LONDINIUM, THREE WEEKS LATER
ercival stood on a hill just outside the walls of Londinium staring down at the Tamesis River, where a galley made its way seaward on a path of white gold laid down by the morning sun. The day he embarked for the Holy Land on a similar ship had been one such as this, and for an instant, he returned to that place in time, recalling the sorrow, frustration, and confusion of the parting. The memory faded as the ship sailed out of sight.
Merlin was right. The man who had left ten years before was not the man who had returned, and yet in one respect they were same. The Percival of yesteryear, like the Percival of today, was in love with Guinevere, and both men carried no small measure of guilt for feeling thus. Although Arthur was long dead and Guinevere free to marry, the feeling persisted.
“I fear that I look upon a man who is vexed to the core of his being.”
Percival turned, surprised to see Merlin standing behind him.
“Is this book so easy to read?”
“No, just this particular chapter.”
“And what, sage, vexes my soul?”
Merlin joined Percival at the crest of the hill and gazed out at the scene below in silence before answering.
“Percival, you are a disciple of honor, carrying both her virtues and burdens. You always have been. On some days I wish that I could infect you with at least some of the mores of the scoundrel, but alas, I have yet to find such a potion.”
The Knight’s eyes grew distant for a moment. “Trust me, Merlin, I have done my share of wrongdoing. The line of dead men who would attest to that is long, indeed.”
“And the line of those who would say otherwise is far longer.”
The two men fell silent, and then Merlin answered Percival’s question.
“As to your question, what vexes your soul, Sir Percival of the Round Table, is your need for the blessing of a King who is dead, before you take the hand of the woman who was once his Queen.”
Percival glanced over at Merlin. “I would not have Guinevere know of this.”
“She does not, but she knows that you are troubled, and … since she is in love with you, it distresses her.”
“Then I will bury my qualms, since what I seek cannot be found.”
“That may be, or you could be looking in the wrong places.”
The Knight turned to face the old Roman, a question in his eyes.
“Percival,” Merlin said, clasping his hands behind his back, “in the last three days, you have visited almost every church in Londinium and come to this hill nearly every morning. If Arthur’s spirit is to be found in this world, I do not believe that you will find it in these places.”
Percival’s gaze returned to the Tamesis River flowing below. “I would pray at the foot of Arthur’s grave, but I am told you are the only one who knows of his resting place, and you have refused to divulge that secret to anyone, including Guinevere.”
“That is true. Nor would I divulge it to you. That was Arthur’s command, and it was a wise one. Excalibur lies with him, anchored in a sacred stone, and evil men in the pursuit of that great talisman would do terrible things to learn of its whereabouts. He wanted to protect Guinevere from that danger. So I alone carry this secret.”
“Then, as I said, I will consider the matter at an end.”
“Do not be so hasty, Knight. If any part of Arthur’s spirit remains in this world, I do not believe it would have stayed in that bier, far to the north. No, it would be in a vale, a half days ride from here, where Lady Alona is buried.”
“Lady Alona?”
Merlin walked over to Percival and stood by his side. “Nearly two decades ago, Arthur married a young noblewoman named Alona. I attended the wedding. It was a rare thing. They married solely for love, not for gain or position.” He paused for a moment, and then he continued, his voice filled with sadness. “There was … a magic between them, a love like I have never seen before. Alas, a year later, she died in childbirth, and the child with her. Arthur was so fraught with grief, I feared he would take his own life. Over time, he learned to bear the pain, but he never forgot her. As I say, if his spirit remains in this world, it will be with her.”
Percival stared at Merlin for a long time, and then his gaze returned to the river below.
“Merlin, I would ask that you take me to this place, that I might say a prayer beside this woman’s grave.”
Merlin smiled. “Then so you shall, Sir Percival.”
Two hours later, Percival and Merlin dismounted from their horses outside a small chapel on the edge of a forest, north of Londinium. Merlin led his horse down a crude stone path that circled to the rear of the chapel and disappeared into the wood. Percival followed.
“We are watched,” Percival said quietly.
“Indeed we are,” Merlin said, “and I can assure you that we would proceed no further if Father Gildas and his minions didn’t recognize me. Few know of this place, but it is never without guardians. Come, the grave is ahead.”
The two men tied their horses to a tree behind the chapel.
“Our horses will be safe here. The grave is just ahead,” Merlin said.
The older man led the way down a narrow path into the wood. With each step, the light overhead receded, leaving them walking in shadow through a grove lined with oak trees that were as ancient as they were massive. Just when it seemed that they had walked past the mightiest of these wooden giants, a circle of trees appeared ahead that was mightier still. Merlin walked between two of these coal black sentinels into a vale that was bathed in the light of the midday sun, and Percival followed.
“These trees must have been planted here, in this way, a long time ago,” Percival said.
“Yes, by my estimate, over two thousand years ago. I cannot say by whom, or why they were planted in a circle around this vale, but I believe this was a holy place then, as it is now.” He motioned toward the north. “Lady Alona’s ancestral home is a half league distant. She told Arthur that she had once become lost in these woods as a child and spent the night within this vale. The trees … she said they kept her safe. When she was dying, she asked Arthur to bury her here, and so he did. She lies over here.”
Percival followed Merlin to the center of the vale. A low wall, with a gate at one end, encircled a gravestone hewn from a giant white rock. A simple but beautiful cross had been carved into the gravestone. The words Alona, beloved of Arthur were carved beneath it. A stone bench stood a pace away from the gravestone.
Merlin gestured toward the grave and said quietly, “This is where she is buried. I will leave you alone here.”
Percival opened the gate in the wall and knelt down beside the gravestone and prayed in silence. When he rose sometime later and made the sign of the cross, he was surprised to see that the sun was long past midday.
Percival turned, hearing footsteps approaching from the path behind him, and saw Merlin open the gate in the wall. He walked past Percival to the gravestone, knelt down, and drew a ring from his right pocket. For a long moment, he looked at the ring, and then he placed it underneath a rock at the base of the grave and stood up. After making the sign of the cross, he walked over to Percival.
“May I ask what you have left there?” Percival said.
“The ring that Arthur gave her … Alona’s wedding ring.”
“You kept it safe all of these years?”
Percival looked over at the smaller man, but he sensed that Merlin wouldn’t speak of the matter further.
“We should leave,” Merlin said.
Percival nodded and followed the smaller man to the path that led back to the chapel. The Knight slowed as he reached the end of the vale and turned to look upon the grave again. His breath caught in his throat as he saw two ghostly figures in the waning afternoon sun—a man and a woman.
The woman was sitting on the bench with her back to Percival. Her lithe, young body was resplendent in a shimmering white dress that strikingly contrasted with the cascade of raven hair flowing down her back. The man kneeling beside the woman was partially hidden by her body, but Percival could see he was placing something on her finger—a ring.
Percival took a step forward and then froze as the man stood and looked across the vale directly at him. At first, the Knight didn’t recognize the ghostly figure, and then he realized—it was Arthur—a young Arthur, one whose face no longer bore the burdens of time and the weight of responsibility, but only the blessing of contentment.
Percival dropped to one knee and bowed his head. When he looked up again, Arthur raised his right hand and slowly made the sign of the cross. Then he smiled, turned to the woman, and took her hands in his, and then they were gone.
The Knight knelt there for a moment, in silence, and prayed he was worthy of the hand he now had been granted leave to seek. As the vale descended into shadow, he stood and followed Merlin up the trail.
LONDINIUM
Percival looked out the first-floor window of the stone mansion in the heart of Londinium, serving as the temporary royal quarters. Six lines of young men were practicing rudimentary sword craft in the courtyard under the watchful eye of a cadre of older soldiers. Although the royal forces were growing by the day in size and skill, Percival knew that an invasion in force by the Saxons, Norse, or Franks could imperil the struggling kingdom. If they could just obtain a few months’ respite while the army’s foundation was being laid, they might yet have a chance to bring a measure of peace and security to the land.
“Are you musing about the dangers posed by the morrow again?” Capussa said as he walked into the room.
“Something like that,” he answered.
“A year ago, you and I would rise each day knowing that we faced death in the arena. Now, we can rise each day with at least a measure of doubt on that score. I think even you would concede, my friend, that we are at least sailing in the right direction.”
Percival smiled.
“Well there is that.”
“Good!” Capussa said, “Now that I have lifted a burden from your shoulders, you can attend the Queen with a smile instead of a frown. She has sent for you.”
“I will tell her of your noble deed,” Percival said with a small smile as he turned toward the door.
“Do that. Now, what is that man doing with that sword?” Capussa said as he stared out the window at a young Briton wielding a wooden practice sword. “You there,” he called out to the man, “that’s a sword, not a club.”
Capussa was still scolding the soldier when Percival walked out of the room. His smile faded as he walked up the stairs to the second floor, where Guinevere and her now larger royal court were quartered. The anxiety Capussa had professed to have banished was the lesser of the two that vexed him this morning.
Percival nodded to Keil, standing outside the door, dressed in a spotless royal guard’s uniform.
“Guardsman Keil, your service in bringing the message to me on the day of the battle with such haste. It was a noble effort, and it saved many a life. I will not forget it.”
“Thank … thank you, Sir Percival.”
“No, Guardsman Keil, thank you.” Percival raised his hand to knock on the door, but Cadwyn opened it first.
“Lady Cadwyn, I hope all is well with you today.”
“Why thank you, Sir Percival, all is quite wonderful. The Queen is expecting you. Please come in.”
As Percival followed Cadwyn down the broad hallway to the second-floor hearth room, he noted that the young woman’s lavender dress was more formal than the dress she’d worn in his past visits. The room, like the rest of the royal quarters, was decorated with the rugs, wall tapestries, and fine furniture donated by the citizens of the grateful City of Londinium, a city that was once again bustling with life. The more visible trappings of the Queen’s royal status increased the trepidation the Knight felt as he walked into the large palatial room.
Percival walked by the fire burning in the hearth to the window that overlooked a formal garden that had been left untended for years. The neat rows of bushes and hedges were overgrown, the flowerbeds were bereft of color, and the rose trellis in the center waited in vain for the red and white blooms that should have come with spring. Yet, despite the years of neglect, nature had not withheld all of its blessings. The majestic plumes of the trees that encircled the garden were painted with the soft red, yellow, and gold hues of early fall, giving the vista a stately, if worn, splendor.
“It’s beautiful in its own way, is it not?” Guinevere said from the door.
Percival turned quickly and stared at the Queen in silence, taking in the golden braid encircling her head, the silver diadem, and the cascade of golden hair flowing like a river over her shoulder and down the back of her resplendent indigo-blue dress. When she smiled at him, the spell holding him in place was broken, and he quickly bowed. “My Queen, forgive me, I … I didn’t hear you.”
“I would have you call me Guinevere, as you did the night we dined … and danced together.”
“Yes … Guinevere, and yes, it is a beautiful garden.”
She walked across the room and stood beside Percival at the window and looked down at the garden below. A distant look came to her eyes.
“I used to walk alone in the forest near my father’s castle on days like this, when the leaves were just turning and the sun was still warm. It was one of my most favorite things to do. Did you ever walk in the woods thus when you were a boy, just for the joy of it?”
“Yes. On many a day. It was a habit that my father was not fond of,” Percival said with a wry smile.
“Oh, I cannot imagine an errant Sir Percival,” Guinevere said with a laugh. “Tell me of your favorite place there. I should like to visit.”
Percival looked into the distance and then spoke in a soft voice.
“There is a vale two leagues or so from my home that is surrounded by a stand of oaks … trees that are as mighty as they are old. When times were hard and I sought a measure of peace, I would go there and watch the rays of sunlight break through the clouds and touch the ground, and then disappear. It … was as if I were watching a window to heaven open and close. As a boy, I believed that if I were lucky enough to be standing in the spot where the light touched the earth, I … I would receive a gift from heaven.”
Guinevere looked up at Percival. “And what do you believe that gift would be, if that came to pass?” she said.
Percival turned and faced Guinevere, who was now but a step away from him.
“It has come to pass, and that gift, Guinevere, was you.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “Percival,” Guinevere whispered, gazing into the Knight’s eyes. “Arthur Pendragon asked for my hand, and that was given, but he never asked for my heart.”
Percival slowly knelt down on one knee and took the Queen’s hands, his eyes meeting hers.
“I am not worthy, my Queen, but I … I would have both your heart and your hand if you would have me as your husband.”
A smile as radiant as the beams of sunlight Percival remembered from that distant vale lit Guinevere’s face. “Then they are yours,” she said, “and you are mine.”