Chapter 31
Thirty-One
I can’t imagine how this was built,” I marveled. “It must’ve taken centuries.”
The proportions of the castle left me awestruck. The central keep was surrounded by towers, all of them stretching into the clouds.
Merlin led me into a high-ceilinged vestibule. “Arthur’s father, Uther Pendragon, had a lot of help. Watch your step.” He held me back as four servants, themselves dressed in clothes befitting royalty in any other realm, swept through with a tray carrying a fully cooked boar.
A lot of help as in the sisterhood. I was barely inside and could already feel their imprint.
The scope of the castle alone could only have been conceived by them.
The polished stone, the long, swooping drapes, the warmth of the gold-leaf molding—it all glimmered with something unique, something more.
At least four of the sisterhood could claim descendants in Camelot. Glitonea’s Arthur. Ganieda’s Merlin. Sebile’s Laudine. And now Elinor, with me. I shook the snow from my cloak. Surely there were more.
A young knight dressed in crimson approached from the side hallway. “Impeccable timing.”
Merlin did seem to have a knack for being in the right place at the right time. He gave the knight a hearty hello and they kissed on both cheeks.
That’s when I noticed the lion.
The creature emerged eyes-first from the shadows, padding towards us in languid, shoulder-dipped steps. I took in its dense brown mane, flickering whiskers, broad paws, and my body went numb.
“Oh,” said the knight. “Don’t worry about him. He’s as harmless as a kitten.”
The lion yawned, revealing four sharp, glimmering teeth.
“A very big kitten,” he added. “I am Yvain, son of Urien and Morgan.” He extended an open hand. “Nephew of Arthur. Cousin of”—he counted on his fingers—“Agravain, Mordred, Gareth, Gaheris and Gawain. The G names quite roll off the tongue.”
“Lancelot,” I said, my etiquette lessons momentarily failing me. Was I Lancelot of Benoic? Lancelot of the Isle of Women? Son of King Ban? Charge of Viviana? As I searched for the right words, my mind flashed to Lunete, the handmaiden we’d met at Castle Landuc.
“Lancelot of the Lake,” I blurted out.
Yvain seemed to weigh my response. Then he nodded in approval.
“We rode through Broceliande,” Merlin said. “Lancelot met your wife.”
“Ahh, and did you see her fountain?”
I told him that it was very impressive.
“And very powerful, too. The water can conjure storms. I’m not allowed near it.”
“That reminds me,” said Merlin. “Laudine wants you home by supper.”
Yvain smiled. “Then we have no time to waste. Follow me, Lancelot of the Lake. King Arthur is eager to meet you.”
King Arthur. Eager to meet me. My heart fluttered. How to explain that, in a way, through the lake sword, I already had?
We entered a hall large enough to fit Viviana’s entire cottage. It was bustling with all manner of courtiers, smiths, cupbearers, stonemasons, squires and jesters. I felt a tickle at my leg and looked down to see an unattended pack of hunting hounds sprinting past. The lion didn’t flinch.
“The armor room is through that door,” Yvain explained, as a squire raced by carrying a polished hauberk. “Come, let me show you the great hall.”
“This isn’t the great hall?”
Yvain laughed. “No. This is the minor hall. The great hall holds the Round Table.”
We passed through an outdoor gallery, which opened to a frozen stream and frost-cut garden.
“In spring it’s beautiful,” Yvain said. “The stream pours into the Camelot River, which flows all the way to Astolat.”
We continued through an expansive network of halls and courtyards. Yvain pointed out various kitchens, chapels, scriptoriums, armor rooms and sleeping quarters.
“Below us, you’ll find the crypt. Above us, to the south, you’ll find the tower where we keep prisoners, though Arthur is loath to make use of it.
Here’s the livery cupboard,” he said, pointing to a high, narrow storage room redolent of cheese.
“And this,” he said, with a dramatic sweep of his arm, “is the great hall.”
My gaze pulled upward, to a vaulted ceiling so high I almost tipped back on my heels.
The arched loft, adorned with gold constellations and brightly painted planets, poured into stone colonnades carved with scalloped corbels.
Between each column, glorious sheets of light streamed through stained-glass windows, under which hung the emblems of great families.
I stepped onto the mosaic floor. The small bits of tile and glass, which we called tesserae, had been polished to a uniform gleam.
The tesserae formed a woodland scene beneath my feet, interspersed with gold shapes and symbols.
My mind strayed to the labor that went into this floor.
Countless hours of abrasion beneath handheld grindstones…
no. The clap of my boots was too pure, too perfect.
My steps carried the familiar ring of Danu’s magic.
Only the powers of the sisterhood could have achieved such a feat.
I followed Yvain down the aisle, admiring the plinths displaying crowns, scabbards, and the occasional blood-slashed helmet. Beneath one of the crests hung the enamel horn of some mystical creature.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Narwhal tusk,” said Yvain. “But if Percival asks, it’s a unicorn horn.” With a wink he added, “He’ll believe anything.”
I’d read tales of Percival, a relative, I’d come to learn, of the Fisher King himself. He belonged to one of the great families of the Round Table. The notion that he could be the object of a practical joke—a joke I was now in on—left me awestruck. Maybe the luster wasn’t as thick as I’d imagined.
But then I looked to the dais and any doubts of Camelot’s otherworldly grandeur instantly vanished.
The Round Table was, of course, a perfect circle, and so too was the massive rose window overlooking it.
Men and women milled around the ambulatory, dressed in fine silks, pulling out the jewel-glazed, high-backed chairs.
It was more spectacular in person than it was when conjured through the swath of lake bubbles.
“I’ve got to take my seat,” said Yvain. “The daily assembly is about to start.”
Merlin and I found standing room among a gathering audience of pages and vassals.
The seats at the Round Table were reserved for the knighted, but anyone could attend the daily assemblies and add to the agenda.
This casual air ran counter to the great hall’s gilded decadence.
But somehow, under Arthur’s reign, these contradictions existed in harmony.
And there King Arthur stood, among a group of male and female knights, rocking on his heels, arms wrapped, looking both engaged and vigilant.
If it weren’t for the visions at the lake, I might not have noticed him.
He wore neither crown nor cape, but the same fine clothes as the others.
He still carried some of the crane-like awkwardness of his youth, but now in his late thirties he was undeniably striking, with gray eyes, thick brown hair and hard shoulders.
Yet he was no more handsome than Yvain. No more handsome than—
I’m afraid I have some terrible news.
“… and there’s Agravain, eldest son of King Lot.
His brother Gareth.…” Merlin was ticking through the attendees.
The river of names washed over me, a suffocating rapid.
“Morien, son of Aglovale. Bedivere, cupbearer. Gaheris. Hoel. Erec. Dindrane. Anna who is Arthur’s sister. Lucan. Lynette. And look, there’s—”
“Queen Guinevere,” I said, recognizing her from my lake vision. Now that I knew snow, I felt I understood her beauty—cold, sharp and quiet, like flurries falling in the night.
Merlin pointed to an empty brocade chair. “The Perilous Seat,” he said. “It is saved for the one who obtains the grail.”
A hush fell over the hall. A reed-thin knight stood and unspooled a roll of parchment.
Merlin identified him as Kay, Arthur’s seneschal.
He spoke with a nasal drawl—all hard glares and eye-rolls.
As he ran through the events of the day with detached pretense—Saxon skirmishes, a sieged castle, plagues, blight, births and deaths—I couldn’t tell if he was skewering the court’s self-regard or intentionally adding to its theatrics.
“On to the liberating of Tintagel,” he said, looking to Yvain for an update.
“The castle is secure. We took four prisoners, all legionaries. They are in the donjon tower.”
“I shall visit them,” Arthur said. “Perhaps they are willing to talk.”
Merlin cupped Lancelot’s ear. “Arthur despises keeping prisoners. Sometimes he’ll even knight them before setting them free.”
“And you led this group, Yvain?” Arthur asked.
“Gawain did.”
“And where is he?”
“He broke off from the group. A side quest to an underwater bridge.”
“Not that again.” Arthur sighed. The table rumbled with laughter.
Kay ticked through his parchment. “Next order of business, Griflet is still in captivity.”
“Don’t worry. We will liberate him,” said a knight seated near Arthur.
Kay raised an eyebrow. “This is the fourth time this year he has been taken, Bedivere.”
“I am well aware.”
“You are granted five knights to rescue him. But he must be more careful in the future. You and Lucan, as his cousins, should speak with him.” Kay flitted his hand through the air.
“That family adheres to the new ways,” whispered Merlin. “Some knights here do.”
Kay ran his finger down the parchment. “Next, Dinadan has an update for us on the Distant Isles?”
“I do.”
A man with a thick beard and timeworn forehead stood and stiffened his shoulders. For a moment my body seemed to dissolve, leaving nothing but the battering of my ribcage. Dinadan had his auburn hair, his rectangular nose, his brown eyes.
This was Brunor’s brother. This was Galehaut’s uncle.
I’m afraid I have some terrible news.
“Roman legionaries have taken much of the Distant Isles,” he reported. “Including Giant’s Island. The group was led by my traitorous brother, Brunor. He is dead. So is Queen Bagotta. And her children, Delice and Galehaut.”
His name struck against my skin. To the Round Table, Galehaut was just another casualty in an escalating conflict. It was cold comfort that his existence had rippled across the sea.
Arthur expressed his condolences.
“These Roman puppets,” said Dinadan. “King Mark. Sir Brian. King Claudas and the like. They are a threat to us all. I hope you will consider mounting an offensive soon.”
Arthur’s calm silence overwhelmed the dais. Where was his fury? Where was his battle plan? Was this not what an assemblage of knights was meant for? To protect, to defend, to fight back? The people who had killed Galehaut were aligned with the man who had killed my parents. The enemy was clear.
Arthur nodded to Kay, who looked down at his parchment. “We end the assembly on a happier note, the winter tournament is tomorrow. Remember to—”
A loud crash drew the table’s attention to the side aisle. A knight, his hauberk dented and bloody, helmet askew, came clattering in. The audience gasped and parted for him. In truncated strides, visibly in pain, he walked to one of the table’s few empty seats.
A group of attendants rushed to his aid, delicately removing his helmet. I could see his flushed, sweaty face. He seemed a bit older than me. A gash streaked across his forehead below a swoop of chestnut brown hair.
“Sir Gawain,” drawled Kay. “How nice of you to join us.”
Gawain said nothing as the attendants whisked about him, removing his chain mail and stripping him of his sweat-drenched tunic. They pressed a damp cloth to his bare chest and gave him a cup of wine.
“Sorry I’m late, Uncle,” he said to Arthur. “Stuck on a sword bridge.” He patted the gash on his forehead.
“I thought it was an underwater bridge,” Arthur said.
“That too.”
“As I was saying,” said Kay. “For all those competing in the winter tournament tomorrow, please be to the arena no later than sunrise. The melee is in the morning. Jousting in the afternoon. Your draws will be listed on the board in the minor hall.”
“Thank you, Kay,” said Arthur. “Our tournaments are meant to be entertaining. Expect a crowd of thousands tomorrow. But events like these also keep us sharp and battle-ready. We would all do well to take them seriously. That is all.”
As the knights rose to leave, I peeled through the crowd. Merlin called to me, but I ignored him. I didn’t care about customs or protocol, or what was planned for me next. I needed to speak to Dinadan.
He was engaged with another knight when I tapped him on the shoulder.
He spun around with a look of surprised annoyance.
The resemblance, I realized now, up close, was loose at best, tracings of his angles and color.
Galehaut was more Bagotta’s son. But Dinadan was a blood link. In my mind that made us kin, too.
“I am Lancelot of the Lake,” I said. “I trained with your nephew.”
Dinadan eyed me dubiously.
“You have ventured far,” he mustered. “Welcome.”
I could tell instantly that he had none of Galehaut’s charisma, none of his charm.
“I knew him well,” I said. “His death affects me greatly.”
“That it would.”
He stood there, waiting for me to continue, but I did not know what to say. Whatever comfort I sought, whatever succor his kinship might provide, did not exist.
“He was a good man,” I added limply.
“His father, my brother Brunor, was not.”
Dinadan looked over my shoulder. He had no time for me, no desire to sit with the shame of his brother’s betrayals. His nephew, I could see now, was just an extension of that shame.
“You’ll excuse me,” said Dinadan, turning back to the knight next to him. But in his disregard, I found my footing.
“Wait,” I said, stepping closer. “Your nephew, you should know, was nothing like his father, and everything like his mother. He would have been a great knight. A knight worthy of this table and more.”
Perhaps sensing my overwhelm, Dinadan rested a hand on my shoulder. “I am sure that is true,” he said. “But you should find someone else to share your grief.”
If the Round Table was composed of people like Dinadan, people who met the news from the Distant Isles with callous inaction, I wanted nothing to do with it. I stepped off the platform and made my way to the side door. I’d find the next boat out.
But no sooner had I stepped through the archway than Merlin caught me by the sleeve.
“Arthur wishes to see you,” he said. “In his private chambers.”