negotiating for military help. They had brought casks of good wine from their homeland. The evening was certain to be a success.
But the fish had hardly been served when there was a commotion outside the hall. Arthur motioned Cei to see to it. He came back almost at once and, leaning over, whispered in Arthur’s ear.
“You’ll never believe what is outside. Come, see for yourself. ”
Arthur gave his foster brother a look of doubt but started to rise. He sat down again, though, as through the open doors came what was without a doubt the ugliest woman he had ever seen. Her eyes were red and glowing and her skin wrinkled and of an unhealthy green tint. Her nose was too small, her chin and ears too large. Her hair was dark but thin and wispy. By contrast, she was riding a lovely white mule.
There was a clatter as everyone dropped their knives to stare at the visitor. Then there was a soft flutter of fingers moving against whatever evil she brought. No one spoke. The woman started to dismount but seemed to be having some trouble with her legs. All the knights were too stunned to move at first. Then a few made half-hearted moves to help her. They were too late. Galahad would not have been startled by the looks of the devil himself. He was at the woman’s side in an instant and gently assisted her down.
“Let me get you a stool, Lady,” he smiled. “Then shall I take your mule to the stables for the night?”
The thought of her spending the night at Camelot sent a collective shudder around the tables.
The woman gave a black-toothed grin and patted Galahad’s cheek.
“That’s a good lad,” she crooned. “If such a one as you had come, I’d not have had to worry my bones making this ride. Na, na. If you’ll but hold the reins while I have my say with this assembly, I’ll be on my way again.”
“Surely not so late, and with no meal!”
“There’s a kind heart in you, boy, but never mind. I’ve eaten my bit and I’d just as soon sleep in my own bed tonight.”
By this time Arthur had recollected his position and rose in greeting.
“Whoever you may be, Lady, and wherever from, you are welcome to Camelot. What is it that brings you here, so near to nightfall?”
The woman straightened as best she could and they could see that her spine was
bent. She held out her arms to the court.
“A great grievance against one of your knights, my Lord. That wicked, cruel, thoughtless man known as Percival!”
All heads turned to Percival, sitting with the other unmarried men. He jumped and blushed from his toes to his hairline. A couple of his friends coughed down laughter. Sagremore nudged him.
“Now that I know your taste, it’s no wonder you’ve found no woman here to your liking,” he whispered.
Percival jabbed his heel on Sagremore’s foot as he got up.
“King Arthur, I swear I have never seen this woman before! I don’t know what she is talking about.”
“You will when I have finished, wretched man!” The woman wailed above the sibilance. “My name is Cundrie, daughter to the Fisher King.”
At this both Percival and Palomides started.
“But four nights past, this selfish knight received the hospitality of my father’s home. We fed and housed him as a royal visitor, but he cared only for his own comfort. Even though my poor father’s pain was obvious, never once did he ask him what illness made him so weak and groaning. Although we passed three times before him with the patens, lance, and Grail, he did not concern himself enough to ask what they were for or what god they served. And for this great sin, has he been punished? Not at all! It is we who must suffer even more than we had before. Father is condemned to bear his wound, which cannot be healed, and I to carry this hideous shape until another knight find the Grail and discover its secret. And he must be a far better man than craven Percival. We have guarded the Grail and its regalia for nearly five hundred years now, since it was brought into Ireland by our holy ancestor. We took it with us when our tribe settled in Britain. We had hope then that our stewardship would soon end. We have no hope now unless it be that some other man of your court will search us out, ask the questions, and release us. And lest you doubt the truth of my story, I have been given one miracle to show you the power we have been denied.”
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