And now Mercadier was two steps from the stone. He paused for a moment, removing his gauntlets for a better grip.
Now or never.
“HEE-YAH!” Henry spurred on Pegasus, pointing the horse toward Excalibur. At the same time, he tugged on the leather strap binding Percy’s armor. The bits and pieces fell off with a clatter, leaving Pegasus with nothing on his back but a youth, a bridle and a saddle—less than half of what the stallion could carry in battle.
Pegasus leaped into action, charging forward, while Henry waved his arms and flailed the reins to get people out of the way. “MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT MOVE IT!”
Onlookers scattered right and left as Pegasus charged uphill toward the magic sword. The guests in the royal box were on their feet now, John stunned, Mattie yelling, Geoffrey furiously pressing through the crowd to get toward Henry.
“Run! Run!”
“He’s mad, I tell you! Flee!”
“WAIT YOUR TURN, YOU POXY SARACEN!” This last from another knight who was running after him with a sword.
A dagger flew past his head, and Henry ducked. A gift courtesy of Geoffrey, who was trying to cut him off from the Excalibur pavilion.
And now Mercadier, ignoring the commotion, was kneeling before the sword, crossing himself in prayer.
Twenty yards. Ten yards. Three yards. ONE—
Henry leaned low out of the saddle, hanging on with one hand, and grabbed for Excalibur. And caught it.
Hello, Henry. What kept you?
Events slowed. Color drained out of the world, leaving only the important things—enemies, weapons, armor—bright and vivid. Henry felt the ghost of the sword enter him again, even as the tug of drawing Excalibur from the stone pulled him off Pegasus and sent him tumbling to the ground.
He and Excalibur were up in a moment. Mercadier stood before him, mouth open, hands empty.
Not a threat, thought Henry and Excalibur, and stalked past Mercadier.
The crowds were running every which way, but there was still some ten yards of open space around the stone. Pegasus stood still, waiting for a rider. Henry wheeled around, searching for—
Geoffrey.
Alone in Excalibur’s colorless world, Geoffrey glowed with menace, a long knife in each hand as he sprinted toward Henry.
Henry leaped on Pegasus. “How do I make him rear up?”
Pull back on the reins and give a light kick with the heels. Grip hard with your knees, or you’ll fall off.
Pegasus danced, his front hooves flailing. Henry raised Excalibur high. “BEHOLD EXCALIBUR, SWORD OF KINGS!” they yelled together. “A BOY HAS DRAWN IT, A COMMONER AND PEASANT, AS WAS ARTHUR HIMSELF! AS YOU SEEK A KING, STOP THAT MAN!”
Henry pointed Excalibur straight at Geoffrey. The crowd stopped, and turned, and stared at the prince with an assassin’s blade in each hand.
Henry nudged Pegasus. They galloped forward, past Geoffrey, toward the royal pavilion. There was John, standing in their way, his giant claymore in one hand and a grin on his face. John raised his blade—
And Henry leaned down and shattered it with Excalibur, barely breaking stride.
There was Mattie. Henry galloped toward her. She raised her arms, and he grabbed her, lifting her onto the back of Pegasus’ saddle. She grabbed him around the chest, and they were away, past the pavilion, past the castle, deep into the woods, on their way to Narbonne.
26. You’ve Got to Let Me Know
“Grandmére! Grandmére!”
“Venez ici, chére!”
Mattie ran into Queen Eleanor’s arms, murmuring little Provençal endearments. It was pretty heartwarming, Henry had to admit, even with the Provençal “au”s and “ez”s. Queen Eleanor’s men-at-arms were sniffling and wiping their eyes. Otho, who was at least six feet tall and looked like he could crush brick, was blowing into a handkerchief, and now Clovis and Merulis, the two troopers who’d practically carried him one-handed when taking him to see Eleanor the first time, were weeping like fountains and clinging to each other for support.
And now to Constantinople.
“Huh?”
That shall be our reward from the Queen. Safe and speedy passage to Constantinople, on a ship of her Majesty’s choosing.
“Sure of that, are you?”
When gratitude and politics meet, expect rapid results. The last thing any monarch wants at court is a young man with the ancient, magic sword of kings.
“Is that…cynicism I hear?”
Ask King Leodegrance. He gave Arthur a castle, a bride, and a famous table to keep us out of Gameliard.
Before Henry could respond, the Queen spoke.
“Master Henry. Come here.”
Henry swallowed and stepped forward. Eleanor stared at him, and once more he had that uncomfortable feeling of being weighed in the balance, found wanting, and then forgiven, all in one moment. The queen had a stare that entered your eyes and came out your backbone.
“So. Did you have fun on your adventure?”
“No, Your Highness. At least, not while people were trying to, you know, kill us.”
The queen nodded and peeled another apple. “And after you and my granddaughter fled Toulouse, was that more pleasant?”
Actually, it hadn’t been. Henry had spent a lot of time thinking about Mattie in the month before he got to Toulouse-le-Chateau to stop the wedding. But somehow, his dreams of romance had never included a talking sword as chaperone.
In the week it took to get from Toulouse to Narbonne, Henry and Mattie hadn’t been alone a single moment. They’d been accompanied morning, noon, and night by a rigid, prissy, stainless-steel governess that couldn’t be bribed, never slept, and never, ever closed its eyes. It had been the six most frustrating days in Henry’s life. Any time he had moved closer to Mattie—or she to him—his hand would inconveniently freeze on Excalibur’s hilt. Or he’d get a little warning jolt. Or the sword would burst into speech with a running commentary on the martial virtues of self-denial.
On the third day, Henry had been so wound up he’d tried to stick Excalibur in a passing boulder, only to receive what felt like a thunderbolt from his hand to his chest, followed by a two-hour lecture on the contemptibility of oath-breakers and the glories of chastity. The shock he could handle, but the fear of another mind-numbing lecture had kept him on the straight and narrow until they reached Narbonne.
And somehow, he knew, Eleanor could tell all this just by looking at him. Queens or swords, old women were scary.
Eleanor leaned in and spoke softly to him. “You couldn’t have taken her away quietly, could you?”
“Uh—”
“Now Geoffrey will have to act.” She sighed and straightened. When she spoke again, it was clearly for the benefit of the entire court. “So. You have risked your life for us, and done us much service. How shall we reward you, Henry of Sanbruc?”
Constantinople. Constantinople. Constanti—
“I heard you,” muttered Henry.
“Excuse me?” asked the queen.
“Your pardon, Majesty. Your Majesty, if I could request any boon of you, I would ask for safe and speedy passage to the city of Constantinople.”
“Constantinople!” Mattie gasped. Henry looked away from the shock on her face. He’d told her about Excalibur’s quest, but he hadn’t mentioned their final destination.
“You’re sure? The food isn’t nearly as good as people say.”
“Majesty, I would never joke about a trip that takes me a thousand miles from home.” He glanced at Mattie. “Believe me, I would much rather stay here.”
Eleanor and Mattie both caught the look. “I believe you would,” said Eleanor. “Constantinople…Good. Maybe you will distract my son.”
She stood. “Into each life some rain must fall, my dears. Young man, you’ve asked for Constantinople. And Constantinople you shall have.”
She snapped her fingers. Clovis and Merulis came to her side. “Make the arrangements,” she said.
As th
ey helped her past Mattie, she reached out her hand. “Some things can’t be helped, my dear.” Mattie didn’t respond. Eleanor kissed Mattie on the cheek, and left.
Mattie walked up to Henry. “Constantinople?” she said, her voice cracking. “Not even back to Paris, you have to go to Constantinople? When were you going to tell me?”
“Five minutes ago?”
“You…you…”
“Do you think I want to go? I made a promise. If I hadn’t promised, you’d be married to Geoffrey by now. Is that what you want?”
“Will marrying him keep you here?”
“No. I made the promise, and I have to keep it.”
I’m impressed, Henry. Maybe you are learning, after—
“And you shut up! Just shut up! Give me one damned minute alone, can’t you?” Henry unbuckled Excalibur and threw it in the corner.
Mattie stared at him, open-mouthed. “You really do hear it in your head.”
Henry sat down and ran his hand through his hair. “I told you I did.”
Mattie sat next to him. “I know. I guess I just didn’t…think about what that meant.” She took his hand. “Is it…is it awful?”
“Yes. No. Not really. Mostly she—Excalibur just comments on things. Smart mouth. Not like you’d know anything about that.”
Mattie smiled.
“And she, it, keeps its promises. Excalibur’s saved my life, a couple of times at least. But it can get a little…cramped.”
Mattie nodded and looked away. “I was wondering, about the trip back.”
Henry didn’t say anything. Neither did Mattie, for a moment. Then she took a breath, and seemed to come to a conclusion. “I think, that if I had…had someone in my head…I would do almost anything to get back to normal.” Gently, she stroked his cheek, and stood up. She turned to Excalibur, lying in the corner. “You—you better protect him, or I’ll hunt you down and beat you into a plowshare. And that’s a Princess Promise.” And she left.
Henry and Excalibur were alone in the throne room. For a moment, neither spoke. Then—
I like her. At first, I thought her unladylike. But she will make a good queen, some day.
“I’m sorry I lost my temper.”
Arthur used me once to win a fight over who had the right to enter a dining-room first. That angered me, if you like. This…I should have given you two more time alone—even if it was just an illusion.
Slowly, Henry buckled on Excalibur. “At the wedding…should I have just left you? Could the right knight have been there?”
Had the right knight been there, Geoffrey would have killed him before he ever had a chance to draw me from the stone. He would have died mysteriously in his sleep, or after a special meal or a delicious sip of wine.
“You’re pretty sure.”
As I said before, after two thousand years as the sword of heroes, I can smell treachery. No. Constantinople is our best hope. But fear not. I shall protect you, and the Queen’s ship shall take us. We’re almost finished.
He wished he could be as optimistic. Slowly, he walked out of the room.
It isn’t easy to catch a couple of scrawny youngsters on horseback. Not when you’re a squad of twelve grown men, wearing heavy armor and carrying supplies. A good tracker helps, as does a guess at the quarry’s final destination. You also bring a few agile, skinny men on fast horses, as scouts and messengers.
You travel south and east, confidently. You know there are other squads heading north, northwest, even east. And then, on the second day, you find tracks—one horse, carrying two riders. On the third day, you find a path hacked through trees, sharp as if a razor had cut it, and you know that only a remarkable blade could have done this work. And you smile, and send a courier back to your master.
To raise the army.
“Well, she’s free. Congratulations.”
“Got any other bright ideas? Want to sell me to the Pope while you’re at it? How about Saladin? I hear the Templars are looking for a few good swords.”
“Okay, okay, so maybe Raymond wasn’t a perfect prospect—”
“He tried to kill me, Alfie!”
Alfie drained his cup and sighed. “You want me to pay for lunch, is that it?”
“And dinner. And none of that ‘plowman’s lunch’ garbage either. Real food. Meat.”
The inn was crowded, even more so than the streets outside. But Alfie raised two fingers to the servant girl, and after a few minutes she came back with three bowls of the pork stew that was the local specialty, and three more cups of wine.
“What is this stuff, anyway?” asked Henry, poking at the lumps in the stew.
“If you have to ask, you don’t want to know,” said Valdemar. He ladled some stew on a crust of bread and took a giant bite.
Well, fair enough. Henry was savoring the odd feeling of reunion with friends who have disappointed you, and worried you half to death, and totally screwed up—joy, irritation…and finally forgiveness.
Valdemar picked a chunk of marrowbone from the bowl and slurped enthusiastically.
“Is this the new base of operations?” asked Henry.
Valdemar nodded. “Why not? The wine’s good, and the girls aren’t.”
“Look out there,” said Alfie, pointing to the boulevard. “The city’s bursting at the seams, lad. That’s silver on the hoof.” He sipped a little wine, ignoring his food. “You’ve got Catalans, Aragonese, Moors, Jews—it’s wide open. And the heretics—sure, they’ll bang on your door at sunrise and ask if you’ve been Perfected, but—” He rubbed his thumb and fingers together in the ancient, universal sign for money.
Heading back to his rooms at the palace, Henry had to admit that Alfie was right. The city was packed. There were twice as many people on the streets now as there had been in Bordeaux. But not many of them had the rich, arrogant look they used to pray for, back in Paris. There were a lot of people who were clearly wearing their entire fortunes on their backs. Many of them were crowded into the Church of St. Michel. On a hunch, Henry crossed the main square to the Archbishop’s Palace, where he saw the same thing—dozens upon dozens of folks in ragged clothes, camped out in the palace courtyard.
Refugees.
“Yeah, I figured. Let’s find out why.” Henry approached a priest who was handing out small parcels to the refugees.
“Prince Geoffrey, God forgive him.” The priest handed a loaf of bread to a mother and three children, and blessed them. “He holds everything north of the Gironde, now, and he destroyed quite a bit to get it.”
“But…but he was at a wedding for a month. How has he—”
“Prince Geoffrey is apparently quite good at doing two or three things at once,” said the priest, bitterly. “He calls it ‘multi-tasking.’”
From the palace, Henry walked to the town’s north gate. Dozens of masons crawled over scaffolding, patching and reinforcing the walls. Down at the docks, shipwrights were building barges. The barges didn’t look particularly well-made. They were just big wooden boxes that could float.
Aye. Boxes that can float, and be coated with tar, and moored in the center of the harbor, and set on fire. Excalibur was matter of fact. Someone expects an invasion…and a last stand.
When Henry got back to his room, he found a note telling him that the ship that would take him to Constantinople had been sighted at the headland, and would probably arrive within a day. He packed—there wasn’t much—and went looking for Mattie. But Mattie, and the Queen, and the Viscount of Narbonne were in a closed meeting with the leaders of the commune, the city’s government. Henry had a lump in his gut that wouldn’t go away.
The Queen’s Guard was drilling in the courtyard. They still looked big and trim, but for the first time, they also looked deadly serious. It didn’t take long to find out that an armed vanguard had been spotted on the Aude river two days before.
There’s no need to worry.
“Huh?”
In a few hours, we’ll be on our way to Constantinople.
<
br /> “Right.”
Henry paced through the streets. If Geoffrey attacked Narbonne…Henry could probably take Valdemar with him on the ship, but Alfie was old. How would he take yet another trip, and this one a forced flight by sea? And what about Mattie? Geoffrey wouldn’t kill her, she was better off than the townsfolk, but if he conquered Narbonne, the best she could expect was a nunnery. And knowing Geoffrey, it would be a particularly strict, joyless, escape-proof place, too. There were convents that specialized in inconvenient relatives. And if Mattie came along to Constantinople—if she even agreed to come, which was about as likely as Alfie being elected Pope—that would just be one more incentive for Geoffrey to hunt them by sea. Henry might sneak aboard a ship secretly, maybe; there was no way that would be true any more for Princess Mathilde.
You couldn’t rescue her quietly…Henry gasped. That’s what Eleanor had meant. Of course Geoffrey was coming here. He had to. Henry had made him look like an idiot before half of Europe.
As he ran through his unhappy chain of logic, Henry’s feet had taken him down to the market square. He paused before a cart selling dried figs and apricots, to pick up something for the trip.
“It’s him!”
“It’s him! That’s the one!”
“I saw him at Meilhan! It’s him!”
“He’s here! Praise the Blessed Virgin, he’s here!”
“The Muttering Knight is here!”
Henry whirled around. He was faced by a small crowd of people that was growing larger by the minute. Some of them were townsfolk; many had the about-to-be-ragged look of new refugees. One of them grabbed his hand. It was old lady Goncourt, the one who’d given him onion soup for getting savaged by her miserable tom cat.
“Will you save us again, Sir Knight?” she asked. Henry blinked, too surprised to even move his hand. Three months ago, she’d called him a snow-faced pipsqueak. Now he was “Sir Knight.”
“Uh—”
“Of course he will! He’s the Muttering Knight!” This from a burly guy Henry had never seen before, which meant he had a lot of nerve, if you thought about it.
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