She bowed her head. The court was silent, waiting for a bolt of lightning or a whirling wind. For a few seconds, it seemed that nothing was happening, then gradually a light filled the room, like that of morning before the mists are entirely dispelled. It grew until some among them covered their eyes from the brightness. Then there was a distant sound of small bells and laughter. A host of blending aromas caused people to look down at their plates. To their amazement, they found put before each one of them the things he or she liked best to eat and drink in the world, from new bread with honey and eggs to rare meats and fish and even all the fruits together regardless of season. Guinevere could not resist reaching out for a full, ripe grape. Without thinking of danger, she ate it.
“Ahh!” she sighed. “There have not been any so sweet grown in Britain since I was a child.”
At that, everyone turned to their plates and no one spoke until everything was gone. By then, the light had grown even more intense so that it seemed it should be possible to touch it and weave it into patterns in the air. Now it was clear that it radiated from an object floating above the woman. It appeared to be some sort of dish, but it was covered by a cloth so that only the shape was evident. The woman pointed up to it.
“That is the Grail, which is cloaked and hidden. Uncovered, it can do far more than give food to the body. Whoever finds it will know such peace and understanding of all the universe that his soul may outgrow its vessel and wish to be free of it. It may be more than any man here would dare. But it is only through the Grail’s power my father and I may be saved. I can tell you no more.”
With that, she took the reins of the mule from Galahad and vanished.
Into the shocked silence came a rush of noise as everyone began talking at once. The emissaries from Armorica gulped down the last of their wine and begged to be excused but no one heard them. Cei shouted for order but it was several minutes before anyone paid him any attention and several more before order was restored.
“Uncle! Please let me go search for this thing. It may be what I have been seeking all my life!”
Arthur’s eyes widened. “Gawain! What are you doing up?”
Gawain still stared at the spot where the Grail had been. “It was so bright. I could feel energy coming from it into me. I know it could tell me why it is that I am the way I am. Please, Arthur, I must go!”
But at that moment, either the energy from the Grail died or the last ray of sunlight left, for Gawain toppled over, asleep again.
“This was all my fault, my Lord.” Percival faced the high table. “I am the one who must go and find the Grail so that I may repair the damage I have done. She . . . she was a lovely girl before.”
Palomides put a hand on his shoulder. “I wish to go with him, Sir. I believe that this is what I have been searching for, too. It has been five hundred years since the death of Our Lord. This must be the treasure that Joseph of Arimathea brought to safety ‘to a land unknown to Rome.’ Was not Ireland outside Rome’s influence? What else could have such power for goodness? I beg your permission, for you have been a kind host to me, but I think I must go, even without it.”
Then Lancelot rose. The look in his eyes terrified Guinevere. She knew that Palomides’ words had been enough to set him off on another of his frenzied quests for Truth. She cursed under her breath as he spoke.
“Arthur, I do not know where this thing is from, nor what it is. All my life I have been tormented by what I did not understand. I may not be worthy of finding it, but I must go, too. Please allow me to search for the Grail.”
“I will go with you!” Gareth blurted out.
At this more that half of the other men stood up and demanded that they also be allowed to seek the Grail, even some of those with wives and children. The room was loud with accusations and replies and the weeping of women who felt they were being abandoned. Cei had to pound his cup upon the table for several minutes before he could make himself heard.
“Are you all mad?” he yelled.
That set everyone off again. Arthur edged down to the end of the table where the priest sat.
“Father Antonius, what do you think of all this?”
The priest was a young man, not much over twenty-five. Arthur had chosen him as much for his laugh and his openness as for piety and learning.
“I don’t know, my Lord,” he answered. “There were stories such as Sir Palomides tells in the margins of some of the Gospel books at Llanylltud Fawr, where I was taught, but St. Illtud did not credit them. And my grandmother used to tell of a platter owned by the kings of Ireland which had the power of providing each with what he most liked to eat and drink. It vanished long ago. Perhaps it was stolen and brought to Britain. Yet, there was more to what we saw than simple conjuring. Could you not feel it?”
Arthur nodded. “There was a great power with us tonight, but what purpose does it serve? And who will maintain my laws in Britain if all my knights are out hunting phantom tableware? Where will my people look for help?”
Father Antonius swallowed nervously.
“We were taught, my Lord King, to look to God.”
“Of course, of course,” Arthur replied. “Perhaps he will send the answers.”
So, chastised, but not convinced, Arthur returned to his chair. By this time, Cei had finally succeeded in focusing attention on the high table.
“Let the King speak!” he shouted. Red-faced, he motioned for Arthur.
“Nothing can be decided tonight!” Arthur told them all. “Let us finish our meal and go to our beds. In the morning we may all decide that this was no more than a fantasy. But those who are set upon leaving Camelot, come to me after Mass and we will discuss the matter.”
He would not hear any more, but extended his arm to Guinevere, who rose and left with him. The whole thing seemed completely bizarre to her, but no more so than many other things that had happened. Lancelot might go, but he would return to her; he always did. Thank God, Galahad was too young to think of such nonsense!
Chapter Eight
“You aren’t really going to let them go, are you?” Cei was so angry that he couldn’t stand still. He paced the wooden floor before Arthur, the thumps echoing throughout the building. “It’s insane. That thing was just an illusion. No one is going to find it, and if somebody does, what difference will it make?”
“We’ll have to wait and see when that happens.” Arthur spoke calmly, but Guinevere could sense the excitement in him. He hadn’t slept at all last night. He had tossed about with each change of mind until Guinevere had been driven to sleep on the couch on the other side of their room.
“I want to speak to each one of them alone,” he continued. “No one must be pressured to go on this journey. And no man must leave unless he has made provision for the care of his family while he is gone. Now, give me a few minutes to wash and eat and then send them in.”
Cei snorted his opinion and left.
Guinevere knew that Arthur was furious, but not with the Grail or the ugly Cundrie, nor with Percival or any of the knights. What was the matter? He even seemed to have forgotten his worries about keeping the government running. He rubbed his face raw and then threw the towel against the wall. He stopped, looked at his wife, and gave a sheepish grin. Suddenly, she knew.
“You want to go with them!” she accused. “How can you, Arthur!”
All the anger slipped out of him and he sagged into his chair.
“Oh, Guinevere, how can I not want to go?”
Alarmed, she went over and knelt by the chair, putting her arms around him.
“Have I made you so unhappy that you want to leave?”
“What? Of course not! It’s not you, how could it be? You’ve been very good to me, Guin.”
Her lip trembled and she buried her face in his lap. He ran his fingers across her braids as he spoke.
“It’s only that it seems as if at last adventures are beginning again. The last few years have been so horribly dull! With Merlin gone and St. Ge
raldus killed I had begun to think that true magic had gone from Britain. If it hadn’t been for you I might have stopped believing in enchantments altogether. You can’t know how much I hate this petty drizzle of childish accusations and stupid brutalities. The constant watching and conniving and playing one side against the other in the hope that somehow justice will come out of it drives me mad. To go forth again, freely, in search of truth . . . Can you imagine it? At last a quest in which no one need harm another. And I must sit here like a dotard and hope that news of it trickles back to me! Do you wonder I want to tear something apart?”
She smiled at him and shook her head. But she didn’t understand. She didn’t want to. The Grail was a pretty trick; it gave food and light, good things to have. It would be a handy thing to have around in time of winter famine. All this “truth and understanding” though . . . well, really! Guinevere understood all she wanted to, and as for universal truth, she wasn’t in any hurry to find out about that, either. Her theology was uncomplicated. If God wanted her to know something, he would tell her. She had read the church fathers and they seemed remarkably clear to her. If she wanted anything else, the old gods were often very thoughtful to those who left a bracelet or a bit of meat at their shrines. Even her mother had not been so cruel as to destroy the lares and penates of the house. They had simply been removed to a small room near the servants’ quarters for storage. The door had not been locked and she had often gone in to ask about matters such as a new gown or less nagging from Flora, her nurse. Guinevere believed in letting the deities each do what they were best suited to. To her, the Grail quest was just another one of those things men did to keep themselves occupied.
She was, therefore, unprepared for the storm she discovered among the women that afternoon.
“Well, I can’t go, of course,” Lydia said firmly. “I have too much to do here, and Ectoris and Aurelia are too young yet to be fostered. Anyway, Cei says it’s all nonsense.”
“You saw it yourself,” Brisane interrupted. “It was as real as we are, and that poor woman! Why should we stay here while they go out and have all the fun? It’s not a war they’re going to.”
She had already dressed in her riding clothes, pants under a long tunic. Her boots had been stained bright green. She would not be mistaken for a knight.
“They don’t know where they’re going or how to get there,” one woman answered. She held her arm crooked to shield her sleeping child from the sun. “It doesn’t sound like fun to me. And while my husband is gone, I must be expected to depend on the kindness of my friends. We have no great lands to support us.”
“You needn’t worry, Tertia,” Guinevere said quietly. “We will not change your status here.”
Tertia smiled her thanks. “But that’s not the worst of it. You know that.”
They all nodded.
“It was like this before, you know.” The woman who spoke was the oldest of the group. She was grandmother to Bedivere and had come to Camelot when his father died. She had meant to stay only a week or two, but the place had drawn her in and now she was part of it. They looked at her expectantly.
“I remember thirty years ago and more, when a young man swept through Britain like a torch, setting the men afire to follow after him. Only then they took their swords and spears. My man did not come back. He fell at Mons Badon. It’s been a long time since then. The soldiers who returned have grown old. Even Arthur is growing old, and I thought at the time that he seemed not much more than a boy, to be leading such an army. But they had the same look about them then that your men do now. You’d have thought the millennium was approaching. It didn’t come, though to my mind Arthur has brought us closer than I ever thought I’d live to see. But the young men today never knew that kind of excitement. Life under Arthur has been too calm. For an old woman, it is joy, but not to these young knights. There is nothing now to challenge them, no battles as their fathers waged. They have to seek out something.”
“But this is not a battle. There is no reason why a woman could not find this thing. I want to know the secrets of the world as much as any of them.” Brisane set her jaw and glared at them.
Tertia looked down at her son. She had had four, but only this one had lived. Yes, she had questions for the universe, also. But she would not leave her child to find the answers.
Risa started to laugh.
“If you set off alone in that getup, you’ll find the secrets of the world fast enough. It’s all very well for us to make grand talk. But every one of you knows that nothing Arthur can do will keep any woman safe outside of her own lands. That’s the way the world is and I don’t see much hope of its changing soon. So it’s nonsense to go on about it. The only way we go anywhere is tied to some man or other. I’m not saying I like it. I want to go, too. When I saw that light last night, it seemed as if everything I’d ever done were reflected in it . . .”
“That must have been quite a show,” someone murmured.
With an angry gesture, Risa continued.
“It was as if none of it mattered. For just a moment I realized that I had been looking at everything the wrong way, from the wrong direction. All the things that I thought important really weren’t, and there were other things I had not known of which were more wonderful than anything I had imagined. But before I knew what they were, the Grail had gone. Did none of you feel it?”
Brisane nodded. She rubbed her fingers hard into her boots, as if to erase the dye.
A voice seemed to come out of the air. “You’re right, Risa. I felt it, too.”
“Galahad! how long have you been here?” Guinevere looked up, startled.
His long legs swung from the tree branch above her. The resemblance to his father was pronounced. He didn’t answer her question.
“I think the knights all have it wrong. I was listening this morning. Everyone is going in a different direction. They are thinking of places where the Grail might be; holy or hidden places. But I don’t think it will be found that way, like a lost ring or buried treasure. It’s not that sort of thing. Cei said it was all an illusion. I believe it’s a symbol, like Gawain’s Green Knight. To find it, I must be something more than I am now. I will need to study and to suffer. There must be tests for worthiness. Those are what we should be seeking.”
Guinevere stood up, using the boy’s legs to help her rise. Her eyes were wide, her skin tight with terror.
“What are you talking about? This has nothing to do with you. You’re a child! You’re only a child!”
He slid down from the tree. With a shock, Guinevere realized that he was as tall as she.
“I’m almost fourteen, Foster Mother,” he said quietly. “Others my age are going as squires to the knights. I am going with Percival and Palomides."
“This is insane.” Guinevere spoke softly but her words pierced the air. “It will not be allowed.”
“What other boys?” Risa asked sharply. The women waited.
“Almost all of us. Everyone wants to go. But I’m the only one who chose Percival. They all think that since he failed once, he won’t find anything. I wanted to go with my father first, of course, but he wouldn’t let me. He and Gareth are going alone.”
Guinevere thanked Lancelot in her heart. He knew what it would cost her to give them both up. He would see that their Galahad stayed where he belonged.
The women’s section of the hall was empty that night. Anger and bitterness are poor sauces. The men pretended they did not notice and were all the louder and more boisterous. But more than one of them excused himself early and the lamps of Camelot burnt late. When they went out that night, not every woman cried herself to sleep. Tertia held her spent husband gently and smiled. For all her wanton behavior, Risa had given good advice. Men, she had explained, cannot be reasoned with. They don’t have the minds for it. But even a fool will think twice before he gives up a treasure in his own house to seek one far away. One simply needs to remind him of the value of the treasure at hand.
Still, of the knights of the Round Table, nearly half remained determined to seek the Grail. With them were forty or so of the men-at-arms and older boys. When it was certain that nothing could dissuade them, Arthur declared a day of fasting and prayer, followed by a solemn .“neeting of the Table, since no one knew when they would all meet again.
Arthur’s eyes dimmed as he regarded the men about him that last night. Some had been with him almost from the beginning: Bedivere, Gawain (asleep now, but leaving at dawn with the others), Agravaine, Cei, Lancelot. Only Cei and Agravaine were not going. Of the others, Sagremore, Percival, Morvid, Perredur Map Eridur, Kinlith, Meleagant’s son Dyfnwal, Gerontius of Dumnonia, Cunorix and Ebicatos, who had come to him from Ireland, and Palomides, who had come from the other end of the world, were now leaving. Arthur couldn’t help but feel that they were abandoning him, even though he knew the conflict in their hearts. But he would not send them away with harsh rebukes.
He gave them all his blessing for the venture and assured them of their right to welcome whenever they chose to return. He asked only that they remember their honor as knights as well as the splendor of their quest and conduct themselves accordingly.
“And now, we will break with tradition and drink one cup of mead here, to those who are leaving and those who remain, that neither may forget the other or fail to help them in need.”
They raised their cups in solemn stillness. Galahad, who, for Guinevere’s sake, had been firmly forbidden to join the quest, watched from behind his father. But he could not see well and surreptitiously inched around until he came to an opening. Oh, how he longed to go with them! He tried not to be jealous of those who had been permitted to accompany their cousins or friends. If what he felt were true, then it shouldn’t matter at all where he were. If he made himself worthy, the Grail would come to him. But what could he do around Camelot to make himself worthy of anything? Galahad was growing light-headed. He had spent the night before in the chapel, praying for guidance, and had not eaten all that day. Perhaps he could just sit down a moment. It was weakness. The desert saints would not have succumbed to a mere one day without food. A true knight wouldn’t either. But he felt so dizzy! There was a stool nearby, he could pull it over for just a minute and sit down, just till his head stopped spinning. There. He sat.
Guinevere Evermore Page 8
