The Return of Sir Percival

by S Alexander O'keefe

  Guinevere, Cadwyn, and Torn dismounted, and Keil led them to the top of a rise that bordered the river they had seen from the hills above.

  As Guinevere stared through an opening in the foliage, at first, all she could see was the morning fog. Then a cool breeze parted the billowy clouds, revealing two men stripped to the waist, bearing wooden practice swords and buckler shields. As she watched, the two men clashed furiously, disengaged, and then clashed again, their hands and feet a blur of movement. As the battle raged back and forth, wisps of fog would obscure the men for a moment, and then they would reappear, like two titans fighting a duel in the clouds.

  Guinevere found herself both shocked and mesmerized by the terrible ferocity of the ongoing battle. She had never seen two men display such a mastery of violence, nor seen or heard tell of the exotic panoply of attacks they employed in their struggle. At last, the two men stepped back and bowed to each other, and Sir Percival walked toward the river.

  Another wafting cloud of fog swept by, hiding the two men for several moments. When it drifted away, Guinevere could see Percival standing in the river up to his waist with his back to her. For a moment, she frowned at the sight of the red lines crisscrossing the Knight’s back and then realized they were scars. Cadwyn gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, taking an involuntary step back.

  Guinevere closed her eyes for a moment, struggling to understand how the Knight could have borne so much pain and why he would have been the object of such cruelty. When she opened her eyes, Cadwyn stood at the bottom of the rise, staring into the distance. Guinevere walked down the hill and guided the silent young woman back to the horses.

  As the small party rode back to the abbey in silence, Guinevere glanced over at Keil, whose face was crestfallen.

  “Guardsman Keil, please ride by my side,” Guinevere said.

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Keil answered, easing his horse between those of the two women.

  “You have no cause for regret, Guardsman Keil,” Guinevere said quietly. “That was, indeed, a sight to behold. Lady Cadwyn and I thank you.”

  Keil bowed his head respectfully. “You’re welcome, Your Highness.”

  Guinevere hesitated and then asked the question she feared would yield an answer she could not bear. “Do you know how Sir Percival received those scars on his back?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. General Capussa spoke of this.”

  “I would know what the general said.”

  “Yes, Your Highness. The Knight … he was forced to fight as a gladiator.”

  “Yes, Keil, I know of this,” Guinevere said quietly.

  The guardsman swallowed heavily and continued. “Well, at first, he refused to fight. He said that it was wrong. So, so they flogged him—the general called it scourge—to try to make him fight, but it didn’t work. So they had to do it a different way. They tied women and children to a stake in the arena … that’s what they called the place, and told him that if he didn’t defend the women, they would be killed by their attackers, and if he defended them … and won, they would be set free.”

  As the young guardsman relayed the story, Guinevere’s chest tightened, making it difficult to breathe, and for several moments, she struggled in silence, trying to force air into her lungs. When she recovered, a part of her wanted to scream in rage and seek vengeance against those who had done this terrible thing and another to shed an ocean of tears. In the end, she said a prayer of thanks to the Almighty for the Knight’s deliverance and a second prayer for a woman on the other side of the world named Sumayya.

  CHAPTER 27

  ABBEY CWM HIR

  s Capussa and Percival rode across the field outside the abbey’s walls, the Numidian nodded in satisfaction. The lines of men maneuvering to the sound of the horn blasts were beginning to move and look like an army, and almost all of them were now armed with swords and shields. Although he and the Knight had labored tirelessly in the past month to forge the disparate group of men into a lethal weapon of war, the tide had been turned by the older soldiers who had once fought in the Pendragon’s army. These men, acting as company commanders, had instilled discipline and provided leadership in the lower ranks, turning chaos into order.

  As they approached the large command tent at the end of the field, a gust of wind ruffled the array of flags affixed to the tent’s broad triangular roof. The older soldiers had brought the flags with them. Each bore the sigil of a former royal regiment.

  Merlin emerged from the tent as Capussa and Percival dismounted. The expression on his face was grim. The old Roman gestured to the open tent flap. “Please, come in. We must speak.”

  The two men followed Merlin into the tent. After closing the tent flap, he turned to face them. “I have fell tidings, my friends. The Norse intend to land in force on the south coast within a fortnight. From there, they will march on Londinium.”

  Capussa glanced over at Percival. A look of consternation crossed the Knight’s face, but it passed as quickly as it came.

  “So be it,” Percival said with a grim nod.

  “You bear these tidings well,” Merlin said in muted surprise. The Knight reached out and put a hand on the Roman’s shoulder.

  “You forget, Merlin the Wise, I have been fighting the Norse since I was thirteen years old. There was a never a time when we were attacked at the time of our choosing, or when our ranks had already been formed. Yet, we still managed to drive them back into the sea. We can do it again.”

  Capussa nodded in approval. “Well said. Now let us make our preparations.”

  Percival turned to Capussa. “I must first tell the Queen, my friend. Then if it is her will, we can meet forthwith.”

  “Percival, I have a map room in my quarters,” Merlin said as he stroked his chin. “We will need to see the roads, the ports, and the lay of the land to plan for the defense. Would you ask the Queen if we might convene there?”

  Percival nodded. “Yes. If she agrees, I will meet you there within the hour.”

  “So be it,” Merlin said. “Let us make haste.”

  Percival strode out the door. Capussa turned to Merlin after he heard the sound of Percival’s horse pounding away from the tent. “I somehow think Sir Percival will have no trouble persuading the Queen to come.”

  “Of that,” Merlin said, “I am sure.”

  “He doesn’t see it, does he?” Capussa said with amusement.

  Merlin hesitated for a moment, and then shook his head. “His sense of honor blinds him.”

  “Well then, you will have to do something about that,” the Numidian said with mock gravity.

  “I?” Merlin said, raising an eyebrow. “Why not you? You are his most trusted companion.”

  Capussa rested a hand on Merlin’s shoulder. “Alas, I am but a soldier, a simple man who prudently contents himself with the company of simple women. I surely am not the one to offer advice on such a delicate matter. Merlin the Wise, on the other hand, could most assuredly do so.”

  Merlin laughed. “You are a clever scoundrel, Numidian. I suspect Morgana would hire far more sellswords if she knew of your talents.”

  “Oh, she will know of them soon enough, my friend,” Capussa said quietly. “Now, let us go. We don’t want to keep the Queen waiting.”

  SOUTH TOWER, ABBEY CWM HIR

  In the past, Guinevere had made a point of avoiding the stone tower located in the southwest corner of the abbey’s grounds, knowing that this was where the odious personage of Bishop Verdino was quartered. Although she now knew the bishop had been Merlin in disguise, she still felt an involuntary measure of unease as she climbed the stairs to his quarters, followed by Cadwyn and Sir Percival. She smiled inwardly. Merlin the Wise had played his role all too well.

  When the Queen reached the fourth-floor landing, Merlin was waiting there. He bowed respectfully and gestured for her to enter the open door to his right.

  “This way, Milady, if you will.”

  Guinevere nodded and followed Merlin into the
room. She was surprised at the size of the chamber. The stone room barely accommodated the small bed, writing desk, and the rickety wooden chair in the corner. The only decoration in the room was a long tapestry that hung on one wall, depicting the castle at Camelot as it had been at the height of the Pendragon’s power.

  As she stared at the magnificent work, her breath caught in her throat. The view of the castle captured in the weave was from a small hill to the east of the castle. She remembered bringing her horse to rest alongside Sir Percival’s steed on that very hill, on many a morning ride, in another life. Guinevere glanced over her shoulder at Percival, and his eyes left the tapestry and met hers. He remembered as well.

  Merlin walked over to the tapestry and pulled a silken rope. The movement lifted the tapestry upward, revealing an open door in the wall behind it. Merlin tied the rope to a hook in the wall and gestured for the Queen to precede him into the next room. Intrigued, Guinevere walked through the door, followed by Cadwyn and Sir Percival. She could hear Merlin closing the outer door to his chambers and then the inner door behind them.

  The room she entered was many times larger than the small bedroom, and the distance from floor to ceiling was nearly sixty hands. The walls were covered with bookshelves, and each shelf was filled with old dusty tomes, scrolls, and wooden boxes. When the Queen’s eyes came to rest on the ceiling above, she froze. Two flags hung from the four wooden rafters that supported the roof: the battle flag of the Pendragon and the flag of the Table. The last time she had seen these flags, they had been hanging in the great hall of the castle at Camelot, behind the ceremonial thrones, where she and Arthur had sat on occasions of state.

  Merlin walked over to her side and gestured to a long table at the far end of the room, where Capussa was waiting. Guinevere turned to the old Roman, struggling to contain a hundred emotions, and said with gratitude, “You were able to save a part of the library.”

  “Some of it, my Queen. There was little time and few wagons available, but Aelred and I did what we could.”

  Guinevere smiled. “It is a treasure worth more than its weight in gold. Another day, I would speak with you about this.”

  “Yes, my Queen.”

  Guinevere walked over to the table, and Capussa stood and bowed.

  “Queen Guinevere.”

  As the Queen looked into the Numidian’s eyes, she sensed he had watched the storm of war approach before and had weathered its harshest winds. She wished Arthur could have had this man’s counsel during the war with Morgana.

  “General Capussa, I am thankful that you are here to aid this kingdom in its hour of need,” she said with feeling.

  “It is my honor to serve in such noble company, Your Highness,” the Numidian said with a smile.

  Merlin looked back across the room at Cadwyn. The young woman stood gazing up at the books lining the walls.

  “Lady Cadwyn,” Merlin said with smile, “may I ask you to join us?”

  “Join … yes, yes …,” she said, awestruck. “I have never seen so many books.”

  After everyone was seated, Merlin walked over to a map that covered almost half the wall directly across from the table and reached for a long, narrow stick. The map, which displayed the entirety of Albion and Hibernia, had a mark for every city and town of any size, and it was crisscrossed with lines and other markings reflecting roads, rivers, and mountains.

  “My Queen, I have come to know that Ivarr the Red and another Norse war leader, Sveinn the Reaver, sail toward our land in strength. Their combined fleet could have as many as thousand or more warriors. Once they make landfall, Morgana will meet them with an army of Saxons, Picts, and brigands of equal might. Together, this force will march on Londinium.”

  Guinevere was silent for a moment, and then she asked, “When and where will they land?”

  “A fortnight. As for where—the Norse warrior captured by my spies only knew the landing would be on the south coast.” Merlin tapped two of the port towns on the map. “But we can be assured they will come ashore at either Noviomagus Reginorum or Dubris.”

  “Why there?” Capussa said.

  “The Roman roads to Londinium run from both places,” Percival said quietly. “With an army of that size, they will need to travel on one of those roads.”

  Guinevere’s gaze was fixed on the map, her eyes tracing the length of the Roman roads from Noviomagus and Dubris to Londinium. She had traveled on both roads and knew there were small villages and towns along both. The Norse would surely ravage those villages as they passed by, inflicting another wave of pain and suffering on her people.

  “Merlin, how did you come to know of this?” Guinevere said in a quiet voice, trying to hide her distress.

  The older man hesitated for a moment and then nodded toward the island of Hibernia on the map. “The man who warned me of the approach of the Norse lives in Hibernia. He sent a pigeon with a message to another friend four days ride south of here. The message said Sveinn’s raiders sacked and burned a town on the coast there.” Merlin paused, looking down at the floor. “No one was left alive, my Queen. One of Sveinn’s men was captured and made to talk before he died.

  “As for my knowledge of Morgana, the castle she seized for herself after the fall was the home of an old friend of mine. He was killed during the war, but some of his retainers still work at the castle, and they remain loyal. They report to me what they see and hear.”

  Capussa walked over to the map and pointed to the narrow sea separating the coast of Hibernia from the coast of Albion, just west of the abbey. “I would think they would land on this coast and march on the abbey. If they seek battle with the Queen’s Army, this would be the most direct approach.”

  “Morgana would surely have preferred that,” Merlin said, “but Ivarr and Sveinn would never agree. Londinium is their target.”

  “Then why not sail up the Tamesis and land north or south of Londinium? That would save them a three-day march,” Percival said.

  Merlin nodded. “It would. That is Morgana’s doing. I am told she has convinced Sveinn that a river attack is expected, and plans were made to burn the raiders’ ships with Greek fire as they came ashore.”

  “And why,” Guinevere said in a guarded voice, “would she do that?”

  Merlin moved back to the map. “My Queen, Morgana wants to make sure the battle happens before the sack of Londinium, not after, and at the time and place of her choosing. An attack on the city from the Tamesis could well be over before Sir Percival arrived. Sveinn would then leave with his loot, and Morgana would be forced to fight alone, or possibly with Ivarr the Red. It is a clever scheme.”

  “So it’s a trap,” Guinevere said, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “It is indeed,” Capussa said with a nod as he stood and walked over to the map. “But, it is also an opportunity. As she waits for us to fall into her snare, we shall lay a trap of our own. At the end of the day, we shall see who is the predator and who is the prey.”

  Guinevere glanced over at Sir Percival. Memories of the survivors of Camlann straggling back toward Camelot, accompanied by wagons full of the dead and dying, flooded through her mind. She remembered one wagon in particular, covered by the flag of the Pendragon, the wagon that carried Arthur’s body. She closed her eyes briefly, banishing the images, and then opened her eyes and stood.

  “Sir Percival and General Capussa,” she said, “I am not skilled in the way of war, but I surmise you propose to march against a greater force with a lesser one—one that is not fully trained or blooded in a fight. I cannot agree to this. You must wait and build your strength and numbers.”

  The three men exchanged glances, and Percival slowly stood. “If we wait, my Queen,” he said, “Londinium will fall, and Ivarr and his men will exact a terrible retribution on its people.”

  She turned to him, struggling to control the anger and fear in her voice. “If you are dead, Sir Percival, and your army is destroyed, Morgana and the Norse will take Londinium anyway. Y
our army is too small to defeat both of them.”

  “My Queen, I assure you, the army will grow as we march, and I have sent a rider north, to the Marches. There is a legion there. I have asked—”

  “A legion?” Guinevere said in an incredulous voice. “Sir Percival, the Romans left this island over two centuries ago. What are you talking about?”

  “Milady, do you remember when I was sent north to aid the men of the Marches against raiders—raiders who later turned out to be Morgana’s mercenaries?”

  “I remember. You volunteered for the assignment,” Guinevere said, the barest hint of censure in her voice.

  Percival did not react to the subtle rebuke, and Guinevere regretted it the instant it was said.

  The Knight nodded. “In the year that I was there, I formed and trained a force of men. It was not a full legion … but it was at least two thousand strong, maybe as large as three thousand at the end of my time there. I have sent a rider to the north seeking the aid of those men. I believe a part of that force will come south to—”

  “You believe, Sir Percival?” Guinevere interrupted, her voice rising. “You would have me gamble all on a mere belief?”

  “My Queen,” Percival said with certainty, “no man can know what the morrow will bring, but I know those men. If they get the message, they will come in force.”

  Guinevere turned and walked across the room, her gaze coming to rest upon the Pendragon’s battle flag for a moment. When she turned, her eyes, full of trepidation, met Sir Percival’s. “And if they come, in force, a day late,” she said quietly, “it will not matter.”

  Before Percival could respond, Capussa intervened. “May I speak on this matter for a moment, Queen of the Britons?”

  Guinevere turned to the Numidian and nodded. “Yes, of course.”

  Capussa walked slowly around the table, his hands clasped behind his back, a contemplative look on this face.

  “The army—your army—is not well trained, nor are its numbers equal to that of the enemy yet, but the training will continue on the march, and our numbers grow by the day. If we march south at speed, we can link up with the forces of Londinium and choose the ground where the battle will be joined. If we wait, Londinium and its forces will be destroyed, the enemy’s ranks will grow with that triumph, and that greater force, flush with victory, will seek us out. Morgana will then choose the time and place of battle.”