Chapter 57
Fifty-Seven
Arthur called on knights across the fifteen kingdoms, including some who had marched under Galehaut and Tristan.
From the Round Table, Gawain, Gaheris, Gareth, Percival, Dindrane, Yvain, Sagremore and Bedivere all joined Lionel, Arthur, Galehaut and me.
Some knights would stay behind, including Lucan, Morien, Agravain and Calogrant. And Kay.
Arthur appointed Mordred as his regent, granting him reign of Camelot in his absence—a decision he would one day come to regret.
In the womb of the ship that night I had troubling dreams. Three dragons were fighting a bear-like beast. The beast clawed through one of the dragons, piercing its azure enamel. The dragon died. Arthur, it turned out, had the exact same dream.
“If only Merlin were with us to interpret,” he said.
We stood on the bow of the ship, overlooking a carved lion frontpiece.
“Where has he been, Arthur? I thought he was your most trusted advisor.”
“I thought so, too. I fear he has abandoned me.”
“Why?”
“I do not know.”
Merlin had been like a father to Arthur, counseling him on matters big and small. I had no love for the wizard, but I could see the sadness etched in Arthur’s face.
“I’m sorry.”
“No doubt you loathe him,” said Arthur, gazing out to sea. “For separating you from Galehaut. For tricking you into thinking your greatest love was dead. What he did was horrible, but that does not make him less loved by me. Can you understand?”
So he knew. He knew of my love for men, knew I was not a threat for Guinevere’s attentions. He knew everything all along and still he kept me at his side.
“Yes,” I said. “I understand.”
“Then you also understand why I am letting Guinevere leave with my blessing. Your friendship and devotion have meant everything to her. And to me.”
We stood in comfortable silence, breathing in the ocean mist. For a brief moment my thoughts became indistinguishable from the churn of the sea.
As we drew to shore, my chest thrummed with trepidation. It was not supposed to be this cold yet, not before Yule. I shivered into my fur cloak.
But the weather, we hoped, might help us. Claudas would not expect a preemptive attack, especially under such conditions.
On the outskirts of Benoic, we felled trees to construct a siege tower.
Our carpenters and smiths went to work, building a scaffold tall enough to breach a wall.
Arthur would lead the group with the siege tower, while Lionel would take others through the castle’s hidden beach cave.
Between the two groups, we hoped to open the castle’s gates, allowing entry for our much larger army.
As we wheeled our siege engine through Benoic’s abandoned town square, it began to snow. Flurries at first, then dense flakes which blanketed the abandoned shops and homes. The townsfolk had seen us coming and fled.
“Gawain,” said Arthur. “Halt the troops.”
Gawain let out a loud whistle and the army stopped.
Through the snowfall I could see the edges of the castle.
It was situated between two rivers and fortified by a stone wall, like Camelot.
In my very first lake vision I had seen its wonders—the turrets and spires, the buttresses and statues, the lead glass windows and tooth-like parapets.
This was where my parents had lived. This would have been my home.
My veins flared with dread. Was it the sight of the castle, stirring inherited memories? No. Something was wrong. In the flat light, the clouds shifted. A movement in the skyline. I looked up and saw shapes and my blood went cold.
Boulders. They were coming straight for us. Instinctively, I braced my shield over my head and my horse’s. The successive catapult blasts shook the earth, knocking both Lionel and me off our horses.
I scrambled to get back in the saddle, but another wave of boulders came crashing down. Claudas was not foolish enough to use Greek Fire within his own city’s borders, but his catapults were destructive nonetheless.
“Lionel!” I shouted. The thought of losing him activated me, and I reached beneath the fear to channel my rage.
“I’m here!” he yelled, as more boulders came flying. I watched in horror as a rock crushed Sagremore in a spurt of blood and bone.
The redness surged through me, blazing down my spine. I tugged Lionel away from an incoming boulder. Shaken, he grabbed my shoulder.
“Do me a favor,” he said. “Don’t die.”
“Promise me the same.”
“I promise,” he said with little conviction.
As Lionel rounded up his knights and rode towards the cave, I desperately scanned the field for Galehaut, Gawain and Arthur.
The boulders had kicked up crowns of earth, disturbing the snowy air, making it hard to see.
As I steered my horse through the destruction, a desperate madness churned through me.
My heart had been portioned out among those on the battlefield.
A piece with Lionel. A piece with Gawain.
A section to Galehaut. Another with Arthur. My survival depended on theirs.
I kept riding and searching, the panic rising as I checked each crater.
Finally, I spotted Arthur, who was pulling himself up to standing.
Galehaut and Gawain were near him, trying to calm their horses enough to re-mount.
With a flush of relief, I galloped upfield.
The siege tower was rolling steadily towards the wall, still intact.
“They’re out of boulders!” Arthur exclaimed, as I met them by the tower.
Galehaut and Gawain handed off their horses and got behind the wheels to help push.
I joined them, digging my boots into the hardened earth as the hill grew steeper.
We were a few hundred paces out, close enough now to see the castle’s empty catapults.
I could feel the sweat gathering beneath my armor, the wet snow soaking through my white surcoat.
Splinters ripped my leather gloves and pierced my flesh, but the pain meant nothing.
I had Galehaut on one side of me, Gawain on the other.
I channeled everything I had into the rhythmic grunts of our movement.
Then, at Arthur’s order, we came to a halt.
“Shields up!” he instructed.
Guards appeared on the parapets above us, letting loose a barrage of arrows.
Those pushing had to hope the tower itself might protect us.
As the arrows whizzed through its beams, I felt one ping off my helmet.
Then I heard a cry and turned to see Arthur clutching his chest atop his horse. An arrow had pierced his chain mail.
“Keep pushing!” he shouted, snapping away the arrow’s bolt. His mail’s tight interlacing had saved him. “On my count.”
We were about to keep going, when the clap of a catapult struck us cold.
Another boulder was careening through the sky, on a direct path for our siege tower.
They must have saved it, waiting until we were closer.
At the last moment we dove out of the way, nearly avoiding the rock as it crashed through the scaffolding. An explosion of planks struck my armor.
“Get up, get your shields!” Arthur ordered. “The arrows are still coming!”
In shock, I re-mounted my horse and grabbed my shield. Arthur signaled for us to charge towards the gates. If Lionel’s group managed to penetrate the castle, we’d be ready. He was our only remaining hope.
I rode up the hill, deflecting arrow after arrow. We were a mere fifty paces away now, and I could see the guards eyeing their empty bolts. If Lionel didn’t get there soon, they’d have enough time to replenish. Please, Lionel, I thought. Please make it through.
We were nearly at the castle walls, when I heard a metallic creak.
“The gates are opening!” Arthur yelled. “Charge!”
Cheers echoed across the field as we stormed the castle. Arthur and Gawain led us through the courtyard, where a sea of Claudas’s knights awaited. I was ready.
As I drove my spear through knight after knight, I felt my body cleaving from time.
I was sinking into a place beyond thought, the very place Bagotta once urged me to find.
My arms were a blur, my lance and shield were nearly invisible.
I had no fear of death and no remorse over the wounds I inflicted.
A massive Roman legionary came at me with a mace and I ducked, knocking him off his horse with the lip of my shield.
Despite the bombardment, we outnumbered the legionaries, and as they raced to close the gates a group of us slid beneath the portcullis and lifted it back up.
Inside the castle walls, we abandoned our horses and engaged on foot.
My sword sliced mail, biting enemy muscle.
I aimed where I could for nonlethal blows, snatching arms, calves, places I knew would defeat, not kill.
But my primary concern was protecting our own.
Bedivere, who had gone with the cave group, was fending off two legionaries. I took them both down with one blow.
“Where’s Lionel?” I shouted.
“The donjon tower,” Bedivere said. “Freeing Bors. He’s all right.”
I barely had time to exhale, before another attacker came my way. But knowing that Lionel had made it gave me a fresh burst of strength.
“And Arthur?” Bedivere asked.
“Over there.” I signaled towards the keep.
He was fighting alongside Gawain, who seemed to delight in combat, bashing legionaries with his shield and throwing elbows and punches with glee.
Galehaut was there too, summoning the skills his mother taught us, his sharp methodical twists and turns harkening back to our days in the clearing.
From the corner of my eye I kept track of him as I fended off three more knights.
Did he notice the group of legionaries coming at him from behind?
I smashed an enemy with my shield and craned my neck to get a better look. The group was headed straight for him.
“Galehaut!” I shouted.
He turned back just in time to see one of the charging knights poised to strike. It was too late for him to move out of the way.
I averted my gaze. My whole body locked stiff. I could feel my mouth gaping open into a scream.
But when I looked up again, the charging knight was frozen in place. Galehaut watched, stunned, as the enemy collapsed before him. Arthur pulled his sword from the knight’s back.
Just then, another knight swung at Arthur, catching him right beneath the ribcage.
Gawain swooped in, disarming the soldier before he could deal another blow. But Arthur was already on the ground, clutching his wound.
“Arthur!” screamed Gawain, dropping to his side.
Panic-stricken, I returned to the soldiers in front of me, felling them with one long sweep of my sword.
As an infusion of Camelot’s troops crashed through the gates, the enemy lines thinned out.
Some were dropping their swords in surrender.
I ran over to Arthur and helped Gawain roll him onto his back.
“I am fine, really,” he sputtered. But the blood was gushing out of his side, bathing his hands. I removed his mail and Bedivere attempted to wrap the wound. Arthur’s whole body was now trembling. His lips had gone blue.
Through strained breaths he said, “Get Claudas.”