“Do not be so hasty, Knight. If any part of Arthur’s spirit remains in this world, I do not believe it would have stayed in that bier, far to the north. No, it would be in a vale, a half days ride from here, where Lady Alona is buried.”
“Lady Alona?”
Merlin walked over to Percival and stood by his side. “Nearly two decades ago, Arthur married a young noblewoman named Alona. I attended the wedding. It was a rare thing. They married solely for love, not for gain or position.” He paused for a moment, and then he continued, his voice filled with sadness. “There was … a magic between them, a love like I have never seen before. Alas, a year later, she died in childbirth, and the child with her. Arthur was so fraught with grief, I feared he would take his own life. Over time, he learned to bear the pain, but he never forgot her. As I say, if his spirit remains in this world, it will be with her.”
Percival stared at Merlin for a long time, and then his gaze returned to the river below.
“Merlin, I would ask that you take me to this place, that I might say a prayer beside this woman’s grave.”
Merlin smiled. “Then so you shall, Sir Percival.”
Two hours later, Percival and Merlin dismounted from their horses outside a small chapel on the edge of a forest, north of Londinium. Merlin led his horse down a crude stone path that circled to the rear of the chapel and disappeared into the wood. Percival followed.
“We are watched,” Percival said quietly.
“Indeed we are,” Merlin said, “and I can assure you that we would proceed no further if Father Gildas and his minions didn’t recognize me. Few know of this place, but it is never without guardians. Come, the grave is ahead.”
The two men tied their horses to a tree behind the chapel.
“Our horses will be safe here. The grave is just ahead,” Merlin said.
The older man led the way down a narrow path into the wood. With each step, the light overhead receded, leaving them walking in shadow through a grove lined with oak trees that were as ancient as they were massive. Just when it seemed that they had walked past the mightiest of these wooden giants, a circle of trees appeared ahead that was mightier still. Merlin walked between two of these coal black sentinels into a vale that was bathed in the light of the midday sun, and Percival followed.
“These trees must have been planted here, in this way, a long time ago,” Percival said.
“Yes, by my estimate, over two thousand years ago. I cannot say by whom, or why they were planted in a circle around this vale, but I believe this was a holy place then, as it is now.” He motioned toward the north. “Lady Alona’s ancestral home is a half league distant. She told Arthur that she had once become lost in these woods as a child and spent the night within this vale. The trees … she said they kept her safe. When she was dying, she asked Arthur to bury her here, and so he did. She lies over here.”
Percival followed Merlin to the center of the vale. A low wall, with a gate at one end, encircled a gravestone hewn from a giant white rock. A simple but beautiful cross had been carved into the gravestone. The words Alona, beloved of Arthur were carved beneath it. A stone bench stood a pace away from the gravestone.
Merlin gestured toward the grave and said quietly, “This is where she is buried. I will leave you alone here.”
Percival opened the gate in the wall and knelt down beside the gravestone and prayed in silence. When he rose sometime later and made the sign of the cross, he was surprised to see that the sun was long past midday.
Percival turned, hearing footsteps approaching from the path behind him, and saw Merlin open the gate in the wall. He walked past Percival to the gravestone, knelt down, and drew a ring from his right pocket. For a long moment, he looked at the ring, and then he placed it underneath a rock at the base of the grave and stood up. After making the sign of the cross, he walked over to Percival.
“May I ask what you have left there?” Percival said.
“The ring that Arthur gave her … Alona’s wedding ring.”
“You kept it safe all of these years?”
Percival looked over at the smaller man, but he sensed that Merlin wouldn’t speak of the matter further.
“We should leave,” Merlin said.
Percival nodded and followed the smaller man to the path that led back to the chapel. The Knight slowed as he reached the end of the vale and turned to look upon the grave again. His breath caught in his throat as he saw two ghostly figures in the waning afternoon sun—a man and a woman.
The woman was sitting on the bench with her back to Percival. Her lithe, young body was resplendent in a shimmering white dress that strikingly contrasted with the cascade of raven hair flowing down her back. The man kneeling beside the woman was partially hidden by her body, but Percival could see he was placing something on her finger—a ring.
Percival took a step forward and then froze as the man stood and looked across the vale directly at him. At first, the Knight didn’t recognize the ghostly figure, and then he realized—it was Arthur—a young Arthur, one whose face no longer bore the burdens of time and the weight of responsibility, but only the blessing of contentment.
Percival dropped to one knee and bowed his head. When he looked up again, Arthur raised his right hand and slowly made the sign of the cross. Then he smiled, turned to the woman, and took her hands in his, and then they were gone.
The Knight knelt there for a moment, in silence, and prayed he was worthy of the hand he now had been granted leave to seek. As the vale descended into shadow, he stood and followed Merlin up the trail.
LONDINIUM
Percival looked out the first-floor window of the stone mansion in the heart of Londinium, serving as the temporary royal quarters. Six lines of young men were practicing rudimentary sword craft in the courtyard under the watchful eye of a cadre of older soldiers. Although the royal forces were growing by the day in size and skill, Percival knew that an invasion in force by the Saxons, Norse, or Franks could imperil the struggling kingdom. If they could just obtain a few months’ respite while the army’s foundation was being laid, they might yet have a chance to bring a measure of peace and security to the land.
“Are you musing about the dangers posed by the morrow again?” Capussa said as he walked into the room.
“Something like that,” he answered.
“A year ago, you and I would rise each day knowing that we faced death in the arena. Now, we can rise each day with at least a measure of doubt on that score. I think even you would concede, my friend, that we are at least sailing in the right direction.”
Percival smiled.
“Well there is that.”
“Good!” Capussa said, “Now that I have lifted a burden from your shoulders, you can attend the Queen with a smile instead of a frown. She has sent for you.”
“I will tell her of your noble deed,” Percival said with a small smile as he turned toward the door.
“Do that. Now, what is that man doing with that sword?” Capussa said as he stared out the window at a young Briton wielding a wooden practice sword. “You there,” he called out to the man, “that’s a sword, not a club.”
Capussa was still scolding the soldier when Percival walked out of the room. His smile faded as he walked up the stairs to the second floor, where Guinevere and her now larger royal court were quartered. The anxiety Capussa had professed to have banished was the lesser of the two that vexed him this morning.
Percival nodded to Keil, standing outside the door, dressed in a spotless royal guard’s uniform.
“Guardsman Keil, your service in bringing the message to me on the day of the battle with such haste. It was a noble effort, and it saved many a life. I will not forget it.”
“Thank … thank you, Sir Percival.”
“No, Guardsman Keil, thank you.” Percival raised his hand to knock on the door, but Cadwyn opened it first.
“Lady Cadwyn, I hope all is well with you today.”
“Why thank you, Sir Perc
ival, all is quite wonderful. The Queen is expecting you. Please come in.”
As Percival followed Cadwyn down the broad hallway to the second-floor hearth room, he noted that the young woman’s lavender dress was more formal than the dress she’d worn in his past visits. The room, like the rest of the royal quarters, was decorated with the rugs, wall tapestries, and fine furniture donated by the citizens of the grateful City of Londinium, a city that was once again bustling with life. The more visible trappings of the Queen’s royal status increased the trepidation the Knight felt as he walked into the large palatial room.
Percival walked by the fire burning in the hearth to the window that overlooked a formal garden that had been left untended for years. The neat rows of bushes and hedges were overgrown, the flowerbeds were bereft of color, and the rose trellis in the center waited in vain for the red and white blooms that should have come with spring. Yet, despite the years of neglect, nature had not withheld all of its blessings. The majestic plumes of the trees that encircled the garden were painted with the soft red, yellow, and gold hues of early fall, giving the vista a stately, if worn, splendor.
“It’s beautiful in its own way, is it not?” Guinevere said from the door.
Percival turned quickly and stared at the Queen in silence, taking in the golden braid encircling her head, the silver diadem, and the cascade of golden hair flowing like a river over her shoulder and down the back of her resplendent indigo-blue dress. When she smiled at him, the spell holding him in place was broken, and he quickly bowed. “My Queen, forgive me, I … I didn’t hear you.”
“I would have you call me Guinevere, as you did the night we dined … and danced together.”
“Yes … Guinevere, and yes, it is a beautiful garden.”
She walked across the room and stood beside Percival at the window and looked down at the garden below. A distant look came to her eyes.
“I used to walk alone in the forest near my father’s castle on days like this, when the leaves were just turning and the sun was still warm. It was one of my most favorite things to do. Did you ever walk in the woods thus when you were a boy, just for the joy of it?”
“Yes. On many a day. It was a habit that my father was not fond of,” Percival said with a wry smile.
“Oh, I cannot imagine an errant Sir Percival,” Guinevere said with a laugh. “Tell me of your favorite place there. I should like to visit.”
Percival looked into the distance and then spoke in a soft voice.
“There is a vale two leagues or so from my home that is surrounded by a stand of oaks … trees that are as mighty as they are old. When times were hard and I sought a measure of peace, I would go there and watch the rays of sunlight break through the clouds and touch the ground, and then disappear. It … was as if I were watching a window to heaven open and close. As a boy, I believed that if I were lucky enough to be standing in the spot where the light touched the earth, I … I would receive a gift from heaven.”
Guinevere looked up at Percival. “And what do you believe that gift would be, if that came to pass?” she said.
Percival turned and faced Guinevere, who was now but a step away from him.
“It has come to pass, and that gift, Guinevere, was you.”
A tear rolled down her cheek. “Percival,” Guinevere whispered, gazing into the Knight’s eyes. “Arthur Pendragon asked for my hand, and that was given, but he never asked for my heart.”
Percival slowly knelt down on one knee and took the Queen’s hands, his eyes meeting hers.
“I am not worthy, my Queen, but I … I would have both your heart and your hand if you would have me as your husband.”
A smile as radiant as the beams of sunlight Percival remembered from that distant vale lit Guinevere’s face. “Then they are yours,” she said, “and you are mine.”
CHAPTER 35
PEN DINAS
eil, Torn, and four of the Queen’s guardsmen raced to the top of Pen Dinas in the last hour of the day, their horses lathered with sweat.
“Make haste, Keil,” Torn said. “We will lose the sun in moments!”
Keil dismounted and opened the parchment map Sister Aranwen and Cadwyn had painstakingly drawn for him a week earlier. His hands were shaking as he recalled the testy exchange between the two women that day.
“It … it was so long ago, Cadwyn! Wait … wait, I do remember. We were staying at Pen Dinas. It was a moonlit night … the Queen didn’t know I was watching. She walked down to the wall, the one that encircles the tower. She put something behind a rock. It must be the ring. Yes! It is in the wall.”
“In the wall? Sister, there are a thousand rocks in that wall. We have to know which one,” Cadwyn had said with exasperation.
“Patience, child. It is coming back to me. The Queen … she stopped at the rock on the hill … the big one, and then walked straight down from the rock to the wall. She walked with some care, as if—”
“—she was marking the spot! The ring is there!”
Keil scanned the hill below the old tower and spied the large rock embedded in the earth ten paces from the wall marked on the map. He ran down the hill, glancing at the fading sun as he did so. After circling to the side of the rock facing the wall, he walked down the hill in a straight line and knelt beside the wall.
The mortar holding the rocks in place was crumbling and much of it was covered with moss, but there was nothing there to give him a clue as to which of the hundreds of stones could be the right one. The guardsman reached for a square stone and tried to pull it free. It would not move. He tried another and another. All were still held fast by mason’s mortar. Then his eyes fixed on a rock farther to the right, a rock with a slight discoloration in the center. He reached for the rock and gave it a tentative push. It moved.
The guardsman drew in a breath as he placed both hands on the rock and pulled. It came free. He reached into the space behind the rock, and his trembling hand closed on a small wooden box. He drew the box from its hiding place and opened it. There was a golden ring within.
Keil gently closed the box and stood. He turned to Torn and the other guardsmen waiting on the hill above.
“We have done it!”
The taciturn Torn gave him a rare smile and then glanced at the sun, just passing below the horizon.
“Replace the stone, Guardsman Keil, and make haste! We don’t want to be late for the wedding, do we?”
ABBEY CWM HIR
As Percival stood at the altar beside Capussa, waiting for the Queen to emerge from the sacristy, he glanced out the window across from him. Thousands of tents covered nearly every patch of open grass within a half league of the abbey, ranging from the grand and stately shelters erected for the wealthier nobles and knights, to the modest shelters cobbled together by farmers and herdsmen. All desired to gain just a glimpse of the royal couple and to be able to say to their children and grandchildren that they were there on that historic fall day.
Although the church could only hold a fraction of the people desirous of attending the ceremony, the first row had been set aside to honor the members of a departed brotherhood. Thirty gleaming swords anchored in blocks of stone stood in the pew, each engraved with the name of a deceased Knight of the Table.
When Guinevere emerged from the sacristy with the bishop, followed by Sister Aranwen and Lady Cadwyn, the quiet murmur in the church fell silent, and Percival and Capussa dropped to one knee. The Queen, resplendent in a magnificent white dress, walked over to the two men, a radiant smile on her face.
“Please rise,” Guinevere said and extended her hand to her betrothed.
Percival took her hand, and the couple walked over to the waiting bishop. When the marriage vows had been said, Capussa, standing beside Sir Percival, handed the Knight the wedding ring. Guinevere’s eyes widened as Percival slipped the golden ring on her finger, and for a moment, she stared at it, remembering a wish made long ago, one that now had been granted. She glanced over at Sister Aranwen and Cadwy
n, seated two paces away, and smiled, a look of profound gratitude on her face.
Guinevere turned to Percival and the couple kissed. When they parted, the Queen and the Knight stared into each other’s eyes in silence, as if willing the moment to last forever. Then the royal couple turned and faced the assembled notables in the church, and they were met with a thunder of applause that shook the very walls of the old chapel.
As Sir Percival waited for the joyous clamor to die down, he looked over at the line of swords standing in the front pew, silently witnessing the ceremony, and for a moment, they were standing there—all of them. His gaze moved from Lancelot to Kay, to Tristan and Gawain, and each of the others, until at last, it came to rest upon the knight at the end of the pew—the knight with the rogue’s smile and the devil-may-care look he would never forget.
Then, in a heartbeat, the Knights disappeared. As he stared at the line of steel sentinels left behind, Percival said a silent prayer for his departed brethren and asked for their prayers as well, for he knew he would need them in the days to come.
Guinevere saw the look on his face and whispered, “Percival, what is it?”
The Knight looked down at his beautiful wife and Queen and smiled. “I was just saying good-bye to my brothers.”
THE END
EPILOGUE
organa stood on the crest of a hill a half a league distant from the abbey and watched Guinevere and Percival emerge from the church. Rage flared in her eyes at the applause of thousands of nobles, knights, soldiers, and peasants waiting outside. As the sound of trumpets and cheers reached a crescendo, Morgana turned to a woman waiting a pace behind her, dressed in the habit of a nun. She handed the woman a tiny glass bottle.
“A drop is all that is necessary. You will wait until I give the word.”
Reading Group Guide
Percival’s character unfolds before our eyes throughout the story. What do we know about him at the onset of his journey? How does that view change as the story progresses?
The Return of Sir Percival Page 37