Clearly, the hunt had reached something of a stalemate. Victory would be decided by whoever tired first. Of the two hunters, the King sported the more extensive injuries, bleeding copiously from his forehead, his heavily-bandaged left leg looking like it might buckle any moment. In contrast, the knight who had climbed onto the boar’s back appeared as if he could happily continue the fight no matter how long it took, or how slim his chances of eventual success. As for the boar, its entire countenance spoke of a beast who was not about to give up the ghost without a fight. I felt it was wise to give the animal a wide berth, so as not to further enrage it with the presence of a third aggressor, and so I geed Plum around the outskirts of the clearing, positioning us behind the boar’s rear-end.
I untied Excalibur from my waist, and drew the sword from the scabbard. For a second I heard a chime of the Enchanted Lake music, which excited the sprite I had trapped in my cloth purse. Grabbing him tightly in my fist, I pulled down the bag. “Freedom is yours if you perform this one task,” I said. “Fly this sword to that man on the ground. Go!” I opened my fist and, as the lore of his kind obliged him, he obeyed my command. Excalibur was snatched up into the air, flew in a smooth arc over the boar’s head, and hovered in front of the King’s sword hand. Startled but pleased, King Arthur dropped his broken blade and clasped his fingers around the new hilt. Immediately it was as if the strength of a hundred men flowed through his veins, and he attacked the boar with renewed vigour.
His wounds were still a cause for concern, however. I clicked Plum back over to the King’s corner of the fight and dismounted out of sight in the trees. As unobtrusively as I could, I moved directly behind the Master, crouching low and attempting to disguise my approach from the boar by shadowing the King’s every step, feint and parry. Whilst maintaining my crouching shadow movement, I reached in front of the King and untied his old sword belt and scabbard. With one hand I held up the King’s stockings and chain mail trouser; with the other, I threaded the new sword belt and scabbard around his waist. The buckle firmly tied, I retreated to a safe distance to observe the results.
They were, to say the least, impressive. As soon as the buckle was tied, the gash on his forehead began to heal, blood pouring back up his face and into the wound, skin closing behind it, smooth and unblemished. His left leg straightened up, strong and firm. The boar backed off in alarm at an opponent so suddenly revitalised. The other knight sprang onto the boar’s back again and stabbed his sword between its shoulder blades. The boar’s legs gave way and it uttered a long, curdling squeal. King Arthur cut off its head with one clean stroke of Excalibur. Then he sat down to rest, and suddenly noticed me behind him.
“Ah, Lucas! Meet King Pellinore.”
“Pleasure, boyo,” said King Pellinore, slapping my back, hard.
“Lucas is my butler, Pellinore.”
“Well, someone has to be.”
“Sire, a word about your wounds,” I said. “They have healed only thanks to the scabbard of your new sword. It would be wise not to rely too much on the enchantment, and get them looked at on your return to Camelot.”
“Yes, yes, Lucas, don’t fuss. You can blame Pellinore here for my cuts and bruises. He challenged me to a duel, and put up quite a fight.”
“Perhaps you might tell me the rest of the story en route to Camelot, sire. The Queen will be concerned for your safety,” I said.
“We’d been fighting for half an hour or so,” the King continued, “when Pellinore recognised me, and told me to yield to the rightful ruler of this land. I told him I’m the King around here, and if there’s any yielding to be done, it will be by him.”
“Then he fought me like a weasel possessed.”
“Pellinore’s pledged allegiance to Camelot, Lucas. He says he’ll give up his Kingship and join the Round Table, as a knight. How about that?”
“Splendid, sire —”
“Better than splendid! Pellinore is an expert in all manner of beast lore.”
“It’s a good life, butler. Mind you, some in the trade get a bit obsessive. The man is master of the quest, the quest is not master of the man. Never forget that.”
“I shall endeavour to remember it, King Pellinore.”
“Pellinore’s going to help us with the dragon problem in the east,” said the King.
“Ever find yourself facing a dragon, footman? Don’t suppose you do. Still, if you discover one nesting in your laundry room, remember this: Dracontias. The dragon stone. Lodged in its brain. Cut that out with a blade to the top of the head, and Uther’s your uncle — one slayed dragon, yours to take away.”
“Anyway, we’d just shook on our deal when — crash! Out of the trees thunders this boar, snorting and charging,” said the King.
“Big as a griffin and twice as mean.”
“So we set upon it and, well, you saw the rest. Tie up the carcass, will you, Lucas? I thought we could add it to tonight’s menu.”
“Don’t waste any of it, mind,” said King Pellinore. “The beast died bravely and should be honoured. And the tusks make fine drinking horns.”
“Might I suggest, sire, that such an item would make a suitable present?” I said.
“Who for?”
“The Queen, sire. For your wedding anniversary.”
“That’s never today?”
“It is indeed, sire.”
“In that case, yes, you’d better see to it.”
“I will instruct the butcher accordingly,” I said, trussing up the boar carcass and tying it behind the King’s horse.
“Well, what are we waiting for?” said King Arthur. “To Camelot! Lucas, go on ahead and prepare Pellinore the best of lodgings.”
“Yes, sire.”
“And set a place for the newly knighted Sir Pellinore on the Round Table!” shouted Arthur, as Plum galloped back to Camelot.
VI
On returning to the Great Hall, I was gratified to see my staff had excelled themselves in my absence. Save for a few finishing touches, it would soon be time to open the main doors and admit the guests for the first sitting. Fires roared in the three main hearths. Meat hissed and crackled on spits, and assorted beverages stood in plentiful jugs. I tasted some wine at random, and was trying to ascertain the vintage when my apprentice appeared by my side out of thin air, carrying a serving plate and preceded by a soft, low popping sound.
“Gwion?” I said, choking slightly on the wine. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Nothing, Sir Lucas, sir,” he said, quickly crossing his arms to hide something tied around his neck.
“Give it to me,” I said. Reluctantly, Gwion took off a thin silver necklace with an amber jewel strung upon it. “What is this?” I said, taking it from him.
“An amulet, Sir Lucas.”
“No. It is one of Merlin’s amulets. A magic amulet of teleportation. And what have I always said about magic amulets?”
“We’re not to use them.”
“Wrong again. We are not even to touch them. Thus we never, ever, use them. So why do I find you are not only in possession of such an amulet, but brazenly disobeying my instructions and using it to perform your duties?”
“Because I said he could.”
I turned to see Beaumains holding a basket of bread.
“You did?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“Gwion, I shall deal with you later. Get out of my sight and get back to work. Are there any more of them?” I said, when he had scurried off.
“Not that I could find. Gwion was testing the range for me. I was intending to give it to you, when you returned.”
“I see. Well, it is your first day, so I will let it go this time. But if I ever see one of these things in Upper or Lower Camelot again, you will be instantly dismissed. Do I make myself clear?” I started to take loaves from the basket, placing them onto serving plates.
“Not really, no,” said Beaumains.
A loaf slipped out of my hands. “I beg your pardon?”
“I mean, what is your problem? We’ve been working flat out all morning. I happen to hear about these amulets that used to belong to Merlin, and I think to myself: what is Sir Lucas’ philosophy? ‘Maximise service, efficiency and guest satisfaction. Provide as little disruption as possible and remain out of sight to the untrained eye.’ And what better way of doing that, than with one of these? But no, that’s not good enough for your dizzyingly high standards, so you bully poor Gwion and then start on me. So no, Sir Lucas. You do not make yourself clear. Not at all.”
“I see,” was all I could manage at first. My head and face burned, with anger, yes, but something else, something I had never felt before and could not immediately fathom. “Then I should have made my instructions more explicit. I have always maintained, as a matter of the strictest policy, that magic is never a substitute for getting the job done oneself. It makes one sloppy, prone to cut corners, neglect duties and forget basic skills. In short, it is a cheat.”
“I had no idea you held such strong feelings on the matter.”
“Well, I do.” I swung the amulet on its chain and threw it to the back of the east wall fireplace, making a mental note to retrieve and dispose of it after the feasting. There was a pause, during which Beaumains looked directly into my eyes, with a searching intensity that bordered on the insubordinate. What shocked me most about the look, however, was not its impertinence, but the fact that for some reason it did not bother me anywhere near as much as it should have done.
“Then I owe you an apology,” said Beaumains, though it sounded more like a rhetorical question than an admission of guilt.
“Apologies are superfluous when a lesson has been learned. Now please, let us consider the matter dropped.”
Beaumains nodded curtly, and we went back to work.
†
“Presenting Sir Aliduke and Sir Menaduke!” said Sir Kay. The two knights started on the long way forward to pledge themselves to the Queen, and the Great Hall applauded half-heartedly. I contented myself that their lack of enthusiasm sprang from the number of arrivals having reached triple figures, and not from anything amiss on the catering front. The whole of Lower Camelot was running at maximum efficiency. Not a meat bone fell to the ground that was not cleared away and replaced with a fresh serving; no goblet was emptied before the drinker found it to be replenished.
Upon the dais of the Round Table at the northern end of the Hall, the King divided his time between his best Knights, introducing Sir Pellinore, and — if I interpreted the latter’s actions correctly — getting him to recount their skirmish with the boar. The Queen sat on the High Table behind them, next to her husband’s empty seat, appearing somewhat overwhelmed. As well she should, for she had just spent the past hour receiving tributes from the first batch of Sir Lancelot’s vanquishees.
“My throat is about to expire, Lucas,” said Sir Kay, stepping down from his podium. He took the hot drink of honey I had prepared for him. “Not to mention my patience,” he added, taking a sip. “Oh, that’s better. If I have to sit through another tedious, drawn-out quest anecdote, I will tear my hair out. Every knight who’s so much as picnicked in the Enchanted Forest thinks they’ve got an epic trilogy in them, and that they’re entitled to take up several hours recounting every last detail. Something needs to be done.”
We were positioned at the south end of the Hall by the main doors, where Sir Kay was effecting his duties as Master of Ceremonies. Gawain, the promising young warrior from the Orkneys, came over from his family table, wringing his hands nervously. “Where do I stand, Lucas? I don’t wanna look too keen, you know?”
“You are fine where you are, master Gawain,” I said.
“Aye, if you say so. Can we have a drop more wine on our table?”
I signalled to a drinks page. “I’d water that down if I were you, Lucas,” said Sir Kay through the side of his mouth. “He’s been drinking since sundown.”
“I am sure it is just nerves, Sir Kay,” I said, although I was also concerned for Gawain’s sobriety, and how it would mix with the potential loss of face, should the knighting not go his way. I looked over to his table. The Orkney clan were all present, including Father and Mother and young brother Gareth, who followed his older sibling’s every word and gesture with adoring eyes. A page approached from the Round Table and whispered at length into Sir Kay’s ear. His face betrayed no emotion to the casual observer, but there was a slight flicker about his left nostril that did not bode well. Sir Kay nodded, dismissed the page, and cleared his throat.
“Knights, ladies, people of Camelot! The nominations for promotion to the Round Table are as follows. Gawain of the Orkneys, for The Quest of the White Hart and the Maiden.” The Great Hall applauded, and the Orkney table got to their feet, stamping and cheering. “Mordred, for The Vanquishing of the Red Knight.” There was decidedly less applause for this, except for some oafish noise from Mordred’s direction.
Beaumains appeared at my side. “Not a popular choice?” she whispered.
“I have no time for gossip,” I replied, “but it was widely rumoured Mordred set the whole thing up himself, and that the Red Knight was none other than Sir Sagramour — the one with the scar, sat on his left.”
“And finally,” said Sir Kay, “Bors, for his part in The Adventure of the Magic Ring.” Bors received a muted smattering of polite applause. “That one was more of a team effort,” I explained to Beaumains, “A fine, epic one at that, but considered less knightworthy than a solo quest.”
“And the winner is…” Sir Kay paused to allow the maximum build up of tension. “Mordred, for The Vanquishing of the Red Knight.”
The sense of disappointment in the Great Hall was palpable. Even Sir Kay did not disguise his surprise at the result. From the Orkney table there came the sound of scraping chairs and raised, angry voices. Gawain was being simultaneously calmed down by his mother and goaded on by his father. Matters were not soothed by the strutting, preening manner in which the new Sir Mordred took his place on the Round Table.
“Uh oh,” said Sir Kay. Gawain’s father was now pushing his son to his feet, backed up by the increasingly fractious clan.
“What can we do?” said Beaumains.
“In my experience, the only thing that can extinguish the fire of a man so battle-minded is a new challenge, to divert his energies in a more constructive direction,” I said.
“All well and good, Lucas,” said Sir Kay, “but such challenges do not grow on trees.”
“Beaumains,” I said, “walk with me.”
VII
The Lower Camelot route was only a shade less congested than the upper level, but even the slightest time advantage would make all the difference. We had left Sir Kay with instructions to keep Gawain away from Sir Mordred and the Round Table for as long as possible. By my conservative calculations, this meant we would have to be jolly quick about it.
We passed down through the Lower Great Hall and along the main service corridor. Like hardy salmon battling upstream, Beaumains and I dodged waiters, side-stepped pages and ducked beneath platters until we arrived at the staircase beneath the Reception Pavilion. Emerging into a loud carnival of vibrant festivities, I scanned the area for my target. Ordinarily, he would be a spectacle difficult to miss, but today the pavilion was somewhat oversubscribed in the spectacle department. “Who are we looking for?” Beaumains shouted.
“The Green Knight,” I said. “A giant. Entirely green.”
“There!” Beaumains pointed to the bar, where Granville the Brewer was siphoning wine into the Green Knight’s barrel-sized goblet. Judging by the reddish tint to his green cheeks, it was by no means his first.
“Ah!” said the Green Knight, crushing my shoulders, “ ’tis my butler of iron, come to join me in a bumper!”
“Thank you, Sir Green Knight, but I am on duty.”
“Then I shall sink one for us both,” he said, emptying the barrel with a noise like a river in flood.
“I bring
good news, Sir Green Knight. We have an unexpected window in our Great Hall schedule.”
He finished with a gurgling belch and wiped his hand across his beard. “Glad tidings indeed, good butler! But, far be it for me to deny a fellow challenger his place. He might then challenge me, before I had put my challenge. Then I would have to answer his new challenge, instead of putting my first challenge! Afore we knew it, we would be knee deep in challenges, and not able to fathom where one challenge ended and the other challenge began.”
“Not at all, Sir Green Knight. This challenge is yours alone to offer.”
“Come on, man! Join me in a brew!”
“Perhaps later, Sir Green Knight.”
“Then once more, I shall quaff for two.” He nudged Granville, who shrugged at me and began to refill the barrel.
I fancied that a less delicate approach was required, but before I could formulate one, Beaumains spoke. “Gawain of the Orkneys seeks to answer your challenge, Sir Green Knight. But says he doubts if it will test him, any more than the mewling of a newborn babe.” Something seemed to have stuck in her eye, for it twitched several times in my direction.
“Really, Beaumains,” I began, but then realisation dawned.
“Ho, does he now?” said the Green Knight.
“Indeed he does,” I added. “What is more, I distinctly heard him say something about there being no knight alive he could not get the better of, and…” I looked to Beaumains.
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