Camelot Read online

  A rider was coming through the pre-dawn gloom, trotting his mount up the slope towards us.

  ‘Who is it?’ Lord Geldrin asked, but none of his men had an answer for him.

  Whoever the horseman was, he shone in the last light of the fading moon, his helmet and the bronze scales of his coat announcing a lord of battles long before we could see his face.

  Lord Geldrin’s spearmen bristled, some of them turning to face the rider, while Lady Triamour’s huge bodyguard stepped up, planting himself between his lady and the newcomer, who reined in some thirty paces from us, his chestnut mare expelling plumes of hot breath from her flaring nostrils.

  ‘Who are you?’ Lord Geldrin demanded of the warrior.

  ‘Who do you think I am?’ the horseman called back, forgoing the usual etiquette and show of respect that was Geldrin’s due as Lord of Tintagel. In his left hand the warrior gripped a thick-shafted spear, while his shield was slung across his back. His shadow-cast face was wreathed in his own breath.

  ‘I think you are Parcefal ap Bliocadran, a lord of Arthur’s horse soldiers,’ Lord Geldrin said. ‘Another name from the past.’ He lifted his free hand and fluttered his fingers. ‘Another ghost.’

  The warrior walked his horse a little closer, stopping just short of where the grassy earth gave way to the rock ledge, his eyes beneath that helmet’s rim fastening on me. ‘Gods, lad, but you look like your father,’ he said.

  I felt both Gawain’s and Lord Geldrin’s eyes on me. ‘I believe I look more like my mother,’ I said.

  The horseman grunted.

  ‘Parcefal,’ Gawain greeted the warrior.

  ‘Gawain,’ Parcefal called back, before nodding at Gediens and Father Yvain too. ‘What’s going on here?’ he asked.

  Gawain lifted his arms. ‘It has become like some bard’s song that goes on and on. I think the Lady Triamour intends to have us thrown over the edge, brother.’ He nodded towards the overhang, far below which the sea broke in ceaseless rhythm.

  ‘This is none of your concern, Lord Parcefal,’ Lady Triamour called, her voice finding an edge now which cut through the gusting wind. ‘Leave us and you will not be harmed.’

  Parcefal’s mare tossed her head and whinnied, and her master leant forward to pat her neck, soothing her with words we could not hear.

  ‘I don’t think I can, lady.’ Parcefal fussed his horse. ‘Not now we’ve come all the way up here.’

  Lady Triamour’s crow-shields laughed or sneered contemptuously, but Lord Geldrin’s men, having to keep us at spear-point, were more wary and looked to their lord for orders. He gestured at them to hold their positions surrounding us, and the men with their spears held towards Gawain and Gediens pushed them forward, drawing the knot of us tighter.

  ‘I have no quarrel with you, Parcefal ap Bliocadran,’ Lord Geldrin said. ‘That will change if you do not turn around and leave Tintagel now.’

  Gulls whirled above us, their yelping keow keow cries weaving a blanket of noise.

  Parcefal did not turn his horse around.

  ‘I see that he has not changed,’ Father Yvain said.

  ‘And you have?’ Gediens asked him, alluding to his killing of those men in the stable. Father Yvain accepted the point.

  Then Parcefal removed his helmet and his hair was long and white in the moonlight.

  ‘Have you come up here to die, old man?’ Lady Triamour’s bodyguard called, rolling his huge shoulders. ‘I can hear your ancient bones creaking from here.’

  Gawain looked at me and shook his head. ‘That was unwise,’ he murmured. ‘Parcefal hates that he is getting old.’

  ‘Lady, let me pull that old fool from his horse and make him apologize to you for his insolence,’ the big warrior said over his shoulder, never taking his eyes from Parcefal.

  Lady Triamour clutched at the silver fur at her neck, pulling the thing tighter against the chill. ‘I need no apology, Balluc. Just kill him,’ she ordered, at which Balluc grinned.

  ‘Yes, lady.’ He hefted his spear and crow-painted shield and strode down the rock ledge towards Parcefal.

  ‘Make it quick,’ Lord Geldrin said as the warrior passed him.

  ‘Where’s the fun in that?’ Balluc growled in answer, as Parcefal put his helmet back on, turned his mount and walked her in the opposite direction.

  ‘He’s leaving?’ I asked Gawain.

  ‘No, Galahad, he’s not leaving,’ Gawain said.

  ‘But he is old,’ I said, bewildered by Parcefal’s lack of concern. He was about to fight for his life, and yet he sat his horse like a man without a care.

  Gediens nodded. ‘By rights he should be dead by now.’

  I watched Lady Triamour’s champion walk with the unhurried, even strides of a man off to complete a task he has done a hundred times before, and I shivered as a thin gust from the sea needled through my gown.

  ‘Seems I wasted money on a horse for him,’ Gawain said.

  Gediens shrugged. ‘You weren’t to know he has one already.’

  When the distance between him and Balluc was no greater than the distance a strong man could throw a spear, Parcefal pulled his mount around.

  ‘Balor be with you, old friend,’ I heard Gediens say under his breath as Parcefal walked his mare forward and the horse whinnied her own war cry. And just then I saw that the night was retreating before the dawn. A pale, watery sun had climbed above the summit to wash the rock and heath in cold, grey light, as Parcefal put his heels to the mare’s flanks and she came on at the trot.

  Balluc planted himself, chin down, one foot behind the other, shield raised, spear couched beneath his right arm, tight against his body.

  The mare’s head came up as Parcefal brought her to the canter, sitting tall in the saddle, the red plume of his helmet recalling the blood which his spear must have shed in Britain’s dark days. Then Parcefal leant forward in the saddle and gave a shout, thrusting his spear at the sky as the mare took up the gallop, her mane flying in the dawn, her hooves drumming the earth.

  But Balluc was ready, leaning forward, legs bent, trusting in his shield to take the impact of Parcefal’s spear, perhaps hoping to snag the blade in the wood and disarm his enemy. Then, when Parcefal was just ten paces away, Balluc tilted the shield up in order to deflect the blow. But that blow never came. Because Parcefal lifted the spear high, in the same movement turning it end over end and bringing it down again, thrusting backwards as he passed Balluc and driving the blade into the warrior’s back between the shoulder blades.

  Balluc stumbled forward and roared, then turned to face his foe, who was slowing his mount to bring her around once more.

  Not a mortal wound, the blow made contrary to the impetus of the charge, but it was humiliating for Balluc, who, if nothing else, must have realized that he had underestimated his opponent.

  ‘I’ve not seen that done for many years,’ Gawain said. Even given where we were, standing on a cliff edge soon to be thrown to our deaths, the smile was in his eyes as much as on his lips.

  ‘Not bad for an old man,’ Father Yvain admitted, and there was even the shadow of a smile on Lord Geldrin’s face, I noticed, as Parcefal charged again, his spear couched under his left arm this time. At the last moment, he turned the spear end over end again, though this time he struck its butt end into Balluc’s crow-shield and the big man was thrown backward with the force of the blow, hitting the ground hard.

  Lady Triamour’s crow-shields cursed and spat. The lady herself said not a word, her cracked lips pressed tightly together, her pale hands clutched before her.

  Parcefal wheeled and came again, and again Balluc braced himself for the impact, but this time Parcefal pulled up short, and his mare reared up, squealing into her own fogging breath, her forehooves pawing the air, and Balluc thought his chance had come. He brought his shield down so he might see to make the thrust, and that was when Parcefal threw his spear, his other arm clinging round the mare’s neck. The spear took Balluc in his mouth, the blade punchi
ng through the back of his skull and lodging there.

  A gasp went up from the crow-shields and from Lord Geldrin’s spearmen and from us too, as Balluc dropped his shield and stumbled backwards, as the mare’s forehooves landed and she tossed her head in a show of equine triumph. Balluc’s legs folded and his arse landed on his heels, and he made a strange spectacle sitting like that, a spear sheathed in his head as if cast from the heavens by a god, before the weight of muscle and mail tipped him over onto his back. It was a shocking sight and yet spellbinding too.

  ‘I’m glad I lived to see that,’ Father Yvain said.

  I looked at Iselle, who looked at me, our eyes wide with wonder.

  ‘Ghosts from another time,’ Lord Geldrin said, as Parcefal walked his horse over to Balluc and leant out of the saddle to haul the spear from the dead man’s skull. Then he walked the mare back up the slope towards us and I could see the bronze scales rising and falling like waves with his laboured breath.

  ‘See that, lad?’ he called and I realized he was talking to me.

  I nodded. Of course I had seen it. I had never seen anything like it.

  ‘I’m not as good as I once was,’ Parcefal confessed, breathing hard. ‘And even then, I was never as good as your father.’ He shook his head, his plume sifting in the breeze. ‘But then, none of us were.’

  Neither Gawain nor Gediens disagreed with that.

  ‘Who was your father?’ Lord Geldrin asked me, though I could see in his eyes that he already knew.

  ‘My father was Lancelot,’ I said.

  Even if he had known it, the sound of that name in the wind still struck him like a blow.

  ‘Lancelot,’ he said softly. I could tell he had not spoken my father’s name for a long, long time.

  Lady Triamour took a step towards me. ‘This changes nothing,’ she said, though her face said differently.

  Lord Geldrin ignored her. ‘Your father and I were friends,’ he told me. ‘When we were your age. Younger, even.’ He scratched his neat beard. ‘As much as any man could be Lancelot’s friend.’ The way he was staring, I knew he was looking for my father in me.

  ‘This changes nothing,’ Lady Triamour said again. If her voice had been as ice before, now it was cracking like some thin mantle underfoot. ‘Kill them, Lord Geldrin.’

  Lord Geldrin frowned. ‘No, lady. I will not.’

  ‘You will kill them, Lord Geldrin. I speak for Lady Morgana, as you well know, and I command you to kill these men. Her too,’ she added, pointing at Iselle.

  Lord Geldrin shook his head. ‘And I am telling you that I will not,’ he said.

  ‘Because you and his father were friends a lifetime ago?’ Lady Triamour scoffed, her pale cheeks flushing red. Behind her, the four crow-shields stirred uneasily, looking to each other for leadership. Lord Geldrin’s refusal to carry out their lady’s command had raised their hackles, but with their champion Balluc lying dead down there in the wet grass, and they so few in number, they did not know what to do. ‘Or is it that you fear the dead, Lord Geldrin?’ she continued. ‘Do you fear meeting Lancelot again in the next life, and what he will do to you if you kill his son?’

  Lord Geldrin did not answer these questions. Instead, he gestured at me and Gawain, Gediens and Iselle. ‘They will not be harmed,’ he told his men, then pointed his spear at Father Yvain. ‘But kill the monk.’

  ‘No!’ I made two strides before a warrior put the point of his spear against my chest. ‘No, lord!’ I said, feeling another spear against the small of my back.

  ‘He killed three of my men, Galahad ap Lancelot,’ Lord Geldrin said, as two spearmen took hold of Father Yvain by his arms, and another put his spear’s point between the monk’s shoulders, ‘and he will pay with his life.’

  ‘Kill them all,’ Lady Triamour commanded.

  ‘Just the monk,’ Lord Geldrin told his men.

  ‘Please, lord!’ I called.

  ‘Don’t do this, Lord Geldrin,’ Gawain said.

  ‘It is already done, Lord Gawain.’ Lord Geldrin gestured to the cliff edge with his spear.

  ‘Gawain?’ Parcefal called, as if asking permission to kick back his heels and charge. Gawain raised a hand at him and shook his head.

  ‘Please, lord,’ I said. ‘Do not do this.’ The blade against my chest was biting now, but still I pushed against it, a tide rising inside me, seething in my veins and threatening to spill over.

  ‘It’s all right, Galahad,’ Father Yvain said, ‘it’s all right.’

  ‘You were protecting me!’ I said.

  ‘An oath is an oath, Galahad.’ He smiled. ‘But I’d do it again, oath or no.’

  The spearman pulled at him, trying to haul him towards the edge, but he fought against it as if he had sunk roots into the rock beneath his feet.

  ‘Let me hold the boy,’ he growled at Lord Geldrin. ‘Just once.’

  Lord Geldrin nodded, at which the spearmen guarding me, as well as those guarding Father Yvain, stepped back and pointed their spear blades at the lightening sky. And in a heartbeat I threw myself at Father Yvain and he held me so tight that I could not get my breath.

  ‘We’ll fight them,’ I said.

  ‘No, lad. Not this time.’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘You must let me go. You hear me, lad. You let me go now.’

  I held him and he held me, and my tears soaked the fur at his shoulder.

  ‘It’s all right, Galahad,’ he said, and then his big hand cradled the back of my head and I was a little boy again. ‘Now, you remember, lad, you are not him. You are not your father.’ His words were hot in my ear, his beard soft on my cheek. ‘You are Galahad. No matter what they want you to be. No matter what you think you should be. You’re Galahad. You understand me, boy?’

  I tried to nod but he was holding my head so tight. So tight.

  ‘Please,’ I begged.

  ‘If you see Merlin, you tell him I kept my oath. As best I could. You tell him, lad. Now let me go. They’re waiting for me. My little Tangwen and my boy. They’ve waited long enough.’

  And then he broke away from me and I thought I would drown without him to cling to. He nodded and I saw the fear in his eyes.

  ‘Don’t you forget. Don’t you dare,’ he said, as Lord Geldrin’s men took hold of him again. ‘Don’t you dare!’ he snarled at me, his fear rising.

  I looked back at Iselle. Her tears were falling to the rocks. I looked at Gawain and Gediens, hoping that they would do something. Gawain met my gaze and shook his head and when I turned back to Father Yvain they had him at the edge and his beard bristled in the sea breeze and it glistened with his tears.

  Then the spearmen pushed him and he was gone.

  I could see Lord Geldrin and Lady Triamour were arguing but I could not hear their words. Above me, the gulls rose and swooped but made no sound. Even the sea had ceased its roar, the waves breaking in silent fury upon the fretted rocks below.

  He was gone. He had left me. Though I could still feel his hand on the back of my head, his strong fingers amongst my hair. I could smell him on my own skin, but he was gone.

  I turned and saw Parcefal ride up onto the rock. Saw him throw his sword to Gawain and his long knife to Gediens and saw Lord Geldrin’s men do nothing to stop it.

  Iselle was in front of me and I recognized the shape of my name on her lips, though there was no sound. She took hold of my gown and pulled me towards Gawain, who had taken up a defensive stance beside Gediens and Parcefal, their blades raised towards Lord Geldrin’s men and the crow-shields.

  Then Iselle struck my face and it was as if she woke me from a dream. The clamour engulfed me, flooding me like freezing water, and I stumbled as Iselle hauled me away from the two groups of spearmen, who were jeering and hurling insults at each other, working themselves up to violence.

  ‘Kill them!’ Lady Triamour screamed. Gone was the beautiful young woman with the lost look in her eyes. In her place was a hate-filled creature who craved our deaths. ‘Kill t
hem, Lord Geldrin, or I will curse you myself. I will bind your soul to a black kid goat. I will fill your bladder with stones so that you cannot pass water.’

  ‘Enough!’ Lord Geldrin roared, cracking the butt of his spear onto the rock and pointing a finger at Lady Triamour. ‘Do not threaten me, lady,’ he warned her. ‘I have kept faith with Lady Morgana, but I am lord here and these are my men to command.’ He gestured with his spear towards the sea. ‘You have the druid. I did not interfere. But I will not waste another man.’ He nodded at us. ‘You want them dead, lady, you kill them yourself.’

  Lady Triamour hissed at Lord Geldrin and commanded her men to kill us, and so they lowered their spears, raised their shields and walked towards us. Iselle turned and ran down to where Balluc lay and in ten heartbeats she was standing beside Gawain and Gediens, the dead warrior’s sword in one hand, his shield in the other.

  ‘Back,’ Lord Geldrin told his own spearmen, who shuffled back across the rock, ‘this is none of our business.’ Then he called my name and threw his own spear to me and I caught it. ‘Though I’ll not see Lancelot’s son murdered without a blade in his hand, even if he is a monk of the Christ.’

  I gripped the spear in both hands and it felt familiar. It felt good.

  ‘Get behind me, Galahad,’ Gawain said, but I stayed where I was at his shoulder, facing the crow-shields, who were close enough now that I could smell their sweat, leather and dung stink, carried to us on the gusts. My eyes found the eyes of one of them. A tall man, perhaps ten years older than I, and an experienced warrior no doubt, who had risen to serve in the Lady Triamour’s personal guard. I wanted to kill him. I craved it, the need rising in my chest, beating like wings.

  But the tall warrior went for Gawain, and whatever his experience in battle, it was his last act in this life. He thrust his spear at Gawain, who turned the blade aside with Parcefal’s sword, then stepped inside, grabbed a fistful of the cloak at the man’s neck and pulled him close, at the same time thrusting the sword into his belly and roaring with the effort and thrill of it. The blade split the leather armour and plunged deeper, into the man’s guts, then Gawain pulled the sword out and strode back, giving himself space as the rest of Lady Triamour’s men came on past their companion, who dropped his shield and fell to his knees, clutching at his death wound which steamed in the dawn.