The Return of Sir Percival (27 page)

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erlin the Wise sat in the same chair Sir Percival had vacated two hours earlier, facing the Queen, Cadwyn, and Sister Aranwen. As Guinevere stared at the diminutive man who had been her husband's closest advisor for over two decades, she recalled the anger she had felt toward him, particularly in the last years of Arthur's reign. Arthur had taken the Roman into his confidence and relied upon his advice throughout the war, but he had declined to tell her the true state of affairs.

Although she knew Arthur had not wanted her to bear any of the burdens imposed by the war, in the end, this had made matters worse. After his death at Camlann, all of those burdens had come to rest upon her shoulders alone. Her ignorance had only made them more difficult to carry.

Now, however, the old antipathy she had felt toward this man in the past was gone. She couldn't change what had been, but she could learn from it, and that she intended to do. The man in front of her knew more about Morgana than anyone in Albion, and she suspected he also had stores of knowledge about many other things that could bring relief to the people. She intended to make use of every scrap of that knowledge.

“We have much to talk about, Merlin, and in another time and place, I would, in accord with court etiquette, exchange niceties with you for a while before addressing the most pressing matters, but I do not have that leisure. I must know certain things today, so that what is left of this Kingdom will survive the morrow.”

“My Queen, I am, and I always have been, your loyal servant,” Merlin said, bowing his head. “Please ask me what you will.”

“That I will surely do, but I would ask more of you. I would have you tell me what I need to know—the whole truth of the matter—even if you believe I am not wise enough to see the gravity of the matter, even if you feel that I would not like to hear of it. Do you fully understand this?” Guinevere said with quiet intensity.

Merlin's eyebrows rose and he nodded his assent. “Yes. You have my word, my Queen.”

“Very well then, the first thing that I need to know is how I am going to feed, clothe, and outfit that army outside the abbey's wall—an army that seems to grow with each passing day.”

“Those men will be provided for, my Queen,” Merlin said confidently.

Guinevere stared at Merlin, somewhat vexed by his nonchalance. “Provided for? Merlin, contrary to the gossip of the common folk, you are not a sorcerer who can conjure fodder, bread, cheese, meat, and arms for over a thousand men from thin air. These things must be bought or taken by force, and we don't have the gold to do the former, and I will not countenance the latter.”

Merlin nodded apologetically. “Forgive me, my Queen, I do not want you to think I am taking this grave matter lightly. It is just … well, there are secret storehouses filled with grain, cheese, salted fish, and meat—also with the arms needed to outfit an army.”

Guinevere looked at Merlin in disbelief. “Merlin, how … where did this wealth come from? Where are these storehouses?”

Merlin eased himself back in the chair and closed his eyes for a moment before answering. “Forgive me, my Queen. There is much that you don't know … much that you should have been told, but were not. The Pendragon began to plan for this day, years before the fall.”

Guinevere shook her head in confusion. “This day? How could he know? How could he—”

“He had a foretelling, my Queen. He knew … what was to come.”

Cadwyn's eyes widened, and Sister Aranwen made the sign of the cross. Guinevere just stared at Merlin in silence. A hundred disparate memories from every corner of her mind came together into a single whole, and she knew what Merlin said was true. It took her a moment to repress the feelings of grief, frustration, and anger that threatened to overwhelm her, and then she spoke in a quiet but firm voice. “Tell me.”

The old Roman drew in a breath, like a man preparing to unshackle a great load from his back after a long and difficult journey.

“Two years before the fall,” Merlin began, “Arthur came to me and told me of a dream that had come to him more than once. In the dream, he was sitting in the forest near an ancient oak tree, a tree as old as the land itself. As he watched, a black vine wove its way up the trunk of the tree, and over time, starved the tree of light, killing it. Upon the death of the oak, a ghostly woman emerged from the tree. She told Arthur that if he sent ‘the Knight who forges the many into an army of one' from the shores of Albion, then upon the Knight's return, this man would replant the oak, and a mighty tree would grow again.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, his eyes distant, and then he continued the story.

“I told Arthur that dreams were a thing of no moment, and he should ignore it, but it came to him a second time, and he said that he knew what it meant. The oak was his Kingdom and the Table, and both would fall, and—”

“That Sir Percival had to be sent away, so he might later return and resurrect what was lost,” Guinevere finished in a whisper.

Merlin nodded, a look of surprise on this face. “Yes, my Queen. May I ask how you knew—”

“That it was Sir Percival? It could be no one else,” Guinevere said softly.

Both of Cadwyn's hands were now covering her mouth, and her eyes were nearly bulging out of her head. Sister Aranwen was quietly praying with her eyes closed.

There was a long silence, and then Guinevere's eyes met Merlin's. “So he prepared for this day … storing away the arms and the gold that would be needed to restore what he knew would be lost.”

“Yes, my Queen. Armor, shields, swords, spears, pikes, wagons, and yes, gold and silver to buy supplies.”

“Where?”

“In secret caves, my Queen. There is one in the south, not far from Londinium, one in the far north, near the Roman wall, and a third not more than twenty leagues south of here. As we speak, my Queen, a line of wagons carrying supplies for the men outside the gates, from that very cave, is on its way here. If you will allow me the use of a hundred more men, then I can assure you that those making up this new army will soon be both well fed and well armed.”

As Guinevere pondered his words, she realized he was not telling her the entire story. “And should I assume, Merlin the Wise, that you have taken the liberty of distributing the crown's stores in the south to the man who now defends Londinium—Cynric the Archer?”

Merlin shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Why, yes, my Queen, that I have. It … it seemed the prudent thing to do.”

“Might it also have been prudent to tell me of these things before they were done?” Guinevere said in a tone that was both understanding and chiding at the same time.

“Yes, my Queen, forgive me. We … could not know when Sir Percival would return, and there were those who'd lost hope that the day would ever come. Once we came to know of his landfall, matters transpired so quickly that we had to make decisions in haste.”

Guinevere was silent for a moment, torn by two emotions—resentment and gratitude. She was angry at Arthur and Merlin for failing to share the burdens they bore and for failing to give her the opportunity to try to stave off the fall, or at least to prepare for its aftermath. At the same time, she was humbled by their sacrifice. They had chosen not to rip the veil of happiness from her eyes, but instead to bear the burden of what was to come on their own.

When she opened her eyes and stared at the man in front of her, Guinevere suddenly realized Merlin was a tired old man. Yes, he was brilliant, learned, and cunning, but none of those gifts could have lightened the load he had been compelled to carry in these last years. In the end, he, like herself, had made decisions, good and bad, and borne the consequence of both.

Guinevere leaned forward and said with quiet force. “Merlin, you have my gratitude for all that you have done for the Kingdom. However, from this day forward, you will seek my consent on all matters of importance.”

“Yes, my Queen.”

Guinevere nodded her approval and continued. “Now, I am still confused by the matter of these storehouses.”

Merlin nodded, but Guinevere sensed his unease when she continued. “Arthur could have stored arms, wagons, and gold, and things of that nature, but grain, meat, and cheese, these would have rotted over such a long time. If stores of food exist, then someone would have had to gather and store much of that food in the past months and years.”

“Yes, someone would have had to do that, and … that person would also have had to keep a watch over your person, as well, my Queen, but in a … let us say, surreptitious way … one that would not arouse the interests or suspicions of Morgana and her allies,” Merlin said as he shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Indeed,” Guinevere said, her eyes narrowing, “and who might that have been?”

Merlin clasped his hands together before answering. “That would be … Bishop Verdino, or more precisely … myself, playing the role of Bishop Verdino.”

The instant Merlin finished, Cadwyn exploded out of her chair and shouted, “I knew you looked familiar!”

Cadwyn's outburst so shocked Sister Aranwen that she let out a shriek and dropped her knitting to the floor. A moment later, the two guards outside the Queen's quarters burst into the room, swords drawn, and stared at Guinevere in confusion as her peals of laughter filled the room.

After a semblance of order had been restored, and the bewildered guards had left to return to their posts outside, Merlin cleared his throat and asked hesitantly, “My Queen, might I provide some explanation for my … ruse, shall we say?”

“Yes, I think you should, Merlin. Some people might think your actions were in the nature of high treason,” Guinevere said in a cool reprimand.

“Like me,” Cadwyn said, her eyes filled with righteous anger.

“Well then, let me try to persuade you otherwise, Lady Cadwyn,” Merlin said with a tired sigh.

“As you know, my Queen, I was with the King at Camlann. I am not a warrior, but as a healer, I knew my place was there, doing what I could. For most who came to my table, it was little enough, for the slaughter was great on both sides and little quarter was given. Before the last charge that drove Morgana from the field, the one where … Arthur met his end, we spoke for a moment. He gave me a sacred charge on that day, one that I pledged to carry out until my dying day.”

“To keep me safe,” Guinevere said softly.

“Yes … that was his last order to me, in his last minutes of life. And although it is a charge that I willingly undertook, until Percival and that small army surrounded this abbey, it has been one that has taxed me to the limit of my resources.”

“Was I truly that difficult, Merlin the Wise?” Guinevere said with a small smile.

“Yes … I mean no, my Queen. It is just that you did not know the perils that you faced.”

“What perils?” Cadwyn interrupted in a voice full of scorn. “We have seen neither hide nor hair of an assassin or a Norse raider.”

Merlin was a silent for a long moment, and then he drew a small book from his cloak.

“Lady Cadwyn, I kept a diary of every attempt on the Queen's life in the past seven years in this book. I wrote down the date that we caught or killed each assassin and what we learned from them. In the first year after she came to the abbey, fifteen men and three women came through yonder forest to kill the Queen. All of them were sent by Morgana. If you do not believe my words, I will gladly bring you to their graves, and to the graves of the forty-two men who either died discovering these plots or killing the assassins. They were all good men.”

“I didn't know,” Cadwyn said, taken aback by Merlin's quiet but intense words.

“I did not know, either, Merlin, but then you, or Bishop Verdino, if you will, did not tell me of these matters,” Guinevere said in quiet reproach.

“I did not,” Merlin said, with another apologetic nod. “And maybe I should have, but to do that I would have had to disclose my own existence, and that would surely have drawn a full-scale attack by Morgana, for she covets my death more than your own. We could not have held off such an attack. I could have sent a secret message through Torn or another trusted retainer, but how could you know it was me? None in this abbey except yourself, Sister Aranwen, and the abbess have ever seen me before, and … Morgana had eyes and ears within the abbey.”

“Spies? Here? And you let them be?” Cadwyn whispered incredulously, glancing at the door and window.

“Yes, there are at least three. The cook's assistant, Bowen, Sister Ann, and Eldor, the man who brings firewood to the abbey. Bowen's sister and Sister Ann's brother were enslaved by Morgana. They work in the silver mines she seized after the fall. Morgana keeps them alive in return for information. Eldor brings their messages in and out. He does it for the coin. As for letting them be, Cadwyn, better the spy you know than the one you do not. If they were to … disappear, Morgana would just send others.”