The Return of Sir Percival

by S Alexander O'keefe

  Cadwyn, on the other hand, was not one to bear the bishop’s restrictions without complaint. As far as she was concerned, the bishop was a loathsome scoundrel whose sole objective was to find and steal the hidden trove of treasure Arthur was rumored to have left to fund a restoration of Camelot. Although Guinevere suspected this treasure might well exist, its whereabouts were unknown to her. So even if Cadwyn’s suspicions were correct, the bishop’s avaricious plans would, in the end, come to nought.

  “What did the messengers bring today?” Guinevere asked.

  Cadwyn sat on the wooden bench, placed the basket in the middle of the table, and drew off the cloth, revealing twelve scrolls of parchment, each encircled by two restraining pieces of twine.

  “Quite a lot, Milady. The sparrows have much to report.”

  “Then let’s get started, my dear.”

  Cadwyn untied the strings on two of the parchments, handed one to Guinevere, and opened the second herself. “Mary, in Camulodunom … a cobbler’s wife, yes,” Guinevere said as she rolled out the parchment.

  “Milady, do you know all of the women? How many are there?” Cadwyn asked.

  “No, but I do remember most. At one time or other, I have exchanged letters with all of them. As for how many, I can’t say. Before the fall, there were about five hundred.”

  “Did the King know you had all these spies?”

  Guinevere looked up from the parchment, a thoughtful look on her face. “No, but then I never really thought of them as spies. I wanted to have a friendly set of eyes and ears in every city and town in the kingdom … people who could tell me about matters of import to them.”

  “How did you know whom to trust?”

  “Some were people that I knew, but most came to me through others that I trusted, people like … say, Cadwyn Hydwell.”

  Cadwyn smiled at the compliment and asked, “Why just women, Milady?”

  Guinevere smiled. “If you wanted to know what was really going on in the Abbey, would you ask Ferghus, the stablemaster, or Rowena, the cook?”

  “Rowena for sure. That woman knows things …,” Cadwyn said, her voice trailing off in embarrassment.

  “Indeed, she does,” Guinevere said as she reached for another parchment. “Men and women talk when they eat and drink, and most of the people serving them are women. So they hear, as you say, many ‘things.’ I wanted the Rowenas of this land to be my little sparrows … to tell me about anything that was important in their city, town, or village.” Her smile faded.

  “Before the fall, those tidings enabled me to save innocent men and women from unfair punishment by a dishonest lord, to reward the good, to punish the bad, to be a better Queen—at least that was my hope.”

  “You are a wonderful Queen, Milady,” Cadwyn said with a smile.

  “Why, thank you, my dear. Can you hand me another scroll?”

  “Yes, Milady.”

  As she read through the missives, each writing wove another thread into the tapestry of pain and suffering that was now Albion. Londinium was the worst. Hengst and his raiders had turned the population into virtual slaves, leading many to secretly leave the city in the dark of night. Of late, the Norse warlord had banned these departures by branding people to mark them as his subjects. Those caught attempting to escape, or found outside of the city, would suffer torture or death in the monthly games Hengst held in Londinium’s old Roman stadium.

  When Guinevere put down the last letter, she closed her eyes, and the shadows from the flames flickered and danced across her beautiful face.

  “Sometimes … oftentimes,” Guinevere began, in a voice laden with regret, “I feel that I … Arthur, the Table … we failed them. We were supposed to protect them. That was our charge, our promise to the cobbler, the baker, the farmer, and their wives and children. We were supposed to keep them safe from monsters like Hengst the Butcher— and we did not honor that sacred duty.”

  “Milady,” Cadwyn said in a heartfelt tone, “I am not a wise woman, nor, as I’m sure the abbess has told you, a very pious one, but God cannot fault you or the Pendragon and his Knights, for the fall. I have heard the tales, my Queen. Every man and woman gave their all in those last days and hours. It was … it was not to be, but, as you always say, Milady, tomorrow is another day, and we must work to remake what was broken.”

  Guinevere turned to the younger woman, took Cadwyn’s face in her hands, and kissed her on the forehead.

  “You are right, my precious young friend. But it is late, so that work must wait until the morrow. Tonight, let us rest.”

  “Of course, Milady,” Cadwyn said as she rose and curtseyed. “Good night, Milady.”

  After Cadwyn left, Guinevere knelt by the fire and burned the letters from her flock of faithful sparrows, one by one. When the last letter burst into flame, she closed her eyes and prayed, in silence, for the people of Albion.

  CHAPTER 3

  MORGANA’S CASTLE

  egaera Igaris watched Admiral Phokas walk down the stone dock, followed by ten legionnaires marching in perfect order. The cold morning breeze ruffled his long white tunic and the red cape draped across his right shoulder. Unlike the legionnaires, the only weapon carried by the short, portly Roman was the gold baton signifying his rank, but that was all the protection he needed. Ten imperial galleys and a thousand soldiers stood ready to answer his beck and call.

  The legionnaires halted ten yards from Megaera, in response to a gesture from Phokas, and the admiral continued forward, stopping a pace away from her.

  “All of the silver is aboard, Lady Igaris.” Phokas said with a gesture toward the galley at the end of the dock.

  Megaera nodded. “Then you should be on your way, Admiral. The tide is full, but it departs quickly.”

  “We shall make the tide,” Phokas said, glancing at the receding water line on the nearby beach. Then he turned his attention back to Megaera, a smile coming to his face. “I have a present for you. It was forged from the very silver that you so loyally ship to the emperor each season.”

  Phokas made a slight gesture with his baton. One of the legionnaires stepped forward and handed him a square object covered in a white silk. The soldier retreated to his place as Phokas drew off the silken cover, revealing a magnificent silver mirror, four hands tall and three wide. The admiral held the mirror up to Megaera’s face, and for a long moment she stared at the reflection of the woman the people of Albion knew as the feared Morgana.

  Her long auburn hair and strikingly beautiful face were just visible within the hood of her black cloak, a garment made of the finest Anatolian wool. She unconsciously caressed the flawless ruby hanging from the golden chain around her neck as it sparkled in the morning sun. The jewel was worth more than the Roman warship moored at the end of the dock, but then the man who had given it to her, the Roman emperor, could well afford the excess.

  Megaera looked at the mirror for another moment and then gestured to a young female slave waiting submissively three paces behind her. The young woman stepped forward and took the mirror from Phokas and returned to her place. Megaera turned to her fellow Roman and smiled, mentally assessing what Phokas was attempting to gain from the gratuity. She knew even the smallest kindness was a means to an end in the deadly game of power played within the imperial circle.

  “It is beautiful, Admiral. I thank you.”

  “You deserve that and more,” Phokas said, waving off her feigned gratitude. “You know, Lady Igaris, the emperor would welcome you with wealth and position if you were to return home. With a little scheming, a woman of your beauty and cunning might even marry into the royal family.”

  Megaera looked eastward for a moment, as if considering the idea, but when her eyes returned to Phokas, she spoke in voice that was as cold as it was implacable.

  “Your words are kind, Admiral Phokas. However, I would not return to wed the emperor himself, without the head of Melitas Komnenos.”

  The admiral laughed and raised an eyebrow. “And how w
ill you bring him out of hiding? This land is a sea of forests. A man of Melitas’s skill could hide forever in any one of them.”

  Megaera eased back the hood of her cloak and turned to face him.

  “You forget, Admiral, it was I who sent the mighty Arthur Pendragon and his Knights to the grave. Rest assured, I will find Melitas, and I will kill him.”

  Phokas raised an eyebrow at the cold certainty in her voice and then gestured to the walled castle on the hill overlooking the estuary that was her home in Albion.

  “I am told that the knight called Lord Aeron was once a Knight of the Round Table. This man lives within your walls. Why not put him to the torture? Surely he knows something of Melitas?”

  “Lord Aeron,” Morgana said coldly, “knows nothing of Melitas. If he did, you can be sure I would know of it. And as for torture, that would avail me nothing. Each day that noble fool endures a far greater pain, by choice, than I could inflict upon him by force.”

  Phokas gestured with his baton, as if casting aside his own suggestion. “I do not mean to question your judgment, Lady Igaris. As I have said, you have done well. The silver from this land is a boon to the empire during this time of war. You can be assured I will tell the emperor that I find your loyalty to be unfailing.”

  “You are too kind, Admiral Phokas,” Megaera said with a smile that never reached her eyes. “I look forward to seeing you in the spring.”

  Phokas nodded and walked to the warship at the end of the dock, followed by the ten legionnaires, and boarded without looking back.

  For a moment, Megaera watched the galley’s two banks of oars flash rhythmically up and down, propelling Phokas’s flagship toward the nine sister ships weighing anchor in the estuary; then she turned and started up the path to the castle on the rocky knoll above. As she strode up the slope, Megaera’s hand closed on the knife inside her cloak, and she spoke in a soft but certain voice. “Rest assured, Admiral Phokas, the head of Melitas Komnenos will await you when you return in the spring.”

  WHITSTABLE, ALBION

  Thomas the farrier said a prayer as he watched the group of traveling merchants and farmers embark upon the road to the market in Caer Ceint. The passage was a dangerous one, and he wished them well. Two mounted men joined the rear of the group, bringing a smile to the farrier’s face. The likelihood of the caravan gaining safe passage through the forest had just improved.

  An hour earlier, Thomas had sold the two riders a pair of black destriers, warhorses only the wealthy could afford. He had driven a hard bargain for the steeds, maybe too hard, but the men hadn’t complained. Better still, they’d paid for the horses in silver coins struck by the met-alsmiths in Eburacum, during the reign of the Pendragon. After the fall, and the breaking of the Table, these coins had been hoarded and used sparingly, for their purity was assured.

  He ran a hand through his thick brown hair and started back toward the stable, intending to finish shoeing the miller’s old bay before the midday meal.

  “Thomas!”

  The farrier turned and watched Ada, his wife of ten years, bustle down the short slope that separated their cottage from the stable. The top of her coarse woolen dress was dusted with flour dust, and there was a fine white sheen on her pretty round face as well. As she approached, Ada brushed an errant strand of dark brown hair from her face and seemed surprised at the ivory patch that appeared on the back of her hand.

  “Don’t say a word, Thomas,” she said when she saw her husband’s smile. “You married a lady’s handmaiden, not a baker.”

  “And a pretty one at that, even if she looks the part of a ghost today,” the farrier said with a chuckle.

  Ada smiled and then pointed at the two mounted men disappearing up the road. “Who were those men?”

  Thomas glanced up the road and ran a hand across his bearded jaw.

  “Two travelers. They came ashore on Aldwyn Potter’s boat. I made a pretty penny selling them the two destriers that I bought from Ademar a month ago. Paid in good coin, they did.”

  “Coins! Thomas, you know—”

  “Ada, the coins are true. They’re from the King’s mint in Eburacum.”

  “Show me.”

  “Ahhh, woman, don’t you—”

  “Show me, Thomas,” Ada said, putting her hands on her ample hips.

  “As you wish. Come into the stable.”

  Thomas led his wife into the humble stone structure where he spent most of his days and closed the door behind them. He walked past the four wooden horse stalls to a small forge at the far end of the building and dropped to one knee beside the smoldering fire. After glancing back at the closed door, he pulled a rock from the wall behind the forge and drew out a small cloth sack.

  “Here they be.”

  Ada opened the sack, pulled out several of the coins, and examined them closely. A slow smile came to her face.

  “You’re right. I haven’t seen many of these in a good while, but when I worked for Lady Evelynn in Londinium, I handled them aplenty. That’s the coin of the Pendragon, for sure.”

  “I said it was,” Thomas said gruffly.

  Ada walked over to her husband and kissed him lightly on the cheek. “And so you did, Thomas. Now tell me of these two men. You know how I like to know everything about everyone.”

  “Well that’s surely true,” Thomas said wryly. Ada put her hands on her hips, and he raised a placating hand.

  “I’ll tell you what I know, woman. Hard men, they are, but decent and honest. The tall one, I make him for a knight and … well, I swear that I—”

  Ada’s eyes widened. “A knight? Thomas, why would you say that?”

  “It’s the way he stood and moved. He … well, I just think he was,

  Ada.”

  “That’s all? Nothing more? Thomas, that makes no sense,” Ada said in exasperation.

  “Now listen, Ada … well, there is a bit more to it. I spoke to Aldwyn Potter down at the dock. Had quite a time of it, he did. His ship was attacked by the seawolves. Said it would have been taken, had it not been for those two men.”

  “The seawolves! May God protect us,” Ada said, quickly making the sign of the cross before demanding. “Tell me of this.”

  “I’m getting there, woman,” Thomas said with mock exasperation before continuing. “Potter said the tall one and the black man … well, you should have heard him, Ada. The two of them came on deck dressed in the finest armor and attacked the seawolves like two avenging angels. Struck them all down, they did. Why, Potter said the tall one killed a giant near as big as Hengst the Butcher!”

  “Thomas, they must be sellswords. There’s plenty of those about these days,” Ada said, shaking her head.

  “No, Ada, I … I know this man, I do,” Thomas said in a quiet voice. “I’ve seen him before.”

  “What? Who do you think he is?” Ada said, lowering her voice to a whisper.

  Thomas sat down on a wooden bench and scratched his beard for a moment. Ada sat down beside him.

  “I don’t know his name,” he said, “but I know where I saw him. It was in the last year of my apprenticeship to old Gildas. His farm was just outside Londinium. When I heard that the Pendragon and his Knights would be riding through the city, I begged the old man to let me have the day off so I could see them. He growled a bit but let me go. I set out early that morning. The sky … the sky that day was as blue as your eyes, Ada. Another farrier in Londinium, a friend of the old man, he let me get a view from atop his stable along the parade route.”

  Thomas slowly stroked his chin, as if to remember the day exactly as it had been. “I watched them ride by, Ada. The Pendragon himself and the Queen, followed by the Knights of the Table, then the lesser knights, the bowmen, and the foot soldiers. I can see it like it happened yesterday. It was a sight to see,” he finished, opening his eyes.

  “I was there, Thomas, on that very day!” Ada said in an excited whisper, taking her husband’s hands in her own. “I watched the parade from Lady Evelynn�
��s balcony. They rode right past us. It was indeed a sight! It was wonderful.”

  Thomas nodded. “That it was, and the tall man, the man I sold those horses to today, he was there.”

  “What do you mean? You saw him in the parade? Where?”

  “He rode beside Sir Galahad. It was he.”

  Ada’s eyes widened, and her grip on Thomas’s hands tightened. “Thomas, how could you remember that? It was so long ago.”

  “I remember. The tall man and Galahad—they were different. The others, they all looked straight ahead, you know, like lords and ladies do, never seeing anyone below them, but those two, they waved to the people as they rode by.”

  “Thomas, you still haven’t told me how you know it was him.”

  “Ada, he saw me on the roof, watching. He looked right at me. I saw his face as plain as day. He raised his hand to me in a greeting, like this, Ada.”

  Thomas raised his right arm and held it out, his palm open.

  “You cannot be sure,” Ada said, shaking her head.

  The farrier looked across at his wife and said with quiet certainty, “Ada, I am sure. I remember faces. The man I saw today had the same face as the man on that horse those many years ago, and he raised his open hand to me, the same way, just before he rode off today.”

  Thomas shook his head. “For a moment, Ada, it was like I was a young lad, back on that roof all those years ago.”

  When he opened his eyes, Ada was staring at him, her eyes wide. Then she stood up quickly, kissed him, and ran toward the stable door.

  The farrier stood up and started after her. “Ada, what is it?”

  “I … I smell the bread burning.”

  Thomas walked over to the stable window, pushed open the heavy wooden shutter, and smiled as he watched his wife rush into their small cottage twenty paces up the hill. The kitchen window was open, and he could see into the room. The farrier was surprised when his wife walked past the stone oven on the far side of the room, took a parchment and a quill from a cabinet, and sat down to write.

  CHAPTER 4