PEN DINAS, WALES
uinevere walked down the narrow path leading from the stone tower at the top of the hill to the low stone wall encircling the crest. The old Roman fort had been used as a watchtower and a royal way station during Arthur’s reign, and she had stayed there for a week during the summer before her wedding.
She stopped at the wall for a moment and looked out at the grey sea crashing against the rocks far below. The cold wind whipped her golden locks and lifted the hem of her dark blue cloak, bringing back a wave of memories that now seemed so distant as to be mere fairy tales.
The cry of a gull winging its way over the hill drew the Queen back to the present, and she continued walking down the overgrown stone path that ran alongside the wall. She stopped when she was aligned with a large, flat rock farther up the hill. In another life, a wooden bench carved from a single oak tree had graced the slope in front of the rock, allowing a couple to sit and watch the sun set over the ocean beyond.
The bench was no longer there. She glanced at the slightly discolored stone in the middle of the nearby wall and said a prayer of thanks to the younger woman who had used the rock on the hill as the marker for the ring of gold hidden in the wall, instead of the wooden bench.
Guinevere took one last look at the hiding place and walked up to the peak of the hill. From there, she could see the horse trail that led from the fortress to the small but once thriving town by the sea, a half league to the north. For a moment, she could almost see the small mounted party of yesteryear: her younger self, a carefree young woman with flowing golden tresses and a ready smile, accompanied by a younger, but still dour, Sister Aranwen, and four of Arthur’s most trusted retainers.
When the vision faded, she was left standing on the overgrown trail, staring at the ruins of a town that had long since been burned to the ground by the seawolves. Guinevere closed her eyes and spoke in the softest whisper.
“Had the crown been placed on the head of another woman, one who was stronger and wiser, would the realm have survived? God forgive me if that is so.”
“Milady?”
Guinevere quickly wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek and turned to look up the slope at her younger companion. She was standing on the rock that marked the location of her hidden keepsake in the wall behind the Queen.
“Yes, Cadwyn?”
“It’s Captain Potter. He’s waiting in the sacristy of the old chapel. Torn and his men cleaned it up as best they could, but it’s not—”
“We shall make do.”
“Milady, I know it is presumptuous, but may I join you?”
“Of course, Cadwyn. I know you are as interested in this mystery as I, and so is Sister Aranwen, although she tries to hide it. So have her join us as well. I will be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you, Milady. I shall fetch her right away.”
Guinevere took one last look at the sea and started up the hill to the small stone chapel behind the circular stone tower. She noted that Torn, and the eight men who’d accompanied her on the two-day ride from the abbey, were patrolling the perimeter of the hilltop. Although Torn had expressed concern about the risk posed by local brigands or by a Norse raid, Guinevere was confident the huntsman and his bowmen could protect them.
After removing her cloak, Guinevere walked into the sacristy, followed by Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen. Like the chapel, the modest stone room was old and musty, having been abandoned years earlier. However, the subdued fire burning in the hearth lessened its dreary appearance. A small, wiry man with a full head of silver hair was sitting in a rough-hewn chair on one side of the small wooden table that Torn and his men had placed next to the hearth. Three other chairs were arranged on the other side.
When the man at the table realized he was no longer alone, he quickly stood and then dropped to one knee.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn’t see you. The light is dim and my eyes are not—”
“Rise, good Captain,” Guinevere said with a smile as she approached the kneeling man. “You have no reason to apologize. It is I who owe you a debt of gratitude for making such a long journey in dangerous times.”
“I would have come many times that distance, Your Highness, had you desired thus,” Potter said, his head bowed.
“You are too kind. Now please, rise and meet Lady Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen, my retainers and dearest friends.”
Potter rose to his feet, hesitated a moment, and then bowed to the two women. “I am honored, gentle ladies.”
Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen nodded politely, and Guinevere gestured to the table.
“Please, Captain Potter, sit, and let us talk of your recent voyage.”
Potter bowed again and backed up to his chair, only sitting after the three women were seated. For a moment, Potter was silent and then with a nod, began.
“Yes, yes, the voyage. The Mandragon is my ship, Your Highness, and a good ship she is. The crew and I have been sailing between the lands of the Franks and the Saxons and our own blessed island for near on a decade, carrying just about anything that pays the fare. Alas, of late, the voyages have become more and more dangerous. The seawolves … they are always about. I have managed to stay clear of them, but only just.”
Guinevere glanced at the fading light outside and gently interrupted Potter.
“You were telling us about your last voyage, Captain Potter?”
Potter nodded. “Oh … yes. We were making our run from the land of Franks, around the tip of Amorica, to Albion. We left at dawn, and for a while, it seemed as if our voyage would be an uneventful one, but then our luck ran out. We nearly ran into a dragonship coming from the north, and the seawolves were aboard the Mandragon before we knew it. My lads and I tried to throw them back into the sea, but the boarders were a savage lot, and their leader, he was a giant of a man. I … I thought we were lost, but then the two of them came out of the hold, ready for battle. Why, Your Highness, I’ve never seen the like, and I can tell you I have seen my fair share of fighting. Aye, I’ve never seen the like.”
For a moment, Potter just nodded his head slowly, his eyes staring in the distance.
“Who came up from the hold? What happened?” Cadwyn burst out, drawing a disapproving look from Sister Aranwen.
Potter looked over at Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen, and finally, his eyes returned to Guinevere.
“There were two men … passengers. They came from below deck armed with swords. The first was tall, near four hands taller than I, with hair as dark as the night. The second was shorter, but he was as strong as an anvil and just as black. The two of them were like scythes, the seawolves the wheat. The giant Norseman came for the tall man, and I was sure that he was done for, but I was wrong. That man moved like the wind itself on a stormy night. Aye, he struck the giant down with a mighty blow, and the rest of the seawolves fled.”
“Yes!” Cadwyn whispered, striking her small fist into the table, drawing a shocked gasp and rebuke from Sister Aranwen.
“Cadwyn! Have you lost your senses? We do not celebrate the death of our fellow men!”
Guinevere laughed, but quickly recovered. “Of course we don’t, Sister Aranwen.” Then she turned her attention back to Captain Potter. “Did you speak to these two passengers? Did they tell you their names, where they were from, or where they were bound?”
Potter ran his hand over his bearded face.
“Why, yes, we did speak after the battle. Let me see … hmm, yes, the black man … his name was Capussa, an odd name. Never heard the like, but then I’ve never seen a man like that before. Now, the tall one, he told me the black man’s name, but he didn’t tell me his own, and I didn’t ask. That was not right, Your Highness. Forgive me. I should know the name of two men who saved my life, at least that. Now, you asked me if I knew where they were bound, and I can’t say I do, but I know they made landfall at Whitstable.”
Guinevere leaned forward to emphasize her words. “Captain, the tall man may be someone of great import to the realm, what little there is left of it, so I need you to tell me everything he said to you. Can you do that?”
“Why, why, of course, Your Highness,” Potter stammered and then took a deep breath.
“He asked if we were landing at Londinium, and I told him that no one ports in Londinium, not with Hengst and his wolves there. But he didn’t know of Hengst. He said that he’d left ten years ago.”
“He said ten years?” Guinevere questioned with quiet intensity.
“Yes, Your Highness. He knew that the King, forgive me, Your Highness, had died and that the Table was broken, but no more than that. He asked me if any of the Knights of the Table were still alive … he asked about Galahad in particular.”
Potter froze when Guinevere raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.
“Your Highness, have I offended you? Are you ill?”
The Queen opened her eyes and lowered her hand to the table. “No, Captain, all … is well. Please continue.”
“Your Highness, I am sorry, but that is all I can remember.”
“Captain,” Guinevere said, leaning forward, “can you tell me more about what the tall man looked like? Whatever you can remember.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Potter answered, nodding slowly. “That I can. As I said before, he was tall, four hands taller than I, and he and the African, well they had sinews of steel in their shoulders, arms, and legs, like those of a blacksmith. The tall man’s hair was as black as night, and it ran near to his shoulders. His eyes are blue, his mien is a hard one, Your Highness, but also a handsome and noble one.” He paused and frowned. “There was something odd …” He shook his head. “Well, it’s a thing of no moment.”
“Please, Captain,” Guinevere quietly prompted. “What was odd?”
“When I took the tall man’s hand in greeting, his forearm … well, there was nary a part that didn’t bear a scar. I’d never seen the like. The black man was the same way, but his face also bore the mark of the blade. The tall man’s face was unmarred … and it was the face of a man in the early years of his third decade. But his eyes, Your Highness, they were those of a man who’d traveled the road of life for a much longer time and who’d paid dearly for every league—”
A knock on the door to the sacristy interrupted Potter’s narrative. Guinevere glanced over at the door, and a moment later, a man in his middle years dressed in a worn woolen cloak, sheepskin leggings, and leather boots stepped into the room and bowed quickly.
“Your Highness, forgive me, but we must go. Two dragonships have ported at Aber, and there’s a scouting party on the road coming this way. It’s the smoke from the fire. They’ve seen it.”
Guinevere nodded. “Thank you, Torn. We shall be there in a moment.” She turned back to Captain Potter. “You have been so kind, Captain. Would you travel with us, or can you make it on your own?”
Potter smiled. “Your Highness, God has blessed me with the honor of meeting the Queen of the Britons, and for that, I am eternally grateful. As for the seawolves, I grew up a league to the south. There’s nary a trail through yonder forest that I don’t know. I shall be safe.”
“Then let this be our parting, good Captain,” Guinevere said, inclining her head toward him. “I shall pray for your safe return to your family and hearth.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Potter said and bowed deeply before following Torn out the door.
After Potter left, Guinevere, Cadwyn, and Sister Aranwen rose, and the Queen stood there in silence for a moment. Cadwyn looked over at her and whispered, “Milady, is it he?”
Guinevere shook her head.
“I … I must think on the matter,” she said quietly. “Now, let us make haste.”
ROYAL POST STATION
Guinevere leaned back in her chair, quill in hand, listening to the light rain showering the plume of the elm tree just outside the room’s single window. Her eyes strayed to the water bucket beside the modest bed in the corner and from there to the room’s wooden ceiling. Thankfully, there was no sign of the leak the miller had apologetically prophesied might appear if the light rain became a downpour.
Her room was one of three on the third floor of the conical stone tower. Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen were quartered in the other two. The tower was a former royal post station, a four-hour ride inland from Pen Dinas. The miller and his wife, Mary, lived on the ground floor with their two young children.
Mary, one of Guinevere’s loyal sparrows, had been told to expect the small party on their return trip to the abbey, and the three guestrooms had been ready upon their arrival. Although the rooms were plain and somewhat drafty, they were a godsend, for there were no other inns or lodging on this lonely stretch of the road.
Guinevere turned her attention back to the parchment in front of her and finished the last paragraph. She wanted the women receiving the message to be ready to aid Sir Percival if he passed through their villages on his way to the abbey. At the same time, she wanted the women to keep the tidings of his return secret, since there were many who would see him dead if they knew of his arrival.
After finishing the note, Guinevere handed it to Cadwyn.
“My friend, I will need this message written in cypher, on three separate parchments. As soon as we return to the abbey, three of Torn’s best men must ride with these like the wind to the sparrows who live outside Londinium.”
Cadwyn read the message and slowly raised her eyes to the Queen.
“So it is he, Sir Percival?” she said in prayerful whisper. “He has returned?”
Guinevere hesitated, putting the quill down upon the table. “It could be him. I cannot be sure, but if it is, then he will need someone to guide him safely to the abbey. No one who left this land before the fall of the Table could know how dangerous it has become.”
“Milady, how can you doubt that it is Sir Percival after what Captain Potter said?”
“Perhaps …” she paused, remembering how many dreams had faded and fallen by the wayside in the long years since Camlann, “I fear that an early tide of hope will only lead to a later sea of despair if I am mistaken. I … I have much to ponder, but it will have to wait until the morning.” She rose from her chair with a tired smile. “It has been a long day, my young friend, and we should rest.”
“Of course, Milady. I shall see you in the morning.”
Although she was tired and sore from the last three days of riding, Guinevere could not find the respite of sleep. The meeting with Captain Potter had opened a Pandora’s Box of memories and feelings, and raised troubling questions about the man who’d disembarked from the Mandragon. An hour after lying down to rest, she rose and walked over to the tall, narrow window on other side of the room and stared down at the somnolent forest three floors below. The light from the full moon cast the tower’s long shadow deep into the forest, like a giant sword warding off all who might approach.
The scene below drew Guinevere’s thoughts back in time to the great stables at Camelot and the rides she used to take through the forests, towns, and villages surrounding the castle, in the first hour after dawn. Although there was little danger in the years before the war began, Arthur had insisted that one of the Knights of the Table, along with six guards, accompany her on each outing. Since most of the Knights had been reluctant to rise at such an early hour, more often than not, this duty had been imposed upon the two youngest Knights, Percival and Galahad.
Both of the young Knights had seemed to enjoy the outings, but Galahad’s nocturnal trysts frequently left him in a poor state at such an early hour, forcing his friend, Percival, to serve in his stead on many occasions. Guinevere smiled as she remembered Percival’s discomfiture when she had raised the matter with him on one of their morning rides.
The small party had dismounted by a stream to allow the horses to drink, and she and Percival had walked over to a nearby bluff, where they had a view of Camelot in the distance.
“Sir Percival, I was told that Sir Galahad would be accompanying me on today’s ride. Is he unwell again?” Guinevere said, feigning concern.
“Alas, yes, my Queen, otherwise he would surely have come,” Percival answered, avoiding Guinevere’s eyes.
“Is it a serious matter? If so, I can ask Merlin to attend him,” Guinevere said, raising an eyebrow.
Percival nodded, still avoiding Guinevere’s inquisitive gaze. “Your kindness is much appreciated, my Queen, but I suspect only time will cure what ails him.”
“I see,” Guinevere said, nodding thoughtfully before continuing. “Do you remember the alehouse we passed earlier, the one with the wooden rooster above the door?”
Percival stiffened. “Uh … yes, my Queen.”
“When we stopped outside to tighten my saddle strap, I heard one of the stable boys telling another that Galahad was still dancing with the miller’s daughter at this … reputable establishment—on the tables, mind you—three hours before the cock crowed. Would his ailment have anything to do with this nocturnal outing?” Guinevere said with a small smile.
“Not being a healer, my Queen,” Percival said hesitantly, “I cannot say. But I would concede that Galahad has taken at least two of the admonitions in Ecclesiastes to heart.”
“And those would be?”
“There’s a time to dance, and there’s a time to laugh.”
“Oh, he is quite the rogue, is he not?” Guinevere said with a laugh.
“He is that, my Queen,” Percival conceded, a smile touching his lips for a moment. Then it disappeared, and he turned to face her. “He is also a true and loyal friend, and the bravest knight that I have ever known.”
Guinevere and Percival’s eyes met for a long moment, and then she looked out upon the vista before them.
“Do you know, Sir Percival,” Guinevere said quietly, “that you and Galahad share something unique?”
“My Queen?”
“You both saved my life.”
Percival shook his head. “My Queen, the battle at Eburacum—”
“Saved the city and all within it, including your Queen,” Guinevere said quietly and then continued. “The year the plague came to Albion, I was sent to live with my uncle. His manor lies to the north, near a lake, far from any of the cities or ports where the illness struck. The lands held by Galahad’s family adjoined those of my uncle, and sometimes we would ride together.”
Percival looked over at the Queen, a look of surprise on his face.
“I was seventeen, he eighteen. One day, our party—I, three of my handmaidens, and Galahad and two of his friends—were having a picnic in the forest, when a wild boar charged out of the woods straight toward me.
“Galahad distracted the creature and it charged him instead. He leaped in the air when it was just a few feet away, and it ran right under him. Then he dodged behind a tree and teased the creature until it charged him again and again. Each time, he would dodge behind the tree and circle to the other side, just barely evading its deadly tusks. To this day, I remember the expression on his face,” Guinevere said, shaking her head in wonder. “He loved every minute of it. He was actually upset when one of the men in his company killed the boar with an arrow.”
“Galahad enjoys the dance with death too much,” Percival said quietly, his eyes fixed on the distant towers of Camelot. “I don’t know whether it is that he doesn’t fully understand the price of a misstep, or whether he doesn’t care. In either case, I have sworn to do my best to keep him safe, for the world would be a darker place without him.”
Guinevere looked over at the Knight. “Yes, Sir Percival, it would indeed.”
The memory faded and Guinevere was surprised to find she had walked to the other side of the room. She walked back to the window, drew in a heavy breath, and allowed the memories pressing in on her to return again and have their way.
Over the next six months, Percival had ridden along with her, two and sometimes three days a week. Over time, she had begun to hope that he would be the Knight assigned to accompany her each morning. One day, after a ride, she remembered sitting down, alone in her royal quarters, trying to understand why she was so drawn to him.
He was disciplined and honorable to a fault, but many of the other Knights were as well. He was also handsome, but not so much so as Galahad, Lancelot, or Tristan, and although she’d heard rumors that Percival was a most formidable swordsman, martial prominence and glory had never meant much to her. She’d never enjoyed the tournaments she was called upon to attend with Arthur several times a year, with all their pomp, ceremony, and, too often, blood.
Then she had come to the realization that Percival had two traits that most of the other knights lacked. The first was the depth and breadth of his knowledge. Unlike most of the other Knights and nobles, Percival could read and write, like herself, in the languages of the Greeks and Romans, and he had read many of the books she had read. Many times, she found their morning talks so interesting that a ride of an hour or two seemed to pass in minutes, leaving her wishing the trail had been a league or two longer.
The second trait she treasured was the way Percival treated the common people. Whenever they stopped at a town or village, he would speak to one or two of them as if they were equals, and he made a point of helping them whenever he could. Guinevere remembered a time when they’d stopped to water the horses in a town, two leagues to the south of Camelot, and Percival had helped a woman carry a bucket full of water from the town well to her house.
Percival had spoken to the woman at some length outside her modest home. After the woman went inside, Percival had walked across the street to the tavern and spent several minutes inside. From there, he’d walked over to the blacksmith’s shop. She remembered the square, middle-aged smith turning a shade of white during their short conversation, and then quickly nodding his head in assent to whatever Percival had said.
As they were riding out of town, Guinevere glanced over her shoulder and saw a thin, balding man of middle years emerge from the tavern and run over to the smith. The two men had then hurriedly walked over to the woman’s house and knocked respectfully on her door.
Unable to resist, Guinevere had turned to her escort. “I must confess, Sir Percival, I am most intrigued by yon happenstance. What business did you have with the woman at the well, and with the tavern keeper and blacksmith?”
After a moment of hesitation, the Knight had answered, keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead. “I noticed the woman had been crying, and I asked what vexed her. She was reluctant to say, but I insisted. Her husband recently died, and she’d obtained work at the tavern to help pay for her needs and those of her son, a boy of ten. The lad was apprenticed to the smith. When she’d declined the tavern keeper’s advances, he took away her job and persuaded the smith to end her son’s apprenticeship.”
“And so, Sir Percival, what did you do?” Guinevere said quietly.
“I told the tavern keeper that the woman was a relative of mine, and I considered his treatment of her a personal affront. I made it clear I would be compelled to seek satisfaction if she wasn’t rehired and treated with the utmost respect. I conveyed the same message to the smith about the boy’s apprenticeship.”
“That … was most noble, Sir Percival.”
“Thank you, my Queen.”
“And are you related to the woman?” she asked with a small smile.
Percival’s brow furrowed for a moment, and then the hint of a smile touched his lips. “Well, in some sense, yes, my Queen. If you go back far enough, we’re all related.”
A soft knock at the door of her room drew Guinevere back to the present. When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen standing there, looking anxious. At first, Guinevere assumed there must be a threat to the tower.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, Milady,” Sister Aranwen said. “We just heard you … walking back and forth, and we were concerned.”
“I … I didn’t realize that. I’m sorry to have awakened you.”
“Is something wrong, Milady?” Cadwyn asked softly.
Guinevere smiled, realizing that both women were curious as to her thoughts and desired to talk. “I am troubled by today’s talk with Captain Potter, but I will not burden you with my thoughts at this late hour. You should sleep.”
Cadwyn spoke almost before she finished. “It would be no burden at all, Milady. We would very much like to listen.” Sister Aranwen nodded in rare agreement.
The Queen nodded and gestured for them to come in. “Very well then, come in, and let us sit at the table. Cadwyn, can you put another log on the fire?”
“Yes, Milady.”
After placing a small log on the fire in the hearth, the young woman joined Guinevere and Sister Aranwen at the modest wooden table. A narrow stream of moonlight from the window flowed across the table and merged with the light from the hearth, bathing the three women in a gentle light. Guinevere ran one of her hands through the ghostly stream, as though trying to catch its substance in her palm, and then leaned back in her chair.
“It’s Galahad. That’s how I knew it had to be Percival.”
“Galahad, Milady?” Cadwyn said.
“Yes.”
Guinevere was quiet for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, and then she continued.
“Percival and Galahad were raised to the Table in the same year, they went through the training together, and, being the most junior Knights, they often shared the least desirable duty assignments. The two of them also made the mistake of crossing Lancelot, who was one of the most senior Knights, and the one that had Arthur’s ear.”
“What did they do?” Cadwyn asked.
“In the case of Galahad, he drew much of Lancelot’s ire upon himself and deserved many of the hard duties and punishments assigned to him. That man,” Guinevere said, shaking her head in amusement, “loved to break the rules, he loved playing tricks, and he wasn’t one to miss a party. It was rumored that Percival had to get up at four bells and scour the taverns for his fellow knight on the mornings when they were assigned to a dawn patrol.”
“I suspect Lancelot’s ire had another cause as well,” Sister Aranwen said wryly, glancing up from her prayer beads.
“True,” Guinevere said with a nod. “Before Galahad came, Lancelot was reputed to be the most handsome knight at court, and more often than not, he had a trail of women following him.”
“That he did,” Sister Aranwen said with disapproval. “It was rather unseemly, if you ask me. He should have shooed them away, like bothersome flies.”
Cadwyn glanced over at the usually reserved nun, surprised at the interruption.
A smile touched Guinevere’s lips, but she continued without commenting.
“Well, after Galahad was raised to the Table, Lancelot was relegated to second place with the women of the court. Even Arthur used to chuckle about how vexed Lancelot was about that.”
“Why did Lancelot dislike Percival?” Cadwyn asked. “Did the women follow him as well?”
“Oh, many of them wanted to, but he was rarely at Court, so it was more difficult. No, the dispute between Lancelot and Percival arose from a very different cause.”
Guinevere idly ran one of her hands through the stream of light flowing across the table as she continued. “Most of the Knights, and in particular, Lancelot, believed that the expanding war with Morgana and her forces would be won by the Knights, supported by the King’s archers. Percival disagreed. He believed a trained infantry, an infantry of peasants to be exact, had to be the centerpiece of the King’s force. He made this known to Arthur, directly, in a meeting of the Knights. This enraged Lancelot, both the idea and the fact that Percival had the temerity to make the argument directly to the King.”
“Why?” Cadwyn questioned, confusion in her voice. “Why not have more men in the ranks? A bigger army might have saved the Kingdom.”
Guinevere looked across the table at the young woman and said in a voice tinged with regret, “Oh, my dear Cadwyn, I wish … others had seen the matter as clearly as you do, but it was not to be.”
There was a long silence, and Sister Aranwen looked up from her prayers for a moment and exchanged glances with Guinevere. The Queen nodded her assent as if acknowledging the futility of walking down a painful path that led nowhere.
“In the end,” Guinevere said, turning to Cadwyn, “Lancelot retaliated by assigning Galahad and Percival to the hardest and most unpleasant postings.”
“So that’s how they became friends?” Cadwyn asked.
“Yes, but it was at the battle of the Aelius Bridge where they became brothers.”
“Please, Milady, tell us of that day! It must have been glorious!” Guinevere smiled at Cadwyn’s enthusiasm, but her smile faded when she spoke.
“The bards who have told and retold the story a thousand times have truly made it so, and … I am glad of that. In these dark times, the people need … we all need … heroes, to give us hope. But I will tell you this, my friends, as I watched events unfold that day, it was as terrible a thing as it was magnificent.”
Guinevere hesitated and drew in a breath, as if summoning the will to tell the tale.
“In early spring, three years before the fall, spies in the northern part of the kingdom sent word that Morgana was amassing a force to attack a town on the River Tyne, near the Aelius Bridge. Reports of this kind had become more and more frequent in the last years, and Arthur and the Knights never knew whether a threat was real or a ruse, or worse, a trap.”
“Was it a trap, Milady?” Cadwyn asked, her eyes wide and anxious.
“Listen and you shall learn, Cadwyn,” Sister Aranwen said quietly, not looking up from her prayer beads.
“Yes, Sister Aranwen,” Cadwyn said with a sigh.
Guinevere reached over and patted Cadwyn’s hand before continuing. “Lancelot had discounted the threat as a mere rumor, but a raid on the town of Caer Luel, twenty leagues to the west, a month earlier had nearly overrun the town’s defenses. Sir Owain and over three hundred royal soldiers were lost.”
Sister Aranwen made the sign of the cross when Guinevere mentioned the deaths, and Cadwyn did so as well without thinking.
Guinevere closed her eyes as she recalled the dark day the messenger had brought the ill tidings to court. After a moment of silence, she continued.
“The disaster at Caer Luel enraged Arthur. When he heard the report, he made ready to march north with a force of Knights, hoping to exact retribution against Morgana’s forces. He also ordered Sir Percival, who was still farther north in the Marches, to come south and meet him at the Tyne.
“At this point in the war, there were so many threats of assassination that Camelot had become a velvet prison for me, so I asked Arthur if Sister Aranwen and I could accompany him, and he agreed.”
Sister Aranwen nodded her head, but the look on her face suggested she had been less than happy about the King’s decision.
“When we arrived at the castle on the north side of Tyne, three days later, Arthur discovered that the earl in charge of the post had not received word of our coming from the royal messengers, and he was unaware of the threat from Morgana. This vexed Arthur greatly, since he knew Morgana could be planning an attack on the town and castle, and that time would be needed to prepare.
“Scouting parties were sent out in all directions to find out if Morgana’s forces were in the area. One of these parties crossed the Aelius Bridge and spotted an enemy camp with over three hundred armed men, many on horseback. Although the scouts—six royal archers— tried to return to the castle with the tidings, they were discovered by the enemy. Two of the archers were killed in the forest, and a third was killed in the race to get back across the bridge to safety.”
Guinevere stood up and walked over to the window. The sky had cleared and was alit with a cascade of stars. Her gaze traveled from the sky to the forest below, and when she spoke, it was almost as if she were watching the terrible scene happening all over again.
“I was walking on the battlement of the southern tower with the Earl’s wife when I heard the shouts below. I could see … everything. The swiftest of the two archers reached the Aelius Bridge and crossed safely to give the alarm, but the other two were cut off in an open field by four horsemen. Sir Percival, on the north side of the bridge, charged across and drove the enemy back, but his horse was killed in the fight.”
Guinevere placed a hand against her chest and rested the other on the stone sill in front of her.
“Percival and the two remaining archers retreated to the bridge, but more and more of the enemy were pouring out of the forest. They had to fight their way back, step-by-step. By the time they reached the middle of the bridge, one of the two archers had been killed, and the second had been wounded so badly he could barely walk. Percival wouldn’t leave the archer. He made a stand at the midpoint of the bridge, where the passage had been narrowed by the remains of an old toll gate.”
Cadwyn, hanging on every word, interrupted, “Forgive me, Milady, but why didn’t they send help?”
Guinevere turned and walked back to the table and sat down before continuing.
“Arthur didn’t know what was happening until later. He was in the north tower of the castle trying to prepare a defense. Some of the men on the southern wall ran to open the main gate to mount a rescue, but Lancelot ordered them back to their posts.”
Cadwyn’s eyes widened, and Guinevere raised a hand, forestalling the girl’s explosion of outrage.
“The order was not cowardly, Cadwyn. Lancelot was many things, but he wasn’t a coward. His first duty was to save the castle, and everyone in it. Since he didn’t know the size of the enemy force that was attacking, he couldn’t risk opening the gates. If he’d done so and the castle had been lost, I would not be here today to tell you this tale.”
“I understand, Milady,” Cadwyn said softly.
“I sent a messenger racing to find Arthur, but I feared it would be too late. Over a hundred of Morgana’s men were on the bridge, and although only a few could reach Sir Percival at one time through the narrow gap, I knew he couldn’t stand against so many for long. And that,” Guinevere said with a smile, “was when Sir Galahad threw a rope over the wall of the castle, climbed down, and raced out to join the fight.”
“Yes!” Cadwyn said triumphantly, striking her small fist into the table.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, child, are you trying to wake the dead?” Sister Aranwen whispered in exasperation.
Guinevere couldn’t help but laugh. “Oh, it was a wonderful thing. I could see the smile on Galahad’s face as he raced toward that bloody melee; and when Lancelot bellowed over the wall for him to come back, he laughed and ran faster. What a magnificent rogue he was,” she finished.
“And so the two of them, Percival and Galahad, fought together, side by side, on that bridge. At first, they just held the narrow position in the center, but then they began to drive the enemy back. It was … truly a wondrous thing.
“When Arthur arrived on the battlement, he raced to the wall and watched the fight for a moment, mesmerized, and then turned to Lancelot, who had followed him. He ordered Lancelot to assemble a force of six knights and a score of archers in the bailey. He told him that he intended to drive the attackers from the bridge.
“When Lancelot told him it could be a trap and they could lose the entire castle, I remember his words as if they were spoken yesterday. He said, ‘Lance, if we don’t ride out, we will lose far more than that.’”
The room was quiet as a tomb for a moment, and then Guinevere reached a hand into the vanishing stream of moonlight, closed her fist, and said, “And he did as he promised. He drove Morgana’s force from the bridge. By nightfall, they’d retreated into the forest.”
Guinevere closed her eyes for a long moment, remembering the two young knights covered in blood, walking back across the bridge together after the battle. Galahad had cuffed Percival on the shoulder as they walked and said something. Percival had stopped and looked at him incredulously, and then a moment later, the two men had broken into a fit of laughter. She smiled, remembering how much she had wanted to know what Galahad had said. “So you see, when Captain Potter said the man on the ship had asked after Galahad, I knew it was Sir Percival.”
“I knew it had to be him,” Cadwyn said, clasping her hands together.
Sister Aranwen, whose expression was more reserved, leaned forward. “Milady, there’s something that vexes you … perhaps something the captain said?”
Guinevere hesitated for a moment. “There is. Sir Percival and I were born in the same year. So he would be in his thirtieth or thirty-first year, but the captain said his face was that of a man in his early twenties. It is … odd.”
“Milady,” Cadwyn said, “the captain only met him for a moment, and who knows what potions they may have in the faraway places Sir Percival has visited? Why, Sir Percival may have found the fountain of youth!”
Sister Aranwen scoffed. “The fountain of youth! How ridiculous. You are surely in need of rest if that is—”
“I’m fine, thank you, Sister,” Cadwyn responded tartly.
Guinevere reached across the table and rested a hand on the arm of each woman.
“It’s late, my loyal friends, and we have a hard day’s ride in the morn. So we should get what sleep we can before then.”