Echoes of Avalon (Tales of Avalon Book 1)

by Adam Copeland

  There was a long awkward moment of silence. An idea occurred to Patrick and he voiced it. As with Christianne, he had long ago lost any hard feelings he felt for the nobleman. “Geoffrey, I am putting together a jousting tournament, or perhaps a melée for the benefit of the Guests. Do you have any suggestions for it?”

  Geoffrey crossed his arms, frowned and nodded. “We could have awards for the best competitor, naturally...and we could involve the Guests by having them play roles in the competition, like squires, and mock kings and queens for the teams and what not.”

  Patrick brightened. “Excellent idea. We could actually make a big scene out of it, like a ballad of sorts, but with live people acting it out.”

  “There you go,” Geoffrey encouraged.

  Again a moment of silence. It was Geoffrey’s turn to break it. “So, who would you choose as your Lady to champion?”

  Patrick laughed, and then shrugged. “The Lady Katherina, I suppose. And you?”

  Geoffrey was a while in answering. He had his back to the Irishman. “I thought maybe since we would all be acting and pretending that I would try something radical, not to mention congenial to the servants. I thought I would ask Aimeé.”

  Patrick’s fussing with Siegfried came to a sudden halt.

  Geoffrey’s face turned just a little, as if watching Patrick from the corner of his eye. “What do you think of that, Patrick? Wouldn’t that just surprise everyone, and cause the kitchen staff to herald me as a hero? Why, I would be praised for my originality.”

  Patrick just stood, watching without moving.

  “I’m sure Aimeé would certainly find the idea appealing,” Geoffrey continued. “She is a good sport after all. Of course, you already knew that, didn’t you?”

  “What do you mean?” Patrick asked, puzzled.

  “Come now, Patrick, you don’t have to play dumb with me. I know about you and the girl. She enjoys your company in a, well, shall we say, primal sort of way. She likes it rough. I know, I’ve had some of it myself.” Geoffrey turned his attention back to his horse.

  Patrick came forward and grabbed the Avangarde’s arm.

  Geoffrey pulled away. “Yes, so what of it?”

  “You hurt her and you hardly had her permission.”

  Geoffrey brushed off his arm and turned his back to the Irishman. “What’s wrong, Gawain, don’t feel like sharing? The Lady Katherina isn’t enough for you? Or is it that Aimeé has no need for you now, after me?” Geoffrey now straightened out his collar and turned again to Patrick. “Besides, Gawain, what are you getting all excited about? She is basically nothing more than a common wh...”

  Geoffrey did not have the opportunity to finish the sentence, for when he looked up, his entire vision was suddenly encompassed by Patrick Gawain’s gloved fist.

  The knight was launched out the doors of the stables in a rolling mass of crimson cape. He rolled to his feet, half-stunned, and Patrick knocked him back to the cobblestones. They rolled together in a mass of surcoats, cape and cloak. Geoffrey managed to come to his senses and pushed the Irishman off him. They confronted each other standing and reached instinctively for swords that weren’t there.

  When his hand met the empty air at his hip, Geoffrey lunged forward and struck Patrick square in the face. The Irishman fell back and blood poured from his nose.

  “You should have better manners around your superiors,” Geoffrey shouted, and kicked Patrick in the gut. Patrick grunted, and then again and again as Geoffrey planted his foot repeatedly in his ribs. By the third assay, Patrick mustered enough of his faculties in his painful daze to seize Geoffrey’s foot and jerk it out from underneath him.

  The Avangarde fell and the Irish knight was upon him. They rolled like children pulling on one another’s hair in the barnyard until they were battling next to the fountain near the front gates. Patrick finally got better leverage, and in his rage straddled the poppin-jay knight and bludgeoned his face mercilessly. He could see blood flying and was vaguely aware of a large crowd gathering.

  Then, a strong hand gripped the back of his clothing and lifted him into the air. Now released, Geoffrey attempted to let fly with another volley of strikes, but he too was snared by the strong grip.

  In the flailing, Patrick realized it was King Mark who held them. He was methodically dragging the two feuding knights into the fountain, where he unceremoniously dunked them. Patrick and Geoffrey were both big men, but Mark was bigger. They were repeatedly submerged until they stopped struggling. Mark then threw them to the cobblestones where they lay like wet rats.

  “You two have a lot of explaining to do,” Mark said gravely. “Now, to my apartment.”

  He kicked at them until they struggled to their feet, and then they staggered, heads low, into the keep.

  #

  “I thought you said there was nothing happening between you and the servant girl?” Katherina said, almost shouting. The close stone walls bounced her voice around and made Patrick’s bruised head pound. He was tearing his room apart looking for his other surcoat that wasn’t wet and soiled.

  “There isn’t,” he snapped back.

  “Then why did you fight Geoffrey? Everyone is saying you fought over the girl.” Katherina’s clear eyes were blazing and her arms were crossed tightly across her chest.

  Patrick bend down and thrust his hand under the bed, and smacked his face on the frame. He stifled a cry and clutched at his swollen cheek.

  “Dammit!” he shouted, and punched the bed. Once he had regained his composure he sat back on his heels and looked to the Lady Katherina. “Look, we are acquainted, her and I, but I swear to you nothing happened between us. And if it had, what concern is it of yours? We agreed―”

  “I know what we agreed!” Katherina shouted. She threw up her arms and sat on the edge of the bed. She no longer looked angry, but sad. Her lip trembled.

  Patrick found his surcoat folded in the chest, where it should have been anyway, and hastily put it on. He went to Katherina and sat beside her, put an arm around her, and started to stroke her hair.

  “I’m sorry, I never meant to yell at you. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long time. I don’t want to ruin that.”

  Katherina wiped her nose. “I know how we’re supposed to feel about one another, but how can I allow you to run around and consort with anyone you please and have everyone know about it?”

  Patrick laughed. “I’m not consorting with anyone...well, except you. Aimeé has been soft on me since I arrived. I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to her. Geoffrey took advantage of her good nature―in a terrible way―and when I found out it was he who did it, well, then that is when we fought.”

  Katherina’s eyes were red. “Is this truth?” Patrick nodded and crossed himself. “What did King Mark say to you in private?”

  Patrick sighed. His smile dissolved. “He was angry. He was more concerned with us fighting in front of Guests and blemishing the image of Greensprings and the Avangarde, than with what happened to Aimeé. He didn’t approve of Geoffrey’s behavior, but he approved of mine even less for allowing myself to lose control like that. As everyone will see it, Geoffrey broke no law or rule; he only showed bad judgement. As for me, I only showed myself to be a man incapable of solving my problems peacefully. It will be a long time before I will be an Avangarde.”

  “You care for her don’t you?” Katherina said. She hugged Patrick and rested her face against his chest.

  “She is sweet, and sad and lonely. I think she dreams of being taken away by a charming prince someday. She was nice to me when no one else was, and I treated her like a servant, not a person. It is the least I can do for her to pummel Geoffrey’s pretty face. I rather enjoyed it, actually. For my own sake if nothing else. But I feel nothing special for her. Katherina, please believe me when I say if anything is to happen with her, I would tell you. But I do not see it happening.”

  Katherina nodded against his chest and said something in assent, but it was muffled.


  Patrick felt a warm moistness where Katherina’s face was. Patrick continued to stroke her beautiful platinum plaits. He had no idea that she hid such feelings for him. Or is it that he had known it, but did not want to acknowledge it?

  Would it be so bad to care for her more? he thought. Could I break the curse with her, or would it be another tragedy? Perhaps she’s worth it... But the steel doors of logic shut on his feelings. That same logic told his mind that the probability of happiness was unlikely, and letting his guard down would only invite pain and loneliness. Patrick stood and grabbed his sword from the stand.

  “I must be going soon. I have guard duty. It appears now that I will be doing the night watch until kingdom come.” He buckled his belt and threw on his great-cloak.

  “Patrick, I’m sorry for being silly girl,” Katherina said, wiping her eyes and trying to smile.

  “I’m sorry for being a brute. Are we still friends?”

  She nodded.

  Patrick dashed for the door, then paused. “Oh, by the way, I think it would be better if we didn’t see each other inside our chambers. You saw what kind of rumors circulated about Aimeé and me, and what happened because of it.” He ducked out the door, but quickly returned. “And another thing, I won’t be able to go for our afternoon walk tomorrow. I will be busy making preparations for the tournament I’m putting together. I’m sorry. Goodbye, I really have to go now.” He was gone.

  Katherina sat on his bed for a while. “Goodbye, Patrick.”

  #

  When the Lady Katherina entered the garden, the sun was long set. She was in a daze, so it should not have been a surprise to her that she stumbled over her own dragging feet in the dark. Just the same, she cursed in her native language.

  “My goodness, such words from a Lady,” a silky, accented voice said from behind.

  Katherina turned to see the Viscount Loki perched on a wall, cape wrapped about him. From what she could tell in the dim moon and starlight he was cutting an apple into slices with a pocket-knife. “I seriously doubt you understood what I said,” she said, and planted her hands on her hips.

  Loki smiled. The young lady with her wild bangs hanging in her eyes and the fierce expression on her face reminded him of those little dogs bred by royalty for their cuteness and viciousness. “No, actually, but I once knew a similar language in my days on the shores of the Black Sea,” he said. “And I dare say what you said sounded quite harsh, even in a sailor’s mouth.”

  “You’ve been to the Black Sea?” she asked.

  Loki slid off the wall and alighted on the ground next to the girl. He neatly folded the pocketknife with one hand and slipped it into his vest. In his other hand, what she had thought was an apple, was a piece of wood. She got a little glimpse of it—some sort of miniature diorama with tombstones, before he slipped it into another pocket.

  “Yes, but a very, very long time ago,” he responded.

  “I don’t believe you,” Katherina challenged, but there was a hint of a grin at the corner of her mouth.

  Loki drew himself up and made a flamboyant gesture with one hand, followed by a spoken verse in some guttural language.

  Katherina’s eyes widened and she clapped her hands. “Very good. The old ones in the villages still say this nursery rhyme to children. I have not heard it in long time.”

  Loki turned in profile and waved a hand over himself. “I am a rather oldster myself, and in my time, it was a drinking song.”

  “You are Russo?” Katherina asked, intrigued by this new knowledge of a fellow Guest she had previously only known by reputation.

  “Not at all. I was an emissary from my people to Holmgard once upon a time.”

  Katherina frowned. “Holmgard?”

  “Well, I suppose people now days call it Novgorad. Peoples change, as do their cities and tongues.”

  Katherina’s frown deepened. “When was this?”

  “As I said, a very long time ago, and... Say, isn’t it rather late for a Lady to be out and about?” Loki put on a mock scowl and wagged a finger at the girl. “Just where were you going, young lady? Do you not know the hour?”

  “I skipped dinner,” she admitted, smiling wanly at Loki’s attempt at humor, “and go to kitchen to find something to eat.”

  “But still, rules are rules. You should be indoors, no?”

  Katherina threw up her hands in exasperation. “This place has more rules than anything! I imagine they have a rule that say they must make more rule!”

  Loki laughed. “I agree wholeheartedly, so your transgressions are safe with me. But skip dinner? I thought people around here lived for the social occasion of dining.”

  “I wasn’t feeling very hungry.”

  Loki leaned in closer to get a better look at her face in the shadows. “Is there something troubling you?” he asked.

  “N-no, why do you say that?” Katherina asked.

  Loki raised a pointy eyebrow. “Well, usually someone as lovely as you doesn’t have red eyes and streaks running down their cheeks. It is usually the boys who chase them that look so heart broken.”

  Katherina blushed, hoping Loki would not be able to see the color in the dark. “I’m not heart broken, I’m just...”

  “Confused?” Loki offered.

  Katherina shrugged, and then nodded in assent.

  “Why, you don’t strike me as the type to be confused,” Loki said. “You strike me as a princess who is used to commanding and having your way. Someone who knows exactly what they want, and then takes it!”

  Katherina crossed her arms. “Usually, I am. But I am not used to feeling this way about someone.”

  Loki stroked his goatee. “Madame, if you don’t mind me saying so, anyone who causes such pain in beauty such as yours, is not deserving of it.”

  Katherina was silent for a moment. “No, I don’t mind you saying so. But I assure you that ultimately what I decide to do about it will be my decision.”

  Loki clapped his hands. “That’s the princess I see in there! I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

  Katherina smiled. The Viscount’s antics lighted her spirits, which had been heavy with thoughts of Patrick.

  “Now, if I were that heartbreaking boy, I would be on the look out,” Loki drew up his cape and masked all but his eyes that peered over his arm and darted back and forth. “For your wrath would be upon me,” he stalked about in an exaggerated manner, looking side to side as if being hunted.

  Katherina’s smile broke into a laugh. “Are you always so dramatic?”

  Loki straightened up and smoothed out his cape. His face was cool and calm again, and he said dryly, “Usually not, but when confronted with otherworldly charm such as yours, I seem to lose complete control.” His serious face cracked into a smile.

  Katherina laughed and shook her head.

  “If you continue to cry, may I offer you my shoulder to lean on? I’d be incredibly flattered if you let me,” Loki asked.

  Katherina tilted her head to one side in thought, and then asked, “Why?”

  “Because, like you, I am far from home and find myself surrounded by unfamiliar Franks, Anglos, and other ragamuffins who do not understand me. I need a friend, too. Someone I can tell my secrets to. Someone with whom I can, perhaps, shake the rust off of an old Slavic poem or two I used to know.”

  Katherina gingerly touched her lips and swayed side to side. “Very well, you may be official leaning shoulder.”

  “Yes!” Loki shouted triumphantly and shot his arm into the air as if at a competition.

  Katherina giggled. “You are silly man.”

  Loki bowed.

  Katherina calmed her giggling. She was starting to sound like a girl half her age, and was not at all happy with herself for letting down her guard. “I must be going,” she said, putting on the air of protocol. “But if you like, we can test out these poems, shoulder-leanings, and secret-tellings at another time.”

  “That would be most gracious of you.” Loki’s bow d
eepened.

  “Good evening, Lord Loki. It is pleasure to finally meet someone who recognize my language and home.” Katherina curtsied her goodbye and turned to leave. She didn’t get very far, however, when she realized that they had been walking and talking this whole time and she was now in an unfamiliar part of the keep grounds.

  “I think you might find the kitchens in that direction,” Loki pointed out, “and if I might make a suggestion, use the servants’ entrance: Better to avoid those rule-loving Greensprings folk.”

  Katherina nodded her appreciation and slipped away, a silvery silhouette in the moonlit darkness.

  Loki watched her go, admiring her form.

  About then, Minion came along and stood beside the Viscount.

  “You’re late,” Loki said. “But no matter, you caught me in a good mood.”

  “Who was that, Master?” Minion asked.

  The Viscount stroked his goatee. “A very lovely Lady. Nice childbearing hips, wouldn’t you say?”

  #

  Patrick entered the dark kitchen apprehensively, first poking his head through the doorway and looking side to side, then dashing across the main work area to the cupboards. He felt awkward being there after hours, let alone at all. Rosa Maria was notorious for browbeating and wielding a broom at anyone who didn’t belong. And even King Mark was known to have his hand slapped for trying to steal some marzipan.

  Patrick’s growling stomach finally overcame his tentativeness and he moved to the larder. After he had begun to rummage around beneath some spice tins, however, he became aware of someone in the room.

  “Ah hell,” he muttered.

  A portly figure in linen clothing came out of the shadows. “Excuse me, but Rosa Maria does not... Oh! M’lord forgive me.” She curtsied when she recognized him as a knight. “I did not know you were a sir. Still, Rosa Maria would be angry if she knew that I at least did not try to deter you from raiding tomorrow’s food.”

  “I’m sorry,” Patrick stammered. “I was assigned late guard duty, and I missed dinner. I was just looking for something small to eat.”

  Another voice came from the shadows and another portly figure came forward. Patrick recognized them as the duo Anna and Claire, who often worked together. “Leave the poor lad alone. He’s tired and beat-up looking. He could use a meal.”