Free Camelot & Vine by Petrea Burchard Page A

get there.” Smoke
from somewhere stung my eyes.
    I hadn’t heard the doors open but when I
turned, a tall man stood before them, waiting. Beyond him, the hall
was dark. The man’s beard was closely trimmed, his hands were
folded at his flat belly, and his steel-gray hair was twisted into
a pair of neat braids. Stone-faced, he bowed slightly, like the
gentleman butler of a haunted house. “Welcome home,” he said.
    “Caius,” Bedwyr offered his hand, “All’s
well?”
    Caius made no move. “All is well. The king
wishes to see you, Bedwyr. Sagramore, too. And Lancelot. And, of
course, his kinsmen.” He barely glanced at me. “Bring the
prisoner.” He looked over our bedraggled bunch as though inspecting
a delivery, then stepped down from the doorway, his perfect posture
evident in every move. Then he clasped Bedwyr’s hand, and suddenly
they were all slapping each other on the back, hugging and
laughing.
    All except Lancelot. He stood at the fringes
of the group, looking to the far side of the building with a gaze
that would melt stone. A young woman peered back at him from her
hiding place around the corner of the hall. Her long, dark hair was
offset by her white tunic. She was fair, far more fair than I had
ever been, even when I was twenty, even when my hair was not caked
with soil and blood. No one noticed her but me before she ducked
into the afternoon shadows under the eaves.
    When Lancelot caught me watching, I looked
away.
     
     

 
     
    TWELVE
     
    In the sudden cool, the empty hall revealed
itself as my eyes became accustomed to the momentary dark. Wooden
poles along the length of the center aisle supported a surprisingly
lofty roof. At the far end of the cavernous chamber, a long table
sat on a raised platform, its wooden chairs facing out over a cold
fire pit. A row of windows opened to the air high on the eastern
wall, admitting individuated shafts of light. The same windows were
likely responsible for the birds that roosted in the rafters and
dotted the benches and trestle tables with droppings.
    I wished for a mirror. I wanted to brush the
hair away from my eyes. I had not butterflies, but killer bees in
my stomach.
    Caius led our procession along the far wall
to the opposite end of the hall. Partly to show their power over
me, partly to help me remain upright, Agravain and Gareth held my
arms. We made our slow approach to an archway where two armed but
not armored guards stood at attention. They made no move to stop
us. Perhaps they already knew we were coming. Either that, or they
were merely decoration. Caius stepped aside while the brothers
helped me to labor up two stairsteps into a plain room that was at
most twelve feet square. One small window, open to the elements,
lit the tiny space.
    Lancelot, Bedwyr, Medraut and Sagramore
followed us into the room and positioned themselves along the walls
wherever they could. When Caius was satisfied, he called through a
faded, red curtain into the room beyond. “Sire, they’re here.”
    I heard a slight rustling and the plop, tap,
shuffle of small items being moved about or set down. Then nothing.
At last, a chair scraped on the floor. The next sound was loud
panting.
    A white, wolf-like hound burst through the
red curtain and bounded into the room, ecstatic to see everyone,
especially me. With my arms held behind me by the brother guards, I
couldn’t fend him off. As the beast pressed his wet nose into my
crotch, King Arthur chose to enter.
    “Cavall, away,” he said, in a voice at the
same time harsh and quiet. I immediately recognized my
square-jawed, grizzled friend. I half expected him to speak in that
strange, foreign tongue he’d used in the woods. But the savage
murderer had become a calm, collected bear in boots. His hair and
whiskers, the color of the dark Cadebir soil sprinkled with gray,
framed an expression of bemusement on a face made interesting by
deep lines. He seemed to tower above the others, not because of his
size, though he