The Return of Sir Percival (5 page)

“You men, see to this man,” Percival said, pointing to the thief lying in the road.

Two men standing by a cart filled with apples ran forward, and a young woman followed them.

Percival glanced over at Capussa and raised a questioning eyebrow.

“What?” Capussa said indignantly as he stowed his bow in a leather sleeve beside his saddle. “Just the head of the snake, as we agreed, no more,” Capussa said.

“I suppose it had to be done,” Percival said. “But if Batukhan were here, he would tell you that your bow pulls slightly to the right.”

“Bah!” Capussa scoffed. “I hit exactly where I aimed.”

A
BBEY
C
WM
H
IR

Guinevere stood by the window overlooking the southern end of the abbey, where the church, convent, and the great hall were located on the east, west, and south sides of a broad green. The abbey held a special place in her heart. A century earlier, one of her ancestors had donated the gold needed to build the convent and the first chapel, and she had spent several summers here learning under the tutelage of the abbess, Beatrice Cynwood. After Camlann and the fall of Camelot, the abbey's remote location and stout walls had offered her what she had thought would be only a temporary refuge. Alas, now it seemed as if she would spend the rest of her days here as a powerless and forgotten relic.

In her first week at the abbey, Guinevere had sent out hundreds of messengers with orders directing the remnants of Arthur's army to assemble at the small town of Tywyn, on the coast, in a month's time. A third of the messengers never returned. Those that did make it back described a land awash in a maelstrom of violence.

The coffer of gold Morgana had drawn upon to raise her disparate army of Norse, Saxon, and Pict sellswords had either been exhausted, or the death of the Pendragon and the breaking of the Table had slaked the witch's seemingly unquenchable thirst for blood. Whatever the reason, Morgana had severed the golden tether binding her army together, and unleashed this disparate pack of human wolves upon the people of Albion.

In the face of this kingdom-wide threat, Arthur's surviving liegemen had returned home to defend their own estates and homes, leaving few to answer Guinevere's call. In the end, less than one hundred men had trickled into Tywyn. Only five of these men were knights, and none were members of the Table. It was only after she'd seen this tattered remnant of what had once been Arthur's proud and seemingly invincible legions that the Queen had come to fully understand the depth of disaster that had befallen the land.

In the end, she bid the small group of faithful stalwarts to return to their homes, pledging to call them together again when the time was right. After returning to the abbey, Guinevere's grief had been so great she'd wept until she was spent.

The pain had ebbed with the years, but her impotence had spawned frustration. Her kingdom was now limited to the grounds of the abbey, and each month, she was forced to verbally joust with the insidious Bishop Verdino to protect even that modest dominion. Although Verdino would have welcomed a suspension of these monthly inquisitions, Guinevere knew they were important. She needed every excess farthing from the rents he collected on her behalf to support her small household and to pay the hundreds of informers and messengers serving as her lifeline to what remained of the kingdom. Each meeting was also an opportunity to remind the bishop that she was still Albion's sovereign.

A knock on the door to the library interrupted Guinevere's reverie, and a moment later, Cadwyn slipped inside.

“Milady, the bishop is here.”

The undercurrent of loathing in Cadwyn's voice was palpable. Guinevere nodded.

“Thank you. I shall be there in a moment.”

Before leaving the room, Guinevere looked in the mirror above her desk and touched her right cheek with her hand. She knew that she was in the last hours of her beauty, and that time would quickly leave her with nothing but memories of a time when—

“Milady?”

Guinevere turned to Cadwyn, who was peering through the partially opened door.

“Are you well? We can—”

“I am fine, Cadwyn. Let us greet our guest.”

The Queen walked into the sitting room, where three chairs faced a fourth that was noticeably closer to the fire burning in the hearth.

Sister Aranwen bowed respectfully and gestured to the chair near the fire. “Do you think the bishop's chair is too close to the fire, Milady? We don't want him to be uncomfortable.”

“As far as I'm concerned, it should be placed in the flames,” Cadwyn said.

Sister Aranwen's face turned a shade of red, and Guinevere, repressing a smile, intervened before the nun could scold the younger woman.

“It's fine, Sister,” Guinevere said as she sat down in the middle chair. “The bishop will appreciate the warmth after his journey. Please invite him in.”

“You are so kind, Milady,” Sister Aranwen said, giving Cadwyn a reproachful look as she walked over to the door. The unrepentant Cadwyn sat down in the chair to Guinevere's right.

The stooped figure waiting outside the door was dressed in a traditional black alb of fine Umbrian wool almost reaching the floor. The black wimple covering Verdino's head was so large and deep that it was difficult to see his facial features. Much of what could be seen was obscured by his bushy grey beard and huge mustache. The only clearly visible feature within the hood's recess was the bishop's modest, falconlike nose.

Verdino hesitated for a moment and then took an overly long step into the room. Cadwyn put a hand up to her mouth to smother a giggle at the bishop's comical arrogance. Verdino gave her a hard stare, but said nothing.

“Bishop, please come in and warm yourself,” Guinevere said, gesturing to the chair by the fire.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” the bishop said in a querulous whine as he walked over to the chair. He bowed his head toward the Queen before sitting down. “May the Lord be with you.”

“And also with you, Bishop,” Guinevere answered politely.

He glanced over at Cadwyn and Aranwen and spoke in Latin instead of the common tongue.

“Milady, we may discuss things of consequence today, and although I suspect your retainers are not versed in the language of the Romans, in these villainous times … well, it might be prudent if we spoke alone.”

“Indeed,” Guinevere replied, “we cannot be too careful, but I trust Sister Aranwen and Lady Cadwyn with my life, and, as you say, your grace, they are deaf to our words.”

Verdino sniffed in disapproval but nodded his head in assent.

“Of course, Your Highness.”

“Now, Bishop, I am told you have visited my lands and those of the crown. Please tell me how the people fare and whether the land prospers. And, being the able steward that you are, I am sure you have a more detailed accounting of the rents than what appears in the report delivered this morning.”

Verdino nodded and wrung his bony hands together in an odd motion that habitually preceded his prevarications.

“Alas, times are hard, Your Highness, and it is the nature of peasants to be slothful. Although I have gently chastised them for their indolence in the past, they remain unrepentant.”

“But surely you must have collected something, Bishop.”

The pace of Verdino's nodding and handwringing became more hurried.

“Of course, Your Highness. However, the men who guard your person must be paid, the horses fed and quartered, and the abbey is in need of support. After paying all of these debts, there is little left, I fear.”

“If, as you say, so little was collected, your grace, then surely it would be a small matter for you to fully account for this pittance and then to promptly return to me what little remains. After you have paid all of these … expenses.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Your Highness. But, well … it is not an easy task. You see, parchment is scarce, so we try to give you a less burdensome accounting than we might otherwise.”

“Parchment is indeed in short supply, Bishop. However, the Lord has blessed me with an ample supply. Cadwyn will be happy to give you an extra scroll when we are finished.”

Cadwyn made a small smile as she said in Latin, “It would be my pleasure, Milady.”

Verdino stiffened. “That won't be necessary, Your Highness. Of late, I have been able to find a scroll or two, at some expense, of course.”

“Then we can expect a more complete accounting next week?”

“Uh … well, it may take a little longer. Old Ferris my clerk, why, his eyes grow dim, and as you know, he lost an arm in the service of the King. So the parchment, why, it is difficult to keep it laid out. The rolls tend to … well, roll back up. As I say—”

“Well, we can't have that, can we, Bishop?” Guinevere gestured to her companions. “I am sure that either Sister Aranwen or Cadwyn could spare several hours a day to assist this man with his work. Sister, do you think you could assist the bishop's clerk on the morrow for an hour or two?”

Aranwen looked up from her knitting. “Of course, Milady, I will—”

Verdino sat up straight as an arrow and raised both his hands in an appeasing gesture.

“That will not be necessary, dear Queen. I could not bear the thought of taking either the good sister or dearest Cadwyn from your hearth. No, I shall assign one of Captain Borgia's men to assist Ferris. It shall all be well.”

Guinevere raised a questioning eyebrow. “Captain Borgia's men have clerical skills? How interesting. Then, I am sure that a more detailed report will be completed apace.”

“Yes, apace, Your Highness, apace.”

“Now, Bishop, is there some other service that I can provide the church today?”

Verdino wrung his hands before answering, as if reluctant to speak of the matter. “Yes, Your Highness, there is … a matter of some importance. I … I am told that you insisted on walking outside the walls of the abbey in my absence, Your Highness. This is not wise. The kingdom has suffered too much already. It cannot afford to lose its queen.”

“Your concern is most kind, Bishop. However, the guards accompanied me, and I was always within sight of the walls. I also think your fear of brigands is unwarranted, Bishop. I am told by the hunters that none have been seen in the surrounding forests for some time now.”

Verdino leaned forward and spoke with an intensity that surprised Guinevere.

“It's not the brigands I fear. You remain a potent symbol, despite the passage of time. There are those who may see you as a means to legitimize the fiefs they have carved out of the old kingdom with their swords, and others who would do far worse. Please promise me that you will be more careful in the future.”

Guinevere hesitated, staring into Verdino's eyes, visible in the firelight for the briefest of moments, before the bishop leaned back, once again shrouding his face. Somewhere in the recesses of her memories, there was the suggestion that she'd seen those eyes before, in a different place, on a different person. She frowned, the memory fading as quickly as it had appeared. When she spoke again, Guinevere's voice was quiet but firm.

“Bishop, your concern is appreciated, and I will take care, but today I am only a memory, and a distant and faded one at that. I don't believe there are any who would come so far to do me ill, or for that matter, who would come so far to support my cause.”

The room was deathly quiet for a long moment, and then Verdino spoke in a voice that was so soft as to be barely audible.

“As to the first, there is surely one. As to the second, have patience, Highness. He comes.”

Guinevere blinked at his cryptic statement, and Verdino stood abruptly, bowed, and walked to the door. He stopped at the threshold, bowed again, and then hurried away.

“The man speaks in riddles,” Cadwyn said with exasperation. “Do you know the meaning of his words, Milady?”

The Queen leaned back in her chair, surprised by the cryptic exchange. “No, Cadwyn, I do not.”

T
HE
R
OAD TO
L
ONDINIUM

apussa sat on a long stone bench, his back resting against the wall of a two-story stone tower that looked as if it had been abandoned for many years. A fire was burning a step away, in the bottom of a dry cistern. The light from the flames illuminated a small courtyard and the ruins of an encircling wall.

The Numidian reached into his cloak and drew out an apple, a gift from one of the farmers they had left in Caer Ceint the day before. He rotated the rich red orb in his hand, weighing whether this was the right time to savor this new and unknown taste. After a moment's reflection, he decided to defer the pleasure until the morning and returned the apple to his cloak.

Several minutes later, Percival entered the courtyard through a gap in the wall, carrying a load of dry branches. After piling the branches near the edge of the cistern, the Knight walked over and sat down beside Capussa.

“You have camped here before, my friend.” he noted.

Percival nodded. “I was assigned to a force under the command of Sir Gawain, one of the Knights of the Table. We were tasked with destroying a force of pirates and brigands harassing Caer Ceint and the surrounding ports.” He gestured toward the crumbling walls encircling the overgrown courtyard. “On the way, we stopped here for a night. This place was once a way station for the Roman legions and for the imperial post traveling between Dubris and Londinium.”

“You thought well of this man?”

Percival hesitated a moment before answering. “I did. Gawain … he was a wise and good man. I had hoped to see him again … to thank him for his wise counsel. It saved my life more than once during my quest.”

Capussa nodded. “You must speak to me of this another time. Tonight, I would have you tell me of your Queen. Is she young, old, tall, short, beautiful, or not?”

“I have already spoken of this,” Percival said.

“Not so, my friend,” Capussa said, raising a hand in protest. “We have lived, trained, fought, and traveled half the world together, yet in all that time, you have rarely spoken of this Queen Guinevere. You have told me of King Arthur, your fellow Knights of the Table Round, and of your home, but Guinevere … this you have kept to yourself. If that is your will, I shall respect it.”

“Indeed?” Percival said skeptically as he leaned back against the wall, a hint of amusement in his eyes

“However,” Capussa continued in a lecturing tone, “remember, you have tasked me with finding your Queen and giving her your last report in the event the gods take you before your long quest comes to an end. Unless I know—”

“You are right,” Percival said quietly. He reached inside his shirt and gently drew a silver chain over his head. A gold medallion was affixed to the chain. The Knight stared at the medallion for a moment before handing it to his friend.

Capussa cradled the gold medallion in his palm and stared at the image of a woman's face that a craftsman of consummate skill had imprinted on one side of the coin. He gazed at the fine details of the portrait and then turned the pendant over, revealing an oak tree with a crucifix on the broad trunk.

“It was made by one of the finest craftsmen in the land,” Percival said as he stared up at the stars beginning to appear in the night sky. “It is a likeness of Guinevere when she was twenty-one years of age. She will be ten years older now, if she still lives.” He turned toward Capussa and gestured to the gold medallion. “If I die before my quest is finished, I would ask that you bring this to her. It will identify you as the holder of my last testament.”

Capussa turned the gold piece over again and stared at the image of the woman for a long moment before handing the chain and medallion back to Percival. The Knight gently lifted the chain over his head and returned the gold likeness to its resting place.

“Your Queen will recognize this medallion?”

“Yes, she will surely remember it,” Percival said as he stared into the flames of the campfire.

Capussa looked over at his friend for a long moment and then said quietly, “She gave it to you.”

“She did,” Percival said, nodding slowly as if remembering the moment. “The likeness … it does not do her justice. She is … a most beautiful woman.”

“I see. So, in the event you find yourself upon the wrong end of a sword, my mission is to relieve you of this remembrance and then find a ‘most beautiful woman' in an unknown land?” Capussa said as he made a sweeping gesture toward the distant horizon. “Unless every other woman in this land is a hag, that task may well be beyond even my abilities. Might you add a few more brush strokes to the picture?”

“I suspect I must,” Percival said in feigned exasperation as he glanced over at Capussa, “or seek refuge in the nearby swamp to obtain a night's rest.”

For a long moment the Knight was silent, as if drawing a memory from a distant well, and then he spoke in a quiet, reflective voice.

“Her hair is the color of the last rays of the autumn sun, and it flows like a river from her head almost to her waist. Her face is … unforgettable. There is no one feature I can point to, but taken together, the blue eyes, the full red lips, the way that she smiles, it's … magic. Trust me, my friend, you will know Guinevere when you meet her.”

Capussa frowned slightly. “Knight, you go to a different place when you speak of this woman. Was there—”

“I was one of her guardians. That is all.”

Capussa waited a moment for him to continue, and when he didn't, the Numidian stood and made a sweeping gesture encompassing the land to the north.

“And where, in this green isle, shall I find this beauteous woman?”

“I cannot say for sure, but I believe she would have taken refuge with her people in the forests to the northwest, about ten to twelve days ride from here. Her ancestral lands are there, and any invader who sought to harm her would find a bowman waiting behind every tree.”

“Show me the way to this place, in the dirt, here,” Capussa said, pointing at a patch of bare ground directly in front of the bench. “Use that stick as your quill.”

Percival picked up the nearby stick and drew an oblong shape in the dirt and then added a series of circles connected by lines. Leaning back to observe his work, he tapped the stick on one of the lines that ran north.

“Here is the Roman road to Londinium. We are just about here,” he said, touching a small circle, “two days' ride from Londinium. We will pass by the city on the high road. It runs along the south bank of the Tamesis River. From there, we travel northwest to Venonis and then on to Viroconium. We shall seek word of Guinevere there.”

“Very well then,” Capussa said, returning to his place on the bench. “On to Viroconium, and after that … we shall see your home. Tell me of that place. I would know where we shall live out our days in peace, or so you say.”

“I have already spoken of this as well,” Percival said, leaning back against the tower wall and closing his eyes.

Capussa made a gesture with his hand, waving off Percival's objection.

“So speak of it again. The night is long, and I have only my blanket and a patch of grass to look forward to.”

Percival raised his hands in mock surrender. “As you wish. There is little enough to tell. Where would you have me start?”

“From the beginning,” Capussa said, folding his arms over his chest. “How else would you tell a tale?”

“So be it,” Percival said and picked up the stick he'd dropped on the ground a moment earlier. He tapped one of the circles on the map. “This is Londinium.”

Then he drew another line to a spot on the edge of the shape, to the north. “The lands of my family are here, ten to twelve days' ride north of the city along the coast. The land and the castle were originally a Roman signal post. When the last Roman commander departed, he awarded the post to the senior centurion, a native-born soldier who'd faithfully served the empire—my distant forbear.”

Capussa nodded. “And the surrounding country? What of that?”

“The castle is located on the point of a headlands. It is surrounded on three sides by the sea. A town of a thousand souls lies just to the south. Beyond that is virgin forest, with an abundance of wildlife. My father and I spent many a day riding and hunting there,” Percival said as he tapped the spot on the map with the stick.

“So how did you come to join this Table that you speak of?”

Percival sighed, “I have—”

“Spoken of this before,” Capussa finished. “So you have, but that was when we were prisoners of that foul creature Khalid El-Hashem. Now that we are free men, and you are in your homeland, your memory will be clear and the story will be so much better.”

Percival slowly shook his head and leaned back against the tower wall. “Very well, my inquisitive friend. When I was a boy, my home was a peaceful and prosperous place. Sometimes, pirates and the wilder inland clans would raid our lands, but my father and his liegemen, supported by the men in the town, were always able to repel them. All of that changed in my fourteenth year.”

Percival was quiet for a moment. Then he stood up and walked over to the edge of the cistern, picked up a branch, and dropped it into the fire, raising a small cloud of sparks.

“That was the year the Norsemen began to raid in their dragonships, in force. At first the raids were small, and the raiders only came once or twice a summer. Four or five ships would come ashore at dawn, and the raiders would seize as many young women and men as they could before we counterattacked. Slaves are the Norsemen's gold, although they will gladly take the real thing if they can find it. Over time, the raids grew more frequent and the number of ships more numerous. In my fifteenth summer, it seemed as if my sword was only sheathed long enough to bury the dead.”

After a long silence, Percival glanced back at Capussa and said wryly, “I'm waiting for the ‘and then.'”

“And then?” Capussa asked obligingly.

“And then … I remembered something my grandfather had told me. He said that the Roman coastal forts to the south had used a string of signal towers to alert them to the coming of seaborne attacks by the Saxons. I convinced my father we could do the same thing. That winter, my sixteenth year, we built wooden watchtowers on every hill along the coast for three leagues on either side of the town. Then we assembled a force of men to stand ready at all times to take the field against the attackers when the alarm was raised.”

The Knight's hand closed on the hilt of his sword as he continued the tale.

“When the first raid came the next summer, over forty ships, we were ready. We met the raiders at the shore and drove them back into the sea, setting many of their ships alight with fire arrows. Only half of the ships escaped. More fleets of raiders came, but with each attack, we grew stronger and more deadly. Over time, the raids became less frequent, and then they stopped.”

“You made the price in blood too high,” Capussa said with an approving nod.

“Yes, but we paid a price as well,” Percival said quietly. “My father was killed in a raid. We … I misjudged the point of their landing, and by the time we arrived with the relief force and threw them back into the sea, my father was dead. A year later, my betrothed, the daughter of the liege lord to the south, was killed in a raid.”

Percival paused for a moment and stared out at the dark horizon. When he spoke again, his voice was tinged with regret.

“I was many leagues to the north, so there was nothing I could have done. Yet, when I came to know of her death, I felt as if I had failed her. Today, I would see the truth of it.”

“Would you, Knight?” Capussa questioned, a knowing look on his face. “I suspect not. You are particularly good at shouldering burdens that are not yours to carry. It is a good thing I am here to save you from yourself.”

“I am truly blessed,” Percival said wryly.

“Indeed, you are. Now, tell me how you came to be a Knight of this Round Table.”

“It seems I will indeed have to sleep in yonder swamp to get a moment's peace,” Percival said over his shoulder as he walked over to his horse, drew out a skin of water from his traveling bag, and took a long drink.

Capussa stood, walked over to the fire, and nudged a flaming ember back over the edge into the stone pit. Then he lifted his hands to the night sky in mock supplication.

“Alas, I must surely have offended a powerful god in one land or another to have been condemned to cross the world with a companion who is as talkative as a rock.”

“As you wish. The rock speaketh again, but for the last time tonight,” Percival said with a smile as he returned to the stone bench.

“Over time, I was able to persuade the lords who held the lands within twenty leagues to the north and south to adopt our tactics and to maintain a force ready to come to the aid of the others, in the event of an attack in force. In my twentieth year, come it did. Over a hundred ships sailed past one of the most northern watchtowers. The fire and smoke signals raised the alarm along the coast, moving from tower to tower, as the raiders continued to sail south.