The Return of Sir Percival (32 page)

When Percival and Keil reached the door to Guinevere's chambers, the Knight nodded to the two guards on duty, and one of them turned and knocked respectfully. Cadwyn opened the door, resplendent in a long, yellow dress that flowed nearly to the floor, and gestured for Percival to come in.

“Sir Percival, please come. The Queen awaits.”

“Thank you, Lady Cadwyn. Please, after you.”

Percival followed the young woman to a large candlelit room at the end of a stone corridor, where Guinevere was seated at a wooden table covered by a white tablecloth. An array of plates filled with cheese, meat, and fruit were laid out in front of the two place settings at the table.

Cadwyn curtsied to Guinevere and disappeared into the next room. The Queen gestured to the seat across from her.

“Welcome, Sir Percival. Please, sit. It has been a long day's march, and since tonight is Michaelmas, we should say a prayer of thanks and celebrate with a modest feast.”

Percival bowed, and spoke hesitantly. “Will Lady Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen be … joining our table tonight?”

“No, they have already eaten. It shall be just the two of us. Is that acceptable to you?” Guinevere said with the hint of a smile.

“Why yes, yes, of course, my Queen. It is always my privilege to dine with Your Highness,” Percival said quickly.

“And hopefully, your pleasure as well,” Guinevere said as she poured wine into the goblet in front of him.

“Always, my Queen,” Percival said, his eyes meeting hers.

“That pleases me, Sir Percival. Now, would you say a prayer for us tonight that is fitting for the occasion?”

“Yes, my Queen,” Percival said. Then he bowed his head, clasping his hands together.

“We thank you, Lord, for this bounty, of which we gratefully partake, and I fervently pray, on this feast day, that you grant the Queen and this kingdom the protection of the Archangel's mighty shield and sword in the trials to come.”

“Amen,” finished Guinevere, nodding her approval.

The two ate and drank for several moments in awkward silence, and then Guinevere leaned back in her chair, her eyes meeting Percival's. As the Knight looked at the Queen, her face seemed more beautiful and her eyes more alluring than he remembered from their last meeting. He reached for the wine glass in front of him, his throat suddenly parched, and took a drink.

“Sir Percival, I have watched you and General Capussa, and yes, Merlin as well, engage in quite lively conversation when you are together.”

“You have? I mean, yes, my Queen, at times we do talk thus,” Percival answered.

“And I have watched you laugh and smile with those men, and with the men in the camp as well.”

“Yes, that is also true,” Percival said, his brow furrowing in confusion.

“Then why, Sir Percival,” Guinevere said, with a smile in her voice, “do you find no occasion for mirth and joy when we talk? Since you do not converse thus with me, should I fear that you find me dull and dreary?”

Percival's eyes widened, and for a moment, he was at a loss for words. “No, my Queen,” he said at last. “You are not dull or dreary in the least. In truth, I have never met a more interesting woman,” he said, struggling with each word. “It's just that you are the Queen, and they—those you speak of—are my friends and brethren-in-arms.”

“Then I shall do away with that difference, with a royal command.”

“A command, my Queen?”

“Yes, tonight you shall address me, see me, and think of me, in all ways, as if I was just Guinevere—the daughter of the mayor of the local town yonder, or even that of a farmer, baker, or cooper. I would have us talk together … as we did on those morning rides so long ago.”

“But, my Queen—”

“Guinevere—just Guinevere,” she corrected, lifting a finger in a delicate remonstrance. “And you, you are just Percival, for the remainder of this night.”

Percival stared at the Queen for a moment in silence and then smiled. “Yes … Guinevere.”

“Now, Percival, I saw you, Merlin, and General Capussa laughing together today at the midday meal. Please do tell me what was so amusing that we might laugh together as well.”

Percival's brow furrowed as he recalled the moment, and then a look of amusement came to his face.

“I was in the nearby town with General Capussa today, buying supplies, and one of the men from the town, a man who was as cruel as he was ugly, took it upon himself to bully one of our wagon drivers, young James. He told the lad that Morgana was a witch and that James had better run home to his mother before Morgana turned him into a frog.

“Well, General Capussa and I happened to hear this as we walked past the wagons to mount our horses, and Capussa,” Percival said with a smile, “is not, let us say, a man to suffer fools quietly. The general turned to young James and said, ‘I wouldn't worry about that frog spell, James. Merlin says it does not work. But keep an eye out for the one that turns a man into a toad.' Young James turned to the general, his eyes as wide as the eggs of robin, and said, ‘Does that one work, General?' The general pointed to the bully and said, ‘Alas, it does James, and as you can see, Morgana used it on this man.'”

Guinevere burst into laughter, and Percival laughed along with her. Thereafter, the two of them talked and laughed together without reticence, reminiscing over happier times shared in the past. During a lull in their conversation, a lively tune from the celebration below could be heard. The Queen stood and walked over to the window, opening the shutters to reveal the dancing going on below.

“Come, Sir Knight,” she said, gesturing to the place beside her at the window.

Percival shook his head in mock sadness. “Alas, I cannot. My Queen has commanded me to only answer to the name Percival.”

Guinevere laughed. “Percival, then.”

As they stood by the window, watching the revelry below, the bard and the musicians began to play an old ballad that had been popular at court long ago, a song that would always fill the dance floor. Couples began to fill the grass square below set aside for dancing.

“Do you remember this song?” Guinevere said.

Percival hesitated and then nodded, remembering a distant night as if it were yesterday.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “It was played at one of the balls I attended at court.”

“And do you remember dancing to this tune?” Guinevere said with a smile.

“Yes … yes, indeed I do. Two ladies of the court insisted that I dance with them. Thankfully, I was able to do so without making too much of a fool of myself.”

“That would have been Ladies Evelynn and Isfair,” she said. “And as I recall, you danced quite well.”

Percival turned and his eyes met hers. “You watched—”

“I did,” she said quietly. “I wished that I might have danced in their places.”

“You—”

“Yes. So, must I also, as you say, ‘insist' that you dance this ballad with me, Percival.”

“My—”

“Guinevere.”

She stepped away from the window and made a formal curtsy that was the prelude to the dance, and Percival, after a moment's hesitation, stepped forward and made the required formal bow. And then they were dancing … stiffly at first, but gradually they both returned to a faraway place where they had both danced before, although not with one another.

Although the ballad was long, when it came to an end, and each of them gave their ending curtsy and bow, a part of Percival wished the song could have played on forever.

“Thank you, Guinevere. I … I shall never forget that dance,” Percival said.

“Nor shall I, and I fervently pray it is not our last,” Guinevere said softly.

“And I as well,” he said. They stood in silence looking at each other, neither willing to break the spell. Then Percival bowed. “I fear it is late, Milady, and I must see that the men are ready to march in the morning.”

“Yes, I understand,” Guinevere said, and he could hear the regret in her voice.

Percival bowed and walked to the door. Her words reached him just before he pulled open the door and stepped into the stone corridor.

“Did you ever … reminisce about the rides we took together in the mornings and the things we spoke of so long ago, when you were in that distant land?”

Percival turned and looked at Guinevere, and for a moment, he was once again standing in a cold stone cell gazing at the stars through a small barred window—stars he knew a woman with beautiful blue eyes and golden tresses could see in the skies over Albion as well.

“Yes, I do. Those memories … and the thought that someday I would see you again are what kept me alive in the arena. Good night, Guinevere.”

* * *

C
ADWYN WAS LEANING
halfway out the window of the storage room next to the Queen's chambers when Sister Aranwen, who'd just arisen from a nap, looked into the room.

“Cadwyn!” she whispered. “What are you doing?”

The young woman jumped down and strolled over to the next window, her hands clasped behind her back.

“Oh, just enjoying the air. It is such a beautiful night, don't you think?”

“You can't fool me, Cadwyn Hydwell. You've been eavesdropping on the Queen and Sir Percival!” Sister Aranwen whispered, glancing over her shoulder.

“I have not! Well, yes I have, and it's wonderful! I think she's in love with him, and he with her. I knew it would come to be!”

The nun turned around and started out of the room. “God save us. I swear, you will yet send me to an early grave.”

Cadwyn ran past the nun, blocking her path. “I'm right, and you know it,” she whispered insistently, hands on her hips.

Sister Aranwen looked away for a moment, and then she walked over and sat down on a small wooden bench. Cadwyn put a hand to her mouth and whispered, “You knew. You have always known.”

The older woman nodded silently, answering in a quiet, resigned voice. “I have. You cannot serve a woman for so many years and not know of things such as these.”

“Tell me, please!” Cadwyn whispered, sitting down by the older nun.

“Oh, Cadwyn Hydwell, you are quite the scoundrel!” she sighed, and then gave the younger woman a tired smile. “But you are a true friend to the Queen, and when I am gone, she will need all of your strength and love.”

“You're not leaving, are you Sister Aranwen?” Cadwyn said, a look of concern coming to her face.

Sister Aranwen smiled. “Not yet, my dear, but in due time. So, yes, I will tell you things of yesteryear that may aid you when the time comes, but,” she continued sternly, “only if you pledge upon the blood of the Christ to keep them secret. Do you so pledge?”

Cadwyn's eyes widened, and she hesitated. Then she made the sign of the cross and said, “Yes, pledge I do.”

“A woman of Guinevere's station, a woman whose father was a man of great wealth and power, is merely a shiny jewel to be bought and sold in a world such as this, and so she was.”

“But Arthur—” Cadwyn interjected.

“Was a good and noble man, or he became such over time, and yes, he cared for Guinevere, and she … she adored him, but her adoration was that of a young woman for a man who is a mighty king; it was not love. Later—and you must remember that Arthur and Guinevere were only together for five short years—she came to respect Arthur's desire to bequeath peace and justice to the people of this land.” The sister shook her head in regret. “Alas, that was beyond even his power. So you see, the Queen has never had the gift of true love.”

“But what of Sir Percival and Guinevere? You said—”

“Patience, patience,” Sister Aranwen said, clasping her hands together in her lap. “At Camelot, the Queen and her guards would ride every morning at the break of dawn before … before it became too dangerous. Since Arthur insisted that a Knight of the Table attend the Queen on these rides, Sir Percival rode with her on many a morning. At first, he was merely a guardian, but over time, they began to talk and share things with one another, and the Queen's admiration for him grew. She said that he was the most interesting man she had ever met, and, I have to say, when she told me of their conversations, I, too, was intrigued. Well, with each passing day, their feelings for each other grew, and then one day … he was gone.”

“Gone?”

“Yes. When the people of the Marches begged for assistance, Percival volunteered for the assignment and left that same day.”

“I don't understand. I thought you said he cared—”

The nun held up one hand, and Cadwyn closed her mouth. “He did, Cadwyn. I believe that's why he left. He is an honorable man, after all. Shortly after that, the Queen stopped going out for her rides. Oh, the threat of an attack was growing, but I also think that she couldn't bear the memories.”

Sister Aranwen was silent for a moment, and then she continued, a distant look in her eyes.

“When she learned the King was going north to the River Tyne to meet a possible attack, she begged him to let her come along. At first, I couldn't understand why, but when I learned Sir Percival had been ordered to march south from the Marches and to meet the King there, I knew.”

Cadwyn sat down beside the nun, her eyes rapt with attention.

“Arthur allowed her to come, but alas, she did not get a chance to talk with Percival. Instead, she almost saw him die in that terrible battle on the Aelius Bridge. That's … that's why Galahad has always been special to her. Percival would surely have died that day if Galahad hadn't come to his aid.”

Sister Aranwen drew her black prayer beads out of her pocket and moved her fingers along the string in silence for a moment before continuing.

“A month later, Percival was sent to the Holy Land on that foolish Grail quest. The Queen tried to intercept him on the way, so she could at least say good-bye, but he was already boarding the ship when we reached the outskirts of the city. As we watched the ship disappear into the distance from a nearby hill, tears rolled down her face, but she never made a sound. So you see, they have been in love for a very long time.”