The King's Wizard (27 page)

The boy sped off on his errand, his bright hair flashing in the sun.

“Now tell me, Merlin, what brings you to Joyous Gard,” Lancelot said. He flung his arm companionably over Merlin’s shoulder
and the two men began to walk toward the main castle keep.

“It is a magnificent place,” Merlin said, still looking around.

“As close to heaven as we could find on earth … though I sometimes wish there were a few more dragons to slay.”

“I cannot offer you dragons, Sir Lancelot, but I can offer you a great adventure,” Merlin said as they crossed from light
into shadow. Lancelot was about to reply, when he was distracted by the arrival of the Lady Elaine.

The lady of Joyous Gard wore a silvery gown sewn with pearls, and her rich auburn hair cascaded down her back, swept away
from her face by a gold and pearl diadem in the antique style.

“Elaine!” Lancelot said heartily. “Look! Merlin the wizard has come to offer me adventure.”

“Master Merlin.” Like Lancelot, she seemed to know Merlin already, at least by reputation, but unlike her husband, what Elaine
knew did not seem to cheer her. She regarded Merlin with troubled eyes. “What sort of adventure brings you to Joyous Gard?”

“I’ve come here to find a man to defend King Arthur in his kingdom. But he must be a good man, pure of heart,” Merlin said.

“You’ve found him,” Elaine answered. Her expression lightened as she crossed to her husband and took his arm. They gazed at
each other lovingly. “My Lancelot has slain dragons and overthrown tyrants. He is the best knight in the world, and there
is no other that is his match. But it must have been a long journey that brought you here, Master Merlin. Surely you will
rest and refresh yourself before you return to Camelot?”

Merlin hesitated. “I fear, Lady, that every hour I am away from Camelot brings disaster closer.”

“Then we will leave at once,” Lancelot said decisively. “But it will take some time to gather together my arms and to saddle
Bayard. At least take a cup of wine before we depart.”

“Gladly,” Merlin answered.

Elaine conducted him to the Great Hall and ordered a servant to bring wine and cakes. Lancelot went to see to his equipment,
and there was a spring in his step that had been absent before.

“You seem troubled, Lady Elaine,” Merlin said cautiously, when he had gone.

“I shall miss him,” Elaine said simply. “But Lancelot is a valiant heart. He was not made for peace,
but for war. If adventure beckons, he must go. It is his nature.”

Merlin wanted to tell Elaine that her husband was in no danger, but he dared not say something which might not be true. As
much as Joyous Gard seemed to promise that the defeat of the Old Ways and the triumph of Good would surely come, the land
the magic ship had brought him to was not the only future that might befall. And so he drank the wine, when it came, and said
nothing.

Much later, long after the knowledge could do him any good, Merlin realized that while Elaine had been right to say that Lancelot
had all of knighthood’s virtues, it was also true that the best knight in the world had every one of its failings as well:
impatience, temper, and overconfidence. But on this sunny day in Joyous Gard, as Merlin sat drinking sweet wine and listening
to the music of the sea through the windows of the Great Hall, that realization was far in the future.

It was nearly an hour before Lancelot returned. He was garbed now all in silvery chain mail that shone like the scales of
a fish, and carried under one arm a plumed helm of an unfamiliar design. In his other hand he carried a swordbelt wrapped
around a sword and scabbard, and Elaine hurried to him to buckle it about his waist. Merlin could see the name of the sword
written on the scabbard:
Joyeuse
, named for Joyous Gard itself.

“Are you sure this is what you want?” Merlin heard him ask Elaine in a low voice.

“It’s not what
I
want,” she whispered back. “It’s
what
you
want. I can’t hold you back. It’s your chance for one last great adventure.”

Lancelot smiled and kissed her fondly. “I’m ready!” he called to Merlin.

“Then let us be off,” Merlin said.

The servants were already leading Lancelot’s great black warhorse down the beach to the magic ship when Merlin and the others
arrived Elaine stood stoically, refusing to weep; young Galahad glanced from one parent to the other, not understanding why
his mother was so sad when his father was so happy.

Despite Merlin’s misgivings, the black Bayard stepped daintily into the ship without any trouble. Lancelot followed, and Merlin
came last of all. The moment he had clambered into the boat, its sail filled with an unfelt wind and it began to slide gently
off the sand. Elaine and Galahad stood upon the shore, waving good-bye.

“Galahad!” Lancelot called. “Protect your mother while I’m away!”

The boy waved harder, but the boat was already too far for his reply to reach them. It sailed swiftly, and soon the mist rose
up around them once more.

Merlin had done well to be so hasty in his visit to Joyous Gard. Though the journey seemed to him to have been only a matter
of hours, six months time had passed in Britain. When the boat grounded on the shore of the Enchanted Lake and Merlin was
able to ask questions of the citizens of nearby villages, he found that it was spring, and the Eastertide tourney
that would choose the champion of Britain was about to begin.

As Merlin and Lancelot rode for Camelot, they heard about it in every village they passed, for Arthur had declared there would
be a holiday throughout the kingdom while the tourney was fought.

“Everything moves too fast,” Merlin muttered to himself.

“What’s that, Sir Wizard?” Lancelot asked. The knight was in high spirits at the prospect of a tournament.

“Nothing,” Merlin answered. It was enough that Lancelot had come to champion Arthur while Arthur went upon this quest. He
did not need to know about Mab, and Mordred, and Morgan, and the whole sordid tangle of the Old Ways that shadowed Arthur’s
reign.

T
he opening day of the tourney dawned bright and cloudless. Knights had come from all over Britain, and from as far away as
Armorica and the Languedoc, to vie for the honor of becoming Britain’s champion.

The cathedral at Camelot was close to being finished; and Arthur, Guinevere, and all the knights who would fight today had
gone there at dawn to hear the Easter Mass read. After Mass, the knights had retreated to their pavilions to arm themselves
and prepare for the day’s fighting, while the King conferred with his councilors, making plans for his upcoming quest.

The tourney field had been laid out upon the shore of the lake, and the sun glittered off the surface of the water. When the
hour at last arrived for the tourney to begin, the rows of seats that faced the lake along the
side of the tourney field were filled with the cream of Britain’s nobility. Their clothing and jewels glittered in the sun
like a vast rainbow ocean.

King Arthur was the last to arrive. He had filled out over the last few months, looking now less like a gawky boy and more
like an assured, self-confident king. He was dressed all in royal red, his tunic sewn with thin plates of pure gold and his
scarlet cloak brilliant with golden interlaced knotwork. The king’s crown had been finished at Christmastide, and it glinted
upon his brow like the rays of the sun. He took his place in the stands upon the elaborately painted and carved throne beside
his Queen.

Guinevere was dressed as splendidly as he, and standing around the Royal couple were the first nobles of the realm: Sir Boris,
Lord Lot, Lord Leodegrance, Sir Hector, and the rest.

Arthur raised his hand, and the knights rode forward to salute him. Here was Gawain, with his brothers Agravain, Gaheris,
and Gareth; Arthur’s foster brother Sir Kay; Palomedes the Moor; Accolon of Gaul; the Eireish brothers, Balin and Balan; Bedivere
of Wales and his cousin Culhwch; the woman warrior Bradamante; Sir Sagramore and Sir Dinadan of the Round Table; Sir Tristan
and Sir Hoel … two hundred dauntless knights, the full flower of chivalry in the West, were gathered upon this field to fight
for the honor of Britain.

At Arthur’s signal a trumpet sounded. The knights raised their swords in salute, and the king stood to receive the acclaim.

“My lords, ladies, knights of the realm. I shall
leave soon upon a God-given quest for the Holy Grail. Now I seek a champion to protect our country and the honor of our fair
Queen while I’m gone!”

“I claim that honor, Sire!” Gawain shouted from the first rank of knights.

“Gawain, I hope you don’t win!” Arthur called back, smiling. “You know I need you with me!”

The crowd laughed, and Arthur resumed his seat. The knights wheeled their mounts and broke ranks, half trotting to one side
of the field, half to the other, to wait and prepare for the first charge of the day. Though the swords would be blunted and
the lance points would be bare wood, not tipped in bronze, the falls would be real, and the Royal College of Chirurgeons were
standing by to minister to the fallen.

“You should have let me compete in the tourney, Sire!” Sir Boris blustered.

“You’re too old, Sir Boris,” Arthur said kindly. The old knight was nearly seventy, and though he still talked a good fight,
most of Sir Boris’s great battles these days were conducted at the feast table instead of the field.

“Of course he’s too old,” Sir Hector said, standing at Arthur’s side, “but I’m not!”

Guinevere joined Arthur in the general meriment at Sir Hector’s jest. But beneath her gaiety, her thoughts were grave.

Arthur would be leaving in less than a month’s time, leaving her to rule Britain in his place with the help of his wizard,
Merlin—if Merlin ever returned from his latest expedition—and whoever won the tourney today. Despite what Arthur had said,
Guinevere
hoped it would be her brother Gawain. She knew and loved Gawain. He would protect her and support her decisions unquestioningly.

Though Guinevere had eagerly accepted the New Religion when her father commanded it, her marriage had not been what she had
been taught to expect. She was the daughter of a king and a sister to princes. She had thought she knew what it would be to
be queen—that at last she would have a place and a life that belonged to her beyond doubt—but Arthur had confused all her
expectations. He didn’t even seem to want to be alone with her, let alone help her to get a child to rule after him. Now she
was neither wife nor maiden, caught between the two until Arthur achieved the Grail and became a husband to her in truth as
well as name.

But though he spoke of his own sin and unworthiness, it seemed to Guinevere that Arthur thought that his queen was the one
who was unworthy. That somehow he had looked into her and seen what she had always suspected was there—some flaw, some inadequacy,
the thing that had always made her feel like a stranger, even in her own home. Undeserving. Sinful.

I am the daughter of a king, and I have committed no sin!
Guinevere thought, her head held high. Her eyes flashed with pride, able to believe for a moment that she was right. She
knew the Scriptures. In them the people were commanded to be fruitful and multiply, yet Arthur denied her a child. His was
the sin, not hers.

If he did not love her, let him set her aside for another—and the green hills of Britain would run red
with the blood her father and brothers would shed for such an insult. Let Uther’s bastard son see what it meant to mock the
proud Iceni!

But the flash of temper faded, and the Queen shook her head sadly at her own foolishness. A woman’s place was to submit to
her husband, so the New Religion taught. And if Arthur didn’t want her, then surely the fault was hers, and she could see
no way to repair it.

How? How had she failed him? No matter how often she asked him, Arthur only spoke of the Grail.

He said everything would be different once he had brought it back to Britain, but he also said the quest could take many years.
He did not know what he was asking of her. How could she rule Britain alone for years? The thought of being left all alone
at Camelot with a stranger questioning her decisions frightened her. She no longer knew what was right, and she was learning
not to expect happiness. Arthur had turned her whole world upside down and made her question every certainty. Arthur had changed
everything.

Still smiling automatically, the young Queen’s attention was caught by movement on the field. It was Merlin—he’d come back!

The wizard was walking beside a knight on a black horse, a knight who was wearing armor the like of which Guinevere had never
seen. It gleamed like polished silver, and the helm covered the whole of his head, so that nothing of his face could be seen.

Merlin led the stranger knight before the king. The closed helmet that he wore completely covered his face. It was polished
brighter than Guinevere’s own
mirror, and she could see the sky and the trees reflected in its surface.