Sunlight splayed a ribbon of light across the pasture I now traversed. My travels brought me deep into a flower-speckled terrain that appeared untouched by man’s progression. Beyond the farthest point of my inspection I noticed a mist flanking the horizon like a colorless cloak wavering in the winds. Before long, between the folds of two adjoining hillsides, I captured a glimpse of a castle’s limestone turrets erected like a monument against a violet sky. I counted at least six conical shaped spires, presumably lacquered in silver at each peak. Even at a range of what I surmised as at least five miles from where I trod, this kingdom’s opulence was undisputable. I briefly wondered what fabled ruler claimed sovereignty over such a surreal domain.
Yet the course of my journey didn’t direct me toward this medieval fortress. Instead, I stayed on a forested pathway edged with a grove of apple trees on either side. These trees’ aromatic blossoms scattered in the breeze like clumps of flattened hailstones. Eventually, I discovered that this trail yielded to an ancient forest’s foundation. I passed between leaning walls of oaken giants, each mantled with moss as dense as turf. This crude road ultimately unwound into a glade of unrivaled quietude. At present, I didn’t yet know what or whom I scouted for, but the purpose of my excursion seemed close at hand.
I ultimately found my way to a bluff within the clearing and settled down for a respite. Then, unexpectedly, my eyes connected with a yet another magnificent vision. A fully armored horse cast a metallic glare upon the landscape twenty paces from where I reclined in the grass. This warhorse occupied its time by feasting on felled apples dotting the grasslands. Such an impressive steed couldn’t have been tamed by anyone of meager status. Its cinnamon-colored hide shimmered beneath tepid bands of sunlight. My inquisitive nature impelled me to move closer to the four-legged creature. Remarkably, it wasn’t even startled by my approach. I initially assumed that its owner must have met a sad demise on a foreign campaign. Why else would he leave such an elegant animal unguarded in this meadow?
I soon discerned that the destrier’s rider had not strayed too far away after all. The landscape dipped toward a diamond-shaped pool of water that reflected the sky’s brilliancy. Beside this lake, a knight fully adorned in polished armor surveyed the environs. This man had an impressive physique. He looked as though he stepped directly from the pages of a fairytale. Since predicting his temperament was unfeasible, I moved cautiously into view so that he didn’t mistake my approach as an ambush.
His suit’s metal breastplate gleamed like burnished silver in the sunlight. Although he wore a helmet, its beaver was lifted so that his stoic features remained unobstructed. This was a man whose valor shone on his skin almost as vividly as the gear covering his body. I presumed that no one had ever branded him as anything but handsome. A square jaw and firm brow provided just enough menace to keep any upstart conquerors at bay. Cords of velvety raven hair encircled a face that appeared chiseled from alabaster. His eyes were as blue as robin eggs and he studied me with a scrutiny I no doubt merited. In one hand he brandished a majestic shield with a family crest emblazoned at its center, and in the other an unsheathed sword of incomparable craftsmanship.
I suspected that my abrupt emergence must have disturbed his solitude, but I also sensed that this knight expected company other than me.
“Forgive my trespass,” I declared, holding out my empty hands to show that I wielded no weapon to wage combat. “I must have lost my way within this grove. Do you know where we are?” Given the situation, as this knight understood it, my question must’ve sounded absurd. As a matter of intimidation, which I believed was customary for men of this ilk, the knight swung his sword as if it had no more weight than a falcon’s feather. His weapon’s tempered blade reflected prisms of sunlight as he crouched into a defensive stance.
“Yield, I sayeth,” the knight commanded. When his robust voice rose to the sky, a string of sparrows took flight from a neighboring grove. The fluidity of his movement verified his post as a weathered warrior to this habitat. I halted my progress entirely to demonstrate the respect he undoubtedly warranted on a regular basis.
“I am unarmed,” I informed the knight as if his eyes weren’t keenly designed to perceive his advantage.
“Thou art a stranger to this field?” he questioned.
“True, but a peaceful stranger.”
“Pray pardon, what is thy purpose on my liege and lord’s land?”
“I don’t know yet,” I replied. The knight now stood close enough to slice me in half with his sword if he so desired. But as long as I remained passive, I assumed he wouldn’t exercise his instinct to attack.
“Is this more of Merlin’s trickery?” he whispered, while lowering his sword to inspect my expression for any trace of deceit.
I assumed this brilliant knight referred to the renowned wizard from Arthurian legend. At least I now had a better understanding of the timeframe of my present environment. He continued to inspect me as if I had materialized from a territory unknown to his world, which if true, showed remarkable prescience on his behalf.
“Thou vestments art strange to this land,” he observed. “From what kingdom do thee cometh?”
“I have no kingdom,” I said. “I only wish to know where I am.”
“Verily, thou dost not knowst?”
“As I told you, I’m lost.”
The knight’s brow knotted with incredulity, but he responded as though I might be awed by his next proclamation. His boast sounded somewhat rehearsed, too.
“Thou now occupy the grandest of all dominions far or near,” he avowed. I then watched him motion to the castle’s colossal outline between the distant hillsides. “All ye who pass hither swoon in the shadow of Camelot.”
Obviously, I hadn’t yet lost my balance, but my impression of this destination multiplied twofold with his clarification. The knight scanned the fields on all sides of me as if I had an army of toady men covertly stationed nearby.
“Thou hast openly trespassed upon this greenery,” he said. “Who else is in company with thee?”
“I travel alone. I wish to offend no one, especially a knight who carries such a vibrant sword as you, sir.”
“What is thy name, old traveler?”
Old? I hardly thought of myself as such, but in this knight’s world I suspected that most men had not raised a toast beyond their fortieth birthday. I told him my name and then waited patiently for him to return the courtesy. When he remained mute, I resorted to a more direct approach.
“May I be so bold to ask your name, sir?”
The proud knight scowled at my ignorance, as if I should’ve surmised his identity as readily as the colors of the field and sky. Before answering me, he puffed out his chest like a mechanical robot and tilted his cleft chin toward the cumulus clouds.
“Thou art truly misguided,” he said. “I am the son of King Ban of Benwick, celebrated throughout this region as Sir Lancelot of the Lake.”
As I hoped and suspected, the finest of King Arthur’s knights stood before me. Out of deference, which may have already come too late as far as this legend was concerned, I bowed to one knee.
“Forgive my ignorance, Sir Lancelot. I’m humbled by your presence.”
“Then thou can’t be as foreign to this land as thy words first revealed.”
“Only a fool would be unaware of your reputation, sir. From what I have thus far observed, the rumors of your eminence haven’t been overstated.”
Apparently, flattery was something Lancelot expected rather than genuinely appreciated. While I stooped before the illustrious knight, he extended his sword beneath my chin. I gathered medieval protocol dictated that I purse my lips upon this shining blade, but I froze as if such an action was superfluous.
“Is this impudent mockery?” Lancelot asked, offended by my hesitation.
“I don’t know what you want me to do,” I said.
Lancelot drew back his sword and returned it to its sheath at his hip. “Thy lack of respect gives me pause,” he sa
id. “Yet I espy thee as no worthy opponent. I shall permit thy passage through my lord’s meadow, but don’t delay to act upon this favor. It shan’t be twice granted.”
The gracious Lancelot certainly demonstrated a virtuous quality by bestowing benevolence toward a stranger. But before departing his company, I realized that I had already reached my destination. King Arthur’s most acclaimed attendant of the Round Table was the man I sought. The landscape’s splendid condition verified that I hadn’t arrived too late to rescue this mythical hero from his most insidious enemy, although he might’ve already committed himself to something that few men, no matter how noble, effectively resisted.
“Before I leave,” I announced with a veiled courageousness. “Though I have traveled a great many miles aimlessly, I now know that it’s you who I’ve come to see, Sir Lancelot. I ask only for a few minutes of your time.”
Lancelot chortled at my audacity, at least revealing that he hadn’t completely abandoned a softer range of emotions. “Thou art lost in thy mind to think I’d exhaust anymore of myself to this conversation. Be gone, Corbin Cobbs, and let thy footsteps find safer pathways to tread henceforth.”
My stubbornness to heed Lancelot’s instruction shocked me almost as thoroughly as it had him. “I’m here as a friendly courier,” I affirmed. “And in this deed I can offer you advice on sordid events that may be evaded.”
Lancelot stepped closer to me, narrowing his vigilant eyes as he secured his gauntlets at both wrists. He almost wielded his sword again.
“’Tis as I suspected,” he murmured. “Merlin hast sent thee to do his bidding. Tell me this to be so and I shall be merciful with thy life.”
“I’m not an errand boy for any sorcerer’s magic,” I answered. “I have neither potions nor amulets to forecast one way or another. I can only provide good judgment. Take it for what it’s worth.”
Lancelot’s pale blue eyes burrowed deeper into my own; I refused to flinch beneath his probing visage. “Thou dost not budge in the face of thy own demise,” the knight pondered. “For a traveler who bears no weapon, thou surely must display some mechanism of defense.”
“If you kill me before I’m permitted to appeal to your sensibilities, exalted knight, than nothing will be accomplished here today.”
“Thou art brash for a feeble man lacking nobility. At risk of earning my ire, what dost thou wish to convey?”
“With your kind permission, Sir Lancelot, I wish to speak without reproof.”
“Aye,” Lancelot sighed. “’Tis not oft I encounter a traveler who hast such scant regard for his own freedom or security. Label it valor or folly, I dost not knowst which, but go further with thy message, I prithee.”
Lancelot showcased his chivalrous training by escorting me to the highest bluff within this meadow. We now overlooked the vast River Astolat that was succored by three interlocking ponds descending from verdant slopes encircling it. I watched a wedge of swans meander leisurely through currents smoother than glass. A lavender mist swirled off the water’s surface like a brew from an enchantress’s cauldron. Beyond this, dominating the horizon, Arthur’s fabled fortress ballooned like a glistening mountain. Spires dipped in sunlight gloriously complemented its pearly façade. In the serenity of such a moment, I had almost forgotten my original intention.
“This may be the most wonderful place I’ve ever seen,” I remarked. “I’m sure people will speak of this kingdom long after its glory days are recorded in the pages of history.”
“The best dreamers ne’er imagined such splendor,” Lancelot confirmed.
“We’re all prone to dreams,” I noted. “Even the noblest among us yearn for what might be, isn’t that true, Sir?”
“’Tis natural to lend the mind’s eye to such fancy.”
“But unnatural to occupy one’s thoughts with seduction,” I returned. I expected Arthur’s chief knight’s face to recoil with perplexity. Of course, he didn’t appear nearly as obtuse as a legitimately stupefied man.
“What riddles dost thou espouse on ye travels?”
“I meant to speak plainly, Sir Lancelot. I then squinted my eyes to inspect the knight’s armor in the sunlight. Just above the elbow cap of Lancelot’s left forearm, I noticed a purple sash knotted in place. “I now understand what has brought you to this meadow. It is a knight’s sleeve that reveals where his true heart lies. But I’m here to remind you that treacherous deeds breed contempt.”
Lancelot glanced at where my eyes now focused. If he had any aim to deny my allegations, then I provided him with an opportunity to do so. Instead, the man resorted to humility, as any proper knight would have employed.
“How dost thou perceive my desires with such accuracy?”
“I can’t explain how I know what I do,” I responded. “But be satisfied to understand that King Leodegrance’s daughter and the present queen to your ruler will not resist a temptation to lie with you.”
“Thy words art treasonous. Art thou equipped to champion such a claim?”
“We both know that I am not.”
“Then thou shan’t receive charity from me.”
Lancelot pulled forth his sword from its cover once again; this time he wagged the weapon above his head as if to dice me on the spot where I stood. Yet I still didn’t bat an eyelid to this apparent threat, for both of us already knew that no knight was able to slay another man who was true with his words. His eyes reddened like hot coals, but the sword remained suspended in his quivering hands.
“What sort of devilry dost thou deliver onto my ears? How art thou acquainted with the Lady Guinevere?”
“Be certain, brave Lancelot, the Queen and I have never met, and I’m content to say that we never shall.”
This acknowledgement didn’t persuade Lancelot to turn a favor in my honor, but perhaps it reminded him that all misconduct, even the variety not yet borne, had a recognized impact upon his disposition. I then turned my face toward a zephyr sweeping across the western hills; this air was perfumed with lilacs and sage.
“She’ll be with you soon,” I uttered. “You know this as well as I do.”
“I’ll make no prediction regarding the lady’s arrival.”
I hoped to decipher regret or shame in Lancelot’s tone, but his voice remained as robust as a man who lived without a fear of consequence. By now, the knight had lowered his sword and looked at a section in the grassland where dandelion seeds drifted like snowflakes. I eventually reverted my attention to the sash fastened to his bicep.
“This plan is a perilous matter of the heart,” I admonished.
“Nay, ‘tis more a point of courtly love.”
“I needn’t remind you that the Knights of the Round Table still look to you as a leader, perhaps even more so than your king. And Arthur trusts you like a brother of his own blood. I can’t help but to wonder why you’d sacrifice all that stands in the balance for a woman that can never truly be your own.”
“Thy words sting like a hive of riled hornets.”
“Think of them as pricks of wisdom.”
Lancelot pivoted in his stance to inhale the fragrant wind. “Ye can’t fathom my love for the regal lady. The most stalwart men among us shan’t resist the spell of such a gracious love.”
“But the code of chivalry must forbid betrayal,” I needlessly reminded the noblest of knights. Lancelot bowed his head dishonorably while gazing at the lake.
“Aye,” he muttered. “Still the bee stings.”
Maybe I really never understood the intoxicating influence of undying love. To what lengths wouldn’t a man reach to hold onto the woman he most adored? I was almost afraid to present my next question.
“Does your love for the Lady Guinevere rival your allegiance to Arthur? Is it possible for true love to be so overwhelming?”
Lancelot delayed his response, presumably to ward off an ominous shadow lingering between his remembrances. “Life, and all the beauty that dost exist in this realm, seems hollow when absent of such pure sentiment,�
� he ultimately confessed.
“I’ve read that men from your age perceive true love as a sickness, tantamount to a disease of the mind. Is this your position, too?”
“Verily, but ‘tis a malady most cherished once contracted.”
“Is there nothing you can do to stop it?”
“Nay,” he replied solemnly. “The sole cure, as anyone so inflicted wouldst ratify, is a consummation of the desired love.”
“But even if that proposed lover is the wife of your dearest friend?”
“At its best and worst, love hast no conscience, old traveler.”
Lancelot then directed my attention to the lake where the white swans assembled in pairs to bask in the water’s sun-speckled currents. I soon recognized that the birds’ proximity to one another served as a reminder to the fallibility of our own kind.
“Thou canst learn much from ogling nature,” Lancelot sighed. “Swans show the most proper form of prettiness.”
“They are graceful,” I concurred.
“Aye, and yet their authentic beauty lies in commitment. Two swans, once joined, art not parted until death.”
“Mates for life.” I echoed Lancelot’s observation, and perhaps felt envious to a degree. “It’s humbling to know that we, as supposedly more refined creatures, are rivaled in our loyalty to one another by a species of bird.”
“’Tis a foul thought indeed,” quipped Lancelot. The knight’s tone became less jovial when he spoke again. “A man will gladly barter his soul to the Netherworld in exchange for a lady’s uninhibited devotion.”
“But do you think your love for Guinevere will proffer you more happiness than sorrow? Is an affair with the Queen worth the grandeur of Camelot?”
“One can’t be fairly measured against the other,” he answered.
“Then you’re already resigned to committing the deed.”
Lancelot directed his eyes so that they collided with mine like spears into flesh. With this stare alone, he dissected my soul in ways that I had never believed possible.
“Ye may stand as a harbinger to virtue,” he commented, “but I sense thou art a man who hast a troubled tale to tell of thy own.”
“I’m here only to learn from you, grand knight.”
“Yet a gloominess tarnishes thy brow as black as any plague.”
The legendary knight then positioned his sword’s blade so that my reflection cast in a ribbon of gleaming steel. In truth, I discerned the pitiful anguish as vividly as Lancelot. My eyes appeared glazed with a fog as dense as the mystical mist rising in front of Arthur’s castle.
“In matters of thy heart, thou hast more mending to undertake,” Lancelot inferred. “Return to ye land and acknowledge the lady who hast diseased thy mind. Promote fine words to her that belie thy callow nature.”
“I thought I was here to warn you about your propositions, Sir Lancelot?”
“As it shouldst be, we have each other to congratulate for wisdom. Thou art slow to see his bird fly from her nest. Even now, a suitor tempts thy wife like a quince and serpent once corrupted Eve’s judgment. Fly in good faith to her, Corbin Cobbs, and fare-thee-well.”
After I blinked my eyes again, the valiant knight vanished behind an opaque mist that permeated the meadow where I stood. By the time the low clouds wafted entirely across the lake, Sir Lancelot had retreated into the margins of my imagination. Only the white swans remained visible on the silvery water in King Arthur’s domain.
Chapter 7
6:20 A.M.
The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs Page 6
