The Return of Sir Percival (23 page)

Percival looked at Merlin, a question in his eyes, but he nodded in acceptance. “So be it.”

As he turned back to his horse, the Knight looked out on the field below him, where a small army of men were loading wagons, packing up horses, and preparing for the march back to Londinium. He walked to the edge of the road, dropped to one knee, closed his eyes, and whispered, “May God keep them safe.”

After making the sign of the cross, the Knight rose to see hundreds of men staring at him in silence. He raised his right hand in a sign of parting and mounted his horse. As he rode off at the front of the column, the sound of hundreds of voices followed him.

“Sir Percival! Sir Percival! Sir Percival!”

After the column had ridden north for a league, Merlin rode up beside Percival and pointed to a square stone house by the side of the road.

“That's an old Roman post house. The Roman road north is ahead. We should reach the town of Cestreforda by nightfall. The town escaped most of the ravages that occurred after the fall. We will find friends there.”

“I am grateful for your guidance … it has been many years since I traveled this way, but I sense that you would speak of something other than the road, Merlin.”

Merlin looked over at the Knight and then returned his gaze to the road.

“You must have many questions for this old man.”

“Many, indeed. Although, I fear I shall not like the answers,” Percival said quietly.

Merlin nodded but said nothing.

Percival was silent for a moment. Then he turned to Merlin.

“First, I would know of the Queen's welfare and the state of the kingdom, but before you speak of these matters, I would ask that Capussa join us. He has agreed to complete my mission if I cannot, and hence, he must be prepared for what is ahead. Is that acceptable to you?”

“It is. He is a true and …” Merlin smiled, “a most formidable companion.”

Percival motioned to Capussa, who was riding to the right with two mounted bowmen at the head of the column. The Numidian slowed his pace and eased his horse into place on the other side of Merlin.

“My friend, I have asked Merlin to speak of the state of the kingdom. I would ask that you listen as well.”

Capussa smiled. “Why, it is a peaceful land where men of noble birth while away the hours drinking mead and catching fish. What else is there to know of it?”

A wry smile came to Percival's face. Merlin raised a questioning eyebrow and then cleared his throat before beginning his narrative.

“The Queen is well. She lives at the Abbey Cwm Hir to the northwest, with her handmaiden, Lady Cadwyn, and Sister Aranwen.”

“I remember the Sister, but not Cadwyn. There was another …”

“Enid,” Merlin said. “She died of a fever. Cadwyn is younger … barely eighteen years but quite a tigress. She's the Queen's fiercest protector.”

Percival frowned. “You mean other than her knights and men-at-arms?” When Merlin was silent for a moment, the Knight's brow furrowed. “Merlin, please tell me the Queen of the Britons does have men-at-arms protecting her?”

Merlin made a mollifying gesture as he answered, “There are men at the abbey who … have some skill in arms, and there are many hunters and bowmen in the nearby town that would come to her aid if—”

“So there are none?” Percival interrupted, shaking his head in disbelief. “How can that be? There were over three hundred knights when I left, other than those of the Table, and the King's army was thousands strong. Were there none left who would defend their Queen?”

“Percival,” Merlin answered reassuringly, “she is not undefended. My spies track everyone who comes within a day's ride of the abbey, and when threats have arisen, they … have been dealt with. Plans have also been made to defend the Queen, or to take her to a place of safety, if there was an attack in force.”

Percival looked over at the older man. “Forgive me. I thank you for your service to the Queen, but I still would know why she does not have a strong standing force guarding her at all times.”

Merlin sighed and looked at the winding road ahead. “You don't know what it was like after the death of the Pendragon … the land descended into chaos. There was no King and no Table. As for the army and the knights … the army that fought at Camlann carried the field that day, but it died gaining that victory.

“After the battle, Morgana stopped paying the Norse, Pict, and Saxon sellswords that had followed her banner. With nothing to hold them together, they broke into roving bands and began to ravage the land. When the remaining foot soldiers, archers, pikemen, and knights that served the King—the few who survived—realized there was no one to lead them, and no one left to protect their women and children from being slaughtered, they did what they had to—they returned to their homes.”

“And you and the other members of the court … you could not hire a force of men to protect the Queen?” Percival asked with a measure of anger and frustration.

“Percival, we could and we did, but we had to do it in a way that would not draw Morgana's interest. In the year after Camlann, she still controlled enough sellswords, brigands, and Norse warriors to mount an attack on the Queen—an attack that could have succeeded. We forestalled that possibility by convincing Morgana's spies that the Queen was nothing more than a helpless, distraught widow cowering in a remote abbey.”

Percival's ire abated, and he looked over at the old man.

“Forgive me. I … spoke in ignorance. The Queen has been well-served by your wisdom.”

“No forgiveness is necessary, and I suspect,” Merlin said with a chuckle, “that the Queen, and in particular Cadwyn, may have a different view on that matter.”

The trio rode on in silence for a while as Percival struggled to reconcile the kingdom of the present with the one he had left in the past. It was as if a cruel sea had swept over the land and left behind just a ravaged shell of what had once been.

After a time, Merlin turned to the Knight. “Percival, I have a question for you as well. Capussa has told me of your near death in the desert, and of the miracle that saved you. Can you tell me of this?”

Percival hesitated for a moment and then gestured to Capussa. “If Capussa has spoken of this, then you know all there is to tell. I was lost in the desert, on the brink of death, when I came upon a spring. It must have been blessed by the Almighty, for when I filled my cup and drank of it, my strength was restored, and my face and neck were cleansed of the many scars that I bore from … my time in the arena. Afterward, I rode on, for time was short. I had hoped to return to that holy place another day, but it was not to be.”

“A cup you say?” Merlin asked with a frown.

“Yes.”

“Tell me of this cup, if you will?”

“Merlin, it was not the Grail.”

“How do you know this to be true?” Merlin said.

Percival shook his head, and a sad smile came to his face. “Merlin, for six years I searched for the Grail. I can draw you a map of nearly every street in Galilee and Jerusalem from memory. I can tell you the names of the many priests, rabbis, and men of learning from Edessa to Damascus and from Jerusalem to Alexandria that I spoke to in my search. Some relinquished their knowledge willingly, others were bribed, and God forgive me, others spoke at the point of my sword. In the end, I failed. The Holy Grail remains lost.”

“Percival, forgive me,” Merlin said in a quiet voice. “I would not have you relive the pain of those times again. You need not speak of this.”

Percival turned and looked at Merlin, and then spoke with quiet conviction.

“My friend, that pain was lifted from me on that day in the desert, so I do not fear these memories. As for the cup I drank from, I will gladly tell you all that I know. It is little enough. When I arrived in Alexandria, I rode to the home of Jacob the Healer, only to find he had passed away a month earlier. I gave the writ of release from Khalid to Joshua, his son, so that all would know his sentence had been served. It was then that Joshua gave me the cup, along with my sword, and a long note from Jacob.

“Joshua told me that his father had left a deposit of gold in my name with a trusted Venetian merchant, and he conveyed his profound thanks, and Jacob's thanks, for my sacrifice. As for the cup, Joshua told me that his father had died in the throes of a fever, and when he spoke of the cup, much of what he said made little sense, but some of it was clear.”

Percival looked over at Merlin, amused at the older man's earnest attention to every detail of the story.

“Jacob said the cup was not the Grail, Merlin. That was the only clear part of Jacob's fever-ridden ramblings. As for the note that he left me, it's written in a language that I am unable to read. Joshua said it could be an ancient Aramaic tongue. You're welcome to try your hand at deciphering it, and you can see the cup as well, but I would ask that you return them to me when you are done. Jacob the Healer saved my life, and these gifts are all I have to remember him by.”

“Percival,” Merlin said quietly, “if you would, please tell me the exact words Jacob is said to have spoken about the cup.”

Percival hesitated for a moment, remembering his parting words with Jacob's son. “He told Joshua, ‘This is not the cup that the Knight seeks, but it is one that has served.' As I said, Jacob was old and dying of a fever at the time. Do you still desire to see the cup and the note?”

“Yes, I would, if that is acceptable to you.”

The Knight glanced over at the old man and shook his head, a wry smile on his face.

“Then see them you shall, Merlin the Wise.”

T
OWN OF
C
ESTREFORDA

ercival looked up at the late afternoon sun and then turned to Merlin, riding alongside on his right.

“The horses tire, and we have about an hour of daylight left. Do you know how far we are from the town you spoke of this morning?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Merlin's face when he answered. “I have not traveled this road in many a year, but it should be less than a league distant. The scouts should—” Merlin hesitated at the sight of two riders galloping toward them and then finished his thought “—have spotted Cestreforda.”

Percival raised a hand, halting the column, and he and Capussa rode forward to meet the two riders. They were Cynric's men. The younger of the two men, Keil, his face flush with excitement, spoke in a rush.

“Sirs, the road ahead—”

“Keil, isn't it?” Capussa interrupted, raising a calming hand. “Don't tell me that you've managed to pick a fight with another one of those blond giants.”

The hint of a smile crossed Percival's face.

The younger man's eyes widened, and he smiled self-consciously.

“No, no sir. It's Cestreforda … it's a half league up this road, but the townsfolk, they've blocked the road with a wagon. They've prepared for a fight, sir.”

Merlin rode up alongside Percival and Capussa. “Every town is a fortified camp of necessity. We need to convince them we mean no harm.”

Percival nodded and turned to Capussa.

“We'll ride forward and halt the column just out of bowshot, and I will go forward alone.”

Capussa shook his head. “Alone? I think not.”

“Very well,” Percival said, “young Keil will come with me.”

Capussa raised an eyebrow.

Percival gestured up the road. “My friend, those aren't brigands or Norse warriors up ahead. They're decent, honest folk trying to protect their homes from raiders. The less threatening we are, the better.”

“Honest folk or not, it only takes one arrow to kill a man, Knight,” Capussa said dourly.

Percival nodded. “Agreed, I will wear chain mail under my tabard.”

Merlin eased his horse forward and leaned over so only Percival and Capussa could hear his whisper. “We must do all within our power to enter this place peaceably, my Numidian friend. I have friends in this town. They have been entrusted with a great store of royal supplies— supplies we will need for our journey. If I can get a message to these men, we will be welcomed.”

Capussa stared at the old Roman for a long moment and nodded reluctantly.

“So be it.”

Percival dismounted from his horse, took off his cloak, and pulled a mail shirt over his undergarment. Then he donned the white tabard with the seal of the Table on the front.

The mounted column rode forward, after Percival remounted his horse, and came to a halt a furlong and a half from the village. The wagon barring the entrance into the village was plainly visible ahead of them. Ten or twelve men armed with bows, swords, and wooden pikes were standing behind it. Percival slowly rode forward with Merlin and Keil beside him. When they were still a good distance away, he motioned for the other two men to halt.

“Wait here. I will ride ahead alone and speak with them.”

“I would ride with you,” Merlin said.

“And I, sir,” Keil added quickly.

“I am sure you would,” Percival said, “but I am wearing chain mail forged of the finest steel beneath my tabard. I will survive a bowshot. You two, on the other hand, would be severely wounded or killed. I cannot allow that. I will proceed and see if we can parley.”

“So be it,” Merlin said, nodding reluctantly. “Ask to speak with Lestinius. He is the man that I know. If he's dead, ask to speak to his son, Luccus.”

Percival nodded and nudged the destrier forward into a slow walk toward the barrier in the road.

When the Knight had closed half the distance to the wagon, a balding man of middle age, with the well-padded middle of an inn or tavern keeper, stood on a small barrel and called out, “Come no further, or the archers will kill you.”

The trees lining the sides of the road left part of the road in shadow and part bathed in streams of light. Percival eased his horse to a stop on the edge of a shadowed patch, dismounted, and stepped in front of the destrier.

“May I ask the name of the man with whom I speak,” Percival called out respectfully.

There was a hesitation, and then the man on the barrel answered, “I'm the mayor of this town. My name is Gethin.”

“We would speak with Lestinius, if he is among you,” Percival called out.

The men behind the wagon spoke among themselves, and the mayor turned back to Percival.

“And who would speak with him?”

Percival gestured back toward Merlin, but kept his gaze on the man in front of him. “Merlin the Wise.” An audible murmur ran through the crowd behind the wagon.

The mayor stared at Percival for a moment, straining to see him in the shadow. “And who would you be?”

“I am Sir Percival of the Round Table.”

The reaction was immediate. The men hiding behind the wagon pressed forward to peer over the top of the barrier, while others behind them crowded forward, straining to see the figure standing in the shadows. Gethin almost lost his balance as he, too, leaned forward to get a better look.

After he steadied himself, the mayor turned to the men behind him, and an argument ensued. A few minutes later, a woman dressed in a brown dress and an apron pushed forward and spoke sharply to the mayor. Although Percival couldn't hear what she said, her words had an effect upon him. When Gethin spoke again, his tone was more respectful.

“Sir, we have been told that all of the Knights are dead. I …”

Percival stepped forward into the patch of light a pace away, his arms opened wide. The last rays of the evening sun illuminated the coat of arms on his chest as he spoke in a voice that reached every man and woman on the road ahead. “In the name of Arthur Pendragon, I tell you that I am Sir Percival of the Round Table.”

The crowd behind the wagon fell silent, and then a swell of voices rose as more people tried to press forward. Percival could hear the mayor insisting, “I tell you, it cannot be! It cannot be!” Then the people quieted, and Gethin turned to someone behind him and more argument ensued.

At last, a tall, thin man with white hair, wearing a simple brown cloak, squeezed past the stone wall on one side of the wagon and walked with some difficulty toward the waiting Knight. Head bowed, he walked toward Percival, planting his staff firmly, before he took each step. He stopped a pace from the Knight.

The old man hesitated for a moment, his eyes scouring Percival's face. Then he spoke in a querulous, if respectful, voice. “I am Lestinius, the man you seek. You say that you are Sir Percival … hmm … well, it's been a long time, but you do have the look of him. I saw you ride through Londinium a decade ago … on a cloudy day, a morning, I think. You were riding a white horse … yes, beside Sir Geraint … Sir Lionel, he was in front of you, with Sir Galahad.”

Percival smiled. “Good Sir, I suspect your memory is far better than mine on most days, but as to this, I must respectfully disagree. I remember the day well. We rode through Londinium in the afternoon, not the morning, and the spring sun shone in a near-cloudless blue sky. And it was Galahad who rode by my side. Geraint rode beside Sir Lionel, two rows ahead of us. As for my horse, his name was Rowan, so named by my mother, for his reddish color.”

The old man raised his free hand slowly to the sky and bowed his head. “God be praised, God be praised. It is true. A Knight of the Table lives. Forgive me if I do not kneel, my old bones are—”

“You have no cause to kneel to me, good sir.”

His eyes brightened as he gazed at Percival. “And is it true, what we have heard, that you have slain the Butcher and Londinium is free?”

“It is true.”

“God be praised. And is that old scoundrel, Merlin, really with you? Why he owes me a coin or two from our last game of dice,” the old man said with a raspy chuckle.

“He lives. May I call him forward?”

“Yes, oh yes.”

Percival waved to Merlin and Keil to come forward as the old man turned to the crowd behind the wagon, now swelled to over fifty men, women, and children.

“It is he!” he called out. “It is Sir Percival of the Round Table! You need not fear!”

Before he finished speaking, people were climbing over and under the wagon and running toward the Knight.

* * *

T
HE
N
EXT
M
ORNING
, an hour after dawn, Percival and Capussa stood in a field outside the town, bathed in sweat and gasping for breath. Capussa laid his training sword on his cloak and nodded to the throng of people hiding in the nearby woods.

“It seems that half the village has come to watch today … and it seems as though Keil has persuaded some of those fetching lasses who were following him about last night to bring you water for bathing.”

Four young women walked to the edge of the field carrying buckets of water, with Keil walking behind, his hand resting on the pommel of a sword he'd taken from the body of a Norse warrior the day before. The young women set their buckets down, curtsied shyly, and walked back to the edge of the wood with Keil between them.

Percival nodded his thanks, and Capussa waved a hand toward the retreating Keil. “It seems you have a would-be apprentice, Sir Percival.”

The Knight shook his head. “He's a good lad, if a foolhardy one, but my days of fighting are at an end. I intend—”

“To live in peace,” Capussa finished. “I can clearly see that you are on that path. Why, we haven't had a battle in what, a whole day?” the Numidian finished with a chuckle.

Percival stood and started toward the buckets of water. “Have faith. We shall find the peaceful life I promised.”

Capussa casually glanced into the depths of the forest, where he knew a small man with a thin, hard face was watching them from behind an oak tree—a man who'd been stealthily following them for the last three days. Then he looked over at his friend kneeling beside a bucket, running a cloth soaked in water over his face and neck. Capussa sighed and spoke in a whisper Percival couldn't hear.

“I fear that peace will only come with death, my friend, but with a little bit of luck, we shall avoid both for a while to come.”

Two hours later, the column of men rode out of Cestreforda, with Percival and Capussa at the head. As the column reached the open road, Percival glanced backward.

“How is it that we had fifty men yesterday, but today, we ride out with near a hundred?”

Capussa smiled as he answered, “It seems another forty or so men from the army of Londinium rounded up some of the horses left by the dead Norsemen and decided to join you. There are also some local lads who have decided to march under your standard.”

Percival raised a hand in exasperation. “I have no standard. In truth, I have little more than the clothes on my back, so I cannot possibly provide for this retinue. They need to return to their homes and farms.”

Merlin eased his horse up alongside the two men, the trace of a smile on his face. “You did say, my good Knight, that the Queen needed a proper guard. Well, here it is,” he said, gesturing toward the men riding behind them.

“Well said,” Capussa agreed.

The two men looked at one another and then burst into laughter. Percival scowled as he watched two more young men on country nags join the mounted column.

“At this rate, half of Albion will be marching with us by the time we reach the Queen.”