“Yes, now where were we?”
“Sir Percival, he, he—” Keil said quickly.
“Ah, yes,” Capussa said, smiling at the younger man. “And so it came to pass that one day, Sir Percival found himself in the arena with his sword at his feet, standing in front of a young woman chained to a post anchored deep within the earth. As the Knight stood listening to the howling crowd, a boy ran over and dropped a parchment at his feet from Khalid El-Hashem. The message on the parchment said, ‘If you keep her alive for three days, I will set her free. Otherwise, they shall have her.’ A moment later, two brigands entered the far end of the arena, one carrying a sword, the second a spear, and they attacked the Knight.
“The brigands were killed, as were those who drew their swords against Sir Percival on the next two days. At the end of the third day, a day where the Knight was forced to fight two separate battles, Khalid honored his word and set the woman free in a grand ceremony. The crowd, which had grown with each passing day, roared their approval. Khalid was well pleased, for he could all but taste the gold he would make from Percival’s sweat and blood.
“The very next day, the Moor ordered Batukhan, a fierce warrior from the other side of the world, and myself, to hone the Knight’s fighting skills. He wanted Sir Percival to be as invincible as a man can be, for the Moor did not want to lose his prize gladiator to an errant sword stroke. And so we taught the Knight fighting skills unknown to him, and we practiced those skills over and over again, until he had mastered them.”
“Did you fight in the arena, sir?” Keil asked when Capussa hesitated just long enough to take another drink from his flask.
“Indeed. Whenever the Knight faced a pair of challengers, either I or Batukhan would fight beside him, and after Batukhan was killed, I was the only one Khalid would trust by the Knight’s side.”
The Numidian was silent for a moment, and then he stood up and nodded to the enraptured group of men. “And that, my friends, is the end of tonight’s tale. Good night to all.”
As Capussa laid down on his bedroll, Percival and Cynric walked into the cavern. The men in the camp stood up as one and stared at Sir Percival, as if seeing him for the first time.
Cynric glanced over at Keil and said, “What is it, lad? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
Capussa smiled as he rolled over and closed his eyes.
CHAPTER 13
PEN DINAS, WALES
uinevere walked down the narrow path leading from the stone tower at the top of the hill to the low stone wall encircling the crest. The old Roman fort had been used as a watchtower and a royal way station during Arthur’s reign, and she had stayed there for a week during the summer before her wedding.
She stopped at the wall for a moment and looked out at the grey sea crashing against the rocks far below. The cold wind whipped her golden locks and lifted the hem of her dark blue cloak, bringing back a wave of memories that now seemed so distant as to be mere fairy tales.
The cry of a gull winging its way over the hill drew the Queen back to the present, and she continued walking down the overgrown stone path that ran alongside the wall. She stopped when she was aligned with a large, flat rock farther up the hill. In another life, a wooden bench carved from a single oak tree had graced the slope in front of the rock, allowing a couple to sit and watch the sun set over the ocean beyond.
The bench was no longer there. She glanced at the slightly discolored stone in the middle of the nearby wall and said a prayer of thanks to the younger woman who had used the rock on the hill as the marker for the ring of gold hidden in the wall, instead of the wooden bench.
Guinevere took one last look at the hiding place and walked up to the peak of the hill. From there, she could see the horse trail that led from the fortress to the small but once thriving town by the sea, a half league to the north. For a moment, she could almost see the small mounted party of yesteryear: her younger self, a carefree young woman with flowing golden tresses and a ready smile, accompanied by a younger, but still dour, Sister Aranwen, and four of Arthur’s most trusted retainers.
When the vision faded, she was left standing on the overgrown trail, staring at the ruins of a town that had long since been burned to the ground by the seawolves. Guinevere closed her eyes and spoke in the softest whisper.
“Had the crown been placed on the head of another woman, one who was stronger and wiser, would the realm have survived? God forgive me if that is so.”
“Milady?”
Guinevere quickly wiped away the tear rolling down her cheek and turned to look up the slope at her younger companion. She was standing on the rock that marked the location of her hidden keepsake in the wall behind the Queen.
“Yes, Cadwyn?”
“It’s Captain Potter. He’s waiting in the sacristy of the old chapel. Torn and his men cleaned it up as best they could, but it’s not—”
“We shall make do.”
“Milady, I know it is presumptuous, but may I join you?”
“Of course, Cadwyn. I know you are as interested in this mystery as I, and so is Sister Aranwen, although she tries to hide it. So have her join us as well. I will be with you in a moment.”
“Thank you, Milady. I shall fetch her right away.”
Guinevere took one last look at the sea and started up the hill to the small stone chapel behind the circular stone tower. She noted that Torn, and the eight men who’d accompanied her on the two-day ride from the abbey, were patrolling the perimeter of the hilltop. Although Torn had expressed concern about the risk posed by local brigands or by a Norse raid, Guinevere was confident the huntsman and his bowmen could protect them.
After removing her cloak, Guinevere walked into the sacristy, followed by Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen. Like the chapel, the modest stone room was old and musty, having been abandoned years earlier. However, the subdued fire burning in the hearth lessened its dreary appearance. A small, wiry man with a full head of silver hair was sitting in a rough-hewn chair on one side of the small wooden table that Torn and his men had placed next to the hearth. Three other chairs were arranged on the other side.
When the man at the table realized he was no longer alone, he quickly stood and then dropped to one knee.
“Forgive me, Your Highness. I didn’t see you. The light is dim and my eyes are not—”
“Rise, good Captain,” Guinevere said with a smile as she approached the kneeling man. “You have no reason to apologize. It is I who owe you a debt of gratitude for making such a long journey in dangerous times.”
“I would have come many times that distance, Your Highness, had you desired thus,” Potter said, his head bowed.
“You are too kind. Now please, rise and meet Lady Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen, my retainers and dearest friends.”
Potter rose to his feet, hesitated a moment, and then bowed to the two women. “I am honored, gentle ladies.”
Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen nodded politely, and Guinevere gestured to the table.
“Please, Captain Potter, sit, and let us talk of your recent voyage.”
Potter bowed again and backed up to his chair, only sitting after the three women were seated. For a moment, Potter was silent and then with a nod, began.
“Yes, yes, the voyage. The Mandragon is my ship, Your Highness, and a good ship she is. The crew and I have been sailing between the lands of the Franks and the Saxons and our own blessed island for near on a decade, carrying just about anything that pays the fare. Alas, of late, the voyages have become more and more dangerous. The seawolves … they are always about. I have managed to stay clear of them, but only just.”
Guinevere glanced at the fading light outside and gently interrupted Potter.
“You were telling us about your last voyage, Captain Potter?”
Potter nodded. “Oh … yes. We were making our run from the land of Franks, around the tip of Amorica, to Albion. We left at dawn, and for a while, it seemed as if our voyage would be an uneventful one, but then
our luck ran out. We nearly ran into a dragonship coming from the north, and the seawolves were aboard the Mandragon before we knew it. My lads and I tried to throw them back into the sea, but the boarders were a savage lot, and their leader, he was a giant of a man. I … I thought we were lost, but then the two of them came out of the hold, ready for battle. Why, Your Highness, I’ve never seen the like, and I can tell you I have seen my fair share of fighting. Aye, I’ve never seen the like.”
For a moment, Potter just nodded his head slowly, his eyes staring in the distance.
“Who came up from the hold? What happened?” Cadwyn burst out, drawing a disapproving look from Sister Aranwen.
Potter looked over at Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen, and finally, his eyes returned to Guinevere.
“There were two men … passengers. They came from below deck armed with swords. The first was tall, near four hands taller than I, with hair as dark as the night. The second was shorter, but he was as strong as an anvil and just as black. The two of them were like scythes, the seawolves the wheat. The giant Norseman came for the tall man, and I was sure that he was done for, but I was wrong. That man moved like the wind itself on a stormy night. Aye, he struck the giant down with a mighty blow, and the rest of the seawolves fled.”
“Yes!” Cadwyn whispered, striking her small fist into the table, drawing a shocked gasp and rebuke from Sister Aranwen.
“Cadwyn! Have you lost your senses? We do not celebrate the death of our fellow men!”
Guinevere laughed, but quickly recovered. “Of course we don’t, Sister Aranwen.” Then she turned her attention back to Captain Potter. “Did you speak to these two passengers? Did they tell you their names, where they were from, or where they were bound?”
Potter ran his hand over his bearded face.
“Why, yes, we did speak after the battle. Let me see … hmm, yes, the black man … his name was Capussa, an odd name. Never heard the like, but then I’ve never seen a man like that before. Now, the tall one, he told me the black man’s name, but he didn’t tell me his own, and I didn’t ask. That was not right, Your Highness. Forgive me. I should know the name of two men who saved my life, at least that. Now, you asked me if I knew where they were bound, and I can’t say I do, but I know they made landfall at Whitstable.”
Guinevere leaned forward to emphasize her words. “Captain, the tall man may be someone of great import to the realm, what little there is left of it, so I need you to tell me everything he said to you. Can you do that?”
“Why, why, of course, Your Highness,” Potter stammered and then took a deep breath.
“He asked if we were landing at Londinium, and I told him that no one ports in Londinium, not with Hengst and his wolves there. But he didn’t know of Hengst. He said that he’d left ten years ago.”
“He said ten years?” Guinevere questioned with quiet intensity.
“Yes, Your Highness. He knew that the King, forgive me, Your Highness, had died and that the Table was broken, but no more than that. He asked me if any of the Knights of the Table were still alive … he asked about Galahad in particular.”
Potter froze when Guinevere raised a hand to her mouth and closed her eyes.
“Your Highness, have I offended you? Are you ill?”
The Queen opened her eyes and lowered her hand to the table. “No, Captain, all … is well. Please continue.”
“Your Highness, I am sorry, but that is all I can remember.”
“Captain,” Guinevere said, leaning forward, “can you tell me more about what the tall man looked like? Whatever you can remember.”
“Yes, Your Highness,” Potter answered, nodding slowly. “That I can. As I said before, he was tall, four hands taller than I, and he and the African, well they had sinews of steel in their shoulders, arms, and legs, like those of a blacksmith. The tall man’s hair was as black as night, and it ran near to his shoulders. His eyes are blue, his mien is a hard one, Your Highness, but also a handsome and noble one.” He paused and frowned. “There was something odd …” He shook his head. “Well, it’s a thing of no moment.”
“Please, Captain,” Guinevere quietly prompted. “What was odd?”
“When I took the tall man’s hand in greeting, his forearm … well, there was nary a part that didn’t bear a scar. I’d never seen the like. The black man was the same way, but his face also bore the mark of the blade. The tall man’s face was unmarred … and it was the face of a man in the early years of his third decade. But his eyes, Your Highness, they were those of a man who’d traveled the road of life for a much longer time and who’d paid dearly for every league—”
A knock on the door to the sacristy interrupted Potter’s narrative. Guinevere glanced over at the door, and a moment later, a man in his middle years dressed in a worn woolen cloak, sheepskin leggings, and leather boots stepped into the room and bowed quickly.
“Your Highness, forgive me, but we must go. Two dragonships have ported at Aber, and there’s a scouting party on the road coming this way. It’s the smoke from the fire. They’ve seen it.”
Guinevere nodded. “Thank you, Torn. We shall be there in a moment.” She turned back to Captain Potter. “You have been so kind, Captain. Would you travel with us, or can you make it on your own?”
Potter smiled. “Your Highness, God has blessed me with the honor of meeting the Queen of the Britons, and for that, I am eternally grateful. As for the seawolves, I grew up a league to the south. There’s nary a trail through yonder forest that I don’t know. I shall be safe.”
“Then let this be our parting, good Captain,” Guinevere said, inclining her head toward him. “I shall pray for your safe return to your family and hearth.”
“Thank you, Your Highness,” Potter said and bowed deeply before following Torn out the door.
After Potter left, Guinevere, Cadwyn, and Sister Aranwen rose, and the Queen stood there in silence for a moment. Cadwyn looked over at her and whispered, “Milady, is it he?”
Guinevere shook her head.
“I … I must think on the matter,” she said quietly. “Now, let us make haste.”
ROYAL POST STATION
Guinevere leaned back in her chair, quill in hand, listening to the light rain showering the plume of the elm tree just outside the room’s single window. Her eyes strayed to the water bucket beside the modest bed in the corner and from there to the room’s wooden ceiling. Thankfully, there was no sign of the leak the miller had apologetically prophesied might appear if the light rain became a downpour.
Her room was one of three on the third floor of the conical stone tower. Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen were quartered in the other two. The tower was a former royal post station, a four-hour ride inland from Pen Dinas. The miller and his wife, Mary, lived on the ground floor with their two young children.
Mary, one of Guinevere’s loyal sparrows, had been told to expect the small party on their return trip to the abbey, and the three guestrooms had been ready upon their arrival. Although the rooms were plain and somewhat drafty, they were a godsend, for there were no other inns or lodging on this lonely stretch of the road.
Guinevere turned her attention back to the parchment in front of her and finished the last paragraph. She wanted the women receiving the message to be ready to aid Sir Percival if he passed through their villages on his way to the abbey. At the same time, she wanted the women to keep the tidings of his return secret, since there were many who would see him dead if they knew of his arrival.
After finishing the note, Guinevere handed it to Cadwyn.
“My friend, I will need this message written in cypher, on three separate parchments. As soon as we return to the abbey, three of Torn’s best men must ride with these like the wind to the sparrows who live outside Londinium.”
Cadwyn read the message and slowly raised her eyes to the Queen.
“So it is he, Sir Percival?” she said in prayerful whisper. “He has returned?”
Guinevere hesitated, putting the quill down u
pon the table. “It could be him. I cannot be sure, but if it is, then he will need someone to guide him safely to the abbey. No one who left this land before the fall of the Table could know how dangerous it has become.”
“Milady, how can you doubt that it is Sir Percival after what Captain Potter said?”
“Perhaps …” she paused, remembering how many dreams had faded and fallen by the wayside in the long years since Camlann, “I fear that an early tide of hope will only lead to a later sea of despair if I am mistaken. I … I have much to ponder, but it will have to wait until the morning.” She rose from her chair with a tired smile. “It has been a long day, my young friend, and we should rest.”
“Of course, Milady. I shall see you in the morning.”
Although she was tired and sore from the last three days of riding, Guinevere could not find the respite of sleep. The meeting with Captain Potter had opened a Pandora’s Box of memories and feelings, and raised troubling questions about the man who’d disembarked from the Mandragon. An hour after lying down to rest, she rose and walked over to the tall, narrow window on other side of the room and stared down at the somnolent forest three floors below. The light from the full moon cast the tower’s long shadow deep into the forest, like a giant sword warding off all who might approach.
The scene below drew Guinevere’s thoughts back in time to the great stables at Camelot and the rides she used to take through the forests, towns, and villages surrounding the castle, in the first hour after dawn. Although there was little danger in the years before the war began, Arthur had insisted that one of the Knights of the Table, along with six guards, accompany her on each outing. Since most of the Knights had been reluctant to rise at such an early hour, more often than not, this duty had been imposed upon the two youngest Knights, Percival and Galahad.
Both of the young Knights had seemed to enjoy the outings, but Galahad’s nocturnal trysts frequently left him in a poor state at such an early hour, forcing his friend, Percival, to serve in his stead on many occasions. Guinevere smiled as she remembered Percival’s discomfiture when she had raised the matter with him on one of their morning rides.
The Return of Sir Percival Page 13