The Chessboard Queen (11 page)

“Briacu! There are some strange people standing out in the practice field. Can you send someone to find out who they are and what they want?”

Caet nodded and bowed. He looked around. The revelers looked as if they could not crawl to their own beds, much less negotiate the twisting embankments to reach the field. He did not mind going himself, but not on foot. He went to the stables and slipped a bridle on Cheo. At least he would not be the one who must look up anymore.

Guinevere and Lydia continued to watch the three strangers below them. They still had made no movement at all. Guinevere wondered if they had any idea that they were being watched. Lydia was fascinated. She had sat on the floor again and was peering at them through the rails.

“Where do you think they come from? They certainly don’t look like anyone I ever met in Armorica. Ireland, do you think?”

Caet had reached the people. He made some greeting, but Guinevere and Lydia could not hear it. In answer, the man in bronze moved forward and handed him a scroll. Then, without a word, the three turned and rode into the forest. Caet watched them go and then, with a shrug, turned his horse back to the gate.

He brought the scroll to Guinevere.

“What in the world?” She unrolled it and read. “‘To Arthur, King of Britain, Greetings from the Lady of the Lake.’ Briacu, can you find Arthur? I think he should see this at once.”

Arthur had just gotten his dinner. He had forgotten to eat all day and was starving. He wasn’t interested in mysterious visitors. There had been enough sorcery and strangeness already today. He only cared about the reality of the meat and bread on his plate. But Caet was waiting for an answer. Arthur sighed and decided to bring the plate with him to Guinevere’s rooms.

“Look, Briacu, I know it’s not your job, but could you search out a wine jar and bring it up to me? Bring a cup for yourself, too.”

He found Guinevere tucking Lydia into a blanket on the couch. The wine had overcome her. Guinevere shook her head at his anxious expression.

“No, you won’t bother her. I don’t think that her foster parents ever allowed her all the wine she wanted before. Oh, Arthur, haven’t you eaten yet? Sit down at once. Let me call someone for wine.”

“Briacu is bringing some. Why don’t you read me the message while I eat?” he suggested as he started in on the meat. The juice ran down his fingers and he wiped them on the bread.

“Briacu told you about the people, what they looked like, didn’t he?”

He nodded, still chewing.

She began reading. “‘To Arthur, King of Britain, Greetings from the Lady of the Lake.’ Who is that?”

“I think Merlin told me something about her once. He won Excalibur from her. I don’t remember the rest. Go on.”

“‘I come before you to present to the court of Camelot my Protege, Lancelot of the Lake. Tomorrow morning Lancelot will prove in combat with any knight you so choose that he is a worthy and gallant man of great prowess, more than fitted to be a member of your company and to be a true and valiant Knight of the Round Table. He will await you then on the spot where we stood today. Be it also known that Lancelot and his squire, Torres, are under my protection and any ill treatment of them will not go unmarked.’”

“But that’s wonderful!” Arthur exclaimed. “Read that part again about a ‘true and valiant Knight.’ The very thing I want. What was he like? Do you think he can fight?”

“Arthur, I have no idea. You won’t believe the costume he had on. I think there were ostrich feathers in his helmet. He sat his horse well, though. What will you do?”

“What else? Send someone down to fight him in the morning. This will be exciting. How about Gawain?”

“Do you think that would be fair? It’s almost midsummer.”

“That’s true. Cei then. He’d like that and right now, he’s the only other knight we have. Oh, Briacu, the wine. Thank you. Do you know where Sir Cei is? Down there somewhere? Oh, well. I’d better go find him myself. All right, my dear. I’ll be back as soon as I find him. Do you think Lydia will have to sleep there
all
night?”

• • •

Not far away from Camelot, the Lady had set up camp in her own way and with her own elegance. She saw no reason to be uncomfortable, even in the middle of a wilderness. She had finished her meal and reclined gracefully upon her divan, waiting for Lancelot and Torres to complete dinner.

“Now, you both understand what you will do tomorrow? I have brought you to your Arthur, but it is up to you to earn your place with him. I’m sure you will have no trouble, but you will find that life may be very different up here. Not everyone lives the way we do and, I confess, I have never cared enough to find out much about the customs of these humans. But if you live among them, you must learn to adapt to their ways. And of course, my dears, whenever you want to return to us, you will always be most joyfully received.”

She was surprised at herself. There was a catch in her voice which was totally uncontrived. She must be careful. It wouldn’t do for Lancelot to know how very much she wanted them to return.

Torres laughed. “I imagine I will miss you all very much. But I’ll stay as long as Lancelot needs me. Someone has to remember to feed his horse.

“After all,” he added in a lower voice, “the poor beast has done nothing to repent of.”

Lancelot wasn’t listening. He was seeing himself defeating one opponent after another, disarming them and then politely returning their weapons with such grace and skill that all who saw him wondered and admired. Suddenly he stopped himself in shame. The sin of pride! How often Meredydd had cautioned him against it. He pushed his plate away and left the table, retreating into the woods to pray for forgiveness and humility. Torres frowned as he watched him go.

“Oh Lord, I wonder what dreadful thing he managed to do while simply eating his bread. Do you think there will be others like him at Camelot?”

“I hope not,” the Lady replied fervently. “This compulsion of his has to be cured. If I could stay and help you, I would, but I have already been too long away from my Lake. Take care of him, Torres. This whole enterprise frightens me. For the first time in centuries, I have no idea of how it will end.”

Chapter Six

Cei was astounded to hear that he had been made champion for Arthur. He immediately stopped drinking and retired to his corner to rest and prepare for the morning’s encounter. He worried a little, though. He was confident that he could hold his own against any man he had ever met, except Gawain at noon. But what if this Lancelot had some magic? Was he human? They said he came from a lake. He had heard a tale once when he was a boy about a forbidden lake in the woods that lured travelers to their deaths. What if Lancelot were the ghost of such a wayfarer? Could ghosts be seen in the daylight? He wasn’t sure. He decided to double-check his gear. If the man
was
a man, he must be prepared to defeat him.

As Lancelot approached the field the next morning, his only thought was to be permitted to win and yet be spared from hurting anyone or inflicting humiliation upon them. In spite of his night-long penance for pride and overconfidence, Lancelot could not deny that he had never been beaten in practice combat. Torres rode behind him, feeling like a child sent out for the first time without his mother. The Lady had been gone when they awoke, along with all her paraphernalia. Lancelot had not been surprised or concerned, but Torres did not have his serene confidence. His armor did not feel grand today, only clanking and silly.

Lancelot was relieved that the Lady was no longer with them. She did not exactly represent the goals he had set himself. He also feared that anything he won in her presence might be because of her help and not of his own doing. He was eager to stand before the crowd and face his opponent as a man alone.

When they reached the field, he was surprised and crushed. There was no crowd. Hardly anyone was there. Nine-tenths of Camelot was still abed, sleeping off the effects of the celebration. Lancelot thought it was another punishment for his pride. He tried to accept it meekly, telling himself that the only reason for an audience was to pander to his own ignoble desire for glory. But the deflated feeling remained.

Cei, waiting at the other end of the field, knew who was there and, far from being disappointed, was honored and therefore far too nervous. As he compared Lancelot’s gear and build with his own, he began to feel terrified that he would make a fool of himself. Gawain and both his brothers were watching. He saw Constantine, wrapped in a brown and yellow striped cloak, lead his sister to one of the seats. And Arthur was there, hunched down in an old blanket to keep warm.

“Please,” Cei whispered. “Don’t let me look an ass in front of them all.”

Despite his lack of education, his prayer was just as fervent as any Lancelot had ever made.

Torres was reassured by the lack of people. He trotted over to Cei.

“Good morning!” he beamed. “I suppose you are the champion Lancelot will fight today?”

Cei nodded.

“Fine. If it’s all right with you, I’ll give the signal for you both to begin. We don’t know your rules, but we always count points if you stay on your horse, keep your shield, or manage to nick the armor of your opponent. We allow no blows to the face. We end the contest when one man is down or disarmed.”

“That matches our rules well enough.” Cei’s voice was stern.

“And also,” Torres smiled again, “we want to join you and someday fight at your side. So do your best, but remember that he isn’t an enemy and his weapon someday might be needed to protect you. Do you understand me? Why are you looking so fierce? All I mean to say is, he doesn’t want to hurt you and I would rather that you didn’t hurt him. It’s just a formality, this match, you see?”

He held out his hand. Cei stared at it for a second, then clasped it. He did not trust himself to make a speech. He just wanted the whole thing done.

“Begin it,” was all he could say.

Torres returned to the center of the field. When the two men signalled that they were ready, he raised his arm and then dropped it. The contest was begun.

The hardest part of fighting from horseback was keeping one’s seat. To do that, the rider had to be able to remain almost motionless below the waist, with his knees and thighs gripping the sides of his mount tightly. In battle against warriors on foot, the main idea was either to throw a javelin from a safe spot or to thrust into the unit with a lance or sword, jabbing quickly and accurately, so that the man attacked had no chance to grab at the weapon and pull down both lance and rider.

When facing an enemy on horseback, the strategy was even more complex. Each man would be armed with lance, shield, sword, and perhaps a short dagger for emergencies. The shield, on the left arm, was kept up at all times. As the other rider neared, one had to throw the javelin with such force as to hit the shield and break the other rider’s arm. This was almost impossible. The lack of stirrups meant that any attempt to throw a javelin with force might result in overbalancing and being left in the dirt. So the most one hoped for was to hit the other rider hard enough to knock him off his horse, leaving him to the ground troops to handle. If the lance did neither of these things, then the sword must be drawn quickly and another attempt made to throw the opponent to the ground.

It was generally agreed that, in this sort of one-to-one combat, a man who could keep his shield and his horse was nearly invulnerable. All he needed to do was block sword thrusts. Even if he had lost both his own weapons, it might still be possible, through careful maneuvering, to unseat an armed challenger.

In a practice meet, strategy was more complicated, as one did not want to kill the other man. Therefore, the aim of the lance had to be nearly perfect, throwing the other rider from his horse through swift, skillful action to unbalance him, instead of violent hacking to maim and kill.

In any case, everyone tried to avoid hurting the horse, as it was a highly valued prize of combat.

Lancelot studied Cei as they neared each other. He was holding his shield too far to the right to give him room to throw. He was a good horseman, though, guiding his mount by varying the pressure with his knees. Even if he caught the shield and jerked it away from the man’s body, he didn’t think it would unseat him. Lancelot raised his own shield as Cei aimed to throw. Just before the lance left Cei’s hand, Lancelot threw his. Without waiting to see where it had hit, he drew his sword. He felt a thud as Cei’s lance struck his shield straight on and was embedded. He had to waste precious time snapping it off. It was a fine throw, utilizing the speed of Lancelot’s charge to add to the force. But in making it, Cei had let his shield swing wide and Lancelot’s lance had struck him in the side. It had not penetrated the chain mail, but it was clear that Cei was bruised and winded by the shock. He had not drawn his sword.

Lancelot reined in his horse and waited.

Arthur nudged Constantine. “What’s he doing? He can’t think he’s won already?”

“I’m not sure,” Constantine muttered. “You don’t think he could be waiting for Cei to draw, do you?”

Arthur considered. “I think he is! Now, if he can still win after giving Cei that edge. . . .”

He did not finish. Cei’s sword was out and they were circling each other, waiting for a miscalculation.

Lydia grabbed Gawain’s arm. “Why didn’t he end it when he hit Cei?” she wanted to know. “He may be hurt!”

Gawain paid little attention to her. He was fascinated by the action. He didn’t notice the concern in her voice.

“He’s not hurt much. He shouldn’t have let his shield out like that. I hope they remember to swing wide of the horses. Wait . . . he’s down! Damn! I missed it! Lancelot was between us. What happened?”

Arthur was standing and applauding. “It was classic! He let Cei see an opening and then pulled back so that he reached too far and went right over! He almost kept his grip, but he was putting too much force behind the thrust and off he went! Magnificent! Gawain, go tell him we’d be happy to have him here. Send him to me at the Hall. If he speaks as well as he fights, he shall be made a knight today!”