Percival's Angel (9 page)

Well. Ho-so. No use standing here.

Percy squared his broad shoulders, tapped the soup kettle straight on his head, and stepped forward.

A thunderous growl rumbled behind the closed doors.

Percy paused.

Like sudden wind, the growl rose into a roar. Every Human on the street stopped dead and turned to face King's Hall. Hands reached for sword hilts, knives, hammers.

Percy reached for his Bee Sting.

The roar within became a sustained racket. Men shouted. A woman screamed.

The great doors facing Percy burst open.

Out from King's Hall, as though propelled by the uproar, rushed a furious, red figure.

From under a red helmet bushed red hair and beard. A red cloak flowed down over red cuirass and surcoat. The red-gloved right hand clapped sheathed sword hilt close; in his left hand the Red Knight bore a large cup grail.

An instant he paused. His grim gaze darted over the street and stopped on Percy's gape. It took in Percy's soup-kettle helmet and three-colored tunic.

The Red Knight strode to Percy. Held out the yellow-gleaming grail.

“You, Knave. Take this grail.”

Knave? Wait a moment, here—

“Go you in there. Give that to the Queen. I took it from her. Give the King this message.” The Red Knight's inflamed eyes fixed Percy. “This message, Sirrah.
Give me back my lands, or send one to fight me for them. I wait without.
You can remember that?”

“Sir, I am not a messenger—”

“You'll do! God's teeth, the Queen will love you! Now say to me your message.
Give me back my lands
…Say it!”

(Lili pinched Percy in the back.)

I am not a messenger. I never thought to enter King's Hall with a message!

(Lili punched Percy.)

Lo! This message is for the King. Giving this message, I can reach the King's side!

Percy repeated the message. “
Give me back my lands or send one to fight for them. I wait without.
”

“Go in, fellow. Do your part. Remember, I wait without! If no one comes out to fight, I will go raise me an army. Tell the King that.” And the Red Knight shouted past Percy to someone in the street, “My horse, fool! To me, here!”

A cloud of joy steamed from the gleaming grail up into Percy's face.
With this, I speak to the King! Instantly!

Holding the precious grail two-handed before him, as though it might spill its joyful promise, Percy stepped past the Red Knight. He entered the great doors of King's Hall just as men came from within to close them. They glanced at his outfit and moved to bar his way. They saw the grail he carried and stood away back. Thus, did Percy enter King's Hall. (And thus, close on his heels as his shadow, did Lili.)

Percy had formed no idea in his head of what King's Hall should be like inside. Yet he felt that something was not right here. The storm of shouts and curses was echoed around the hall by overturned benches, chairs, stools. Food, hurled around the floor, squelched under Percy's boots. Wolfhounds were making short work of it. Men who had just leaped up, overturning chairs, stood shouting around a huge round table.

These men are all unarmed! Where are the Knights?

Where is the King?

Percy looked from angry face to astonished face to gleefully amused face. No King here!

(Lili tugged on his hair, raising his face.)

Up there. Beyond the round table.

Two great, carved chairs occupied a dais, one lower than the other. On the lower chair slumped a slender, red-haired woman. Alanna-like, she had fainted. On the higher chair—

The King.

Arthur sat quiet, straight, and calm. A narrow crown circled his dark, graying hair. On the wall beside him hung his shield, emblazoned with Mary's image; and his magic sword.

Percy strode past the round table to the dais. On the way, he felt Lili vanish away from behind him.

Close, he saw that the King's hands, which seemed to rest on his robed knees, were clenched and white-knuckled.

Closer, he saw the Queen open her eyes. Some powerful feeling had drained her face pure white. Her rich gown was drenched as though by heavy rain; and bits of meat and bread mingled with pretty jewels down her front.

Her instantly angry eye lit on the grail in Percy's two hands.

She jerked upright and stretched a dripping, ringed hand for it.

Percy was making straight for the King. But now the Red Knight spoke in his head.
Give that to the Queen. I took it from her.

First this message.

Hardly pausing, he thrust the grail into the Queen's hand.

Now for the real one.

The King's calm, gray eyes had watched this exchange of the grail. His hands remained clenched and white on his knees. No muscle stirred. With mild half interest, he gave Percy his attention.

This is the King who shall knight me!

Percy cleared his throat. Loudly, he said, “Sir! The Red Knight outside asked me to say this to you.”

Interest quickened in the royal eyes.

“This is his message, Sir, not mine.”
Better make that clear.

The King nodded.

“This way it goes. ‘Give me back my lands or send one to fight for them. I wait without. If no one comes out to fight, I will go raise me an army.' Those, Sir, are the Red Knight's words.”

The King stood up from his chair.

Tall he is, big, like me! How his jeweled robe gleams! and his rings! Next time I take a fair maiden's rings I will keep them!

The King raised both ringed hands, palms out, over the crowd below the dais. As though a giant hand had covered its mouth, King's Hall fell suddenly silent. Percy felt the gaze of all eyes pass through him and fasten on King Arthur.

Arthur's great voice rang through Percy and around the Hall. “The Red Knight demands a fight for his lands. He waits without.”

Voices murmured, “Not you, Lord!”

“Why fight? You have his lands!”

“I'll fight him!”

“Me, Lord! I'll go!”

A big, dark man, unarmed like the rest, sprang onto the dais beside Percy. “With these eyes I saw him snatch the Queen's grail and dash ale in her face! Gladly I'll avenge that deed, and win his lands as well.”

A shout went up at that. “Aye! Let Sir Lancelot settle it! In a trice!”

Percy's stumbling mind reeled, straightened up, stood square.
So that's the way of it! Goddamn, here's my chance!

“Sir,” he shouted above the rising voices. “Sir! I will fight the Red Knight for you! I, Sir Percival.”

The King turned almost-startled eyes back to Percy.

The Queen and Sir Lancelot stared.

Behind the dais, a girl laughed.

Laughing, she stepped out from Arthur's shadow.

Percy watched only the King's face. But he saw from a corner of his eye that she was black-haired, small and slender in a white gown, and that she laughed close-mouthed, like Lili.

At her laugh King's Hall fell silent again. Into this new silence she said clearly, “Lord! Never will your Round Table boast a knight greater than this Sir Percival.”

Percy's heart swelled, burst, flamed. Joyful pride burned hot and high.
Goddamn!

“Sir! I go to fight your enemy.”

Percy swung about and marched down from the dais, through the crowd, to the doors.

He was almost aware of hands reached to catch him, feet outstretched to trip him, voices exclaiming. He passed through invincible, unstoppable, right hand on the Bee Sting under his cloak, and strode out into the sunny street.

There waited the Red Knight. A sword gleamed in his right hand. A shield hung on his left arm.

Beside the knight waited his horse, a great red charger furnished all in red. Restlessly, it pawed sparks from the stone pavement.

The Red Knight turned toward Percy. Looking beyond Percy, he raised his shield.

Percy stalked toward him.

The Red Knight lowered shield. “You again, clown? What message this time?”

Percy advanced upon him, hidden dart ready in his fingers, eyes on the Red Knight's eyes.

“Ho! God's teeth! What do you—”

Percy came on.

The Red Knight punched his sword hilt into Percy's left side.

Percy gasped. Did not flinch. Drove the poisoned dart through the Red Knight's left eye. Stepped back away.

The Red Knight stood amazed. Swayed. Staggered three steps back and crashed on the stone pavement.

A few gasps, a twitch.
Dead in a trice.

Percival turned. Looked about him.

Before King's Hall crowded the unarmed men. They must have followed on his heels. They gaped, pointed, murmured. Percival barely heard their comments.

“How was that done?”

“But he was a Knight!”

“Arthur's enemy.”

“True. But a Knight.”

“Insulted Gwenevere.”

“Still. Shouldn't die at the hands of a beggar!”

“Seize him!”

“Arm up first.”

“He's unarmed! Couldn't get into the hall, armed.”

“He's somehow armed. Killed him somehow.”

“Weirdness here.”

“Maybe magic.”

“Aye,” said the girl's calm voice. “Magic it must be. Leave it to me.”

The growling knights stepped aside to let the small, white-robed girl through.

Straight to Percy she came, and smiled close-mouthed up into his face.

Small, she is!

She said, “Percival, this red horse and armor are now yours.”

Percival stared down into her wise, dark eyes.
I've seen this girl before. Don't know where…

What'd she say? Horse and armor? Horse and armor?

He whirled to look again at his victim. The corpse still twitched. Meant nothing.
He's dead. And I get the armor!

The girl said, “Lose no time.”

The gang of unarmed Knights milled and seethed like a torrent ready to flood its banks.

“Take sword and shield,” she said. “Helmet. No time for the rest.”

She herself seized the great, red charger's bridle.

Percival darted to the dead Red Knight. Glanced once into the astonished dead eyes. Quickly then, with his knife he cut the helmet's thongs. He tossed his soup kettle clattering, and donned the red helmet.

Heavy!

He jerked the shield off one dead arm, grabbed up the sword.

Goddamn! How's a man walk around like this?

Behind him the girl said, “Quick, get the sheath.”

That meant the whole belt. In a hasty daze Percival dropped shield and sword to work the belt clasp.

The charger's great hooves rang on stone as it fought the girl's grasp. How could she hold it, small as she was? The Knights' angry buzzing grew louder, closer.

But they're all unarmed.

Right. They hesitated, milling like disturbed bees.

Feared of me!

Or of the girl?

Percival dragged the belt out from under the dead man, clasped it over his own belt. Thrust sword into sheath. With snort and clatter, the red charger came up beside him, girl still firmly in charge. Alarming, close horse scent swamped Percival's senses.

“Mount quickly. Up!”

Percival looked up the quivering red hide. Away, afar up there, Lili looked down on him. Her little face was stiff with terror.

Right before her sat a high, polished red saddle. A stirrup dangled at Percival's hand.

“Up!”

Percival had never happened to see how one mounted a horse. The horsemen whom he had watched from hiding were already up there.

The girl breathed between clenched teeth, “Foot in stirrup. Up! Up and over!”

The charger pawed and tossed its head. Froth foamed from its jaws. The girl barely hung on to its bridle. Percival saw her murmur to it, as to him.

The shield…how do I hold…

“Give Lili.”

With effort, Percival handed the shield away up to Lili. Could she hold it? It came not back down.

A poke from the white-robed girl, and he was in the stirrup. Hanging between sky and pavement.

“Leg over, Percival!”

He was in the saddle.

“Reins.”

Dizzily he leaned to collect the reins the girl handed up.

Behind him, the Knights roared.

Faintly, Percival felt Lili's hands grasp his belt through the cloak. He himself grabbed at the horse's tough, red mane.

The white-robed girl spoke to the charger. And let go the bridle.

Strength rushed through the huge red body below Percival.

He found himself whirled around, looking down from a new height upon the massed Knights of the Round Table. Angry faces glared up at him but an instant, then disappeared from sight.

At the doors of King's Hall stood King Arthur, sword in hand. Percival caught surprise on the royal face. Then that, too, vanished.

Undistinguished men scattered now before the on-rushing charger. Women snatched children out of its path. Huts and houses joggled past at undreamed-of speed.
Clatter-Clash
went hooves on stone street, then
thud-thump
on dirt street.

Percival clung low to the saddle. He felt Lili cling to him. Ground hurtled past as they rushed into wind.

***

Striding forward over rough ground, Bee Sting pounding his thigh, Percival pauses.
I've been here before.

Here. Where? Heavy white mist rolls around even the nearest trees. All he can see is this forest-littered ground at his feet.

I've been here before; and I'm going there.
(Wherever there may be.)

Percival springs back into stride.

I'm going there. But first, now…Goddamn! This is a dream, and I've dreamed it before. First, I'll see…