Chapter 4

Robert spurred his horse forward, sword high, not bothering with his shield or the customary dismounting. Agravain barely got his blade out in time to parry. Steel rang against steel three times before they passed and wheeled their mounts.

“Jolly good,” Agravain said with a grin. “Oh, how I have longed for a bit of sport.” Twice again, they traded blows, and he added. “We will compete for the wench, shall we? I will best you and take her for my own.”

Robert said nothing but continued his barrage of blows, and then he feinted an overhand slash. Agravain raised his sword to block the impact, but Robert thrust to the middle of his adversary’s breastplate. Agravain tumbled out of the saddle and landed on the flat of his back. He could not rise, struggling like an inverted turtle in the heavy armor.

Grunting with satisfaction, Robert dismounted, strode to the downed knight, and prepared the thrust his blade through the helm’s eye slit. “Do you yield?”

“Curse you, knave,” Agravain shouted. “Help me up so we can fight like civilized men with our feet on the ground.”

“Suit yourself.” Robert tightened his grip, muscles tensed to end his opponent’s life.

“Wait, I yield, I yield.”

Robert sheathed his sword, went to the other knight’s horse, and began stripping the personal items from the harness and tossing them on the ground.

“What are you doing? Stop that,” Agravain demanded. “Those are my saddlebags and bedroll.”

“I unhorsed you,” Robert replied as he continued his task. “By the rules of contest, your mount and tack are mine. You may keep your blanket, shield, and small clothes.”

Agravain began swearing a blue streak, but Robert ignored him. I found the ordeal rather amusing, but I was glad he didn’t kill the prick.

Task completed, Robert walked his prize to me and handed over the reins. “Here, you may borrow my new horse.”

“Thanks,” I replied. Part of me was disappointed Margot and I would no longer be riding double, but the other part was relieved. Her reason for clubbing me was, in my opinion, piss poor. I didn’t trust her, disarming blue eyes or not. I remember my father telling me to beware of armed women.

Once we made to leave, Sir Agravain began having a hairball. “You cannot leave me like this. I’ll perish for want of water and sustenance.”

Margot harumphed. “Serves you right for such unseemly behavior.”

“You are a right bastard,” I added.

Robert strode to the whining knight with his bared dagger. Agravaine’s eyes widened, but Robert bent and cut one strap of the man’s shoulder armor where it fastened to the breastplate. “There, you should be able to wiggle an arm free eventually. It will suffice for you to unbuckle the other plates and climb out of that tin can before you broil in the afternoon sun.”

“We are not done! I shan’t forget this.” Agravaine’s curses dwindled as our departing distance grew.

We arrived at Camelot before the evening sun descended into the night. Margot’s serving girl story didn’t fool the gate guards any more than it had me, but they weren’t turning anyone away. Knights of Sir Robert’s bearing were always welcome so long as they weren’t storming the castle, but the guards sent me directly to the king when I told them I was a blacksmith.

“Arthur is holding court for another turn of the glass,” the guard said. “Make haste. He will desire your presence immediately.”

Arthur was older than I had expected. The luster of his once reddish-blonde hair had faded and tinged with grey. I guessed him to be in his late forties, perhaps crowding fifty, but the lines on his face bespoke the many miles of an older man. Still, with broad shoulders and good posture, he sat his throne with clear eyes and a tankard of ale in one hand.

Queen Guinevere sat beside him, looking bored. I was surprised at how attractive she was. Where Margot radiated a delicate, perhaps even dainty, innocent beauty, the queen caught my eye with mature voluptuousness. It was all I could do not to stare.

We stood by the entrance to the great hall waiting for a page to introduce us. Instead, he delayed our entry until another had quit the king’s audience. “We shan’t wait long,” said the page. “Merlin hates attending court, but the queen insists on a display of magic from time to time. So, the old druid is not beyond a wee bit of grandstanding when he has a chance to elevate his reputation.”

Here I was in King Arthur’s court about to be brought into not only Arthur’s presence himself but also the lovely Queen Guinevere and the renowned wizard, Merlin. At this moment, I genuinely believed I had traveled through time to this land of legends.

Merlin had his back to us while he stood at a small table in the center of the hall mixing potions in clay bowls. He wore a long blue robe with silver stars and a matching conical floppy hat. To each side were rows of tables filled with the gentry gorging on various meats and drinking ale, mead, and wine as if there were no tomorrow. Most were well into their cups, and even the hounds fighting over tossed bones seem to stagger from the effects of alcohol.

The clamor in the hall was great, but when Merlin raised his hands, all noise ceased. One could hear a pin drop. Satisfied with the crowd’s attention, the druid poured the contents of two bowls into one jar and then launched the mixture into the air. The liquid turned to cobalt mist and hung aloft as if suspended without weight. The fog swirled and then formed into an ephemeral blue dragon that took flight. The great worm circled over the heads of the spectators, swooping low to the cries of awe. Then the mist beast flew straight up to the rafters and burst into a shower of azure sparks.

The crowd went wild, cheering and pounding on the tables. Then, like a true showman, Merlin made a series of bows circling to acknowledge everyone in his audience. When he turned in our direction, I was shocked and angry because I knew him.

“Miller! I yelled. “You son of a bitch!”

Seeing me for the first time, he threw a small vial before his feet that exploded into a cloud of smoke engulfing his body. When the smoke cleared, Merlin was gone. Every eye in the hall turned upon me.