Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1)

by Adam Copeland

  William finally looked to Patrick as if he could help him. But Patrick played along with McFowler.

  “Well, you know, my father is not that rich, and he probably does not care that much for me. I mean after all...” William’s forehead grew shiny with moisture and he clutched at his chest as his breath grew short.

  Jason burst into laughter. He put away his dagger as he gathered William up into a single-armed embrace. William tried to step away but then began to laugh himself.

  “You had me fooled there for a moment,” he said.

  “Oh, we are still going to kill you, Willy.”

  Jason was all seriousness again. William's face turned pale, which caused Jason to begin to laugh anew.

  The door next to William's opened, and a tall, lanky boy younger than William strode out.

  “What is all the commotion about?”

  “Oh, do not worry, Trent, I am just about to be murdered, that is all,” William said calmly. Trent frowned. William explained the situation, and Trent smiled at McFowler.

  “My uncle warned me about the Avangarde’s sense of humor,” Trent said.

  “Your uncle has been here?” Patrick asked.

  Trent noticed Patrick. “Yes, it was he who suggested I come here for a while. He said that the experience would be invaluable,” he replied. William put an arm around Trent.

  “Trent's father is also a rich merchant in Jersey. Maybe you want to ransom him off also?”

  McFowler snapped his fingers and looked at Patrick. “That is a fabulous idea! Do you not think so, Sir Gawain?”

  “Quite,” Patrick answered, smiling with eyebrows raised.

  They laughed and stayed to talk for a while, and then Jason gathered up his group of Avangarde and moved on to meet more Guests. They spent much of the day in this fashion.

  #

  The following evening was cause for yet another banquet, this time as a formal reception for the Guests. Unlike the first gathering, this was a full-blown gala. The dining hall’s throne room was decorated with sweet-smelling evergreen sprigs, mistletoe, and forest flowers. The food was rich and abundant. Everyone was colorfully dressed, and the candle and lantern lights reflected off the white plaster walls to brightly illuminate the hall. Patrick sat among the knights. He pulled at his collar and swallowed hard as he remembered how that first gathering went. He was only mildly more comfortable, and again feared an inopportune appearance from the Apparition. He tapped his foot nervously.

  On the upper balconies, the servant women rested for a few minutes. They leaned out the windows overlooking the dining hall, watching with wonder and some measure of envy the beautifully dressed people below.

  “Tis the life down there,” one of the servants said. Her name was Anna. “Ah, to be a noblewoman with nothing better to do than to wear jewels and eat fancy food all day!”

  “Sounds boring to me,” said another servant, whose name was Claire. “And you would get fat and unattractive besides.”

  “Well, it is better than hauling this thing about,” replied Anna, hefting a bucket of leftover food. “Besides, you are already fat and unattractive. Why not be bored as well?”

  Claire made a face at Anna, and they both giggled. “The only reason the pretty lasses down there are so skinny is because they are still young and have not squeezed out a few babes.”

  “True, true. Time will catch up even with them.” Anna nodded to herself. “Don’t you agree, Aimeé?”

  Aimeé leaned out the window on her elbows. Her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

  “Yoo-hoo, Aimeé. Are yea there, lass?” Anna waved a hand in front of the younger servant girl's face. Aimeé blinked.

  “Taken away by the noblesse down below, are you?” Claire asked

  Aimeé smiled. “It is not the women I am looking at most.”

  Anna and Claire crowded into the balcony opening to get a better look over the hall.

  “So you are right.” Claire giggled. “Much more interesting view from this angle. Handsome knights we have here, no?” Anna maneuvered for a better view of the long table where the Avangarde sat noisily before their trenchers.

  “Which ones do you think are the most handsome?” Claire asked.

  “Tis a simple question, that,” Anna said. “Sir Geoffrey is by far the most handsome.”

  Claire scoffed. “That poppin-jay? A beau, yes, but I would wager that he spends more time gazing in a looking glass than he does at women.”

  Anna chuckled. “You know who I think is worthy of a girl’s attention?”

  Claire placed both hands to her breast and swooned. “Oh, do tell!”

  “Jason McFowler.”

  Claire’s hands went to her hips. “I can see the reasoning behind that. Though he is an odd-looking fellow, he can make a girl laugh, and he is handsome in a scruffy sort of way.”

  Anna's mouth made a sudden O, and she placed a hand to her cheek. “My goodness, how could we have forgotten the most generous prize of them all! Why Sir Mark is the greatest catch.”

  “Oh my, yes,” Claire leaned on the wall. “And there he is, sitting among the knights.” She and Anna were practically climbing over each other order to see better. They swooned over the golden-haired image of the knight sitting among his comrades in arms. Aimeé retreated, arms crossed.

  “A modern-day Lancelot, do you not think, Aimeé?” Claire asked.

  “Oh, I know who she has a fancy for,” Anna teased. “’Tis yonder knight from the Green Isle.”

  Claire giggled. “Smitten by this one, are we? He is a handsome lad, Sir Gawain, especially since he got some food in his stomach and some sun on his face. I dare say he looked like a ghost when he first arrived here, being so pale and all.”

  “He still looks like he has seen a ghost from the looks of him. You know they call him Sir Silence because he does not talk much,” Anna said.

  “He is a strange fellow, all right, but who cares. Aimeé approves of him enough.”

  “Would you silly wenches stop talking about me like I was not here?” Aimeé’s French accent sounded out of place among Anna and Claire's English, though not too out of place in relation to the keep, for the court at Greensprings was a veritable hodge-podge of accents and languages.

  Claire smiled with one side of her mouth. “You have had eyes on that one for a while. Though it is the same story every year. Tell us, does this one even know you exist?” Claire inquired.

  Aimeé rolled her eyes. “Of course he knows I exist.”

  “But does he have eyes for you?”

  Aimeé did not reply right away. “Not yet, but I wager that I can make him.”

  Anna and Claire tsked. “Careful, girl,” Anna said, “it is a simple matter of going for a roll in the hay, but that can lead to trouble. And I doubt that he would be so noble as to marry you for it, let alone admit it. He is noble born, and you are not.”

  “Thank you, 'mother,'“ Aimeé said, “but I was not talking about that. I meant only a little harmless attention.”

  “I think you would have as much luck as you have had in the past,” Claire said.

  “Now that sounds like a challenge,” Aimeé said gaily, hoisting up her tray of food. “But why not watch and let us see whose head I can turn?”

  She sauntered past the giggling Anna and Claire toward the stairwell. When she disappeared from sight, the two servants leaned out the window again to watch her reappear below on the hall floor. They watched her work her way through the crowd toward the long table where the Avangarde sat. Upon reaching the table, she placed the tray in the center of the table, even though there was already an abundance of food. She went out of her way to be near Patrick, who was sitting with the knights Jeremiah, Jon, and Gregory. She leaned heavily against the Irishman's shoulder. Anna and Claire's knowing eyes watched her stick her bosom in his face. Patrick averted his eyes and made room for her to work. Aimeé made some trite apology, to which Patrick courteously replied, but then he returned his attention to the knights
.

  Anna and Claire laughed. Aimeé placed one hand on her hip and shook her fist at the back of Patrick's head with the other, but no one noticed except the other servants. Largely unnoticed. Aimeé stalked back up the stairs.

  “I told you, lass, but do not worry,” Claire laughed. “Either he is incredibly pious, or likes young lads.”

  “Or he finds me vulgar and obvious,” Aimeé said, her face red. Anna and Claire took her in their arms and walked her away from the balcony.

  “You will get over it,” Anna said. “You always do.”

  “For now, we best be getting back to the kitchens. Rosa Maria will be wondering where we are. And you know how those Italian kitchen madames can be,” Claire said.

  #

  “Good evening, gentlemen,” Sir Geoffrey said. He sat himself at the table near Patrick, Jon, Jeremiah, and Gregory. They greeted him with handshakes all around.

  “We were just speculating on how this year will go,” Jeremiah said, brushing back a dark curl of hair from his eyes. “All of us are Reservists, and this is our first year.”

  Geoffrey took a long draft of wine from his goblet. “Well, lads, my best advice to you all is to just take it day by day. There will be plenty of drilling of arms, horsemanship, and night watches.” He drank from the cup again and then made a swooping gesture, which encompassed all four junior knights. “But if it is adventure you are looking for, there is little enough of it. This is my third year, and there have been few calls to arms. Once to handle pirates and raiders who blundered through the mist, and another to rid the woods of critters.”

  “Critters in the woods?” Gregory asked. His sharp blue eyes sparkled like a child's.

  Geoffrey gently pulled off his expensive velvet gloves and placed them on the table. “Why, yes. This is Avalon, the fabulous realm where creatures of legend truly exist. You know, ogres, trolls, and witches.” The four listeners put their cups down and silently stared in Geoffrey’s direction. He laughed, and it became evident they had again fallen victim to the unusual sense of humor typical of all the Avangarde.

  “Seriously,” Geoffrey said, “once a year we beat the bushes to appease the villagers. The folks here are terribly superstitious, and they claim that all kinds of fairy folk beset the woods, making their cows dry up, scaring their chickens and dogs and so forth.”

  “Is there any basis for their fears?” Sir Jon asked. Geoffrey shrugged and ran his hand through his thick brown hair before replying. It was full and soft as if he had just bathed.

  “The milk in the cows’ udders often mysteriously dries up. Dogs sometimes bark until all hours of the night for no apparent reason. We can hear them even up here on the hill. Fairy rings of toad stools and stones come and go, just like good old grandma used to talk about,” Geoffrey took another drink of wine. “When we do our annual bush–beating, some of us catch fleeting glimpses of something from the corners of our eyes. Occasionally, although I have only heard rumors, an Avangarde will come back alone, sword drawn and eyes the size of this goblet, gibbering like a madman.” He took another drink. “Such knights often pack up and leave Avalon. Which is good...” Geoffrey shook his head and slapped Gregory on the back,”for you gentlemen, for then you can take their places and become full-fledged Avangardesmen.” He took yet another drink from the goblet. His cheeks were turning pink now.

  “Is it really all that eerie around the isle?” Patrick asked.

  Geoffrey laughed. “A forest is a forest is a forest. I would rather not go galloping about in search of adventure. I prefer to stay inside the walls of Greensprings and do my civic duty of protecting the Guests, particularly the more attractive ones.” He winked at Patrick. “And there is plenty of adventure there for the taking.”

  The Irishman frowned. “I thought we were discouraged from having romantic liaisons with the Lady Guests.”

  Geoffrey smiled into his wine. “Details, details. There is no harm in a little fun every now and again. Just be discreet about it, or those women in habits will have you saying the rosary until Kingdom come.” He jerked his head in the direction of the table where the nuns of Greensprings sat at their dinner.

  Jeremiah smirked. “Sounds like trouble to me.”

  “Nonsense,” Geoffrey rolled his eyes at Jeremiah. “Why, I am engaged to be married to a former Guest.”

  “Really?” Jon asked.

  “Why, yes, a lovely young woman by the name of Amy du Lac.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “At her father's court in Normandy, but she will be returning here later this season before the sailing gets bad.” Geoffrey drained his cup, filled it again, gathered up his gloves, and bowed to the Reservists.

  “Now if you will excuse me, gentlemen, I think I will go apply myself to my civic duties.” He turned and walked up to a table full of attractive Guests in colorful gowns.

  “What a scoundrel,” Gregory said. Jon nodded. “But he does have the right idea. We ought to be mingling and not hiding in a corner like this.”

  “Hear, hear,” Jeremiah added, and they departed together. Patrick had no intention of leaving the safety of his table, and fortunately, Jon stayed with him. Patrick was glad for that, because he did not want to be alone at this banquet.

  #

  Patrick awoke to the sound of bagpipes. Time and time again he had heard the sound outside his window at dawn, but he was unable to pinpoint its origin. He lay back and stared at the ceiling. Pity he was not capable of creating his own peace of mind, as a disciplined man should.

  That sound was soon lost over the noise in the corridor. Boy Guests were waking up. Laughter, shouting, and roughhousing had become the norm every morning.

  Patrick groaned and folded his pillow around his head. The raucous Guests cavorted about like students in a boys’ school. This was basically it—the dormitory of a fancy school. And he was their glamorized guardian. Or at least, one of them. The Guests were attending classes with the resident scholars and priests. They collaborated in religious plays and choir concerts, although it was too early yet to see the fruits of their work.

  Patrick groaned again and threw his pillow at the wall that separated his chamber from that of William of Monmouth. The stocky merchant's son had entirely too much energy and liked to rise early every morning to vent it. Patrick could hear the boy moving noisily around his room as if he were moving heavy wood furniture. Patrick found that he liked the Hall for Guests much better when it was empty. The Avangarde didn’t have to put up with such indignities every morning.

  He was supposed to take his turn on the keep walls. There was nothing to guard against, as far as he could tell. But then again, you could not exactly have walls and knights who did not use them. The Benefactors on the outside would probably be at a loss were they to find out that the keep and all its important inhabitants were needlessly invaded because the knights sworn to protect it decided to sleep in an extra hour.

  Still, Patrick had to force himself to get dressed. Halfway through putting on his surcoat, he just sat on his bed with the garment hanging over his head, blanketing his face.

  The Irishman was painfully aware of the fact that he was performing only the minimum of what was expected of him as an Avangarde Reservist. He did not mix with the Guests or even with the Avangarde. He spent much of his time with the other Reservists. Patrick mused that if this behavior continued, it would be entirely possible that he would be asked to leave Avalon. And where would he go then? Not home, not yet. He had nothing to show for his journeys except stories. With that thought, the image of himself on his knees staring at bloody hands came to mind. He squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. No, this place was his chance to make his life normal again. He could not leave. He certainly could not leave in dishonor. He needed this.

  He knew something needed to be done, but didn’t know what. He found it difficult to be the carefree knight ready to settle the disputes, disruptions, or just plain homesickness of the Guests. Dealing with challenges of the
social realm did not come to him easily. Worldly dangers, however, did not pose a problem.

  Patrick smiled. It was too bad that the keep really was not being attacked from outside. Now that he could handle; that he had experience with.

  Perhaps wishing for such a thing is not so wise, he thought.

  A noise from his door brought him back. He pulled the surcoat all the way over his head, brushed his hair out of his eyes, and stared at a corner of paper someone was trying to force under his door.

  He walked over to the door and opened it.

  A young woman was bent over and holding the rest of the paper in her hand. She jumped up and gasped. She was stout and wore a servant’s veil and shapeless gown. She was not one of the Greensprings’ servants.

  “Can I help you, mademoiselle?” Patrick asked.

  The woman just stood there, wide-eyed, and began to make funny noises. At first Patrick thought that she was perhaps in pain, even though she wore a bit of a smile, but then he realized that she was laughing. Her laughs were contorted, and Patrick further decided that she was perhaps a mute. Not knowing what to do or say, Patrick said, “Is there something that I can do?”

  The woman looked about, making her laugh-grunt sounds, and held the piece of paper up for him to see. It was addressed to William of Monmouth.

  “Oh,” Patrick exclaimed, finally understanding. “You had the wrong door. Here, I believe he is home. Let us knock and see...” He started towards the door, but the woman shoved the paper into Patrick's hand and ran down the corridor, laughing.

  The letter was scented with a woman’s perfume. The door to William's room opened and he came out.

  “What's all the noise about?” William snatched the letter out of Patrick's outstretched hand.

  Patrick's frown deepened. “What?” he said, snatching the letter back. It was his turn to read it. It was an anonymous, brief love letter announcing someone's amorous intentions. “It is not from me,” Patrick protested, getting red in the face.

  William raised his eyebrows.

  “It was from a short servant woman,” Patrick said, “with big brown eyes and cherubic cheeks who couldn’t talk. Just sort of grunted and laughed.” William's expression was getting more receptive. “She was trying to force it underneath my door. She thought it was your chamber.” William turned and beat his head against his door.