Sleepless Knights (25 page)

All these tales would shortly be presented in the Great Hall as part of the customary
Chronicles
. In addition, of course, to the story that gave the backstage room its name,
Sir Gawain requiring little persuasion to tell the story of the Green Knight ‘just one more time.' Sir Perceval and Sir Gareth's request for a last-minute billing was therefore no small matter, but I was disappointed to see that the passion they had effortlessly conveyed to me fell on deaf ears.

“Oh, you've seen the Grail. How
wonderfully
original,” said Sir Kay, folding his arms. “As if I haven't heard five hundred Grail stories today already.”

“This one is different,” said Sir Gareth.

“This one is
real
.” Sir Perceval gripped Sir Kay's arm. For a moment, I thought he was convinced.

“Aren't they all,” he said, pulling his arm away. “This very morning I had a knight in here who's convinced the Grail is not a cauldron at all, but an actual person, still living, who just happens to be the bloodline descendant of the original Tooth Faerie.”

“But these are all old stories,” said Sir Gareth, gesturing around the room. “They've been told a hundred times before.”

“That's because they're tried and tested. Finely honed crowd-pleasers, that's what the people want. You go out there with yet another Grail story, I give you half a minute before the first flagon hits your head.”

“Not with
this
Grail story,” said Sir Perceval. “It's got everything. Death-defying deeds!”

“The evillest of evils!” said Sir Gareth.

“Temptation!”

“Virtue!”

“Triumph!”

“Adversity!”

“A talking horse!”

Sir Kay mimed a yawn. “Sorry. No can do. Now, if you don't mind, I've got important things to be getting on with.” Sir Kay walked over to the fireplace to help Sir Dagonet re-tuck his beard. The two knights looked at me beseechingly.

“I am sorry, but Sir Kay's word is final,” I said.

“No, it's not,” said Sir Perceval. “King Arthur's is.”

I had feared he might say that, for the thought had occurred to me, too. Ordinarily I would never go behind Sir Kay's back. But this news was, at the very least, something the King should know about. “Very well. Wait here,” I said, and slipped through the thick curtains covering the Green Room door.

The
Chronicles
stage was situated to the left of the dais of the Royal High Table, on a separate platform along the back wall of the Great Hall. I made my way across it unobserved by the feasting masses, and engaged the King in a hushed aside. At first, the mention of the Grail had little effect on him, but when I spoke of Sir Perceval, his eyes gleamed with something of that knight's inner light.

“Sir Perceval? Then, Merlin's prophecy is true…”

“Indeed, sire? And to which of the esteemed wizard's numerous prophecies might you be referring?”

“Before he left, Merlin spoke of the coming of a knight to Camelot whose sole purpose would be to point the way to the Grail, so that it might be claimed by its rightful achiever.”

“So I can tell Sir Kay to give them priority billing?”

“Hmm?”

“In tonight's
Chronicles
, sire. So that Sir Perceval and Sir Gareth can tell their story.”

“Certainly not,” said the King, and the light left his eyes.

“Sire?”

“This tale is not yet ready for the
Chronicles
. After all, it is only half a quest until the Grail has been achieved. Who else knows of this?”

“Thus far, only myself and Sir Kay.”

“Good. Keep it that way. Call a meeting of the inner circle in my study in the Royal Tower, as soon as the feast
is over. Inner circle
only
, Lucas. This is a matter for the utmost discretion.”

“Very good, sire,” I said.

The King pondered for a moment, then rose to his feet to bring the Hall to order. “Good people of Camelot. You are most welcome on this special day,” he began, and I left him to make his birthday speech.

†

I found Sir Perceval standing directly behind the curtain separating the Green Room from the Great Hall, wringing his hands and pacing the floor. “Lucas! Well? What did he say? Are we on?”

“No —”

“Damnation!”

“But I bring good news, Sir Perceval. In fact, better news than we hoped for. Whilst not the immediately desired outcome, it is, nevertheless, one which provides grounds for optimism —”

“Lucas, get to the flaming point!”

“The King has called an emergency meeting of the inner circle of the Round Table, at which you will both be present.” I indicated Sir Gareth propping up the bar, surrounded by a crowd of maidens who frequented the Green Room in the hope of attentively listening their way into a prestigious marriage.

“The inner circle?” said Sir Perceval. “My God, Lucas, that's outstanding. You know what this means? We're going on another Grail Quest!” He positively danced at the thought.

“It would not do to raise your hopes too highly,” I said, but again his infectious glee caught me and I smiled in spite of myself.

“So Gareth's allowed to come, too?”

“I presume so. After all, you will both be needed to navigate to the Otherworld. Was Sir Gareth with you, when you saw the Grail?”

“No, he was escaping from a Castle in the realm of Annwn at the time.”

“Good gracious. Is there no end to the stories your journey provided?”

“Oh, that one's hardly worth telling, to be honest. Gareth filled me in on the way back. He was captured, interrogated by the Queen in a very half-hearted manner, and then escaped.” At the bar, Sir Gareth's anecdotes were provoking over-enthusiastic gasps of wonder from the maidens.

“Which Queen was this, Sir Perceval?” I asked.

“Hmm? Oh, Morgan, naturally.”

“Morgan Le Fay?” I pressed him. “The Dark Queen of Annwn?”

“Yes, and if you ask me, her reputation is based on severe exaggeration. I mean, how bad can she be, if Gareth escaped so easily and without a single scratch?”

“That is unusual indeed, Sir Perceval,” I said, aware of an unpleasant sensation in my stomach. “I am no expert, but I believe that to date, no-one captured by the Dark Queen has ever escaped to tell of it.”

“Yes, I did think it a bit strange. But then, standards are dropping everywhere these days.”

Over at the bar, Sir Gareth had just ordered another round of drinks. He had his back to us, and was staring up at the thin slit of a window. A cloud moved to uncover the face of the moon outside, and a single shaft of its light fell upon Sir Gareth's head. I made my way over to him, followed by Sir Perceval. “Hey, Gareth,” he said. “I was just telling Lucas how you fluked it out of Morgan's castle.”

Sir Gareth slowly turned to look at us. He looked far from hale and hearty. His face had turned paler than the moonlight
that still streamed in behind him. His eyes were stretched open, wide and bloodshot. And since I had last seen him, he had grown a bristly beard.

“Morgan? Morrrgan? Morrrrrrrgan.”

“Yes, Morgan Le Fay. Gareth, what's got into you?” The maidens moved away in alarm. Sir Perceval and I took an instinctive step backwards.

“I don't know, Percy,” said Sir Gareth. “But it's something… bad.” He doubled over as if struck by a sudden stomach cramp, and looked up at us with a face full of pure, primal fear, not to mention even more hair. “Perceval… Help… Me?”

“Lucas,” said Sir Perceval, pulling my sleeve. “What should I do, should I get Arthur?” Sir Gareth fell to his knees, clutching a head that was sprouting shaggy black hair at an alarming rate. He tore open his tunic to reveal a hirsute layer beneath, and started to pull off the rest of his clothes with hands that had lengthened into sharp claws. Several knights, attracted by the ruckus, rushed to our side and drew their swords.

“Put your swords away! It's Sir Gareth!” said Sir Perceval. But the creature that rose before us was no longer any such knight. A werewolf stood in front of the backstage bar, eyes red, jaws slavering.

“
ARRRTHUR! GET ARRRTHUR! WOLF KILL KING, KILL KING ARRRTHURRROOOAARRGH!
”

The werewolf lashed out with a claw. He caught hold of Granville, who was sneaking up behind him with a chair, and threw him behind the bar.

“Form a circle!” I shouted, “Keep him away from the Great Hall!”

Sir Ector and Sir Lanval joined us, swords drawn, but with one leap the wolf cleared our heads and bounded up to the Green Room curtain. It stopped, sniffed and growled with demonic delight, priming its haunches. Before it could
move, the way was blocked by Sir Dagonet and Sir Kay. The wolf growled. It sniffed again and turned its gaze on the wall directly in front of it. With one mighty spring the werewolf hurled its body like a battering ram, smashing through the stone wall. Amidst clouds of dust I saw the astonished face of the King as the beast sank its teeth into his neck.

As fast as I could, I turned and ran in the opposite direction, to the very back of the Green Room.

†

Sir Pellinore's Corner was a separate area of the Green Room, a tent constructed from thick drapes and embroidered hangings acquired on his many travels. It was highly probable, given his non-appearance at the scene, that the occupant remained entirely oblivious to the rumpus without. Sure enough, pulling back a heavy curtain decorated with a hideously-faced cockerel creature, I found him perched on a cushion, sharing a long pipe with Sir Palomides the Mapmaker. A large drawing of the Kingdom was spread out in front of them. Sir Pellinore was making energetic markings on the parchment with a quill, while Sir Palomides looked on in despair.

“Pelly old boy,” he said, attempting to stop the pen with his own in a half-hearted parry, “I think you'll find there's a ravine there.”

“Where?”

“Where you've written ‘Here Be Dragons.' Again.”

“But
here
they most certainly
be
. Tracked 'em, seen 'em, got the spores. No sense telling a knight about a ravine, when he needs to know about dragons. They love the forest. Plenty of kindling.”

“It's a wonder they find the time to visit the forest, what with them also being spotted here, here, here, here, and here.”

“That's the problem with dragon maps —
they're never to scale!
Eh? Pally? Get it? Scale? You can have that one.”

“Can't I just write ‘Everywhere Be Dragons' at the top of the map, and be done with it?”

“Are you stark raving mad, man?”

You will scarcely believe it possible, but their talk of maps and beasts was enough to completely dispel the chaos in the Green Room from my mind. All I could say for certain was that there was something very important I needed Sir Pellinore for. Other than that, all was silence.

“Ah, footman, just the fellow! Talk some sense into Palomides.”

“What he proposes sounds like a suitable compromise, Sir Pellinore,” I said.

“Oh. Does it? Righto, if you say so. We'll start again with a fresh one.”

Sir Pellinore crumpled the map into a ball, then froze as a long, high wolf howl filled the air.

“Killer Toads of Cemais! A werewolf! Where?”

“In the Great Hall, Sir Pellinore,” I said. “I was hoping to solicit your advice on the matter.”

“Take one enchanted sword. Plunge into the heart. Twist to the left. Twist to the right. Leave it in until the death rattle, then pull it straight out again.”

“The werewolf is Sir Gareth.”

Sir Pellinore propelled me out of the tent and before I knew it I was jogging alongside him through the Green Room.

“Bite or curse?” he said, rolling up his sleeves.

“From the nature of the transformation, I would say curse.”

“Curse history?”

“His surprised reaction would indicate this is the first transformation. It started a few minutes ago, at most.”

“Then a hunk of hope remains.” Sir Pellinore was sprinting now, and I struggled to keep up with his pace. “Hexmanship?”

“Morgan Le Fay.”

“Did I say hunk?” He ran up the steps to the wolf-made hole in the wall, two at a time. “ 'Tis more like a morsel.” Sir Pellinore somersaulted through the hole and out into the Great Hall.

†

“And, well. The rest of it you saw for yourself,” I said to Beaumains.

“If I had not, I would scarcely have believed it,” she replied. “All in all, it has been one of those days. Well… if that will be all, Sir Lucas. I think I will bid you
adieu
.”

“Wait. There is more.” I turned and stoked the dying embers of the fire. My deputy looked at me with a quizzical expression. “I am afraid you do not know the half of it, Beaumains,” I said.

 

So much had been decided at the meeting of the inner circle, that it is difficult to know where to begin. As soon as I had satisfied myself that Sir Gareth was receiving the very best medical care in the infirmary, I prised Sir Gawain away from his brother and we made our way to the King's study in the Royal Tower, to make the necessary preparations for the meeting. The Master was in his chambers attempting to console the Queen, and had left orders for me to summon him only when everyone had arrived. Despite protesting that she was none the worse for her recent ordeal, the Queen remained visibly shaken, and I agreed that he was wise to stay with her for as long as possible.

Sir Perceval was the first to arrive, his face a tournament ground of competing emotions. There was excitement at being included in the hallowed inner circle, and pride at the prestige of such a meeting being held at his instigation. But such feelings were tempered by the grave confirmation his story had recently received. Next came Sir Pellinore, almost knocked off his feet by another wave of thanks, Sir Perceval shaking his hand fit to drop off, Sir Gawain slapping him on the back and swearing promises of eternal fealty and everlasting ale. Then came Sir Kay, laden with maps and scrolls and saying
how sorry he was for not believing Sir Perceval's Grail story, even though he really had nothing to
apologise for, given that he was hardly to know how things were to turn out, and was only trying to do a job which was difficult enough at the best of times, not that anyone ever realised, much less cared
.