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Thirty-nine

"So it's not lightning?"

"Not exactly," Querl answered. "Lightning, my people believe, is a result of too much energy-" seeing the lack of comprehension, he sighed, and revised his approach. "Too much... fire, accumulating in the clouds above. Just as the clouds grow big and dark from holding too much water, and let loose as rain, many times they also weight too heavily with... this type of fire, and let this loose, too, as lightning.

"Thus, lightning by definition is, well, a transfer of fire from clouds back to the earth. Sir Garth is not a cloud, therefore he produces no lightning."

L'ile and Reep nodded, absorbing the theory.

The scientist turned to Rokk.

"You've said before that Sir Garth 'moves as quick as lightning?'"

"Yes. He's even earned nick-names for it: Taranau, here in Britain; Taranaut in Lesser Britain; and Laounschliet among the Kentish Khunds.

"His sword-work indeed has created what appear to be small flashes of lightning."

"Bet never before an actual discharge of en-- fire."

"No."

Garth, still silent, nodded in agreement, but looked away sharply.

Querl returned to facing them all again.

"I believe this lightning-like effect, then, results from the speed of his sword, based on the information at hand." Eyeing Garth, he continued. "You yourself said you'd never swung your sword so fast."

Garth nodded.

"Then I'd advise against it, unless you wish to melt another sword."

Seeing his audience was still perplexed, he continued. "When you were children, did any of you take a running fall on a carpet?"

He saw enough nods to continue. "The carpet was neither sharp nor on fire, yet you received a wound not unlike a burn, yes?"

More nods. "A similar concept here. Speed contributing to a burn without fire, but a greater speed and a greater burn."

"If Garth were to wield Claidhim Lugh, the sword of the craftsman god, would it not be impervious to Garth's lig--eh, fire?" Thom asked.

"Rokk awarded it to you for your service," Garth returned. "I could not accept the sword that you so clearly deserve."

"Moreover, would you really want to risk such an important gift by so testing it?" Querl asked.

"So as long as Garth doesn't reach that speed again, all is well?" Rokk asked.

"So it appears," Querl nodded.

"Then I may go to Iberia after all!" Garth exclaimed, smiling for the first time since the incident.

"Bring back 40 fine steeds, my friend. And such tutelage as we shall need."

"My liege, it shall be my pleasure!"

Garth almost ran from the room, full of enthusiasm.

Seeing Querl's raised eyebrow, Rokk added, "Sir Brandius shall accompany him, should any Iberians be dismissive of a young knight."

"I also seek a boon," Querl asked. "You have asked me to devise and improve your weaponry. I have some ideas to try, but I need some of your bowyers and fletchers."

"Then you shall have them. If you will pardon us, I have a meeting with our Irish women."

Rokk and Thom departed.

"Are you really certain it's not lightning? I say if you'd seen it you may think differently," Reep said.

"As certain as I can without having seen it up close."

"But what caused it?" L'ile asked.

"While it's certainly not your power of persuasion, a secret you Druids still cling to, I am theorizing that this very island is now the epicentre of... for lack of a better word, a 'magical storm.'"

"Go on," L'ile was clearly intrigued.

"Eras in which... impossible tales attributed to gods, wizards or magical creatures often seem unbelievable centuries later. My own Greece, for instance, had its era, just as the tales the Christians tell of miracles and winged beings with swords I'd previously dismissed as nonsense.

"But now that I'm observing such events here in Britain – occurrences that I would have deemed impossible last month, I now theorize that magic may indeed be like the clouds - but clouds we do not always see, and thus cannot differentiate the dry, cloudless droughts from days of light cloud cover - the two types I believe most of the world usually sees.

"And like a seacoast, certain areas are rainier than others, usually as drizzle, while certain areas may be more prone to light magic, if I may continue my comparison."

"So you see Britain as being in the centre of a storm," L'ile concluded.

"Precisely."

"There's one thing I don't get," the young Druid said. "You say until now, you believed not in magic or gods or faeries, but yet you belong to the Cult of Isis?"

"We do not... worship gods the way, say, Mithras' flock, or the Christians do. Isis... is a way to place the spirit of reason and intellect into a human form. She's a conceptual muse for inspiration, a desire to put a face on something otherwise faceless, if that makes sense. Like a ship crew calling their boat 'she,' while knowing it is not female in the animal sense. Reason is the substance, the name and face is just a way to personalize her."

L'ile nodded. You're not so far from Druidism as you say.

Reep saw it was time to lighten the conversation. "So show us this back-gamming of which you have spoken."

"Back-gammon. Yes, of course. It's quite the rage in Persia and Araby..."

Forty

Morgause despaired.

All my plans are for naught. Gawaine hates me, and Agravaine will follow his lead. Gaheris and Gareth are yet too young. While young Rokk plays out his fantasies, Britain is truly doomed. Even now, the Khund is at the door.

She lit the candles, lit the incense, and locked the door. Her maid-woman had already given her the ritual bath. The moon was full, and the mushrooms were harvested and blessed properly.

She was ready in all ways but one.

Do I do right? I can end the sham marriage with but a word, but is that the right way to proceed? Her growing contempt for her nephew was building. Little things out of place convinced her that his spies had been in her quarters.

Lady of Twilight, I cannot make the decision, I leave it with you. I shall be your vessel, your hand. So it shall be.

She began the ritual, reconstructing from memory her lessons as a youth in Avalon.

Outside, the crows gathered...


... The Goddess walked down the hall.

All she saw were little boys, barely tested in battle. They will learn, and soon. Won't you, my children?

"Rokk tells me Laoraighll has done extensive scouting - on Khundish soil-" The young Druid stopped. "My lady," he greeted, seeing only the queen whose guise she wore.

The green man beside him followed suit, and she returned the proper greeting. These city folk may know the Greek's complexion is explicable, but how would the country-folk react to seeing their Green Man? Oh, such sport could be had...

She continued down the hall.

"Hello, mother." An emerald dragon disguised as the queen's eldest stood before her.

"You scorn me, but you will yet be the undoing of that which you most cherish." She turned to the apparition shimmering at his side, the remnant of the tart from Eboracum her son so fondly mourns.

"And you shall be his undoing, lingering here, not going on to the Summer Lands."

The two stood speechless as she went on her way.

Looking out at the courtyard, the guard and knights were shouting and suddenly fleeing indoors at the sudden swarming of crows.

"T'is a poor omen," exclaimed a larger of the louts. Even pretty young James was ensnared by fear. What little it takes to get children to hide in the cellars.

"Morrigan!"

She turned to face her caller. It was the Cornish woman strong with the Sight.

"You may call me that, if you wish. But neither of us are today in Eiru. Call me Cailleach, as we are in Britain. Or Hecate. I always liked the rhythm of that name. But whatever you call me, be prepared to face the consequences."

"I beg of you to leave that woman. She is not yours to take!"

"Oh, but she gave herself freely, and asked a boon of me. Would you stand between a Goddess and her task? I pledge thee that neither your husband, sister nor pretty boy shall be harmed by my hand. But you knew that already, Elaine."

Nura retreated, her strength to challenge the Lady shattered.

The Goddess was having fun. There was potential here, to make sport with warriors as she hadn't done in some six centuries. Not since Craebh Ruadh and the Hound...

But I've given the lad time enough. We shall snare your Rokk with his own right arm, my Morgause.

She retraced the route back to her apartments.

Thrusting open the door, the changeling was there. In a panic, he'd thrown on the face of one who carried the authority to be here, his brother. The goddess could see through him. But I pick and choose what I shall let Morgause recollect.

"So, my good and noble nephew. What brings you to visit me?" She seductively put her arm on his shoulder, and started playing with his illusionary hair.

"M-My aunt!"

"Oh, hush now. We're royalty. There are some... wonderful traditions to observe. Did you not know? There are things a young king must... know before his wedding day." Her other hand played with his chest, finding the way past his tunic.

"I-I have already-"

"Enjoyed the wenches? Perhaps. But it takes a real noblewoman to properly instruct her king." She playfully kissed his cheek, but let her mouth linger near his.

"You are a real king, aren't you? Not some changeling Mordru conjured up?"

I've got him now. His loyalty to protecting Rokk ends his protests, thought the Goddess. And mayhap Morgause can think... more fondly of her king.

Notes 31-40:
This will be the last notes grouped in 10s. To save me from flipping around between pages, I'll do them by page from here on out.
31: I'm not pleased how this one came out, and I may revise it. I wanted to drift in and out of various scenes (without Tinya this time), but it came out too disjointed, I feel. And I forgot the first "Sir Prize" reference! Rokk was supposed to add the name at the end.
32: I was disappointed that it was a little too early to have Querl bring Chess to Britain, but Backgammon was indeed fair game (barely), historically.
The Cerebus in-joke is, of course, less historically accurate, as Dave Sim didn't start Cerebus until the 12th Century
Scythia was an old nation near today's Czech republic, probably overrun by Huns by this point. Wyrmweed is my own invention, as I couldn't find good enough references for historical poisons and their applications.
Tenzil's role as poison-tested made more sense than a cook - if he can eat unusual things, why would he be any good at cooking for the rest of them?
33: Claidhim Lugh is my translation to Sword of Lugh. I'm not fluent in Gaelic, so I don't rally know if I've got the right contexts - but at least the two words are accurate.
Annwyn Annowre- Annwyn is Welsh for a faerie place, usually a hill-fort or castle; Annowre was its mistress, out of Arthurian lore, although I probably introduced her too early into Rokk's kingship, but I deal with this via Rokk's "Groundhog Day" syndrome later.
Maigh and Dewphe are named solely for the pun, I'm sorry to say.
34: By Malory, the Lady of the Lake sends Tristan to save Arthur from beheading. Here, Nura and the off-stage Kiwa pick up the slack.
Duke Marcus is now King Marcus, for reasons I hope can be answered by connecting the dots.
35: Laurel always did hurt Brainy, didn't she? And he of course hurt himself as well. I didn't intend this to symbolize that, but after a related-but-unrelated chat with Mearl, I realized that the theme is definitely applicable.
36. I hope Rokk's turmoil truly comes across. Not sure if the transition to the "pointing" works well enough.
37: I wrote this not realizing the Sir Prize name was omitted from 31.
All four artifacts come right out of Irish mythology, even the stone Marcus pocketed. He helped me out; there were four artifacts by legend, but three that Laurel/Kara traditionally digs up.
I was disappointed that there was nothing vaguely appropriate to call Laurel, so Laoraighll was my own invention.
38: Laoraighll is indeed speaking genuine (modern) Irish, and this time, at least, the phrasing is fairly accurate - even if I stretched a context or two.
"Chugainn!" is "come on," more or less. The following phrase roughly means "give it a try"
"Bithiúnach!" is "scoundrel." "Amadán".. "Tabhairt faoi!" is basically "coward" ... "try it"
"Arís eile!" is "again," if I remember right.
"Firinscneach" means masculine. I'm hoping the ? makes her point clear.
"Splanc thintrí!" means "flash of lightning"
39: I knew there'd be another fat-chewing talk with Querl, Reep and L'ile, but it kept getting delayed. It inserted itself at the right moment, I think.
40: This is one of those, "finally!"s... I've been dying to get to this one since Morgause was introduced.

Forty-one

"Tale non audivimus nec fuisse credimus

5 in terrarum spatio a mundi principio.

Tale numquam factum est sed neque futurum est."

"What does she sing, Guinevere?" asked Laoraighll.

As Nura was not present, translation fell to Imra.

"She's telling the children the story of Torachi."

"The Frankish bandit-king?"

"The same. She's telling them how, while setting out to raid Colonia, he wound up fighting Khunds, unintentionally saving the city's Jewes, who the city guard had abandoned." Imra whispered, so as not to intrude upon Mysa's delicate harp-playing.

"I'd heard that he perished in Colonia," Laoraighll nodded.

"But he didn't. At least, so the bards tell us. The rabbis- the priests of the Jewes- found him dying, cut in half. Believing they found their champion, they went to their most secret magicks, the Qabalah.

"They set out building a man of clay - a golem, which they would fuse to their dying 'hero.' It worked - he was healed, but half-man, half-golem. He killed them for their generosity, and terrorized all of Colonia: Roman, Frank, Jewe and Khundish invader alike."

The Ulsterwoman whistled in appreciation. "If true, he must be a ferocious creature indeed."

Joining them to hear the tale's conclusion, Nura nodded in agreement.

"Are there many in Ulster as mighty as you?" asked Imra.

"Nay. I'm the first in generations to have the power of The Hound."

What hound?she was about to ask, but Mysa was concluding the song, and she looked directly at Imra.

I've done as you requested. You will meet my brother this very after-noon.

Very good. My thanks, Mysa. It then struck Imra. Has Rokk already found out? Does he suspect?

I have volunteered nothing. But yes, I believe he suspects, Mysa replied.

The knot in Imra's stomach tightened. I have delayed this far too long.

Leaving Laoraighll in Nura's capable hands, she departed. Mysa is hiding something, she told herself, trying to drown out the thought.

Bumping into Sir Garth in the hall, she apologized in Gaelic, still used to talking to the Ulsterwoman.

She laughed at his confusion. "I'm sorry. I have been almost solely speaking with Laoraighll all morning long."

"Think nothing of it. But you are obviously in a hurry..."

"No! Oh, no. I solely need to catch some airs. Would you join me, sir knight?"

"It would be my honor, lady."

They strolled out of the palace, down along the river.

"I'm not keeping you from seeing Mysa, am I?" Imra suspected her favorite knight was seeing her fiancé’s sister, and that suited her just fine. Better that he should look elsewhere than me.

Garth was clearly embarrassed by her question. He struggled for words, but she leaped to his rescue. "It is all right. T'is better that all Londinium not believe you disinterested in the ladies. As you speak more of steeds than maidens these days, idle tongues might wonder!" she jibed.

Reddened, he laughed with her anyway. Growing serious in the silence that followed, he blurted, "I love her not."

"You are this kingdom's best knight, and the king's own sister would be a good match indeed. This is statecraft, not love. Why else thinks you that I-"

She turned away. I've said too much.

"Guinevere, I-" He said, but she shook loose from the hand he'd put on her shoulder.

"I must wish you good travels to Iberia. You leave after the wedding?" The subject changed as smoothly as a summer snowstorm.

"Aye," he said. Perhaps before.

Forty-two

"So. Have you discovered the answer to the secrets of the universe, then?"

The old man chuckled. "I have yet to find the question."

He reached out for a hug. "How are you, my dear?"

Mysa hesitated, but hugged him anyway. "Well enough."

"Come! Sit and talk with me." His room was dark and cramped, full of papers, drawings, and jars of everything ranging from dead frogs to faerie dust to glistening pebbles.

"So. You have come to court. At your bidding - or Kiwa's?"

"I have left Avalon. I am no longer Kiwa's puppet."

"The two are not mutually exclusive. There is the Teacher's Isle-"

"I work with Beren at times, but between Druids, Priestesses, and the Teachers, I have had enough of Avalon's manipulations of Britain!"

"So you come to the court of the high king?" he laughed. "You'll find no intrigues and manipulations here, nooo!" he mocked.

She threw a scroll at him. "Would you make yourself invisible, like L'ile!"

"You came to see me, my dear," he reminded her.

Mysa smiled. Despite their distance, she still saw the laughter in his heart that no one else did. And she in turn, drew out that part as no one else did.

"I saw her. Kiwa.

"She was here for coronation, and will remain for the wedding, no doubt," she said. "She was polite, of course. We spoke pleasantries, but I... I, who knew her so well, once... I could not... read her. How she now feels about me."

"You left her. She feels betrayed, and keeps you at the distance she reserves for strangers and kings."

Mysa nodded. "I'd have rather seen scorn in her eyes, though, or have her reproach me."

"She'll do neither. You are no maiden priestess-in-training."

"I suppose not. But it hurts, Mordru! She was more mother to me than Igraine ever was! A-And now..." She hugged him, letting the tears flow.

"We all make our choices, my love," he said at last. "You came to me, not your Sir Garth."

"Art thou jealous?" She hoped he was.

"You help keep two foolish young hearts from destroying a kingdom. How can I reproach you that? And," he paused, caressing her face and toying with her braids, "having a younger lover has its charms, doesn't it?"

"It does, you old goat!"

"And Rokk gets his queen, the young mind-mage from the Teacher's Isle."

"You know?"

"I remember the real Guinevere's death - I had accompanied Voxv home from South Cymru. Of course I knew. But how will your brother react?"

"Well know soon enough. They're talking as we speak." Mysa's heart went out to her friend. She cuddled closer to the wizard.

"Before the wedding? Brave girl."

"And to think, Kiwa wanted Jeka to be high queen."

"Why do you think that?" Mordru asked.

"Well, it was Jeka's idea to switch-" She stopped herself with realization. "It was Kiwa! She brought Imra from the Teachers' Isle, knowing Jeka would use her! But why-"

"To get Jeka's cooperation," he answered. "It had to seem-"

"-Like Jeka's own idea! Brilliant. Devious... Exactly why I left!" She shifted in his arms, pulling her face closer to his.

But self-doubt crossed her face. "Did I truly leave Avalon of my own accord, or did she again choose my path for me?"

"Live your life, Mysa. Find your path. You can't second-guess every decision based on what you think Kiwa is up to. In the end, you give her more power over you."

She was warm and safe in his arms. With him stroking her hair, she could stay here forever...

"There is another alternative open to you, my good wife," he said gingerly, "Oppose Kiwa. Take Avalon for yourself! Support Rokk's reign by making Avalon his ally, not his mistress! End Kiwa's game before it grows out of control!"

Dare I? At that moment, she searched her soul, and found not one reason not to...

Forty-three

"So... You knew all along?"

Rokk nodded. "Well, not all along. Reep, L’ile and I pieced it together.

"I knew, recalling the assassination attempt, that you were no villain, but at the same time, I needed to hear it all from you."

"A test, then," she said. While a weight had been lifted, it seemed the satisfaction was tainted somehow.

"Yes. I make no apologies for that," Rokk met her gaze. "Which secret outweighs the other, maintaining a deception or letting that deception play itself out?"

He said it without malice. For that, at least, she was thankful.

"So. What now?"

"We marry at midsummer, as planned. If you continue to be kind and honest with me, you'll find me a good husband, I should imagine. If not..."

Unconsciously, Imra held her breathe. The room seemed very cold.

"We shall not be the first pair of strangers to maintain a fiction of a marriage for the sake of statecraft. And if you provide me sons, we can live well separately in peace."

"And if I cannot?"

“...We shall see."

She did not need her gift to see what he meant. Once he'd proven himself to the vassal kings, he needed not the goodwill of Voxv, and could replace her with a bride of his choice.

She shivered - partly out of fear, but part of exhilaration - she and Garth could-

He was staring at her, she suddenly realized.

"I swear before you here and now that I shall tell you no lies," she declared, not certain why she uttered her words, or the need to further prove herself. "I may not be royalty of the house of Voxv, but I count royal lineage from Avalon itself."

Rokk smiled for the first time since the conversation began.

"Well, then, my lady," he took her hand, kissing it. "There may be hope for us yet."

Forty-four

Laurentia sat in the tub, thinking it over.

"What if Lu was right?" she said.

"How do you mean?"

"Well, I mean, ever since the incident, two of us have been struggling to stay out of sight, while you played kitchen-maid to Brandius."

"Bishop Vidar and his minions think two of you died in the fire. I say let them think so," said Luornu. "T'is better than them seeking our blood as sorceresses, and his minions still lurk."

"Agreed. But rather than hide away, what if we went our separate ways for a while? You stay at court, Lu chases her dream... maybe I'll go to Rome."

"What?"

"I've heard Princess Jeka say that once her sister Guinevere has settled in as high queen, she will go to Rome. Maybe I shall go with her," Laurentia declared. "I should like to see the world."

Luornu shivered. "But what shall I do without the both of you?"

"Aye, you'll still worry like a mother-hen. But you do that anyway," her sister teased.

She rose from the tub, fetching a towel. "You could try to enjoy court life without worrying what your sisters are doing."

"Perhaps." Luornu saw wisdom in her words, but still held fear in her heart. "You heard what the priest of Apollo said, though. We are one soul in three bodies."

"Forget Regulus! Forget Vidar! Forget any priest-kind -- What have they done else try to control us?"

Laurentia was right, Luornu knew. She hugged her sister, and helped her dress. "Father Marla has been kind, you must say."

"Aye," Laurentia acknowledged. "He's still a priest, though, and sooner or later, he may turn on us."

Luornu doubted that. She couldn't imagine that at all.

The two walked toward the kitchens, where breads and stew were roasting for the evening meal. Only in Father Marla's parsonage could the identical sisters walk around together.

"Luornu! Laurentia!" Father Marla greeted them, as they checked on the evening foods.

"Let me introduce Carolus, a Frankish lad who shall soon be King Rokk's court jester."

"Father Marla?"

"All is a-right, ladies. Carolus is trustworthy."

"Beside," added Carolus, "Who would take merit from the words of a jester?" He kissed their hands.

Over dinner, the sisters learned that Carolus had yet to prove his place as jester - and had to do so to entertain the guests at the wedding feast.

The young man, quite rotund, had a keen air of humour about him, and kept Marla and the sisters laughing through the meal - without even delving into his actual routine.

At their urging - and his own desire to have more practice- he donned a costume that made him look even wider and rounder, and his routine of humour, deprecation of self and others, and his bouncing style of dance had them all hurting from laughter well into the evening.

Far away, deep in the woods, Lu felt pain in her sides, and feared for her sisters' safety.

Forty-five

"Tell me again? What's the difference between an Angle and a Khund?" James asked.

"The Angles are our allies. More or less," Dyrk answered.

In truth, he trusted the Angles no more than the Kentish Khunds, but the invaders who were settling the northeast coast, ,at least, were showing no signs of breaking Ambrosius' treaties. Yet.

"Kings Belinant and Cradelmant are honorable men," said Jonah, stoking the campfire.

"Then why do we have to play fetch-boy and talk them down from - what call they their kingdoms?" James thought any of Britain's many local kings would have come to see the coronation of the high king, but these two were the most significant hold-outs.

At Rokk's request, the four honored knights were to deliver personal invitations to the wedding, and to hold private talks with the new king.

"Anglia and East Anglia," answered Thom. He secretly hoped that the trip would prove more adventurous than simple diplomacy. His melancholy was again growing, and he needed a target for swordplay that he didn't need to hold back against.

The thought of Nura and his father --- Uggh!

"Your heart seems heavy, friend," Jonah put a reassuring hand on the fellow's shoulder. "Who is she?"

"Who?"

"The woman who preys on your heart."

Thom resisted. "What makes you think-"

"What else could trouble a young man so?" laughed Jonah. "I know what misery a woman can cause." The northerner knight, several seasons elder than the other three, suddenly looked past him. "Don't be so fragile!"

Jonah didn't seem to be talking to him, yet there was no one else in sight.

"I'm sorry. I love a lass, and she me, but she has wed another. How could it be any worse?"

Jonah stepped past him, facing the dark forest, speaking to Thom with his back to him. "She could be... dead, or as close to it as your mind can ken. You could see her near everywhere you go, and you reach out to touch her, yet grab only air.

"You can dream you hold her, kiss her, but when you wake, all you can do is recall what you've lost, what you shall never hold again..."

He stood there, silhouetted by the fire, reaching out as if trying to grasp wisps of smoke.

Thom weighed his own burden in light of this, while James' attention was finally drawn away from the mission.

"A woman can make you feel like that?" he asked.

Dyrk, still polishing his sword with the precision of a Roman soldier, nodded, silently. He'd previously considered Jonah a bumbling northern barbarian himself, little better than the raiders they fought, save that his people, the Votadni, were truly a British people.

"Who was she?" asked the Roman noble.

"Her name was Tinya. She was the daughter of Eboracum's Duchess, Winifred. She... died... Killed by the wretched Manx sorceress, Glorith. While I... I could do nothing."

The men sat in silence. Three knew not what to say, while Jonah's rage grew.

Unable to contain it, he cried aloud, and ran at a tree.

With a punch, he felled it.

Dyrk and James stared in amazement, but Thom had seen Jonah arm-wrestle Laoraighll - and almost win.

The Cornish knight recalled how Garth had challenged him to distract him from his gloom, but something told him the same trick would not work on Jonah.

"She's the apparition," Dyrk said at last. "Your Tinya."

"How know you that?"

"L'ile told me that the pixie almost interrupted King Rokk's ceremony with the Druids on her urging. Saihlough had been tracking the Dark Stranger with you, ergo-"

"Your mind is sharp, city-dweller. Yes, she is here, around us. She rarely drifts far from my side."

"Still talking to ghosts, Sir Gawaine?" The sneering voice caught all of them by surprise.

"Caradoc" Jonah answered. "Draw thy weapon!"

"Find me," sneered the villain, fleeing into the woods. Jonah followed.

"Jo! Wait!" called Dyrk. "Can you not see he means to trap-" It was too late.

Thom grabbed his sword and followed. There was no time to don armour, all he -they- could hope to do was catch up.

Unseen in the woods beyond, the cloaked figure smiled. All four had taken the bait. The figure signaled for the guards to gather up their equipment, and leave the camp bare.

The trail led to a narrow bridge some 80 feet in length, and Caradoc took his stance at the halfway point. Jonah charged him, and the combat was joined.

Although both were armourless, neither could score a decisive blow for the better part of an hour. Thom, Dyrk and James, meanwhile, had sniperous archers and ambushing swordsmen to deal with, delaying them from matching Jonah's pace.

Jonah scored first blood, with a cut across Caradoc's upper right arm and bicep.

"That's your only blood tonight, boy," the villain sneered.

Dyrk knew his blades. He could hear the would-be back-stabber approach behind him, even while he dueled two in front. As the coward made his attack, Dyrk leaped left, grabbing a study branch to swing away, and letting the assassin run headway into the frontal duo.

As dark as these woods are, none can be too reproachful that my foes mistake one another for me, thought Dyrk. Whatever ever was left of the three were easy pickings.

Caradoc scored a solid hit which should have cut deep into Jonah's thigh. It didn't. Jonah smiled. "This will be as fair to you as our last fight was to me!"

Thom pretended not to see the man on the branch overhead as he ran underneath, stopping short directly under the branch, and taking a half-step back.

The net landed where he would have been had he continued. When his would-be assailant leaped down to finish off his prey, Thom was ready. They make not highwaymen of wit here in the mid-Isle.

"Trickery!" shouted Caradoc. "You use magicks to steal my victory!"

"And you used a sorceress' skirts to hide behind, when last we met," Jonah answered angrily. Knocking his foe down, he raised his sword high overhead, only half-noticing the sound of a horse...

James had lagged behind the others, and noticing how early the trio were assailed, doubled back. If they lay in wait so close, they must know our camp is ripe for pillage.

True enough, he found six men sifting though their belongings, and a thin cloaked figure -a woman- directing them.

"Halt, blackguards!"

The men laughed. "And you mean to stop us all by yourself, stripling?" taunted one.

James let the anger flow; he welcomed it...

The Green Knight charges across the bridge, knocking Jonah and Caradoc off into the river, one to each side.

This fiend does follow me! Jo concluded. He stood, and forced his way against the current to face his nemesis.

"I WILL HAVE ANSWERS FROM YOU!" he shouted. The knight waited patiently for him, saying not a word.

I must use my wits. He is my equal when we are both equally armed, yet here I have but a sword to his arms, armour and steed. What can I do...

Caradoc let the current carry him downstream before wading out on the far side. Gawaine's magic shall be his undoing whence next we meet, he vowed.

Thom and Dyrk, running out of foes, found signs of combat but no trace of Jonah at the bridge, and no signs beyond.

But retracing their steps to the camp, they found a bigger surprise waiting awaiting them...

Forty-six

"I am troubled that three of the high king's esteemed companions would be set upon within my borders."

King Belinant seemed sincere, Thom and James thought, but Dyrk wasn't so sure. The king's halls were welcoming, it was true, and the foods were of quality, but Dyrk was accustomed to men of power hiding -or at least filtering- their true intentions.

"Four, your majesty," he said. Seeing Belinant's confusion, he continued. "Sir Jonah, who you may know as Gawaine, was with us also. There were signs of a duel, and horse tracks, but the trail led into the river, and we've yet to learn the outcome."

"Gawaine is a fine young knight. He has earned this kingdom's thanks several times over," the king replied. "And you say Caradoc was his assailant?"

"That was the name Jonah -Gawaine- called the first intruder into our camp."

"And he would well know," Belinant nodded. He turned to his captain. "Have Sir Caradoc summoned. Tell him I need him to escort me to Londinium for the high king's wedding."

The captain departed, and the king could see the question on the knights' faces.

"It is true. Whilst mulling over whether to go, I had considered Caradoc my first choice as guardsman for the trip. And, he can explain himself to the high king as well."

He smiled at the lads. Brave yet innocent. They know not how to hide their wiles.

"I will send word to my brother, King Cradelmant, to join us here, that we may together convince him also to attend. And so, we may stay here and concentrate our efforts of finding Sir Gaw-- Jonas, as you call him. Better we should stay in close quarters - word has it there is a giant about!"

Dyrk shot his peers a look that said, Keep your silence! The other two stifled what would have otherwise been knowing smiles. Too knowing to show before this adder-of-a-king, Dyrk thought.

"If you'll excuse me," Belinant said, leaving the knights to continue their meals.

After seeing to the message being sent, he called upon his other guest.

"My lady!" he greeted her.

"King Belinant!" How good of you to see me."

"Please dispense with the formalities, my dear. Pray tell me, what went wrong last night?"

Kent, you continue to amaze me with this! Mysa and Mordru - yick! Though also very telling! I found the scene with Lu to be really touching - nice characterisation, I like how savvy you've allowed Dyrk to be, and then there's Gawaine vanishing - oh dear! More, more, more! And have a merry Xmas too

Bxx

Forty-seven

Things were not going well.

Those supposed to be the best craftsmen in Londinium have failed to build my designs. Do expect too much of them — or myself? Querl asked himself.

Not much else was going well, either. Reep's poison expert Tenzil, who claimed he could detect hundreds of poisons, failed to determine what had been used on the Ulsterwoman. Nor did she herself know, it seemed. Have the Khunds a poison we cannot identify?

As if this wasn't enough, while he had successfully convinced Beren and L'ile to show him the basics of the persuasion techniques, this, too was going nowhere. The Druidic concept of focusing on the rhythms of the Mother Earth were at odds with his mind's workings.

Rather than spread his frustration among his crews, he's sent them home early. Better they think me a kind task-master than a tyrant, he half-smiled. And it gives me chance to think.

Think.

It seemed he'd not done as much of that as usual. This, at least, he had an answer for.

Laoraighll.

He dismissed the distraction, trying instead to identify the first problem to overcome.

If I replace the wooden frame with metal, that should give it the strength it needs to balance the payload duct.

And make it more portable.

Yes! I believe I may have someth-

"Brainius V?"

Another distraction. Damn.

"Brainius?" It was Nura -- with Laoraighll in tow.

"Please call me Querl, your highness."

"Only if you call me Nura," she smiled. "And of course you know-"

"G-Greet-ings, Bran-nius Vee," managed Laoraighll, in very basic, halting Latin.

"Dia daoibh, Laoraighll," he replied.

She smiled, more comfortable with his Gaelic than her own Latin. "Dia daoibh," she responded.

"Laoraighll wanted to-"

"Go raibh míle maith agat aire a thabhairt do me," Laoraighll interjected.

"Níl a bhuíochas ort or tá fáilte romhat," Querl replied, smiling. "Querl atá air."

Laoraighll's giggle made him realize he was slightly off in his translation. "Dia daoibh... Querl."

"I'll just leave you two to talk, then," Nura offered.

"Oh! My apologies-" Querl realized the queen of Cornwall was being neglected. "Gabh mo leithscéal," Laoraighll similarly offered.

"Ceart go leor," Nura said, smiling as she departed.

"Tu ar ais ar a seanléim?" Querl asked.

"Well e-nuff," Laoraighll managed. "Still can't ken. I? I have not been... ill, previous. Even as a leanbh."

Querl guessed this meant "child."

"Never? Only since you traveled here?"

"Travel, I have little of. My bráthair Eltrough is the traveler of family. He travels with Brendan."

Querl smiled. Crossing the language barriers had their frustrations, yet like her poisoning, they were also puzzles to solve.

Notes 41-46:
41: I admit it, I cheated on the Latin. Rather than try to construct what Mysa would actually be saying, I took a piece of miscellaneous Latin verse that didn't mention any specific person or place, and plugged it in. Maybe any Latophiles can guess from where I stole it!
As I hope is obvious, everyone is usually assumed to be speaking Latin, as actual English as we know it is a millennium or so away, and thus Mysa's bit was done to show Laoraighll's perspective, and we obviously switch languages when Imra runs into Garth.
42: The hardest part of writing Mysa is not making her too much like MZB's Morgaine. Luckily, TMK's Mordru/Mysa relationship helps a lot. Also, being chapter 42, I had to throw a nod to Douglas Adams.
43: About as cold as I envisioned, without being forced. I hope.
44: I've been looking for a way to get Luornu off the back burner, but it actually came along at a good time, as a new angle has struck me for her storyline here in the 40s.
45: Something else else is rotten in the state of Anglia? All the villains but one here are pure Arthurian. The camp scene, along with James' innocence, as I wrote this had me thinking of "Stand By Me."
46: Along with 45, I'm finally happy with my take on Dyrk.

Thanks, and Merry Xmas to you, too!

Everyone else (I know there's at least a few more of you reading this), PLEASE stop by and say 'hi!'

It's like LSH without a letter column, otherwise!

Forty-eight

Jonah fought the Green Knight for five nights and four days.

The first night's fight began in Belinant's woods, and continued into the nearby River Trent. They fought, even while dragged along by the currents, until separated by the river's tidal courses.

Finding themselves on opposite shores as the morning's early lights arrived, they chased at each other northward toward the ferry station at Gaini, where the Roman road from Belinant's Lindum crosses for those bound to Deva, Eboracum or the North. Jonah made better time than his armoured opponent, now horseless.

Battle rejoined before mid-day on Gaini's west shore, as Jonah not only reached the crossing first, but also was able to gain the use of an extra shield that the ferry master was willing to part with.

The battle waged southwest of Gaini, with Jonah able to drive his opponent backward, striking many strong blows against his formidable foe.

The adversaries fought all through the remaining daylight, and well into the night, until a rainstorm allowed the Green Knight to slip away.

Jonah took his rest in the ruins of an old Roman farmhouse, awaking at every twig-breaking or leave-rustling committed by the many deer, hares and mice that grazed nearby.

At first light, Jonah resumed the hunt, following his quarry's tracks to the edge of Perilous Forest, where the ogre Validus was said to lurk. There, the Knight tried to ambush Jonah, and the two again fought all day, all night, and most of the next day.

Late in the afternoon, a distant pounding sound grew closer, and began sounding like a giant's footsteps. The trees shook, and he and his opponent separately took cover as the monster approached.

The encroaching darkness made the ogre naught by a ferocious shape between the trees. Had he not been fighting for days, Jonah may have had a go at the terror, but thought against it. Once the giant was gone, Jonah found his opponent had again vanished.

Finding a small cave in which to rest, Jonah awoke on the fourth day to lie low, as a band of marauders made their way through the woods. Exhausted, Jonah let them pass, as there were too many to face alone in his tired state. Unsure whether he was awake or not, he dreamed that he saw Tinya drifting through the woods, looking for him.

He awoke again midday, despite the lull of a persistent rain, barely softened by the forest canopy. From his vantage, he surmised, he could see his opponent when he returns.

Yet he was surprised when another knight wandered through the woods below him, trying to track the bandits despite the rain. Good venture, good knight. I wish I could aid -or trust- you.

Weariness overcame him, and he rested again.

A woman's scream awoke him that night. That was no dream, he was certain.

He charged out of the cave, into a rain now little stronger than a drizzle. Which way?

"Jonah! This way!" It was Tinya! She'd caught up with him.

He followed her through the woods, and came to a small encampment in a small ravine: a cloak propped up with branches to serve as a shelter, a small fire, wisely hidden by the ravine walls and nearby shrubs, various travel gear - and a small pool of blood.

But where-

Jonah!"

Out of nowhere, the Green Knight attacked.

I am too weary for this, Jonah noted, but then the knight must be, too?

He led the knight off for a half hour or more, but barely raised any offensive maneuvers at all.

The knight, too, was taking sloppy swings, as if barely able to summon the energy to continue. If Tinya had but the sting of an insect, she could finish him, he thought. One last try.[/i]

Summoning his last reserves, he lunged forward, striking the knight down, but passing out on top of him...

Forty-nine

Word of Gawaine's battles at Gaini with the Green Knight spread like wildfire.

While Thom carried word back to Londinium, James and Dyrk tried their best to follow the elder knight.

Based upon what the ferry master recalled of his visit from the knight, and a roaming Druid's sighting of Jonah while crossing the back country, they found themselves at the edge of Perilous Forest, wondering where Jonah, or even the rumoured stealthy knight who protected visitors to these woods, might be.

With too much rain of late to track accurately, they strolled in on their mounts, with Jonah's steed and gear in tow. But the hours were proving fruitless.

"Would you look at the size of that footprint!" exclaimed Dyrk. "Why, that's even bigger than yours!"

James dismounted, and measured the print with his feet. It was three boot-lengths wide, and at least seven long. "Only two toes," he remarked.

"We have ogres in Cumbria's mountains, but I've never seen one this big."

"Aye?" asked Dyrk, looking distracted.

"Oh, yes, my father's killed a dozen, so they say. Still, it's a dragon that most irks him. A rather bothersome wyrm that terrorizes the lake villages. Now, most of your lake dragons are no more quarrelsome than a wild boar. That is, unless you..."

Dyrk had tuned out the younger knight.

We are being watched.

He drew his sword.

"Did I say something wrong?" asked James.

A lone rock bounced down the hill, coming to a stop at the edge of the footprint.

"It's back!" James exclaimed in a panic.

"I doubt the creature that makes these tracks tosses small stones," Dyrk dismissed the younger man's fears. "Come on. Over that hill!"

Scarcely waiting for James to remount, Dyrk rode up and over, seeing a figure flee ahead of him.

"Halt!"

The figure stopped not.

Dyrk chased, aware that this could be an ambush, but intuition told him this was the rumoured guardian of the woods, not a blackguard like Caradoc.

The figure passed over the rise of the hill. By the time Dyrk arrived, scant seconds later, the figure was gone.

"Over here!" called a small boy, standing by a small cave on the next hillside.

There was no way the runner could have reached the cave, yet where did he go?

With James, who had caught up by now, they rode slowly toward the cave.

"Who are you boy? And to where did the one who led us here vanish?" Dyrk demanded.

The boy smiled and shrugged. "Sir Gawaine is in here!" he announced proudly.

The knights exchanged looks of suspicion. Dyrk dismounted, instructing James to watch for trouble - inside or out.

Inside the small cave, Dyrk easily made out the silhouette of Jonah, who lied beside a small campfire.

"The lady said his fever broke this morning. He should live, she says!" the boy beamed.

Feeling his comrade's forehead, he asked the boy, "What lady? May I speak with her?"

"She left. She said if other knights came, she would guide them here, but not come back herself.

"I think she's the lady of the knight who now guards the woods," he volunteered.

"Then she has earned my thanks. You may tell her if you see her," Dyrk gently patted Jonah on the cheeks. "Are you still with us, old fellow?"

Jonah awoke groggily.

"Dyrk? Where's Tinya?"

"You tell me," laughed the Roman.

"I held her, Dyrk. I really held her."

"Of course you did. Rest well, and we'll travel in the morn. I'll not have King Rokk scold me for letting his favorite cousin miss his wedding day!"

He held his lady Tinya? Either his fever made him delusional, or he was closer to the next world than I'd like to know.

Fifty

"You look well, cousin!"

"Well enough, my king," Jonah felt sheepish about his lingering illness, and even more so about his now-legendary fight with his nemesis - of which his own recollections were not the best.

In contrast from the rags that his field tunic had become, the cousins were being dressed in the finest silks for the ceremony at hand.

"You must be nervous."

"Not so much," Rokk protested, a bit too quickly to sound casual, while his fidgety mannerisms betrayed him further. Jonah laughed, and even Rokk had to grin at his own behavior.

"I WAS going to tell him," Jonah said. "Give me a chance, will you?"

The attendant took a step back. "Not you," Jonah assured him. "I was speaking with an angel."

The attendant resumed his duties, choosing to ignore the situation rather than guess its accuracy.

"Tell me what?" Rokk was curious, and pleased for a distraction. He hoped it was something strategic or militarian rather than political.

"Tinya says she saw my mother in hushed discussions with Zaryan, of all people."

"A queen may talk to a fellow monarch," Rokk posited. "Even so, you would think she's be a bit more... politick about it. Reep will let us know if she has a mind for treason."

"Aye, we hope. She's still too canny to assume the best about," Jonah said, still feeling a measure of guilt for saying such about his own mother.

"We have repelled three Khundish raiding parties this season alone. Even if Zaryan plans treachery, I cannot believe, with all Britain behind us, that we will fail."

Jonah hoped his kinsman wasn't being too trusting of his vassal kings, but held his tongue. Any alliance of all Britain would be fragile indeed, given monarchs' proclivities to feud amongst themselves.

"I thought Garth would be joining us this morn."

"Aye, he was, but he begged leave to ready himself privately. He... is not of good humour of late."

"The perpetually smiling favorite knight of the ladies? Down and out? Perhaps he actually gave his heart to one of his loves!" jested the elder.

Rokk grimaced, and Jonah realized his jest had hit the mark. While Rokk was being pushed into an arranged marriage with a beautiful princess, Garth was joining ranks with himself and Thom in receiving the searing end of the heart's iron.

"Ah, two fine young men indeed!" said a visitor.

"Father Marla" Rokk greeted. "I trust all's in order, and you're not here to tell me the lady's come to her senses and fled?" Rokk joked.

Marla laughed. "Nay, all is right. I just wanted to make sure you two were in order as well!"

"It's good to see you," Jonah greeted Rokk's longtime clergyman.

"And you, Jonah." The priest returned the warm greeting, recalling their quest together, when Rokk had him watch over his kinsman to prove once and for all his allegiances.

"My deed here done, I should let you two finish up, and I will see you shortly," the father said. "Oh, and there's a Lady Kiwa to see you? She was quite insistent?"

Rokk lit up. "Yes! Send her in!" The king turned to Jonah. "May I ask-?"

Jonah took the hint. "I shall see you downstairs."

Rokk dismissed the attendant with the other men, and waited for his benefactor's arrival.

"My lord and king!" Kiwa greeted and bowed.

"Please, my lady. I'll not ask such formalities of you."

Kiwa smiled. "I am but a humble priestess. Yet you treat me like a queen."

"As Lady of Avalon, Lady of the Lake, you are a queen, after a kind. And, I confess, while I hold few memories before I came to Sir Brandius, I must say you do remind me of my mother." Rokk eyed her, hoping to discern a reaction, but her face could bluff an emperor.

"I am flattered you think such of me. But other than swearing loyalty and support, all I have done is see your sword repaired, and adorned a scabbard for it."

"And line up a beautiful bride who shall help me keep Britain united."

"You like her, don't you?" Kiwa knew yet how young hearts worked.

"Thus far, aye. But I must ask a gift of you, here, on my wedding morning.

"I want- nay, I need -

"The truth about Mordru. As only you can give it," he said, eyeing her again. "My Lady."

Fifty-one

"I think you look just darling," Mysa cooed.

"It's a bit much, I think," Garth second-guessed.

She held him close from behind. "It's the first high court wedding in a generation. It's supposed to be a bit much."

"I know, b-but," his voice was breaking up.

"Shhh." She moved around to face him, and held him quietly. "You'll get through this day. Let me help."

He returned her hug, as if clinging on for deal life...

Having gotten that out, he was ready to face the worst. He strolled down the palace halls with Mysa on his arm, drawing gazes from all. Perhaps he still had all along these past months, but had reason not to notice until now.

They parted, Mysa to join the ladies, and Garth met his fellow groomsmen, Lot, Reep, Brandius, Jonah, and Agravaine, at the front of the crowded plaza.

Following the exchange of greetings, Jonah asked, "Who is yon lady?" He pointed out one of the young women who would soon become Guinevere's court ladies.

"She is my ward Luornu," answered Brandius.

"Has she just arrived from Elmet?"

"No. She's been here since coronation," Garth replied.

"She reminds me of the maiden who cared for me whilst I was ill."

"She often gets mistaken for others, she tells me," Brandius said. "And, as I hear it, you were rather ill?"

"Yes, I suppose I was," Jonah said, still eyeing Luornu.

She, in turn, was not bothered by his gaze - surprising her normally shy self. If anything, she suddenly felt… protective, almost motherly of the knight, even though he was clearly her elder.

Lot made a veiled comment about Jonah's name change, which Agravaine intercepted with jest. "Maybe my big brother has started a trend. Perhaps I'll change my name next!"

Garth grimaced at the sight of Khunds in the hall - even "allied" Kentish Khunds. Zaryan waved a greeting to the men, but Garth had an uneasy feeling...

Jonah caught sight of Winifred, who was sitting with the elderly king of Elmet. She scowled at him. Tinya drifted behind her and made faces, which only Jonah could see. His devilish grin further infuriated the lady.

Brandius, satisfied that he had diffused Jonah's curiosity, and glad to indirectly hear news of Lu, winked at Luornu - and at Laurentia, who had found a discreet veil and an even more discreet escort, L'ile.

Reep caught Querl's eye, and the two exchanged silent greetings. He was impressed at how relaxed and happy he seemed with Laoraighll at his side. Perhaps what they say of the Greeks is less than true. He wondered how L'ile felt about this new twist.

Agravaine, too, was curious about the Ulsterwoman, but in a totally different way. They way she fights - with hands as weapons. I must look into this further.

Lot saw his second son gazing at the woman, and surmised a different conclusion. These Ulster Scoti wild-men are moving in on my Caledonia - and my second son, my best hope, looks upon their women? What madness takes my sons, that they choose their women so poorly?

His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of Father Marla, meaning it was almost time...

Fifty-two

The knock on the door turned out to be King Voxv.

"Please, come in," Imra said, about to call him "father," but the look in his eyes told her not to.

"You are not my Guinevere." It wasn't a question.

"No. I am not."

"What have you done with her?"

"Nothing. You know the truth. When I asked you to forgive Jeka. Remember."

"Tell me not what to do, you harlot!" He slapped her face. "Now TELL ME!"

"As we both know, Guinevere died as a child, in an icy pond."

"That's a lie! She recovered! She grew up, into a fine young woman," he pleaded. "Don't you remember?"

It hurt her to look into his eyes. She dared not look inside his mind.

She sighed. I cannot hurt this man further on this day. Not even if it is for the best.

"I remember how proud you were to see me betrothed to the High King. I thought you'd be proud of me - that you loved me."

"I do, my Guinevere, I do. And I am so proud of you," he smiled warmly.

"Then let us not quarrel today, of all days," she smiled. "Would you walk me to my husband?"

"Yes. I think that is a most excellent idea, if you mind not being seen with such a withered old man," he jested.

"Oh, father! You must stop!" she laughed alongside him.

Jeka, at the door to fetch her "sister," stepped quickly away, so as not to be heard.

"Princess Jeka? Are you ill?" asked Morgause.

"It's my sister's wedding day. I must be overcome with joy," she replied. She grabbed onto Morgause, and let loose into a full wail while hugging the woman.

"Yes... You must," Morgause said, not certain what else to do or say.

Fifty-three

Rokk paced nervously, waiting to be summoned.

"A wedding day is a most special time. Yet it makes a man more nervous than waiting for combat, ay?"

"Hello Mordru. Shan’t you be outside?"

"I'll not mar your wedding with my presence. No, lad. I bid you greetings on your wedding day, and I'll make myself scarce."

As the old wizard started to depart, Rokk called after him.

"There were three. There was Ambrosius. There was Uther, who was not Ambrosius. And there was Constans. Which were you. Which are you?"

Rokk eyed him with deadly seriousness.

"King Constantine had three sons," said Mordru. You have named them all.

"Constans was made high king, succeeding Constantine, who was poisoned by Pictish assassins, or so they say. Constans, still a lad not unlike yourself, took on Vortigern as advisor, and Vortigern had him killed, so he could become king.

"Uther and Ambrosius fled to Lesser Britain. When Vortigern lost his grip and gave the Khund the keys to the isle, Ambrosius led the revolt, unifying all of Britain once more."

"So, all this time I'd been led to believe Uther and Ambrosius were one and the same. But they weren't, were they... Uther?" Rokk said at last.

"Call me not that name, boy." There was outright malice in Mordru's voice. "Uther -whoever he was- was made the high king of Britain by Avalon, and thus holds they key to unity.

"But he let Ambrosius rule in his place - his brother, who never made vows to the Holy Isle. We had it both ways - Avalon bound to us, but the ruling high king had no reciprocal oath. Avalon hated us for it, once they learned our deception - but could do naught, else undo the peace.

"You'd be wise to let sleeping dragons lie, boy-king." Mordru continued to walk away.

"WHICH ONE ARE YOU?" Rokk demanded, now red-faced.

"Should you not ask which was truly your father? I'll answer not your questions any longer." As he walked away, he muttered, "Three bodies, one soul."

Thom came upon them. "Rokk? It's time." He looked questioningly at Rokk's anger, and the old wizard hobbling away. "Have the guards take Mordru to the dungeons," Rokk told his knight.

At least he's no longer nervous, Thom thought.

Fifty-four

Thom returned, taking his seat between his father, King Marcus, and Sir Dyrk.

"I'm worried about Jonah," Dyrk said in a whispered hush.

"Why?"

"He looks as if he talks to himself."

"It's his ghost-love, the Lady Tinya."

"Aye, perhaps," Dyrk said. "But who else has seen her? Saihlough, the faerie? Anyone else?"

"You say he's mad?"

"Not necessarily. But suppose--

"No one's even seen this 'Green Knight' either. He supposedly first turned up way in the north, when Lady Tinya died, as I understand, then one day here in Londinium, during a chaotic chase where no witnesses were sure about who was chasing who, and then again just recently.

"I'd not be surprised to learn that the entire 'legend' people are repeating came back of the recent fight traces back to the ferry master - who else could distribute all this news?" Dyrk concluded.

"You do believe him a madman." Thom was shocked.

"I'll say it to no one else." He grabbed Thom's arm. "I beseech thee, keep watch over him. I do pray I'm wrong."

Dyrk's eyes made Thom give the concept pause. He'd been considering Dyrk the madman, but what if he was right?

Thom nodded, and leaned forward, resting his head on his arms, which in turn rested on his knees.

"Cheer up, son. The feast to come will more than make up for the wait!" Marcus said, patting him on the back.

"Great," Thom said still absorbing Dyrk's theory, "Just great."

Fifty-five

Saihlough flew around the palace gleefully.

Normally, she followed Rokk's request to limit such activities to late night hours, but the palace was almost deserted today, with everyone outside.

"Lúcháir!" she exclaimed, not caring who may hear.

She rounded the corner, building speed, and flew right over a group of a half-dozen men. "Oops!" she whispered, getting herself out of sight.

"What was that?" asked one of the men.

"Probably a pigeon."

"We should join the ceremony. We are running late," said one of the older men, who Saihlough guessed was a king.

"Agreed, brother," said another king-looking fellow. "Come along, Turquine, if you would."

"Caradoc," replied the man, of middle years.

"Ah, yes. Right. 'Caradoc,' then." He turned to his brother. "I tire of such deceptions, Belinant."

"We'll dispense of ours hence King Rokk dispenses with his," sneered the other. "Guinevere, indeed! Rokk loves ladies in lakes - especially when they are cold priestesses!"

The men laughed, and made their way outside to the ceremony.

"Why am I the only one to overhear such evil deeds," Saihlough asked herself. "Cause nobody sees me," she giggled.

Now, she had to tell someone. Where was Mysa?

Fifty-six

"It is complete."

"Yes, it is," beamed the carpenter. "Is it not glorious?"

Beren nodded. "But let us get ourselves outside, else we miss the ceremony."

"Do you not regret that a Christian priest, not a Druid, performs the rite?"

"Oh, no," replied the hierophant. " King Rokk was raised a Christian, and the priest is a longtime confidant. As you well know, on both counts."

The carpenter smiled. "It was a nice idea Voxv had, is it not?"

"If you are fishing for compliments, you should wait to see your old friend's reaction."

Saihlough flew overhead.

Mysa's not here. Who's the man with Beren? He must have been the noise-maker all morning. I could tell Beren what I've heard if not for the stranger.

The faerie flew on.

"What was that?"

"Our resident pixie. I'll introduce you later, but again, I must hasten us outside?"

"Let us go then," the carpenter said, still glancing around to catch a glimpse of the faerie.

Fifty-seven

"Settle down, girls, or I'll have you removed before the ceremony even starts!" King Zendak said in a harsh whisper.

His daughters, Virginia and Siobhan, reluctantly obeyed.

The High King entered, and the crowd burst out in applause.

"He's sooo handsome!" crowed Virginia.

"Hmph. I imagined he'd be of fair hair," said Siobhan, disappointed.

The priest and groomsmen were gathered, and the Mariti procession was lined up behind the dais. The chorus began singing, and the bride's maidens started their procession, tossing flower pedals out over the crowd.

The girls whispered among themselves, wondering which maidens and ladies were which. Their father could have told them: Jeka, Mysa, Nura, Jancel, Zoe and Morgause; but that would only encouraged more chattering.

Nearby, King Wynn and his wife, Queen Martina chuckled with amusement. Their own daughter was a similar age, and like these girls lived for all the high court gossip.

Everyone gasped at the bride's entry: a classic Roman white dress, with flame-coloured veil that surrounded her face without covering it, and matching shoes.

"What's the knot for?" whispered Siobhan, referring to the traditional Roman gown's waist-level knot.

"That's for a... more private part of the ceremony, later, and I'll tell you not to speak again!"

Although relatively close, they could not hear the words uttered, the vows and the ceremony, beyond some of the pronouncements and liturgy projectfully delivered by the priest.

The girls were squirming, straining to see, ready to ask what was going on, but one look from their father kept the peace.

When Father Marla concluded the ceremony, they would cheer, and being nobles, would stand in line to sign the witness book, and greet the couple. Then they would join the procession back to the palace, for the wedding feast...

Fifty-eight

The entire wedding party now waited upon Voxv.

The old king nodded at last, smiling, and Imra sighed in relief. Her "father" handed her over to Rokk, and Father Marla continued.

Imra felt as if she watched herself as a spectator, even while uttering her vow, "Ubi tu Gaius, ego Gaia."

Morgause stepped forward, joining the couple's hands, while Brandius did his part: taking the ceremonial blade, walking to the pig the guardsmen had tied up, and slit its throat.

Once Brandius was clear, they hoisted the pig in the air, its blood still spurting.

The crowd roared with appreciation.

Marla concluded the ceremony, and opened the book. The nobles lined up to sign, and to greet their high king and new high queen.

In the meantime, Tenzil and Mysa served the couple the cena, the wedding breakfast, and Brandius saw that the processional preparations were made, and the pig sent to the palace for roasting.

Noble after noble greeted the couple, a few sometimes hinting they knew of the deception by the way they said, "Guinevere."

Imra smiled, and took note of their faces. She dared not look at their minds, else alert them of her inherent gifts.

Rokk was also reunited with his childhood friend, Loomius, who came with one of Voxv's late-arriving crews. He hinted something about Voxv's wedding gift, but that took second place to the reunion.

Already overwhelmed, the couple took a look into each other’s eyes, and shared a silent laugh together.

There was more ritual and custom yet to come, but the worst was over, they knew - deceptions be damned!

I'd say we handled that well, Imra told him, with guests before them oblivious to her communication.

That's the beauty about being a monarch. You tell everybody else what to do, and you just have to make sure they do it, he laughed.

You make it sound easy, she replied, thinking about how frustrated Mysa and later Jeka would get, supervising the younger priestesses.

It's just a matter of surrounding yourself with good people. He squeezed her hand.

They interrupted the line of nobles - near its end, and embraced to kiss. The nobles, of course, minded not.

Not far away, Garth turned and walked away.

Alone.

Fifty-nine

The marriage chamber had been decorated with flowers, greenery, and fruit - all traditional symbols of fertility.

Morgause, serving in place of "Guinevere's" late mother, had helped Imra with the last of the rituals expected of a new wife, and the couple was on their own.

There was but one task left to finalize the wedding.

The party continued without them. The feasting hall was full of drunken nobles, celebrating as many probably had not in decades.

The streets, too, saw commoners drunk with good cheer. The hills all around Londinium -perhaps all across Britain- were lit with bonfires, and saw traditional fertility rites performed.

"Give them many excuse, and they'll revert to paganism," scowled Balan, watching from the palace's terrace.

"Perhaps they're feeling pagan enough to tolerate an Orkneyman's company," laughed his brother, setting out into the hills himself.

James, one of the younger and less worldly knights, was drunkenly taken with Virginia. Despite her own light-headedness from a single wine, she was almost ready to give into desire, as well - until Zendak interrupted, to take his daughters home.

"Poor boy," taunted Morgause. "A young knight needs... companionship."

Lot had already slipped away with a noblewoman's daughter.

She rubbed her hands over him, caressing his face. He smiled, even though half-passed out.

Reep scowled, and turned away, exiting to the terrace, where he found a kindred party-pooper in Balan.

Inside, Laoraighll carried a nearly passed out Querl off. Dyrk laughed, cheering them on, "Talasio!"

"Talasio!" a drunken Greek called back.

"What does that mean?" asked Luornu. "I've heard people saying that all night."

"It's a traditional Roman saying. Talasio was a popular, much-beloved Roman, and when a... worthy match was made, people celebrated, and still do - to this day."

His hand massaged hers. "Talasio," he whispered.

Luornu blushed, but did not protest when Dyrk refilled her goblet with wine.

Few were coherent enough to notice that a sudden wave of euphoria swept over everyone - a wave with a very feminine sensuality to it.

Jeka, alone with Agravaine, laughed, realizing what -or who- it was. She pulled the young knight closer.

Not long after, some of the loose metal objects began flying off the walls and tables, seemingly of their own accord, creating a few minor bruises and spilled drinks, but little other trouble.