“And you believed him?” Percival said, incredulous.
Capussa shrugged. “I had no choice. I received orders from the Queen.”
“The Queen,” Percival said in confusion.
Capussa nodded, an amused look in his eyes. “Yes. Merlin bore a message with two royal commands. The first ordered me to give Merlin the men, wagons, and horses that he requested.”
“And the second?”
“Oh, yes. That was for you. You are to attend the Queen this morning to continue your report.”
Percival stared at Capussa in surprise.
Capussa laughed and pointed imperiously toward the abbey. “Don’t just stand there, soldier! Attend your Queen.”
CHAPTER 26
THE QUEEN’S SITTING ROOM, ABBEY CWM HIR
hen Percival entered Queen Guinevere’s sitting room, the Queen, Cadwyn, and Sister Aranwen were seated in the same places the three women had occupied during their last meeting.
“Forgive me, my Queen, I did not receive your message until moments ago,” Percival said as he bowed.
“Please, sit, Sir Percival. The fault is mine. Your story of yesterday was so enthralling that I neglected to tell you when to return. Now, please continue your account of your time in the Holy Land.”
“Yes, my Queen,” Percival answered as he eased himself into the chair across from her. Percival was quiet for a moment as his thoughts returned to a modest house in the City of Alexandria.
“I … I spent many months recovering from my wounds under the care of Jacob the Healer. When my strength returned, Jacob guided me to the houses of men of learning in Alexandria who might have knowledge of the Holy Grail. Although these men were at first suspicious, over time, I earned their trust. I was allowed access to the secret libraries they maintained—libraries that contained many of the scrolls that survived the destruction of the great library of Ptolemy. Although many of these writings spoke of Christ and his disciples, and there were some that even spoke of the Grail, none told me of its whereabouts. The journal that I kept will attest to this.”
“You kept a written journal of your search for the Grail?” Guinevere asked in surprise.
“Yes, my Queen. At the end of each day, when it was possible, I would write down what I had discovered.”
“Sir Percival,” Guinevere said, leaning forward in her chair, “such a writing is a treasure in itself. Do you still have this journal?”
Percival hesitated before answering. “Yes, my Queen. I do have it.”
“I would speak with you about its safekeeping another time. Please continue with your story.”
“Yes, my Queen. One afternoon, as I returned to Jacob’s home, he was sitting at his table surrounded by his friends, overcome with grief. When I asked what was wrong, he told me that an ambitious nephew of the Emir of Alexandria had demanded that his son, Joshua, reveal the contents of a message he had translated for another man of power in the city. When Joshua refused to break his oath of secrecy, the man slipped a jewel into Joshua’s cloak without his knowledge. He was then seized by the palace guards as he left the grounds and charged with theft. Although the Emir held his nephew in low regard and would have dismissed the charge, he was away on a pilgrimage to Mecca, and so Joshua was tried as a thief.”
“What would be his punishment?” Cadwyn asked in a hushed whisper.
“He was offered a choice: the loss of his right hand, or a year in a Moorish prison … a prison from which a man such as Joshua, a small, kind man of books and learning, would never return.”
Sister Aranwen’s hand went to her mouth.
After a short pause, Percival continued.
“After the trial, which lasted a mere hour, Joshua was convicted. This was not something that I could allow to stand. I owed my life to his father, so … I took Joshua’s place.”
Guinevere looked at Percival in confusion.
“His place? Sir Percival, how could that be?”
For a moment, Guinevere’s eyes met Percival’s, and the Knight hesitated for a moment before continuing. As Guinevere watched him gather his thoughts, it was as if a part of him was returning to that faraway place.
“In my search for the Grail, I came to know a Moorish scholar, a man named Rashid. Like Jacob, he assisted me in my search by giving me access to his library and also securing access to the libraries of other men of learning. When I learned of Joshua’s fate, I asked Rashid to intercede, for he was a man of high station in Alexandria. Alas, the matter was beyond his realm of influence. There was, he explained, only one way of saving Joshua’s life. There was a law that would allow one man to bear the burden of another’s punishment.”
Guinevere’s eyes once again met Percival’s, and she said in a soft voice, “You offered to serve his prison term.”
“I did.”
“Did Jacob the Healer or his son ask you to do this?” Cadwyn asked.
Percival looked over at Cadwyn. “No, Lady Cadwyn. Neither Jacob nor Joshua knew of my intentions in this regard. Had they known, they would have refused to allow me to make this offer. I appeared before the court with Rashid, without their knowledge, and asked to serve Joshua’s prison term in his stead. At first, the judge declined my offer, when the Emir’s nephew opposed, but then a man approached him, a man who I would later come to know was Khalid El-Hashem, and had words with him. After this conversation, my plea was granted.”
Percival eyes grew distant when he continued, and he spoke in a faraway voice.
“I later came to know why Khalid El-Hashem intervened in the matter. You see, the Emir of Alexandria, and the Moors who controlled all the surrounding cities, allowed Khalid to take the prisoners of his choosing to a prison where men were fed well, where they slept in clean beds, and where they were trained daily by men skilled in the use of the sword, spear, and every other implement of war.”
“I don’t understand,” Guinevere said.
Percival looked down at the scars crisscrossing his hands for a moment, and then he looked up, his eyes meeting Guinevere’s. “You see, my Queen, Khalid ran the finest gladiatorial games in all of Egypt. Thousands would come to see men fight and die in Khalid’s arena, and they paid dearly for this privilege. Since men would not volunteer to die in his games, Khalid needed men to serve as the wheat for his golden scythe, and so prisoners such as I were brought to this place of slaughter.”
“Mother of God,” Sister Aranwen whispered.
Guinevere’s breath caught in her throat, and she could see Cadwyn rising in the seat to her left, her small fists balled in fury. She raised her right hand slightly to forestall the coming explosion of verbal outrage, and Cadwyn sat back down again.
Percival spent the next hour describing his life in Khalid El-Hashem’s prison and as a gladiator in the arena. As the Knight told the tale, Guinevere realized he was only telling a foreshortened narrative to spare his audience the pain of hearing the truth. As in the prior session, she gently tried to persuade him to tell the entirety of the story, but in this instance, her remonstrances failed. The Knight would not yield the memories she could sense he held within, and with each polite evasion, Guinevere’s trepidation grew. It was as if Percival knew the women could not bear the nightmare waiting behind the door she was seeking to open. In the end, it was all she could do to hold back the flow of tears—tears that were freely rolling down Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen’s cheeks as well.
When Percival finished his tale of his life in the arena, Guinevere found she was fascinated by the role the woman called Sumayya had played in Percival and Capussa’s drama. She felt at once deeply indebted to the woman for saving Percival’s life, while at the same time, a part of her was uneasy and even jealous of the Knight’s relationship with the Moorish princess.
“Sir Percival, tell me of this woman Sumayya. How did she come to know you, for surely, she would not have made so great a sacrifice without cause?”
Percival hesitated for a long moment, avoiding her eyes, before answering.
“We … we were allowed to talk under the watchful eyes of her father and Khalid from time to time. She knew the language of the Greeks and Romans, as well as the language of the Moors, so we could speak without the aid of others, and … we could speak without the others knowing what we said.”
“And what did you speak of?” Guinevere said quietly.
Percival closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts. When he opened his eyes, all three women were staring at him, rapt with attention.
“Sumayya wanted to know of our land, the people, our customs, and to know of all the lands that I journeyed through. When I told her of the King, and of you, my Queen, and the Table, she was consumed with a desire to know more. If it had been within her power, she would have traveled here. I … I believe she would have found favor with you, my Queen, had you known her.”
“She has my favor, Sir Percival,” Guinevere said with a depth of feeling, “in the fullest measure, for it was her sacrifice that allowed you to come home.”
Percival and Guinevere’s eyes met, and it was as if they were all alone in the room. Then he nodded, breaking the spell. “Thank you, my Queen.”
For a moment, the room was silent, and then Guinevere stood and walked to the window that overlooked the range of hills to the west. She looked at the sun and was surprised to see the day had slipped well into the afternoon.
“It is later than I realized, Sir Percival, and I know there is much that you have to do. I would ask that you return tomorrow, after you break your fast.”
Percival stood and spoke as he bowed. “Yes, my Queen.”
As he started for the door, Guinevere called after him. “Sir Percival, wait, please. Cadwyn and Sister Aranwen, would you wait in the library for a moment? I would speak to Sir Percival alone.”
Sister Aranwen and Cadwyn stood up, curtsied, and walked through the open door to the smaller room beyond. After they had left, Guinevere walked across the room and stopped a pace away from the Knight, her hands clasped in front of her. She was quiet for a moment, and then she spoke in a voice full of regret. “You … you have every right, Sir Percival to … bear ill will toward Arthur, and myself as well, for … for the terrible wrongs you have suffered, and … and for the years that you have lost. I ask, more, I pray for your forgiveness. I know Arthur would also seek your forgiveness if he were here himself, but he cannot. If you knew … knew why …”
Tears welled up in Guinevere’s eyes, and she closed them for a moment as she struggled to find the words to continue. When she opened her eyes, Percival had taken a step closer to her.
“My Queen,” Percival said, “I bear no ill will toward the King, and I bear nothing toward you but … devotion and my steadfast fidelity as a Knight of the Table. I know that the decision to send me on the quest was against your wishes.”
Guinevere’s eyes widened. “You … you knew of my objection?”
“Yes,” Percival said quietly, “and … I also knew that there were two women who watched me leave for the Holy Land … so long ago. One was my mother, who was on the dock. The second watched from the hills above Londinium.”
Guinevere and Percival looked into each other’s eyes, now a mere step away from each other, and then the Knight stepped back and bowed.
“My Queen, if I may take my leave?”
She nodded and spoke in a near whisper. “Yes … Sir Percival. I will see you on the morrow.”
When the door closed, Guinevere stood there, a hand resting on her chest, as she recalled her tears of grief on that distant hill a decade earlier. He had seen her … he knew of her feelings.
* * *
IN THE LIBRARY next door to the sitting room, Cadwyn had quietly stood up on a wooden bench in order to peer through a hole in the wall that allowed her to see Guinevere and Percival. As Cadwyn climbed down from the bench, her shoe made a scuffing noise, drawing the attention of Sister Aranwen, kneeling on the other side of the room, praying with her eyes closed.
“Cadwyn, what are you doing!” the nun said in exasperation.
The younger woman turned quickly, an innocent look on her face, and stepped down from the bench.
“I thought I saw a … a wasp, but it was nothing.”
“And you thought to swat it with your hand! Have you no sense at all?”
THE COAST OF HIBERNIA
Ivarr the Red and Ragnar looked down on the ruins of the town that Sveinn’s warriors had sacked and burned to the ground a day earlier. The townsfolk who hadn’t been fast enough to escape into the hills had been killed, every last one.
“The fools,” Ivarr growled as he scanned the hundreds of sleeping men lying in the field just outside the smoldering town, wrapped in an array of foul-smelling animal skins. “We could have slept the night in that town, warm and dry, with women to serve us mutton and mead. Instead, we have spent the night in the cold, wet grass.”
“They are vargars,” Ragnar said. “Only blood and death satiate them. If we let them take Londinium, there will be nothing—”
“Sveinn and his pack of wolves will never set foot in Londinium,” Ivarr said in a harsh whisper as he glanced over at the giant man wrapped in a black bearskin, sleeping near the campfire in the center of the hill.
“As soon as we have put this Sir Percival and his army of peasants to the sword, we will kill Sveinn and his men.”
Ragnar glanced down at the well-ordered camp that had been set up by the force under Ivarr’s command and then looked back at the disparate confusion that was Sveinn’s camp.
“War leader—Sveinn’s reavers, they outnumber us.”
“They do,” Ivarr said with a cunning smile, “but when the battle with the Knight of the Table is done, it will not be so.”
MORGANA’S CASTLE
Morgana looked down at the courtyard from the turret of the castle where Lord Aeron and one hundred men waited beside their restive mounts. Some of the men were the Saxon warriors who’d served as her castle guard for years. The rest were newly recruited sellswords from the north and from Hibernia. Morgana turned to Seneas, who was waiting a step behind.
“When will the rest of the Saxons sail?”
“They should depart within the week, Milady.”
“How many?”
“Four hundred, maybe five.”
“And the local rabble that you hired, what of them?”
“We had enough silver to hire one hundred or so. They used to serve as tax collectors for Hengst. They will meet you a league to the south, at the crossroads. Milady, I … I do not trust them.”
Morgana made a dismissive gesture.
“They will be placed in the front line when the battle is joined, Seneas. The Saxons will be behind them. They will either die on the swords of the enemy, or on those of the Saxons if they try to run. The few who survive will be no threat.”
“Yes, Milady. Would … would it not be wiser to wait for your entire force to be assembled before you ride?”
Morgana ignored him. “The rest of the Saxons will land at Noviomagus well before Ivarr and Sveinn arrive. So my entire force will be there when the two Norse leaders come ashore.”
“Milady, does Lord Aeron know that you march against his brother Knight?”
“No. He only knows that we ride to meet with Ivarr. He will not know that we march to destroy Sir Percival until the time is right.”
“Yes, Milady.”
THE HILLS ABOVE ABBEY CWM HIR
Guinevere watched the sun rise in silence from the crest of a hill, a league north of the abbey. Torn, Keil, and four other members of the newly formed and outfitted Queen’s Guard waited a respectful distance behind them with their horses. As the morning’s first light illuminated the stone ruins encircling the small party and the surrounding forest, Cadwyn, who was sitting beside her on an ancient stone bench, whispered, “Milady, what is this place?”
“No one really knows. Some say it was a Druid temple, others a Roman lookout post,” Guinevere answered.
After several minutes of solitude, the Queen reluctantly stood and relinquished the sense of peace she felt in this place. “Alas, my friend, we cannot dally any longer. We have much to do today.”
“Yes, Milady.”
Guinevere glanced down the side of the hill as she walked over to her waiting palfrey, and saw two men on the banks of the river far below. She slowed and then stopped. The two men looked familiar.
Cadwyn walked over to where Guinevere was standing, discretely followed by Keil, and looked down the hill as well. “Milady, is that Sir Percival and General Capussa?”
“I … I can’t tell from here,” she said as she stared down the hill.
“If—if I may—Your Highness,” Keil said hesitantly, “it is the Knight and General Capussa. They train every morning for near two hours. We were told not to follow them into the forest, but some do anyway. I saw them go hard at it in the forest outside Londinium. Why, it’s a sight like no other!”
Cadwyn turned to Guinevere, a flush of excitement on her face. “Milady, can we go watch, just for a short while?”
“I would not want to disturb them,” the Queen said, but she too was curious.
“I could show you a spot where you could watch without being seen,” Keil said enthusiastically.
“And how,” Guinevere said, raising a questioning eyebrow, “Guardsman Keil, would you know of this spot?”
Keil’s face turned red. “Ah, well … I do love to wander about in these woods, Your Highness,” he stammered.
“I see. Well then, I guess Lady Cadwyn and I should be thankful for your wanderings, for I would see this, as you say, ‘sight like no other,’ Guardsman Keil.”
“Yes, Your Highness. Please follow me,” Keil said, a smile on this face.
The party mounted their horses and followed Keil to a clearing at the bottom of the hill, where the guardsman pointed to a line of bushes.
“Your Highness, the river is on the other side of that line of bushes. Sir Percival and the general are on the far bank. We need to be quiet and stay out of sight, or they’ll see us.”
The Return of Sir Percival Page 28