“…still be home in time for supper,” she finished.
“Ha! I would sore like to meet this cocksure stripling.”
“He awaits you in the Great Hall,” I said.
“Then lead on, good butler!”
The Green Knight picked up his axe, steadied himself, and followed us out of the pavilion. Immediately we came up against a courtyard packed with revellers of every shape and size. I attempted to pass two dancing giants but thought better of it.
“It is no use, we will have to go back the way we came,” said Beaumains, failing to move a battalion of raucous knights.
“Out of the question,” I said. “Even if he stooped, the Green Knight would never fit down the service corridor.”
“We could carry him lengthways?”
“With the help of twenty, perhaps.”
“What is the delay, butler?” boomed the Green Knight. “My axe hand grows twitchy.”
“This gathered throng is something of an obstruction, Sir Green Knight, between us and the Great Hall.”
The Green Knight focused on the seething masses ahead of us. He drew in a breath so long and deep that the torches on the walls began to flicker. “MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOVE!” bellowed the Green Knight. He marched forwards and the crowd parted like water before a mighty prow.
In an instant we were at the Inner Courtyard leading to the Great Hall. This would be decidedly more difficult to negotiate, even for our green pathfinder. In addition to the feasters, temporary accommodation tents had been erected throughout the courtyard. Any space not so used was taken up by makeshift stables, refreshment cabins and stalls selling a range of dubious merchandise. An image of the increasingly hostile Orkney faction flitted through my mind. “If you have any inspired ideas, now is the time to share them,” I said to Beaumains. She glanced up at the walls of the Inner Courtyard and across to where they passed close to the roof of the Great Hall. “I do have one idea, Sir Lucas. But I suspect you will think it somewhat unorthodox.”
I listened to her plan. It was indeed unorthodox. But we had little choice.
“Do it,” I said, “I will see you in the Hall.” Beaumains gave her instructions to the Green Knight. She climbed up onto his back and he began to scale the wall. I ran to the nearest access point, and dashed back down to the lower levels.
In the Great Hall, my worst fears were confirmed. The Orkney faction were on their feet, led by Gawain’s father, the seething King Lot. The disturbance had yet to command King Arthur’s attention, but several knights on the Round Table cast inquisitive glances towards the back of the Hall, and it would not be long before the boldest of them came to investigate. The new Sir Mordred, having taken his place among their number, kept smiling and waving in Gawain’s direction, which further fanned the flames of Orkney discontent.
“Please, Gawain. I am sure your Knighthood will be forthcoming at Whitsuntide —” said Sir Kay, putting out a consoling arm.
“Whitsun! I’ll be dead by Whitsun. And so will Sir Mordred if he carries on.”
“King Arthur’s decision is final.”
“I know his kind of decision. It’s not what you do. It’s who you know.”
“That’s not true.”
“You would say that. You poxy knights are thick as thieves.”
“I will give you the benefit of the doubt, Gawain, and put that down to the wine talking,” said Sir Kay.
“You wouldn’t know a decent day’s questing if it bit you on your overfed arse.”
“Would you like to put that to the test?”
“Aye, I would at that. But first things first.” Gawain pushed Sir Kay out of the way and barged past the surrounding tables.
“It’s a disgrace, it’s a fix, and no mistake,” King Lot was saying to me. “No-one humiliates my lad like that. I want to speak to Arthur about this, King to King. Butler, get me an audience with him, or I shall get one myself.”
“There will be no need for that, sire. If I might entreat you all to sit back down,” I said.
“Lucas…” said Sir Kay in alarm.
“I see him, Sir Kay,” I said, and followed after Gawain.
“That’s ma boy!” said King Lot. “Give ’em hell!”
Gawain was striding down the central walkway leading up to the dais. His hand was on the hilt of his sword. If he drew it, this would be the beginning of the end, for baring a weapon in the Great Hall was tantamount to a battle cry. Sir Mordred noted his approach and began to laugh loudly, encouraging his neighbours to do likewise.
“Gawain,” I hissed, still several paces behind him. “You are making a scene.”
“You ain’t seen nothing yet,” he said, not turning around. His sword hand started to pull out his blade, provoking a murmur of interest on the Round Table.
“Please, sit back down.”
“Stay out of this, Lucas.” Gawain drew his sword full out from the scabbard, still walking forwards.
All of the noise and chatter in the Great Hall ceased as every pair of eyes focused upon him. The Knights of the Round Table got to their feet, their own swords drawn, ready to use them at the slightest nod from the King.
“Oy! Arthur!” Gawain shouted. “I want a word with you.”
The King’s face cracked into a wide smile. “Ah, Gawain! Sorry about the knighting. It was a close call, and you put in a very strong application. But when you hear about Mordred’s experience, I’m sure you’ll understand.”
“Well said, sire,” said Sir Mordred, clapping. “I look forward to the day when we Knights of the Round Table welcome the little laddie into our hallowed ranks.”
I had finally caught up with Gawain at the centre of the Hall. From directly above our heads there came a low knocking sound. A few chunks of roofing debris, no bigger than hailstones, fell to the floor in front of me.
“Gawain?” said King Arthur, seeing the drawn sword as if for the first time. “What is the meaning of this?”
“Sire,” I said, stepping forwards. “I can explain.”
“No he can’t,” said Gawain. “Shut it, Lucas.”
“Forgive me, but I most certainly can,” I said. “I have a challenge for you, Sir Gawain.”
“You? You’re challenging me?”
“You are challenging Gawain, Lucas?” echoed the King, scratching his head.
“No, sire, not I,” I said. “But I know a man who is.”
With impeccable timing, the ceiling above us collapsed in an explosive shower of wattle, slate and clay, and a mighty figure plummeted to the ground like a fallen angel. In the midst of the dust cloud the Green Knight rose to his feet, axe in hand and terrible in bearing. “Where is the one called Gawain?” he roared.
“Right here,” said Sir Gawain. “Who wants to know?”
“I am the Green Knight,” said the Green Knight. “I bring you a challenge, if you are man enough to take it, which I doubt to my very bones.”
“Bring it on, big man. I’ll knock yer mossy block off!”
The Green Knight took his axe and lopped off his own head, which fell to the floor with a squelch at Gawain’s feet, splattering him with green blood. The Great Hall gave a sharp gasp of shock, followed by a second exclamation when the headless body stooped down, picked up the head, and offered it to Gawain.
“There is more to my noggin than meets the eye,” said the severed head of the Green Knight. “But what say we settle our terms over a bumper of ale?”
Gawain wiped the blood from his face, and took the head by the hair. “Why not?” he said. “But you’re buying.”
“Oh bravo!” said the King, getting to his feet and applauding loudly, whereupon the entire hall followed suit. “Well played, Gawain!”
Gawain passed the head back to the Green Knight and they returned to the Orkney table, now glowing with clan pride, to arrange the conditions of the challenge.
†
“That,” I said to Beaumains as we swept away the last of the debris, “was exceedingly well met.” The
Hall had emptied to prepare for the next feast, which gave us precious little time to repair the roof and reset the tables. But at that moment I felt as if I could have performed every domestic duty at Camelot single-handed.
Beaumains blushed a little. “It was nothing, really. I noticed the roof construction of the Great Hall when we passed it this morning, but I admit that it was something of a risk.”
“Never in a thousand years would I have taken such a chance myself,” I said. “But I am glad that you did.” Beaumains gave me a somewhat disconcerting look. “As I say,” I said, feeling my own cheeks colour, “a first class first day, Beaumains, first class. You will be a great asset to Camelot.”
She smiled. And as she did so, the first of the new guests poured in, and the Great Hall was replenished with laughter, life and legend.
Day Three
I
As daylight faded, the five of us had remained a cluster of cliff-side castaways. The Master was still unconscious, but breathing steadily. Sir Lancelot paced back and forth between the rock pools that marked the ever-decreasing perimeter of our prison. Sir Gawain tried to move some of the smaller boulders blocking the way back to the beach, but only succeeded in sending more loose stones rattling down upon us.
“For God’s sake leave it alone, Gawain, before you bury us alive,” said Sir Lancelot.
“And scuttlin’ about like a crab will do us the world of good, I suppose?”
“Shut up.”
“I will not shut up.”
“No, just listen for a minute.” Sir Lancelot stopped in his tracks. “What’s that sound?”
“The emergency services?” I ventured. “Or else the armed services. Or both.”
“No, it was something else. A sort of… growling.”
Slowly, we turned to look at the magical light behind us, still streaming upwards in a vertical, steady beacon. With no cave — or indeed much of the cliff — remaining around it, the beam was clearly visible to its base, where it disappeared to an unseen source underground. Perhaps it was my imagination or a trick of the dwindling light, but it seemed to have increased in circumference since Merlin’s release. And there was indeed a growling noise coming from within it; clearly audible above the sound of the beam itself, which gave off a low electrical hum. I stepped as close as I dared towards the purple-pink light — and quickly stepped back again.
A snout was poking tentatively through the hole in the ground. It disappeared as soon as I had seen it, then reappeared, followed by a long pair of jaws and the talon-tip of a claw that scratched at the rocks in an attempt to gain leverage.
“There’s a dragon down there,” confirmed Sir Gawain. “Look.”
“Dragons are extinct,” said Sir Lancelot.
“Aye, so was Merlin ’til half an hour ago.”
“It does indeed resemble a dragon,” I agreed.
“Oh, it’s a dragon alright,” said Sir Kay. “And it won’t be the only one.”
Since the collapse of the cliff-side, Sir Kay had fallen into a similar state of subsidence. He sat as far apart from the rest of us as possible, hunched over The Prophecies of Merlin. I was greatly alarmed by the expression on his face. It was the look of someone who has not merely bitten off more than he can chew, but has just realised that what he is eating is decidedly unfit for human consumption. “Oh, Lucas,” he said, “we’ve done a very bad thing.”
“What’s all this ‘we’ business?” said Sir Gawain.
Sir Lancelot took the old book from Sir Kay’s trembling hands and read aloud. “…and ye who summon me, be swift in all that ye demand, for my return will open a gateway unto the Otherworld.”
“Bloody hell,” said Sir Gawain. He stooped down by the unconscious Master and shouted in his ear. “Didn’t see that one coming, did yer?”
“Sir Gawain, please,” I said.
“Well, I mean! A fine plan this turned out to be.”
A few feet away from us, the dragon, having found a foothold, had squeezed the upper half of its body through the hole and was craning its neck beyond the confines of the magic beam, sniffing cautiously at the evening air.
“The Master formulated the best plan he could, to preserve the Eternal Quest,” I said. “Now that circumstances have changed, we simply need a new plan.”
“We need to clear up this mess, that’s for sure,” said Sir Lancelot. “Everything else is secondary.”
“Whatever we do,” said Sir Kay, “I suggest we do it quickly.”
The dragon had caught our scent and was now frantically clawing at the rock, intent on pulling the remaining half of its body up through the gap. A gust of wind ruffled my hair as two leathery wings unfolded and gave an experimental flap.
“First, I suggest we remove the Master to a safe distance,” I said, keenly aware of the boiler-room gurgles coming from the dragon’s stomach.
“Agreed,” said Sir Lancelot.
“Then, we attempt to find Merlin and send him back, and hope that doing so will close up the Otherworld portal.”
“No arguments there,” said Sir Lancelot, not taking his eyes off the dragon. “Any ideas how to get us out of here, before our new friend claims an easy supper?”
“How about a boat?” said Sir Kay.
“A boat would be ideal, Sir Kay,” I said, “but failing that —”
“How about that boat?” Sir Kay added.
I looked out to sea. Clearing the headland was no less a sight than King Arthur’s old ship, its unfurled sails and dragon-head prow silhouetted against the setting sun. Even more remarkably, its small landing boat was floating rapidly towards us on the rising tide.
“Holy nuns o’ Glastonbury,” said Sir Gawain. “The Prydwen!”
“But how on earth did it get here?” said Sir Kay.
“Aye, the last thing I remember, we sailed her to bits,” said Sir Gawain.
“Who cares how it got here?” said Sir Lancelot. “Lucas, you and Kay grab the landing boat and get the King over to the ship.” The air temperature around us rose by several degrees, as if someone had suddenly opened an oven door.
“But what of Sir Pellinore and Sir Perceval? And the Grail?” I said. “We cannot abandon them.”
“We won’t. I’m staying here.”
“No, Sir Lancelot —”
“If we all get in that boat, it’ll be a floating funeral pyre before it’s halfway to the ship. Go, Lucas. Get the King away. I’ll follow as soon as I’ve dealt with the dragon and found Pell and Percy.”
“Lancey’s right, for once.”
“Thank you, Gawain.”
“In fact he’s so right, I’m staying with him.”
“Gawain —”
“You’re not taking all the glory this time, big man, so think again.”
“If I might interrupt this tournament of testosterone, and draw your attention to the rapidly filling lungs of the dragon behind us?” said Sir Kay, struggling to lift the Master by the arms. I quickly took up the Master’s legs, and together we placed him and ourselves into the landing boat and pushed off from the shore. The miraculous little vessel seemed to be already moving on a homing course for the mother ship, and so I threw the superfluous oars to Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain. The two knights caught them just as the dragon pulled its hind legs out of the hole.
“Ah, it’s been a while,” said Sir Gawain, twirling his oar in one hand like a baton. He ran straight at the beast, dodged a jet of flame, and used the oar to pole-vault up onto its back.
With a loud roar the dragon took to the air, swiftly followed by Sir Lancelot, who jumped and grabbed its departing tail. Up over the cliff and out of sight they flew, towards the lights and sirens of the emergency services approaching on the main road, as I had predicted.
From within the portal to the Otherworld, a second dragon had already started to emerge, claws scrabbling in its haste to join its companion. Reluctantly Sir Kay and I turned our gaze out to sea and the fast-approaching outline of the Prydwen.
; II
“Calm down, Sir Kay. Take your time.”
“That’s just it! There is no time left. Hours, perhaps! Days, if we’re lucky!”
“Left before what?”
“The end of the world.”
The Prydwen was heading out to sea. When we had first boarded her, I was filled with a horrible feeling that the ship was setting out on the exact same voyage she had made when we last set sail in her, all those years ago. In vain I wrestled with the ship’s wheel, while my trembling companion sat hunched up against the mast. “It’s all here, in the Prophecies,” said Sir Kay. “Everything that happens after you open a gateway to the Otherworld. The first stage: creatures fanged and foul, winged and woeful. Stage two: the dead shall rise. And as for the third and final stage? The Dark Queen of Annwn shall return. Morgan Le Fay, Lucas! She’s going to bloody kill us. We never should have left Lancelot. We’re on a ghost ship, on a one way trip to Hell!”
“In which case, perhaps you might help me to change our course, by taking down the sail,” I said, for the ship’s wheel still refused to budge.
“Save your energy. You’ll need it for the end of the world.”
“Try to remain calm, Sir Kay. It will not come to that. Even now, Sir Lancelot and Sir Gawain will be attending to the matter of the dragons. By this time tomorrow, we will have found Merlin and closed the Otherworld portal.”
I abandoned my struggle with the wheel. Clearly, whatever forces had guided the Prydwen to us also had a very clear idea of where we were going. A jet of dragon fire lit up the cliffs behind us like an infernal lighthouse beacon. I turned my attention back to the Master, lying flat upon the deck. If only the ship were taking us back into the past, I thought. Then we might return to Camelot as it was in its glory days; a shining refuge, not the moss-covered ruin it had become.
The boat creaked and strained. The sails turned. I tried to see what had caused the change in direction, and gasped as a dark shape loomed up out of the water ahead. At first I fancied it a sea monster loosed from the Otherworld depths; then I realised it was only the shape of the headland. We were not sailing out to sea any more, but up to the mouth of the estuary where the river Teifi met the ocean. On reflection, this seemed like a wholly sensible destination. Nobody would be looking for us in Cardigan; by now all attention would surely be focused on the cataclysmic events unfolding on the coast. Granted, our ship made a strange sight, but with a bit of luck perhaps it would take us up to the town bridge without attracting attention. The old walls of Camelot might once more provide sanctuary to their lord and master.
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