by T J Mayhew
“What... what do we do now?” Cai asked quietly, finally finding his voice.
Lancelot bowed his head, unable to offer any answers.
The hall fell silent as everyone tried to take in what they had just witnessed. What had started out as a day of celebration had suddenly plummeted into darkness and confusion and Cai found himself wishing he could turn back time; he would give anything to return to a time when all he had been worried about was standing in front of everyone as their king.
But he couldn’t and, now, everything was happening so fast and, no matter how much he tried, Cai couldn’t make sense of any of it. First Merlin’s collapse, now this poor guy… lying dead in a pool of his own blood. As his gaze returned to the dead man, he couldn’t help wondering what he had been through to get here; he’d obviously suffered a fatal wound but he had forced himself to continue his journey in order to bring them this dire warning.
He looked at Gawain who, covered in the man’s blood, stared, helplessly, down at him.
Getting to his feet, the knight ran his bloodied hands through his hair as he bowed his head and closed his eyes.
“Look at his colours.” Bedivere’s voice cut through the oppressive silence.
Everyone turned as Bedivere knelt beside the blood-soaked body, his eyes fixed on his tunic. He glanced up at Lancelot and the two shared a knowing look.
Cai moved closer and, for the first time, noticed that the tunic the man wore had been white and had a simple red heart in the centre.
“Percival,” Kay murmured glancing at the body over Bedivere’s shoulder.
Gawain looked up at the sound of the name and cast his eyes to the man’s tunic.
Cai glanced at Logan who looked just as confused as he was.
Kay met Lancelot’s gaze. “But it can’t be,” he murmured. “He’s…”
“Dead,” Gawain finished gruffly.
“Well, actually…” Everyone turned to look at Galahad as he spoke. The knight looked at his comrades in turn, guilt in his eyes. “After our quest, he took up a position to the north of here,” he explained quietly.
“But he let everyone think he was dead?” Kay cried with disgust. He narrowed his eyes. “You let everyone…”
“It was his wish…” Galahad interrupted tersely.
Kay took a step towards him, his eyes burning, his body tense with anger. “You let us believe he was dead; we mourned him.”
“I said nothing because that was Percival’s wish,” Galahad replied calmly, unaffected by Kay’s anger. Looking directly at him, he continued, “It was not my place to divulge his whereabouts or his reasons for leaving us. It was his decision to make, and his alone.”
Kay scoffed derisively. “And is that it? Is that all you have to say?”
Galahad nodded curtly, lifting his chin in defiance. “It is.”
His temper raised, it was obvious Kay was not about to let this go.
Bedivere stepped between them, glaring pointedly at Kay. “Let it lie, Kay,” he said gently. “What’s done, is done; none of us can change it. Percival is alive, that’s all that matters.”
Kay scowled. “He lied to us, Bedivere,” he muttered. Glaring at Galahad, he added, “They both did.”
“Be that as it may,” Lancelot interjected, “We cannot hold Galahad responsible; Percival is the one who must answer for his decisions.” He paused before adding, “Right now, we have more important things to worry about.” He dropped his gaze to the man lying motionless on the ground, a deep sadness in his eyes. “He suffered much to get this news to us, I am certain of it.” Rubbing his forehead wearily, he added, “A servant will be needed to take him away; we shall lay him to rest with the respect he deserves.”
Guinevere nodded sombrely. “I shall go and find one.” Her gaze lingered on Cai before turning and leaving the hall.
As the doors closed behind her, Gawain turned back to the man. “What he must have suffered….” he murmured. He looked at Lancelot. “They must have ambushed him on the road…”
No one spoke, recognising the truth in Gawain’s words.
“Then they are close,” Kay stated, instantly on the alert. “We must ready our forces…”
“No,” Lancelot’s voice rang out, halting Kay in his tracks. Kay glanced questioningly at him. “I don’t think Mordred is coming here tonight.”
“What makes you so sure?” Cai asked, siding with Kay; if there was even the slightest chance they could be attacked, they had to be ready, didn’t they?
“Because he would rather send a message,” Lancelot replied. He looked around at the other knights. “We know him.” He turned to Cai. “I knew him. He would rather taunt you…” He gestured at the knights in the room. “Taunt us…” He looked back to Cai. “All this is to show you that he is in control. We do not want to act in haste; that is what he wants and…”
“And, if he was close, don’t you think he would have attacked us by now?” Galahad questioned.
Kay scowled as the possibility of an immediate confrontation faded away.
“I don’t understand why one of Percival’s men was coming to us in the first place,” Gawain said changing the subject completely. “I mean, if Percival has spent the better part of the last sixteen years letting us believe he had died, why reveal himself to us now?”
Lancelot sighed, his face grim. “I’m afraid only Percival can answer that,” he murmured.
“The prophecy said that only when the Knights were reunited could we hope to bring down Mordred,” Gawain continued thoughtfully. “So, to my mind, that means only one thing...”
Kay glanced at Gawain, understanding in his eyes. “We find Percival and combine forces!” He seemed to come alive at the idea of having something to focus on, now that the chance of war with Mordred was no longer imminent.
Lancelot nodded. “Yes, our forces would be great indeed.” He paused for a moment before turning to Galahad. “I trust you know his whereabouts?”
Galahad nodded curtly. “I shall take you there.”
Lancelot turned to Bedivere and Gawain. “You two shall stay here; you shall protect Camelot and tutor those men we leave behind. From what I have been told, they are able enough fighters but we need them to be better, to be more prepared.”
Bedivere inclined his head respectfully and Gawain nodded in agreement; it was clear he would rather accompany the others but he wouldn’t shirk his duty to Camelot either.
“You shall have Merlin and Nimue to assist you,” Lancelot continued. “We shall go to them tonight and explain everything.”
“But is Merlin going to be strong enough?” Cai asked. Everyone turned to him and he suddenly found himself floundering under their scrutiny. “I mean… after what’s happened…” He still recalled how tired and weak Merlin had been after his last prophecy; how could they rely on him to protect Camelot?
“Merlin will be strong enough, Cai,” Lancelot stated, his tone inviting no argument. “He will find the strength to protect Camelot.”
Cai said nothing, wishing he shared Lancelot’s conviction.
Lancelot glanced around at the knights. “Now, if there’s nothing else?” The question went unanswered, each knight lost in his own thoughts.
As they headed for the doors, Cai found himself feeling sorry for the knights; only a short time ago they had been looking forward to an evening of celebration but, now, they had a dead man at their feet, the revelation that a friend they had thought dead was alive, a journey to embark upon at first light and the very real possibility of Camelot being attacked.
The doors to the hall opened and two servants entered, making straight for the body of the fallen knight. Lancelot turned to Cai and Logan. “Prepare yourselves for leaving then get some rest; you will need it,” he added grimly. “We shall waste no time in finding Percival and returning to Camelot…” He glanced about the hall. “I do not feel easy about leaving,” he confessed quietly.
“Fear not; we shall protect it, Lancelot,” Bedivere
promised. He glanced at Cai before adding, “You have my word, Your Highness.”
Cai nodded gratefully; he knew they would do whatever was necessary to keep his mother and Camelot safe.
Lancelot, too, seemed grateful for Bedivere’s words. “Let us go to Merlin.”
As they turned to leave, Cai grabbed Lancelot’s arm. “I’m coming too,” he stated. “I want to see if he’s OK.”
Lancelot glanced at him. “I’m sure if he wasn’t, Nimue would have informed us by now. As for you accompanying us… I fear too many visitors would do him no favours. You shall see him tomorrow before we depart; he will be stronger by then.”
Cai scowled at Lancelot’s back as he left, wishing he could go with them. He was just considering whether to defy Lancelot when Logan spoke.
“Well, that was interesting,” he enthused.
“That’s one word for it, I guess,” Cai muttered, marvelling at Logan’s quick recovery.
“Listen, I’m going to go grab some food from the kitchen; I’m hungry,” he stated as if he had witnessed nothing out of the ordinary that night. “You coming?”
Cai shook his head. “No,” he replied, his mind still very much preoccupied.
Logan shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And, with that, he left, without so much as a backwards glance.
In the relative silence, Cai sat on the nearest bench watching the servants as they finished tending to the fallen knight; it wasn’t long before they, too, left the hall and Cai was left alone with his thoughts. He envied Logan’s ability to take everything in his stride and to adapt to any new situation but he couldn’t just forget what had happened; he couldn’t forget that he had just seen a man die and that he had died getting a message to him. His vision swam with tears as the realisation hit him: he was responsible for that man’s death, just as he was responsible for any death that followed in the coming war.
Tears fell freely down his cheeks as he thought about the knight; he probably had a family, a wife and kids, who would now have to grow up without their father. Cai knew how that felt and he hated thinking that he was responsible for taking a father from his children, a husband from his wife.
But, what alternative was there…?
Suddenly, the doors to the hall opened and Kay strode in; Cai hastily wiped the tears away, praying the knight hadn’t seen him crying.
Kay studied Cai as he approached. “Are you still here?”
The tone of Kay’s voice made him question how long he had sat there, lost in his thoughts, but he said nothing.
“Have you even been back to your quarters?” Kay asked, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Cai didn’t welcome his attention. He came to a stop in front of Cai, standing over him like a disapproving teacher.
Cai shook his head, refusing to look at Kay.
There was a moment of silence before Kay sat beside him, waiting awhile, before finally losing patience. “Well? What’s troubling you?” he demanded.
Cai’s head snapped up and he glared at Kay. “How can you even ask me that?” he cried. “A man died here, right in front of us…” He paused as his voice caught on the words. He could feel Kay’s eyes boring into him but he couldn’t bring himself to continue.
“You’ve seen death before,” Kay pointed out, matter-of-factly.
Cai shook his head. “It wasn’t like this before,” he confessed. “We were supposed to be celebrating, not…”
“There are many kinds of death, Cai,” Kay interrupted, his voice surprisingly gentle. “But I won’t lie to you; it never gets easier,” he stated. “You try to steel yourself against it and it may work for a time… in the heat of battle, there is no time to mourn… but after… that’s when it hits you.” Turning his attention to the spot where the man had died, he added, “But death in these circumstances… is hard to accept.”
Cai raised his head and studied Kay. “So, how do you…?” He cleared his throat, forcing himself to continue. “How do you cope with it?”
Kay held Cai’s gaze. “You never forget; you carry them with you, each and every one. You fight for them all.” He paused before continuing, “You take the pain, the guilt… the anger and you turn it into something you can use in battle.”
Cai shook his head. “I have no idea how to do that.”
Kay smiled wryly. “You will, in time,” he assured him. “It is not something I, or anyone else, can teach you. It is the fate of every knight to learn it for himself.” He studied Cai. “But you will do it, Cai, I promise you that.”
Cai nodded thoughtfully accepting the gravity of his words.
Kay stood suddenly and, in a rare moment of tenderness, put a hand on Cai’s shoulder. “Now, you should return to your quarters and rest; we have hard days ahead of us.”
Cai nodded mutely, hardly registering Kay’s unexpected gesture. He left the hall, numb to everything except the fear he felt and the knowledge that, one day soon, he would witness more death and destruction than he had the stomach for.
19
The darkness of the chamber enveloped Mordred as he anxiously watched his mother; the trance-like state she was in always disconcerted him but he was the first to admit he wouldn’t be without her… talents. Her power gave them means unavailable to most men; with her on his side, he was unstoppable. They were unstoppable.
Her affinity to the dark and her ability to communicate with others across miles had resulted in them being several steps ahead of their enemies on many occasions and this time was no different; the boy king was ignorant of the fact that they had already infiltrated Camelot, that their traitors were right under their noses and had been for years, living amongst them as their own.
Mordred bristled at the thought, resentment surging through him; he should be on the throne, ruling Camelot. But instead, he was forced to stand by as ignorant men and women bowed down to a boy hardly worthy to be his squire. But that was all about to change; every day brought him one step closer to his true destiny and those traitorous knights would regret ever turning their backs on him.
Awakening from his reverie, Mordred’s attention returned to his mother sitting motionless on her high backed chair. Her eyes stared straight ahead, focusing on nothing; black… soulless. She seemed relaxed as if she was doing nothing more than listening to someone speak which, essentially, was exactly what she was doing, even if the conversation was taking place solely in her head.
She murmured unfamiliar words quietly to herself in an effort to maintain the spell she had cast, words unfamiliar to him but which brought a certain sense of comfort; he had been surrounded by this strange language, a language that invoked dark magic, all his life. It was ever a part of him, even though he did not understand it.
He watched, barely reacting, as his mother gasped and sat up in her chair, ending the communication. Blinking, she opened her eyes and refocused her gaze; she smiled as she saw Mordred take a step towards her, his boots echoing on the stone floor.
“Well?” he asked warily, searching her face for signs of what she had learned but, as usual, her face was a mask.
Morgan stood and swept past him, in no hurry to convey her findings.
Feeling his impatience grow, Mordred followed her with his eyes; she was like a pacing animal, catlike in her movements. “Mother. What did you learn?”
Morgan turned to him, smiling. “It is as we thought,” she announced. “They are scared and their fear makes them weak.”
Mordred returned her smile, satisfied with this revelation. “Of course they are,” he murmured appreciatively. “We expected no less.”
“Indeed,” Morgan agreed. She looked at him, her eyes shining even in the darkness. “They are separating their forces,” she informed him, barely able to contain her glee. “This is our chance, my son.” She approached him and took his hands in her own. “Soon, you shall claim your birthright,” she murmured. “Soon… you shall have your rightful throne.”
20
The following morning, Cai caught sight of Merlin in
the Lower Courtyard and eagerly made his way over to him, trying to ignore the, now familiar, discomfort he felt in his padded shirt and chainmail; the armour was no more comfortable now than it had been the first time he had worn it and he wondered if he’d ever get used to it. But he knew Lancelot was right; given the present situation, he couldn’t afford to be without it.
As he approached Merlin, he noticed he stood quietly to one side, his cloak wrapped close around him; he still looked pale with dark rings around his eyes. Cai was immediately reminded of the last time Merlin looked like this and couldn’t help wondering if he should be out of his room. With some dismay, Cai’s eyes landed on Nimue; he had hoped to speak to Merlin alone, without her hanging around, but that clearly wasn’t about to happen. As he neared, he watched her surreptitiously as she scanned the crowd, seemingly looking for anything untoward. Sensing him watching her, she turned her icy gaze upon him.
“Cai,” Merlin said, smiling.
Cai tore his eyes away from Nimue, focusing now on Merlin. “How are you feeling?” he asked; although desperately wanting to know what had happened the previous night, he knew now was not the time.
“I am fine, thank you,” he replied. “My strength is returning, thanks to…” He glanced at Nimue who smiled, accepting his unspoken gratitude.
“I take it Lancelot spoke to you about…” Cai began to ask but stopped as Merlin held up a hand.
“Cai, I understand your concern but you have nothing to fear,” he assured him. “I get stronger every moment; I have no doubt I shall soon be my old self.”
Cai watched him for a moment wishing, rather than believing, his words to be true.
Merlin placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do not leave here, Cai, not totally focused on the task ahead of you. Your attention needs to be wholly on this quest, not me.” Cai knew he was right but it was easier said than done. “Nimue will be here to help me… so you really have nothing to worry about,” he added.