Sleepless Knights (9 page)

Merlin's Tomb was more of a hollow than a cave, a grotto in the cliff-side carved by the relentless wash of the sea. To the right of the narrow inlet as we faced the cave, a pebbly shore led onto jagged rocks, and beyond that nothing but the sheer face of the cliffs until the open water. To our left lay the way back over rock pools to the sandy beach and up to the car park. The Grail's dogged refusal to move had not lessened at the end of the afternoon, and so Sir Perceval opted to stay with it and the vehicles, as well as Sir Pellinore, a responsibility he assured me no amount of distractions would divert him from this time. The cave was only wide enough to comfortably admit one person, so the Master went in alone, clutching an electric torch and a copy of the incantation made from the original. Sir Kay and I stood guard directly outside, while Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain remained on the shore to rebuff any curious stragglers. But most of the visitors had retired for the day shortly after the tide had turned, the sea now steadily making its way up the beach.

Within the cave I could hear the Master scuffling on the damp rocks, and with each foot-slip I cursed the cave's cramped dimensions for preventing me being at his side. To take my mind off it, I picked up Sir Kay's copy of
The Prophecies of Merlin
and read the relevant passage for myself, at first idly skimming over the words of the summoning spell, but my interest growing as something caught my eye.

“Sir Kay,” I said, “I wonder if you might share with me your interpretation of the incantation's opening line?”

“What,
Dark is the hour and dire the deed
? It's obvious. Whoever recalls Merlin is only doing it because they face a dark hour of some sort, or because they've committed a dire deed. That sums up our current situation pretty well, wouldn't you say?”

“Without a doubt, Sir Kay.” I read the passage again, for my curiosity had not subsided. I risked further inquiry. “It is only that — and I feel foolish for voicing the thought, especially to one as well-read as yourself, but —”

“Lucas…”

“Do you think it is possible that the ‘dark hour' and ‘dire deed' —”

“Go on…”

“— might refer to the
act
of summoning Merlin, and not to the circumstances that inspire the summoning?” Sir Kay took the book from my hands. “Sir Kay?”

“Sssh!” he said, and read to himself, mumbling through his lips. Inside the cave, the shuffling sounds had ceased. “Dark is the… dire…” muttered Sir Kay.

“
Dark is the hour, and dire the deed!
” shouted the Master within the cave.

“Hmm,” said Sir Kay, furrowing his brow. He turned over several brittle pages.

“
But the need is great! T'is great indeed!
” the Master continued.

“Ah,” said Sir Kay, scanning some text towards the back of the book. “You know, it might be a good idea to postpone this for a minute, Lucas.”

“
Merlin from your slumber, cross the wide green sea!
”

A gust of wind whipped along the shore and riffled the pages of parchment. “Sire!” I called into the grotto. “Sir Kay feels it prudent that we pause the incantation!”

“
For I, King Arthur, do wake and summon thee!
” said the Master.

The setting sun disappeared behind a bank of black clouds. The beach was plunged into sudden night. The sea, moments ago as smooth as pressed linen, became rough and squally. “Is there additional information?” I said.

“You could say that, yes,” said Sir Kay.

There was a sound like a loud clap of thunder, followed by a hot blast of air. The Master was thrown backwards out of the cave and landed at our feet.

 

I stood over the fallen body of the Master, and once again time seemed to slow to a standstill. For a terrifying moment I thought the anomaly from the nightclub had caught up with me, but when I shook my head the sensation passed. I checked his pulse; he had been knocked unconscious by the blast, but was otherwise intact. “Attend to him,” I said to Sir Kay, and ran inside the cave.

The interior was illuminated by a point of purple light on the floor, no wider than a two pence piece, yet dazzling in its intensity. As I watched, the point widened and extended up into a column, as if someone under the ground had switched on a very powerful torch. As soon as this beam of light struck the cave roof, the entire cliff-side shook and the floor rumbled beneath my feet as if from an earthquake. Forked tongues of violet lightning sparked off the beam, licking the cave walls hungrily. I ran back outside, partly from fear of electrocution, and partly to see how far the shaft of light extended. Sir Kay was shouting something. Further down the beach, Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain were running towards us, all of them transfixed by the top of the cliff.

Turning and looking up, I saw that the beam of light had sliced clean through the top of the cliff, quadrupling in width and lashing wildly into the sky like water from a giant hose. With sickening accuracy the beam whipped down to the car
park, towards the form of the Grail upon the car roof. For an instant I saw Sir Perceval attempting to pull the cauldron clear, attended by a howling Sir Pellinore. Then the giant beam of light connected with the Grail, and the car and everything surrounding it exploded.

“Perceval!” cried Sir Kay, and started to run back to the fire-ball.

I grabbed his arm. “You must stop this, Sir Kay!” I shouted above the rumbling.

“I can't,” he said hoarsely. “It doesn't say how!”

I ran back inside the cave, where the beam had grown to the width of a serving platter, its wild carvings sending rubble raining down from above. I could hear Sir Lancelot calling my name from outside the cave mouth, but I pressed forwards. Shielding my head as best as I could with one arm, I squinted into the blinding light. A hooded head was sticking out of the hole in the floor. I could see nothing of the face beneath the cowl, but it could only belong to the wizard.

“Merlin!” I shouted, over the escalating din. “Close the portal!” The hooded head shook from side to side and the figure rose up through the hole to mid-torso. “We have made a mistake!” I cried. “Go back!” The wizard was now out as far as his waist. A bolt of lightning sent another shower of rubble down on my head. With a loud thooming rush, Merlin shot clear out of the ground and up through the hole in the roof. The cave mouth was nearly blocked by debris and, as I squeezed out through the remaining gap, another rock fall closed it up behind me. I scrambled to my feet on the shore just in time to see the body of the cloaked and hooded wizard flying into the air through the violet beam, which now flowed up over the fields and towards the eastern horizon in a rainbow-like arc. As soon as Merlin had gone the sky cleared and the sea fell calm. The beam of light lost
its roaming intensity and streamed vertically up into the heavens with the steady pulse of a geyser.

But there was still the aftershock to contend with. The cliff above us convulsed violently. With the help of Sir Lancelot, I dragged the Master clear of the inlet as the remaining part of the cliff-side collapsed into the sea, cutting us off from the beach and the smouldering car park, and stranding us on the jagged rocks. On our precarious perch, Sir Lancelot, Sir Gawain, Sir Kay and I stood around the body of the unconscious Master, while the rising tide lapped at our feet.

 

There was no escaping it. The Master was not where he should have been, and that was most disturbing.

Today being the first day of the Winter Feast, I had risen an hour earlier than usual to pay particular attention to the King and Queen on their anniversary. This morning, however, my knock was not answered with the customary “Enter, Lucas.” Neither, after an appropriate interval, was a second, more vigorous rapping. Inclining my ear to the heavy oak door of the Royal Chambers, I could hear the sound of only one person sleeping within. Sure enough, a cautious look revealed the Queen alone and deep in slumber, the King having already risen and no doubt attending to some thoughtful surprise for when his beloved awoke.

I closed the door softly and crept back along the landing, where my silent exit was compromised by a sudden collision with a woman at the top of the stairs. The goblet and tray I was carrying flew out of my hands. I was quick enough to recover the tray in mid-air, but missed the goblet, which was on the point of hitting the flagstones when the interloper caught it.

“Oh, my goodness, you frightened the life out of me!” the stranger said. My natural instinct upon discovering a trespasser in the Royal Tower was to reach for my sword, but I was so impressed with her reflexes with the goblet that I
stayed my hand. “Are you alright? Can I help you?” she asked. Lost for words at such impertinence, I took a moment to note her uncommonly striking eyes, gleaming like burnished bronze. I quickly recovered my composure. “It is I who should be asking that of you,” I replied, perhaps more curtly than I intended. “This is the Royal Tower. Only my most senior staff and I have free access.”

“But I
am
staff.”

It was all I could do to restrict my response to an indignant cough. “Forgive me, but you are certainly not. I am Sir Lucas, Royal Butler. There is not a single person working at Camelot above my jurisdiction. If you
were
a member of staff, I would certainly know of it.”

“Sir Lucas! But it is you I am looking for. I am Beaumains. Your new deputy.”

A pale hand was put forward in greeting, and I shook it. A kitchen worker's hand, rough and worn yet strong and supple. Immediately I understood the source of our confusion, and felt rather foolish. “Of course. I should have realised from the accent. Forgive my surprise, but you were not expected for several days,” I said.

“My ship was blessed with a fair wind from France, and I took little rest on the road to get here in time for the Royal Anniversary. I bring a gift, from King Ban.” A shoulder bag was opened to reveal a gold plate studded with gems.

“Sir Lancelot's father is most generous,” I said. “Still, you really should have waited for me at the Gatehouse instead of entering the Royal Tower.”

“Pardon me, Sir Lucas. But I am eager to meet them,” she smiled.

“So are all who come to Camelot. But they, at least, find the patience to wait until the King and Queen are washed and dressed.”

Beaumains' smile waned. “I was keen to get started in my work. That is all,” she said.

I began to feel the same sense of self-reproach I get whenever I am a touch too severe with my apprentice, Gwion. “Enthusiasm is, of course, highly commendable. But enthusiasm without discipline is like a sword without a scabbard. Sooner or later, you will cut yourself.”

“I will try to remember that,” she said.

“Good.” A rather uncomfortable silence ensued. “The goblet. It was… well caught,” I said at last.

“Thank you,” said Beaumains.

“Your reflexes do you credit. As do your references. I understand your family served King Leir?”

“My grandfather.”

“And Sir Lancelot speaks of you in the most favourable terms.” At this Beaumains glowed, and it was such a pleasing sight that I resolved there and then never to consciously diminish it.

“But where is Lancelot? I have missed him so much,” she said.

“At present, Sir Lancelot is away questing. We are expecting his return any day now. It would be a noble adventure indeed to keep him away from the Winter Feast. But please,” I said, moving to the spiral staircase, “this way. There is much to be done. We will not have time for a leisurely tour. Yours will have to be of the working variety.”

“They are the best kind,” said Beaumains.

“I could not have put it better myself,” I said.

†

From the Royal Tower we walked out along the castle's eastern wall. To our right lay the inner courtyard and the staff quarters, where bleary-eyed night workers mumbled
greetings to their fresh-faced daytime counterparts. Below us, to the left of the castle wall, lay the sleeping town of Camelot, and past that the fortified enclosure of the town's outer wall. The world beyond was still shrouded in pre-dawn darkness, save for the roadside torches lighting the bridge over the river. By this illumination, the vague outlines of men on horseback could be seen approaching the main gates in close procession.

“They arrive in droves,” said Beaumains.

“It has been like this for days,” I replied. “Thanks to Sir Lancelot, this year's Christmastide will see record attendance levels.”

“No man can best him in combat,” said Beaumains. “It is a sight to see.”

“Sir Lancelot is a knight of the highest skill,” I agreed, “and his custom of sending vanquished foes to pay tribute to the Queen is testament to his nobility. However, it is a year since he first went out to extend the King's justice. I confess that even I was not prepared for the sheer scale of his vanquishings. Do not forget, Beaumains, once these knights have paid their tribute, they all require food and lodging. Then there are the guests arriving for the Royal Anniversary, and the attraction of the Knighting ceremony. Add to their number the usual volume of challengers and questers approaching the Round Table, not to mention those seeking the renowned hospitality of the King's winter hearth, plus the population of the town and castle, and we have a Camelot that is stretched to the seams.”