Chapter 32
Thirty-Two
I was whisked up a flight of stairs. There was little time to compose myself, and no time at all to consider the magnitude of the meeting.
Merlin pushed open a nondescript door. Arthur’s chambers were reminiscent of Glitonea’s seaward perch, less opulent and more mystical than the rest of the castle.
Embroidered rugs padded the stone floor, their trodden threads overlapping beneath hard oak tables.
The air tasted of something indescribable.
Something distinctly Camelot, distinctly Arthur.
A scent like cloves, but more ancient and unctuous.
He was standing before a table, inspecting a map of the many realms. He smiled and waved us in.
“Hello,” he said to me. “I am Arthur Pendragon.”
His forthright introduction disarmed me completely.
Any ire I carried from my encounter with Dinadan faded beneath Arthur’s palpable goodness.
He kissed me on both cheeks, and I felt instantly at ease.
Up close he was handsome and a bit reedy, with clean skin, wavy hair and a sharp nose like Glitonea’s.
His finely cinched clothes conveyed the magnitude of his station, yet there was something fragile about the way he stood in them, as if they were wearing him.
“It is an honor, King Arthur.”
The bards sang of Arthur’s gray eyes, but no song could have prepared me for their aqueous, mirror-like quality.
The longer he held me in his gaze, the less I saw of him, and the more I saw myself.
This was his greatest gift. To reflect the dreams and desires of those under his rule.
But as I regarded him, I wondered where his realm ended and the countryside boy began.
“I trust you are well, Merlin?”
“As well as can be under the circumstances.”
Arthur sighed, and loomed over his map. “The circumstances are troublesome. Much of the Distant Isles have fallen, parts of Gaul and Germany. I fear Ireland will be next. Camelot is safe for now, thanks to certain long-standing truces. And the Isle of Women will always be safe. But I am at a loss for what to do.”
The admission shocked me. If the great King Arthur was unnerved, how did that bode for the rest of us? Turning to me, he asked, “What do you think?”
“What do I think?”
“Yes. I am interested to know.”
“I…” Had Arthur just solicited my opinion on matters of war and state? I had not been in Camelot a day, had not so much as gone on a quest. I was woefully unprepared to answer, but I tried.
“I think the Roman legionaries must be stopped,” I said.
“So you think Camelot should mount a war.”
“If ally kingdoms are in danger.”
“Even if Camelot itself remains safe?”
“If the rest of the world falls, what good is Camelot?”
I was surprised by the conviction in my voice, the way I summoned such certainty. Arthur gave a respectful nod.
“I agree,” he replied. “But I hope there might be another way.” Turning to Merlin, he said, “Thank you for bringing Lancelot here. I know it was a long journey and you’ve been pulled away from your work with Tristan in Ireland. Would it be all right if we reconvene after supper?”
I took this as my cue to leave, and started to follow Merlin to the door.
“Lancelot?” Arthur called. “Do you mind staying?”
Alone now, just the two of us, Arthur led me to an adjoining chapel. His throne sat to the right of the altar.
“This chapel is no different from others across Camelot,” he said, beckoning me to the oriel window. “Except for the view.”
Through the snowfall I could see the towers and walls, the cozy puffs of smoke emanating from chimneys. Everything was coated in a soft layer of white.
“It’s marvelous,” I said.
“It is,” he replied, almost wistfully, in a way that separated his own stature from the city. “We have the sisterhood to thank.”
I thought of Viviana with a sudden ache. What I would give to be a boy again, cradled in her lap. I had no idea, back then, the magnitude of her power. Or maybe I did.
“Have you been to the Isle of Women?” I asked.
“Yes, a long time ago. More often the sisterhood would visit us here. Glitonea, of course. But also Viviana. I admire her greatly.”
Arthur flashed a gold chain affixed with a modest ruby.
Instinctively my hand went to the opal ring on my finger, the one that had belonged to my birth mother.
Were these jewels somehow a secret language of the descendants?
Before I could ask, Arthur continued, “Glitonea is my maternal cousin. Many of the knights of the Round Table can trace their lineage to the sisterhood. We are not supposed to speak of their ancestry. But there should be no secrets between us.”
He pointed to a panel on the wall depicting a crown with seven jewels.
“Each jewel represents a family line. Glitonea’s line is ruby. Elinor’s is opal. Sapphire is Viviana. Ganieda is moonstone. Mazoe’s is topaz. Lotta’s emerald. And Sebile is diamond.”
“I am a relative of Elinor,” I said, parsing through the connections. “You of Glitonea. Merlin of Ganieda. Laudine, who I met on the road here, is related to Sebile. That leaves Mazoe, Viviana and Lotta.”
“Morien, a Round Table knight from Alexandria, is Mazoe’s nephew. And Lotta’s lineage is in Ireland. There are no knights from her line currently in Camelot, but one day there could be.”
“Which leaves Viviana.”
I thought back to my discussions with Elinor, a reference to kin on the mainland.
“Her line has always been a mystery to me,” Arthur admitted.
“And me as well,” I said.
This seemed to surprise him. “She did not tell you anything? Were there no visits from her relatives?”
“None that I can remember. There was a mention of distant nieces, I believe. But I knew from a young age not to ask.”
“Viviana used to come to Camelot often,” Arthur said. “She provided me counsel. I am not sure if you know this, but I ascended the throne at a young age. I grew up outside of the court. I needed people like Viviana and Merlin to help me.”
“I know your story well,” I said. “I can relate to growing up in… a different way.”
Arthur gave me a wide smile. “It is the best way,” he said. “You will appreciate Camelot the way I do. You will not take it for granted.”
He was fingering his ruby necklace. I nodded to it.
“The stones,” I asked. “Do they hold deeper meaning? Deeper power?”
“One might think,” said Arthur. “But I could trade you my ruby for your ring and it would change nothing. The power is not in the stones themselves, but what they symbolize in aggregate, the coming together of the sisterhood, and the sanctity of the old ways.”
“The old and new ways are both practiced here, I have heard.”
“See those carvings?” Arthur pointed to a pair of stone peacocks.
They were flanking a woman with a halo, her hands in prayer.
“Someone from Greece who adheres to the old ways might see the goddess Hera alongside her prized peacocks. And in the peacocks’ feathers they might see the eyes of Argus.
For others, that woman isn’t Hera at all, but the Virgin Mother.
The peacocks symbolize eternal life begotten by her son. ”
I was not as well versed in the new ways, but I could discern the chapel’s overlapping symbols. Crosses, chalices, sheep, grapevines, fish, thorns. Gods and goddesses interspersed with angels and saints.
“Here in Camelot, we accept all peaceful traditions.” Arthur grabbed a book from a chest and laid it across a table. “I believe the old ways and new ways are two approaches to the same question. They should not be at odds. And they should not lead to war.”
He flipped through the book with a childlike giddiness.
“The grail ceremony predated the new ways by centuries. I don’t fully understand its mysteries.
Nor do I need to. But in recent years those three objects—the sword, the lance and the grail—have been co-opted and woven into a different narrative.
Adherents of the new ways claim that the sword belonged to King David, who felled a giant named Goliath.
They say the grail belonged to Jesus, who drank from it at his final supper.
A disciple named Joseph of Arimathea took the grail after Jesus’s lips last touched it.
Then the lance, they say, pierced his side to end his suffering on the cross.
” He pointed to corresponding images in the book.
“I would take no issue if these stories weren’t being used to erase the old ways.
But they are painting over the ancient traditions, holidays and festivals that have long marked a cyclical sense of time.
Rather than simply letting the new traditions stand side by side with the old, they’re forcing people to choose. ”
“Or killing them.”
Arthur nodded gravely. “Which is why we must restore the grail before Rome does.”
“If it has disappeared, how do we find it?”
“Perhaps you will show us.”
A sword was mounted above the mantel. Arthur delicately lifted it from its brackets. He was going to knight me now, I realized. The great King Arthur. Here in his private chapel. The intimacy of the setting only added to the magnitude. The nameless boy would not have believed it.
But I was no longer the nameless boy. I had a name. A name as hollow and pale as a tide-washed shell. Did I want knighthood? I didn’t know anymore. I didn’t know anything beyond the flat cloud of grief.
“You are aware of Merlin’s prophecy?”
I gave a half-hearted nod.
“You do not seem too happy about it.”
“I do not know if I can live up to it. I’m also aware I have no choice.”
Arthur gave me a puzzled look. He rested his hand on his mouth in contemplation, then he returned the sword to its brackets.
After a while he placed one hand on my shoulder and looked me squarely in the eye.
“You do have a choice,” he said. “And so do I. People say I knight too freely, that I am undiscerning and overly generous, but this is not true. I see the potential in every person I knight. And I see the potential in you. But I sense you do not see it yet in yourself.”
I looked down at my feet. He continued. “I am not going to knight you today. You must first prove to yourself that you are worthy of that honor. But I do need to know if you side with Camelot.”
“I do,” I said quickly. “Roman legionaries killed my parents. They killed people I love.”
“And you will help to restore the grail.”
“I will.”
“Good. We desperately need your help. So far, we have traded on rumor and instinct. We follow whispers and hunches. This was how Gawain tracked down the lance. Those who held it, in the Old North, had no memory of how it came into their possession, nor did they recognize it for what it was. But the grail is even more important. If we can secure it, perhaps we can avoid an all-out war. Even then, I am not so sure.” A pause.
“Do you think me weak for loathing violence?”
The question caught me off guard. It revealed a truth Arthur believed about himself. But to me it rang of Galehaut.
“No,” I said. “I think it makes you strong.”
Arthur stared at me with surprised gratitude. Was he really seeking my approval? He turned back to the sweeping view of Camelot. Then he pressed his head against the windowpane. I did the same.
“What do you feel when you look down?” he asked.
I watched my breath fog the glass, unsure how to answer. The roads were swollen with all manner of people, coming and going in drifts of snow. I didn’t like seeing them from this vantage. It was like being a god. I told Arthur as much.
“Some people would like that, you know.”
“To be a god? Not I. I don’t want to live forever.”
I barely want to live another day, I thought.
After a time, we rolled our heads to face each other.
“The tournament tomorrow,” he said. “You will compete.”
I remembered the assembly. You’ll perform among a crowd of thousands.
“Who will I face?” Please say Kay, I thought. Or the older one, Hoel.
“It must be someone formidable. It cannot be me as I am up against Erec. Not that I am all that formidable anyway.” He lifted himself off the window and scrunched his brow.
“I know,” he concluded. “We shall put you against my nephew. We will have you joust Gawain.”