“Perhaps you all should let it be. He is not obligated to tell us about his origins,” King Mark said. He was in hearing distance of the knights from his large chair at the center of the table. Christianne Morneau, who was ever at his side now, ate quietly while pretending not to listen.
“But we do have the right to know why he showed up on such short notice,” Sir Geoffrey said. Patrick could not discern if there was awkwardness or animosity between the two noblemen because of Christianne, and if there had been originally, he missed it during his mission in the woods.
King Mark shrugged. “His invitation bore the seal, and it was signed by Marcus. That should be all we need to know.”
“But it can't hurt to ask him,” said McFowler. “If he so wishes to divulge all, he will. Correct?” There was a mischievous glint in his eye. Mark conceded.
“Good then,” Jason said, standing. “Lord Viscount, how timely. Won't you join us here at our table?”
There in the doorway was the black clad Viscount, having just arrived with his servant Minion.
Mark groaned.
“Why thank you, Sir McFowler, I would be delighted to join your company.” Loki's words were almost musical. He approached the table and the knights made room for him before the feast. Minion dutifully stood behind him. Sir Jon called for a maidservant to bring more food and drink.
“Viscount, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage. It seems you know my name, though I have not been properly introduced to you.”
“That is quite alright,” the nobleman returned. “I'm familiar with all of you: Sir Mark, the keep Stewart, Sir McFowler, the Captain of the Guard; Sir Corbin, Waylan, and Brian, senior Avangardesmen; Sir Jon, Jeremiah, and Patrick, Reservists and...” he raised his goblet, “...assorted lovely Ladies.”
All around the table there were surprised and flattered murmurs. He was very informed for somebody who spent most of his days in his chamber.
Talk was easy for much of the meal. The Viscount, who insisted on being addressed as just “Loki” was very interested in the Isle of Avalon, and those at the table were very interested in him. But McFowler, who was usually very good at the talking game, found his inquiries rebuked.
“Where exactly is Jotunheim?” the Highlander finally asked.
“Why that is difficult to explain.”
“Try me; I'm a very traveled and learned person despite my brutish appearance.” Jason flexed his tattooed arms.
“Well, if you insist on knowing,” Loki commenced. Mark was frowning at the Scotsman. Loki turned to one of the Ladies present and stroked the underside of her chin. She smiled with kitten-like pleasure. The eyes of the other Ladies present widened and they giggled. “It is a wonderful land beyond the Northern Wind, where dwarves with magical silver beards weave the finest clothing from them. It is a place where a giant tree that sings holds the sky together with its boughs and keeps it close to earth. It is a land where terrible giants roam the hills and it is a land where,” he stopped and tweaked yet another girl's nose, “every girl is a princess.”
The Ladies sighed. Sir Geoffrey rolled his eyes.
Loki turned to his glass and swirled his wine while dabbing at the corner of his mouth with his napkin.
“But I am more interested in this land,” he said losing interest in Lady Guests. “This...this Isle of Avalon. It intrigues me. As a matter of fact, I plan on venturing out into it and learning more about it.”
This caught Mark's attention. “We would be more than happy to provide a chaperone to show you around the island.”
“I wouldn't dream of inconveniencing anybody. I can travel about myself, with my man Minion of course. You see, I wish to spend an evening or two underneath the stars and explore the out of the way places. I am an adventurer of the truest sort.”
“It is no inconvenience, and I'm afraid that it is a matter of keep policy that all Guests be escorted by Avangarde when out of sight of the walls.”
Loki chuckled. “Why really, Sir Mark, I am an adult and I can take care of myself.” He touched the slim sword at his side.
“Believe me, Viscount, I mean no disrespect, but the keep rules apply to everyone. It would be difficult to explain to the Benefactors that I let one of their Guests fall afoul of some misfortune. It is for the best.”
“Come now, it can't be that dangerous. Unless there is something to hide,” Mark’s eyes narrowed at the comment. Loki changed his stance. “Perhaps you are right. I am the one being childish. I should follow the rules like everyone else. After all, I am a guest and should be a polite one. My apologies.”
“None needed, Lord Loki,” Mark said, saluting him with a drink.
#
Sir Jason McFowler swaggered into the kitchen, surveyed the treats arrayed on the preparation table as if surveying a kingdom, and began to reach for a tart as he walked by.
The Kitchen Madame, Rosa Maria, swooped in from another doorway and gave the would-be thief the eye. Jason, not even skipping a beat, withdrew his hand and bypassed the table whistling to himself and continued on his way.
His swagger turned into a saunter as he passed into the corridor and came across one of the maidservants bent over a basket of laundry. He approached, all smiles, grabbed the lass by the wrist, spun her around and reeled her back into his arms. The young girl squealed in surprise and McFowler grabbed her gently around the waist and dipped her in a dancing maneuver. The maidservant didn't seem to mind once she recognized her assailant.
Just the same, Jason twirled her away and gave her a slap on the behind before he moved on down the corridor where he came across his next victims. They too were maidservants, bent over their task. Which in this case happened to be picking through baskets of apples from the orchards. Jason tapped one on the shoulder, jumped to her opposite side, stole an apple while she was distracted and kissed her on the cheek when she turned in the opposite direction.
“Sir McFowler!” The maidservant Claire exclaimed. “You are worse than a child.”
“If you are saying that I am young at heart, I gladly accept your compliment.” Jason bowed. “And how are you lovely ladies on this lovely day?”
“If you are trying to make up for stealing apples, flattery will get you everywhere,” said Anna, the other maidservant.
“We are fine, Sir Scoundrel, and you?” Claire replied.
Jason merrily ate his apple. “I'm bored, underpaid, surrounded by beautiful women whose virtues I am sworn to protect, and must be on my way to give a lesson in Gaelic song. That is how I am.”
“My, aren't we the busy little bee. Well, go then, and teach your music before I spank you for being naughty. I'd hate to do that.” Anna shooed him away.
“Spank me? I think I might rather like that.”
“That's why I'd hate to do it.”
McFowler laughed and skipped away to the auditorium.
#
When Jason entered the chapel, a previous class was just leaving. Many, probably all, of the youngest Greensprings Guests were scattering like a flock of birds to go play now that lessons were done. Several stopped by McFowler to say hello and hug his legs.
“Why Sir McFowler, what a pleasant surprise. What brings you here?”
Jason turned to be confronted by the Mother Superior and her entourage of young nuns. He surmised that it had been they who administered the singing lessons.
“Would you believe me if I said I came to be in your charming presence?” He offered. Mother Superior's icy blank stare told him that she would not. The woman never smiled.
“No, hardly,” she said. “But I would be delighted to direct you to a confessional, should that be the reason for your visit.”
Jason's grin widened. “I wager you would,” he whispered under his breath, and then said quickly, “Mother Superior you know that you would be the first person that I would come to
if
I had any sins of major consequences to confess.”
“Ha!” she exclaimed with a straight face. “I wasn't born yesterday—”Jason fought hard to suppress a comment. “—and your roguish behavior hasn't gone unnoticed. If only I knew the extent of it.”
Jason looked to the nuns. “If only you knew.” The nuns snickered and blushed behind Mother Superior's back. Jason placed his hands together and said, “Actually, seriously, I am here to teach lyrics of Gaelic song to the Lady Katherina. She is a remarkable musician and was very much taken by my bagpipe playing and wished to know if there were any words that accompanied the music. I told her that there were, but I never sang them because I can only carry the tune of a bulrush in rut.” He winked at the Mother Superior.
“And?” She said, refusing to let Jason's antics perturb her.
“...and she said she wished to learn them. So I offered to teach them.”
“That was mighty kind of you. And I suppose it will be just the two of you, all alone in here?”
Jason feigned shock. “Why Mother Superior, I am just aghast at what you might be suggesting.”
“But I am right in assuming it will be just the two of you?” she said, eyes narrowing.
“No, no, not at all. Ah, Sir Gawain!” Jason's face brightened with relief. The other knight, who seemed to be in the process of passing through the chamber, furrowed his brow at the sound of his name.
“Yes?” he said.
Mother Superior seemed incredulous. “And just how is he supposed to help you?”
Patrick had approached after being addressed, and was now encircled by Jason’s one-armed embrace. “He also speaks Gaelic.”
The nun glared. “I thought Irish Gaelic and Scottish Gaelic were different?”
Jason shrugged. “Details, details.”
“So, you're going to help McFowler, Gawain?”
Patrick had been standing with a blank look on his face. “Actually, I was just passing thr...ouch!”
Jason pulled on his ear. “What a funny one this one is!”
“Yes, help! I'm going to help!” Patrick cupped his ear tenderly.
Mother Superior was silent as she stared at the nervous looking pair of knights. “Hmph!” she said, with what might have been the slightest hint of a smile, and departed with her nuns.
Once gone, Jason relaxed as if dropping a weight from his shoulders. He wiped his brow. “Lucky thing that you came by when you did.”
“What am I supposed to be doing?” Patrick asked.
“I'm teaching lyrics to the Lady Katherina, and for a moment I thought the Mother Superior was going to insist on staying.”
“Ah, I see...” Patrick smiled.
“No, you fool. Seriously, I'm teaching lyrics and that's all. My music has words to it, and for once I would like to do it justice by having it heard by a voice that conveys the true meaning of it. Surely you must understand, coming from Eire. The ballads are similar, right?”
The Irishman nodded. He wasn't sure if he entirely believed it, but he would give Jason the benefit of a doubt. Why else would he play his pipes at all hours of the day?
“Ah, and here she is,” Jason said. “Sir Gawain, the Lady Katherina of, of...how do you say it again?”
The girl was approximately the same age as the Lady Christianne Morneau. She was slight of build and stature with dove colored skin. Her hair shined like platinum tied in plaits that ran down her back, though rogue bangs hung in her eyes. Her most striking feature was her eyes. They reminded Patrick of clear ice and were almost ghostlike in their infinite depth. Patrick had seen her many times, but she remained one of the few Guests that he had not been introduced to.
She smiled at McFowler and said a strange sounding word that Patrick did not catch. Jason tried to repeat it but found himself at a loss to do so.
“I'm sorry,” Jason said shrugging. “I can't pronounce her homeland.”
Patrick smiled and held out his hand. “That's quite all right, I probably couldn't either.” She placed her hand in Patrick's, and he kissed it gently.
“Lady Katherina, this is Sir Patrick Gawain, of Eire.”
She returned the smile. “Pleased to meet you, Sir Gawain.” Her accent was odd and heavy. “I heard that only barbarians came from Eire,” she said to the Irishman. McFowler laughed. Patrick maintained his smile, though he was a little peeved at the comment. “No, not really. At least you have heard of my country, I haven't heard of yours at all.” He slapped her lightly on the shoulder as if she were a boy. This action surprised her, and didn't seem to please her too much. Patrick's smile turned to one of mischief; he derived a certain pleasure from angering the girl. It was the least he could do after being essentially called a barbarian. “I will let you two get to work, good day, and nice meeting you Lady Katherina.”
As Patrick headed for the exit, McFowler thought of something else and rushed after him. “Patrick, old pal, could you possibly do me another favor?”
Patrick rolled his eyes. “Sure. But you owe me, Highlander.”
Jason grinned. “It's simple. Sir Corbin and I were to escort the Viscount Loki around the Isle. Would you be so kind as to take my place?”
“Certainly, but like I said, you owe me one.”
“But of course! All the beer you can drink!”
#
The following morning Patrick sat idly on Siegfried, waiting next to Corbin and his horse. The day was misty yet bright as the rising sun turned the vapor in the air pearlescent. Patrick and Corbin had originally tried talking Loki out of his scheduled tour of the isle, since there wasn’t much to see in the fog, but the Viscount had insisted. Now, though the landscape was veiled, the sun sent wonderful rays through the trees and undergrowth. Patrick also mused about Mark’s consent to the nobleman’s unprecedented request for an adventure.
A lone duck squawked as it flew over, headed inland.
Patrick stretched his lengthy arms to full span and yawned loudly.
“Didn't sleep much last night?” Sir Corbin asked, between bites of a carrot.
Patrick grunted, “Of course not. Not with Willy playing those damned pipes to all hours.”
“I thought you liked those damned pipes.”
“In Willy's hands they sound like a dying cow—say, where did you get that carrot?”
Corbin grinned. “From your saddlebag.”
“It must be one of the carrots that Siegfried spit out after I gave it to him,” Patrick said, straight faced. “I can't figure it out, some days he can't get enough of them, others he acts as if he couldn't care for another.” Corbin spat out the vegetable and wiped his tongue with his hand.