CHAPTER 26

Even at dead of night, some creatures never slept, and the strangest things were at large between dusk and dawn. The Captain of the Guard had never seen the Fair Ones walk. But keeping up with human prowlers was more than enough for him.

Especially when the night wanderer was the King. Gods above, who’d have expected that? the Captain asked himself, as he moved down the Queen’s corridor at a rapid pace. Well, time to worry about that later. The King would be here any minute now.

Striding up to the door of the Queen’s apartments, he frowned at the guards’ rough clothing and tousled hair.

“Smarten yourself up, lads,” he growled. “No time to lose!” They stumbled to obey.

At the entrance to the Queen’s apartments, a lone torch burned above the door. Ahead, the long, low passage was smoky with its guttering flame. An uneasy silence settled on the little group. Then, in the darkness at the end of the corridor, the shadows stirred.

The Captain drew his sword. “Who’s there?”

Slowly the blackness formed itself into shapes, two shuffling figures darker than the night outside. Monks, the Captain noted with a silent curse. What were they doing here? Well, their black habits were everywhere now, thanks to the King.

Grimly he watched the two hooded figures approach, their heads bent, their faces hidden in the all-concealing cloth, their arms and even their hands tucked up in their sleeves.

“Your business, sirs?” he challenged the newcomers.

The two monks came to a halt in front of him, refusing to lift their heads. A low voice issued from beneath the first of the thick woolen hoods.

“We have come to see the Queen.”

“The Queen?”The Captain paused. The smell of sweat and incense choked his throat. Great Gods, they were vile, these Christ followers with their claptrap from the East. Why would the Queen want them? She followed the Goddess; everyone knew that. She only bore with these stinking monks for Arthur’s sake. Nothing on earth would make a Christian of her.

He frowned suspiciously. “You want to see the Queen?” he temporized.

“She sent for us,” hissed the short black-hooded form.

The Captain stared. “Now why would she do that?”

“Ask her yourself!”

The Captain shook his head. “The King’s expected any minute now,” he said commandingly. “On your way, sirs, you won’t be admitted today.”

There was a frozen silence. Then the shorter of the two came forward menacingly. Despite himself, the Captain felt a qualm. Why couldn’t he hold his head up and threaten like a man?

“We are monks of the King,” the monk muttered in violent tones, “and you defy His Majesty if you keep us out today. He’ll have you stripped and whipped before all your men. Let us through, numb-skull, if you value your hide!”

He stepped forward aggressively, with the second monk close behind.

“Sir!” The younger of the guards plucked at the Captain’s sleeve.

He shook the youth off, intent on the monks. “Now, you two, look here—”

“Stand aside!” They shouldered past him and stood before the door.

“Sir?” the young guard tried again.

“Hold your tongue, soldier!” said the Captain dangerously.

The taller of the monks pounded on the door. There was only the echo of silence from within.

The Captain collected himself and returned to the attack. “Woe betide you, sirs!” he threatened the black-clad backs.

“Hush!” The shorter monk raised his hand. From within the antechamber came the sound of bolts being drawn back.

A moment later the Queen’s maid looked out. “What?” Ina cried.

The Captain gestured to the monks with an angry laugh. “These two are saying that the Queen’s expecting them. Just say the word, lady, and they’ll be out of here before their feet can touch the ground!”

“One moment, lady.” The shorter of the monks stepped forward and lifted his hood.

Ina’s eyes grew wide as she saw his face. A small, hysterical sound, quickly suppressed, fell from her mouth. She nodded to the guard.

“Why, yes,” she said, in a strained, unnatural tone. “Her Majesty will be glad to see these monks.” She stepped back and opened the door. “Welcome, good brothers. I beg you, come in.”

“By all the Gods!”

The Captain turned in fury from the door. “Monks in the Queen’s apartments now, is it? Well, she’s welcome to the whole lousy pack of them!”

“Sir,” the young guard tried for the third time. “Something odd, sir—”

“Odd, soldier?” the Captain burst out. “There’s nothing odder than Christians in Camelot, believe you me! Gods above, what’s the world coming to?” He gave the guard a nasty look. “Don’t answer, or I’ll have you on a charge.”

He stalked away with a ferocious frown. The young guard was relieved to see him go. What he’d seen couldn’t have been important, not with the Captain in a mood like this. After all, did it matter that instead of the usual sandals on their raw, bare feet, both the monks tonight had been wearing boots?

THE DANK VAPORS of night still clung around the walls, but by the faint lightening in the east, dawn was on its way. Striding through the courtyard among his knights, Arthur grinned with boyish delight. He knew he was moving more easily, despite the biting air. He looked around.

“You know, there’s nothing like an adventure to make me feel young again!”

Kay, struggling not to jar his bad leg on the cobblestones, was not impressed. “That’s not a feeling, sire, it’s a fact. We’re not old. We’re still in our thirties, for a while at least.”

“Young?” Gawain let out a guffaw, punching Kay on the arm. “The King, maybe. But you were born old, Kay!”

Kay’s eyes flared. “Well, I was certainly born wiser than you, Gawain.” He paused. “Which was not hard!”

Behind him, Gaheris and Gareth suppressed snorts of schoolboy glee. Bringing up the rear, Agravain took a fleeting comfort in the jibe at Gawain’s expense. Well used to Kay’s badinage, Bedivere and Lucan shared a smile with the rest of the knights.

They passed through the courtyard to see the chapel doors opening for the end of matins, and the monks come flooding out. They pressed past the hooded shapes, gained the wide cloistered walkway, and made their way into the inner court. At the entrance to the Queen’s corridor, Arthur called a sudden halt.

“Wasn’t Lancelot going to meet us here?” He turned to Kay. “What did Bors say?”

Kay’s sallow face changed imperceptibly. “He said that Lancelot had gone out hunting, and that he and Lionel would find him and bring him here as soon as they could.”

“Don’t worry, my lord,” Gawain urged. “He’ll be here.”

Bedivere nodded. “Lancelot will never let you down.”

In the far distance, a cock began to crow. On the other side of the courtyard, two monks hastened by.

“Cockcrow,” Arthur smiled. “It’s dawn.” He nodded amiably. “Well, we won’t wait any longer. Let’s go on.”

Outside the Queen’s apartments, the guards stood to attention to greet the King.

“Knock on the door, Gawain,” Arthur cried.

The old oak almost split under Gawain’s fist. The door opened to reveal Ina’s flushed face. “My lord!” she cried with a curtsy, her eyes wide. “What a surprise to see Your Majesty!”

She did not look so surprised, Kay thought, as they all trooped in. And her cream silk chamber gown did not look as if she had been disturbed from sleep. But perhaps it was all his suspicious mind. For nothing looked as if it had disturbed the peace of the inner chamber where the Queen lay.

All the windows were muffled against the light. The heavy hangings and thick carpets made the low whitewashed space unnaturally quiet and calm. Against the wall, the Queen’s bed loomed like a ship of state, its heavy billowing draperies tightly closed. One tall candle burned on a stand beside the bed.

The musky scent of patchouli teased the air. The knights lingered on the threshold as Arthur bounded into the room.

“Guenevere!” he called.

A sleepy voice came from the depths of the bed.

“My lord?”

SHE KNEW SHE had done well. As she sat up slowly in the bed, she could see herself as Arthur would see her now, heavy-eyed and dazed, looking full of sleep. As she waited for his hand on the hangings, she rehearsed her surprise. Oh, Arthur, this is lovely. What is it? A dawn ride?

To show a natural delight was not too hard. What a wonderful idea to go Maying as we always did. Yes, of course it’s wonderful, I said so, to see you here with your knights.

And then she had arrayed herself in her best chamber gown and sallied out to the antechamber, where Ina had summoned refreshments for the knights. Sir Gawain had led the demand for something hot and strong, and now the room was filled with the rich, spiced odor of mulled wine, despite the early hour. Moving around the group, she had greeted each knight and taken him by the hand, and they were all jovial, even the dark Agravain. And Arthur himself had watched her every move, laughing and smiling, full of joy. In body and spirit he seemed his old self again.

Yes, she had done well.

But the cost—Gods above, the cost.

Lies and deceit, a picture of false innocence.

A show of wifely devotion from a woman who had Just spirited her lover from her bed.

Goddess, Mother, forgive the woman I have become.

“FAREWELL, SIRS!”

“Our thanks to Your Majesty.”

One by one the knights trooped out through the oak door. Ahead of them Arthur was swinging down the corridor to the courtyard like a man reborn. He turned to Gawain.

“We must do this again!”

“Sire!” Gawain let out a bellow, pointing ahead. “There they are!”

In the distance three figures had turned into the courtyard and were hurrying their way.

“Lancelot!” Arthur cried in delight.

“Apologies, sire,” muttered Lancelot. He was very pale.

“And Bors and Lionel,” Arthur went on. “So you found him then?”

“Yes, sire,” Bors returned stiffly, “and brought him back as quickly as we could.”

“Where were you, Lancelot? What took you from your bed at that raw hour?” Arthur demanded, throwing a companionable arm round Lancelot’s shoulders.

“I was—out hunting, sire. For the exercise.”

“Hunting?” hooted Gawain, rolling his eyes. “On a foul day like this? Ye Gods, Lancelot, you’re an example to us all!”

Hunting, eh? Agravain moved up to hold the three newcomers in his gaze. Thoughtfully he assessed Lancelot’s heavy eyes, his pallid sheen. “Catch anything?” he asked easily.

Only shame and dishonor, Lancelot mourned in his soul. He turned away in misery. “No.”