By S. A. Pool
Table of Contents
- Prologue -
- Autumn 1999 -
- Norfolk Castle -
- County Castle Inn, North Ireland -
- The Morrow -
- Somewhere
in the Open Sea -
- Prologue -
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With both his hands he seized the spear, Crying, 'Thy hour is come -- Die, traitor, die!' rushed headlong on, And drave the weapon home. But with his sword the dying man Smote Arthur on the head, Piercing his helmet to the brain, Then fell down stark and dead. When noble Arthur fell to earth Thrice in a deadly swoon, Sir Lucan and Sir Bedevere Thrice raised him up, and soon They led him on betwixt them both Softly and tenderly, Until they reached a chapel small Close by the moaning sea. And while they sat and hearkened there, All in the broad moonlight, They saw the pillers on the down Rob many a noble knight Of brooch, and beads, and jewels rare, Of many a goodly ring, Which much distressed Sir Bedevere, Who begged the dying King To haste to some securer spot, Where they could hide away. Arthur replied, 'My time flees fast, I have not long to stay. 'Now hie thee to yon waterside, And throw my trusty sword, My own Excalibur, therein, And quickly bring me word ' What there thou see'st.' 'It shall be done,' Replied the willing knight. But when he saw that noble sword, With precious stones bedight On haft and pommel, to himself He reasoned in this wise: 'If I destroy this richest sword, But harm and loss arise, |
'For an I throw it in the stream, No good to him or me.' Whereon he hid Excalibur Under the nearest tree. When lo! an arm and hand appeared Above the watery grave, Caught at the sword, thrice brandished it, Then vanished in the wave. When Arthur heard what had befell, He spake, 'Sir Bedevere, Alas! Now help me hence; I dread Too long I tarry here.' He took the King upon his back, Close to the waterside, Where hovèd in, fast by the bank, A little barge he spied; Wherein there sate a stately queen, And many ladies fair, Who shrieked and wept for grief when they Beheld King Arthur there. 'Now put me in the barge,' he said, Which softly was obeyed; Three queens in sable hood therein Gently King Arthur laid. Upon the lap of one of these His weary head he laid. 'Why have ye tarried, brother dear, So long from me?' she said. Alas! the cold has stricken deep Into this wound, I fear;' And then they rowed far far away From sad Sir Bedevere. Their wailing floated on the wind, Most pitiful to hear. ' Soon as the barge was lost to sight, Forlorn Sir Bedevere Wept and bemoaned the livelong night, Wandering about, in fear Of armed foes and robbers vile, Through devious forest ways. When morning brake, a hermitage Met his bewildered gaze. |
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When he gat back unto the King, 'What saw'st thou there?' quoth he. 'Naught but the waves and winds,' he said, 'Moaning
most dolefully.' Then said King Arthur, 'Truth is good, To lie is deadly sin; As thou art lief and dear to me, Go back and throw it in.'
Sir Bedevere returned again,
But thought it sin and shame
To cast away the noble sword, So acted just the same. He hid the sword amid the grass, Then, on his bended knee,
Told Arthur his command was done. 'Say then what didst thou see?' Sire,' said he, 'I saw nothing there But the great waters wap,
And the waves wan; while I remained, Naught else to me did hap.'
'Ah, traitor!' said King Arthur, 'all Thou sayest is untrue; Thou hast betrayed me twice, and now Thou would'st me quite undo.
Who would have wend that thou, who wast So lief and dear to me, And called a noble knight, for gain Should now deceitful be? ' Go quickly hence. The cold strikes keen; I have short time to stay;
An if thou disobey me now,
I surely will thee slay.'
'' Thereat Sir Bevedere rushed forth; Seizing the weapon fast, He bound the girdle round the hilt, And threw it in at last. |
Close by a little chapel stood, Where holy men might pray; Within, low groveling on the ground, A saintly hermit lay
Beside a new-made grave. The knight Inquired in accents low, 'What man is recent buried there Down in the grave below?'
'Fair Sir,' the hermit then replied, 'I wot not who he be; A band of lovely ladies brought Him here last night to me.
'A hundred tapers, too, they brought, A hundred besants gave, To lay in earth his lovely form, His precious soul to save.'
'Alas! that was my honoured lord,' Replied Sir Bedevere, 'King Arthur, prince of chivalry, Who now lies buried here.'
Whereat he fell into a swoon. When he revived again, He begged the hermit piteously To let him there remain. 'In life or death I would be near, Not evermore remove, By fasting and by prayer to show My loyalty and love.' And then he doffed his knightly gear, Putting on mean array, And both together wept and prayed Their weary lives away. Queen Guinever became a nun
In cloistered Almesbury, Spending her days in deeds of love And acts of charity. -Le Morte Darthur; Sir Thomas Malory |
The seventy mile highway that stretched between the spit-long
towns of Tiller and Trail, Oregon, wound alongside one of the many tributaries
that fed into the mighty Rogue and Umpqua Rivers along the southern border of
that state. Not far from the thirty-mile marker, a wooden bridge straddled the
Elk Creek run, to lead up the side of a mountain. The road wasn't good, merely
a wide dear trail full of muddy holes and rocks to tax any vehicle desperate
enough, or dumb enough to challenge it. Winding mercilessly, it switched back
twice before passing between a large cow barn and work shed. Then it steeply
switched back again and up the mountain to make a wide curve around a hay barn
on the left. One hundred head of cattle clustered near a covered feeder,
crowding the middle of the road where it sank deep into a puddle of muddy
manure. (Anything less than a four wheel drive forced to stop in that nasty
mess risked being trapped there for a long, smelly wait before a tow-truck will
find that spot.) The road continued past the feeder to crest a rise where it
forked sharply to the right over the mountaintop, then dropped down to fork
left and right, again.
The right fork pushed on across the mountain and the left fork
dropped down to a circular drive. The drive provided hillside parking for the
family occupying an old yellow mobile home planted precariously on a small
break in the steep slope that rose up along the mountainside. It provided the
most spectacular view of the neighboring mountain range one could ever imagine.
Off the circle drive an old gray van, not quite leveled by a stack of lumber
both of the driver side tires rested on, was parked parallel to the right fork
above the prefabricated structure. Two long orange extension cords stretched
from an outer outlet at the rear of the mobile home to two power plugs dangling
out from under the rear doors of the van. Like the elongated umbilical cords of
a deep-sea diving bell, or a sci-fi space pod suckling vital life supporting juices
from a mother ship. Four thin white curtain panels sporting checker weave
ruffles of yellow and white covered the two small windows above where the power
cords dangled were. They served to hide the contents of the van from view and
the purpose of the umbilical support it was sucking from the house.
Through two of the four curtain panels that had slightly parted
where they met on the rod, one could peek in to see the inside of the van. A
woman in her late forties sitting on a bed which filled a whole three-foot
space in the rear of the van. She was working diligently on a small, cheap
laptop computer, which took up little space on the bed. Beside the laptop lay a
book opened to a page titled, "Pool Coat of Arms", with a black and
white illustration of the bland description printed below it. The description
said simply, "azure (blue) shield and Orr (gold) chevron with a
fleur-de-lis of the same as the chevron at the base."
Two VCRs, a dishpan, and some cooking pots and pans sat on a
rickety twelve-inch shelf that hovered over the bed from the rear corner wall
to one of two stacks of old gray plastic milk crates. The crates stored dishes,
food boxes, and videotapes. A myriad of colorful bungy-cords attached to hooks
secured in the side wall panels, were criss-crossed over the open ends of the
crates to hold them in place. Next to the crates and just behind the driver
seat sat a small microwave oven and a propane camp stove sat on top of that.
Next to the driver seat, in the center of the cab, a small, thirteen-inch
television screen flickered with images from videotape playing in one of the
VCRs. The scene was of two gallant knights dressed in suits of armor engaged in
battle with swords and lances clashing. The knights portrayed were Sir Lancelot
and King Arthur, trading blows at their initial encounter at the lake.
Another shelf built in the place of the missing passenger's seat,
which held a drip coffee maker, thermoses, a bag of dog food and the printer
for the computer. A colorful bed sheet hanging over a rod curtained the window
of the sliding side door and a lovely porcelain lamp hung suspended from the
ceiling with a bungy-cord wrapped around a shade illuminated the confined
interior. The only wall that was not blocked by crates was papered with prom photos
of her son with his girlfriend, a movie poster of Brad Pitt, a wallet photo of
her brothers band, and a round wall clock.
The woman on the bed, named Bridal Rose after the lovely Irish
flower of the same name, was called Rose by the closest of her friends. Rose
had semi-converted the old rig three winters before, after loosing another job
to corporate down sizing, and, ultimately, her home when the savings were gone.
Nevertheless, she eventually found a way to take advantage of her misfortune
and make a survivable life for herself in lieu of going back to school. By
turning the van into a steel tent on wheels, she was free to travel to the fish
hatcheries around
The winters were the hardest for her to get through, though. Not
because of the cold, living in a van as she did, but because the hatcheries
didn't mark their fish in the winter and her income was reduced to a $70 per
week unemployment check. As hard as she would try to get work for the winter,
most small town businesses were not hiring at that time. So here she parked in
exchange for housekeeping to wait out the cold winter months.
She longed to win one of the many contests she had entered for
the past year, but their heartless sucker tactics were a strain on spirit. Her
heart would soar each time she received another envelope declaring her the
winner "if she had and returned the winning numbers". She eagerly
checked the assigned numbers, and sure enough, they would match the ones
assigned to the prize. Then she quickly returned the documents within the
allotted time, and watched her PO Box in faithful hope of finding that fat
check. But, the checks never found her PO Box, so she lost hope of ever
escaping poverty through the gold envelope. The last contest notification came
three weeks earlier. It was from a request from Publishers Clearinghouse for
her to return the enclosed documents that would assure her as finalist in the
final drawing for the grand prize. She reluctantly signed all the documents and
affixed all the stamps. She called the one-eight hundred number to leave the
fifteen-second message telling them where to find her on Super Bowl Sunday, and
then dragged herself down the mountain to mail off the prize claim forms.
She wanted to let herself believe that she could be the one who
would win; to be excited, make plans, indulge herself frivolous hope. But the
rational side knew better than to set itself up for another disappointment. She
did sneak in a few plans, though; mostly in regards to her son and parents -
and a small motor home for herself. She even ventured briefly into a dusty old
dream she'd had from childhood; then quickly put it away, (and spent the next
three weeks avoiding calendars.) Now, at last, Super Bowl Sunday had arrived,
and there Rose sat, oblivious of the day, doing what she always did when she
wasn't marking salmon or cleaning house - with her ear to the TV and her nose in
the computer, diligently working on a book that would probably never be
published.
Suddenly, there was a great commotion of vehicles coming up the
road to the mountain ranch. She pulled back a curtain, expecting to see
pick-ups returning from evening chores; but to her surprise, it was not the
rigs she had expected to see.
Not one of them was suited for the venture up the mountain,
bouncing and weaving, struggling to climb out of the mud hole ruts. Suddenly,
she realized that they were mostly TV news crews with satellite dishes on top
of their vans. She picked out the "Tribune" and the "Eye-5
News" cars, the FM100 mobile unit, and the CBS broadcasting rig; but the
van leading the pack didn't look familiar to her at all. Her heart throbbed in
her throat and echoed in her ears as she eyed the filthy convoy bouncing ever
closer. She quickly donned the raincoat and the rubber boots for mud, and stuck
her head out through the opened sliding side door.
"Rose Pool?" a man in the lead van called out the
window, "Are you Rose Pool of
She gasped an ounce of air, then gulped it hard past the lump in
her throat. "Yes," she squeaked imperceptibly then cleared her throat
and gave it another go. "Yes, I am," she yelled back over the thunderous
rain, and stepped out with a splash into the mud.
In a flash, and a flurry of flowers and balloons, people scurried
to climb out of their rigs. Then the microphones and the cameras and the
umbrellas galore, were most strategically placed. Once all were assembled where
they wanted to be, best to capture the moment on film, an impeccably groomed
gentleman opened the door and stepping out from the first van onto the muddy
drive, sank, an ankle deeper than his shiny leather shoes, into the pothole his
driver had stupidly parked in.
Undaunted by the gooey stuff, or the rain soaking his blazer, he
smiled cheerfully and enthusiastically extended to her his right arm.
"Congratulations, Ms. Pool," he announced, reaching for her hand,
"you're our $10,000,000.00 Publishers Clearinghouse 1998 Grand Cash Prize
Winner." Then shaking her hand proudly, passed her an over sized and very
soggy certificate while the cameras recorded the event.
Then a reporter darted in with his microphone armed, and asking,
"How do you feel now, Ms. Pool?" he asked with an air of "as if
I didn't know", and shoved the drippy stick in her face. All waited for
the answer, wondering if an original might be said; but Ms. Pool's eyes
suddenly rolled back up into their sockets as she melted, unconscious, in the
mud.
1998 proved to be an exceptional year for Rose and her family.
Not only was the $10 million delivered to the door of her van, but she found
several more large checks from various contests she apparently won, totaling
nearly fifty-seven and a half million dollars, waiting for her at the Post
Office on the following day. She immediately used some of the money to make
five large purchases: a new motor home and Jeep for herself, another Jeep for
her son, the mortgage payoff for her parents home, and a one hundred acre
parcel of a sun washed hollow in Trail to build that childhood dream on. The
P-BAR Boarding Stable full of pampered horses, with the Pool Coat of Arms over
the gate.
She continued marking the salmon during that year while the ranch
was under construction. By the following spring, a new drawbridge had been
built to replace the old wood bridge that crossed the creek to the hollow.
Since the creek flooded several times each year, a bridge that could be raised
to let flood waters through seemed more feasible than any other.
The ten barns, staff cabins and out buildings were built in and
around the hollow by the end of that summer. Then the house for the foreman,
her son, and the last for herself were all built on the mountainsides
overlooking the hollow. She'd hired a cowboy to foreman the ranch even before
his house was completed in September, to oversee details while she was away at
a hatchery. She found other salmon markers who were willing to work as stable
hands for a cabin, utilities, and a salary. Some had small families to support,
while others were just as homeless as she had been. At the end of each job, she
sent at least one coworker to the foreman. By winter, all cabins were filled
with stable hands, and the stalls were filling up with horses. The only thing
missing was the Coat of Arms over the gate.
Rose's foreman, Harry O'Neal, turned out to be a great asset to
her and the business. He managed both the stable and staff with the firm and
gentle hands of an old cowboy. He was a
He followed Harry around like a pup that first year, and sucked
him for everything the man knew. One would rarely see the one without the other;
they were the best of friends, and the father and son each had never known.
David's girlfriend, Audrey, was still in school; but she spent her weekends at
the P-Bar with David. She'd born him a daughter in early March of '98 and named
her Frances Annalee. The stable was a blessing to both her and the child, for
her daughter stood to inherit it after Dave.
Audrey knew the mountains well and started her own small touring
trade through the stable. She guided boarders through the
As usual, Rose was working at the computer scanning the Internet
for more information about her ancestors. She'd come upon a lineage chart of
Fourteenth Century Ireland listing an unbroken line of heirs to the Pool Coat
of Arms. By tracing a few other charts, she found two more dating back to the
Tenth Century, with altered versions of the basic blazon. The last and first
names on all of the charts were the same, Ivan with no number or juniors
attached. She was studying both of the lists for some clue of connection when
David and little Raven came in.
"So, how's the research coming?" David asked, setting
the toddler down to run and drag her grandmother from her work.
It was an easy chore for the child, and Grandma scooped her up
without a second thought. "Well, there she is, my best Little
Princess," she said with pride. "I haven't been hugged all
morning!" she mocked a complaint, and the toddler replied with a the best
hug she could muster. "Did you help Daddy and Harry feed the horses?"
The tike nodded vigorously, then saw Rose's scarf and busied herself loosening
it to practice the new skill she just learned: tie knots in anything dangling.
"Did you find our branch or the family, yet?"
"Oh, I don't know," she groaned, "I'm ready to
shit can the whole idea." He strolled up to the desk and leaned over her
shoulder to see what she had on the screen. "The names in these two groups
are nearly identical. Ivan is both the last and the first to inherit the
shields."
"There's no other children to compare names with?"
"Yes, but this chart, which we know to be ours, starts with
'Ivan of Pool', no siblings or parents listed. Neither of the older charts show
'Ivan of Pool', but both do have an Ivan claiming the Arms. This one had two
older brothers, who should have claimed the right, but they may have died
before they had the chance. This other one is an only child."
David scanned the chart and noticed that the blazon had been
altered from the original. "Well, this one is different, Mom. Someone
changed the fleur-de-lis," he pointed out.
"Where?"
"Here, two generations down."
"I see. It is different. It looks more like a cup, or a
goblet, maybe."
"But look here, both started with a crest and motto that
were eliminated later."
Rose manipulated the screen to isolate and enlarge the
illustrations next to each other. "Can you see what that is," she
said pointing at the old crest. "I can't tell."
"It looks like a dragon, I think," he suggested.
"A dragon?" She looked more closely at it for a moment,
then scrolled down to the script below. "I wish there was an English
translation to go along with these descriptions," she complained.
"I thought they were all written in French or Latin."
"Most are, some were even written in English. I think it
actually depended upon whoever was keeping the records at the time. I don't
know if there were rules for a herald to follow back then." She
manipulated the screen again, super imposing the different shields from other
charts on top of each other, to scan variations until she found what she was
looking for.
"Okay. These two shields are identical," she concluded.
"Let me pull the charts, again." In a few seconds, both
lineage charts for the two shields were up and enlarged at the second
generations. "There, Ivan and Enon of Pool. They must've been brothers, or
twins, maybe. One took the goblet and the other took a fleur-de-lis; which
means the two groups are linked to one we know is ours.
"Great, now what?"
"Now I have to prove or heritage and request permission to
use the original with the crest and motto."
"How long is that going to take?"
"I don't know, but it seems the Duke of Norfolk has an
E-mail address. Guess I could just zap him a note and ask."
"Go for it, Mom," he said with pat on her back.
"That's what you do best." He groaned, straightening
his back.
"Audrey should be back with her group pretty soon. I've gotta
go." He lifted his daughter up over his shoulders, somersaulting her onto
his neck. She delightfully giggled all the way.
"You scamp," Rose teased her, then asked David,
"Which group did she take out."
"McPherson brought in another bunch."
"McPherson!" she recoiled her head with a grimace,
"He knows these mountains better than God. What does he need with a
guide?"
"I think that old fart has a crush on Audrey. He gets a
little testy when she's not around."
"Mm, you'd best keep an eye on him," she teased, "
I've heard he was quite the charmer in his day. Had quite a reputation with the
ladies, according to Harry."
"I'm not worried about it," he said from the door.
"You
gotta get it up to use it."
"Well, hoowa to you, too," she mocked at him.
"Hoowa!" he answered with an appropriate emphasis.
"Good luck with your letter."
"Yeah," she waved him out the door, muttered to
herself, "and hoowa to me, too, I guess." She studied the crude
drawing in the middle of her screen, reduced it to a quarter page and
positioned it in the upper left part of the screen.
Then pulled up the pedigree chart, typed Ivan in the blank space,
linking the two charts into one, and placed it on the right. Then she saved the
two in a new category, she named "DUKE OF NORFOLK", and stored it all
in the "CORRESPONDENCE" directory.
After all of that, she began working a new page. "Dear Duke
of
-
Autumn 1999 -
David sat next to his mother on the luxurious
"I'm wondering why we have to go to
"Didn't the Earl say he had something to show you?"
"Well, yes, sort of. His letter's in the file, pull it up
and read it, again."
He used the mouse to pull down the menu and click onto the
directory marked "CORRESPONDENCE", then file titled "DUKE OF
NORFOLK". The letter appeared, superimposed over the image of the Coat of
Arms. "My Dear Ms. Pool," he read aloud with his eyebrows raised:
"Thank you for you inquiry into
the Registry of Arms. There are, in fact, several registries for the Pool
surname; but, there is only one registered in
This is an exceptional find, as it is
the earliest registry ever found. No words to adequately express the degree of
excitement and anticipation this has generated in our offices come to mind. I'm
pleased to extent my personal invitation for you to come to
Most sincerely,
Lord Falon of
He reread the letter, again, to himself. "That is pretty
vague," he concluded. "Kind of flowery, but it doesn't tell you
anything.
"Yes, it is; probably because they think this registry is
the first ever to be recorded. That makes it an historically significant claim.
I'm sure they won't want to bestow that on just anybody," she said a
little pessimistically. Then added in a light hearted change of mood, "Can
you believe that? The Oldest Registry in recorded history? What a riot!"
"Yeah, it's hard to imagine anybody in our family coming
from Noble roots, considering most of us never made it out of poverty for the
last two hundred years. It's like some curse that condemns us all to fail
before we ever have a chance to get started."
"Perhaps there was. We might find out that someone was a
crook who lost everything for himself and anyone who followed him. Maybe his
descendants were forbidden to own property because of what he'd done. That
might be why there are so many variations in the spelling of the name; nobody
wanted to be associated with the crook who lost them their heritage. What we
learn may not necessarily be what we wanted to know."
"Maybe, but could one crime effect a family forever? I most
of us don't know who our ancestors are."
"Who knows. Things were very different in the Dark Ages.
Feudal Kings and War Lords ruled the lives of everyone they came into contact
with, and made up laws that effected everybody but themselves. There were codes
of conduct and chivalry were supposedly honored by the knights; but who really
knows if any of that is really true. We have only the tales of the minstrels to
rely on when it comes to courtly conduct, which were probably based on some
facts; but they've probably been so grossly distorted for the sake of drama and
entertainment, that the truth isn't anything like the tales. Everything else
that was written was biased, slanting in favor of whoever was king at the
time."
"Hm, sort of like Republicans and Democrats. Sounds as if
things haven't changed that much," he smirked as the sleek
"This feels a lot like royalty," Rose gawked. "Are
you
sure this was meant for us."
"Quite sure, Madam," he smiled. "No mistakes have
been made."
"Well, then, I'd say it all greatly exceeds anything I could
have expected. Thank you."
"You are very welcomed," he nodded his head graciously.
"His Lordship will send a car for you at nine, tomorrow. However, if you
would care to tour the city this evening, please ring the desk; our driver will
be happy to escort you."
"Thank you, but I don't think we'll be up to going anywhere
tonight."
"Very well, then. If there is nothing more, I will leave you
to your comforts."
"Thank you. Oh, wait!"
"Madam?"
"May I ask, your name?"
"Certainly. It's Charles."
"Charles," she repeated the word under her breath.
"That is my oldest brothers name, Charles."
"Really. There is a very old tradition in some families to
name the first born son Charles."
Rose smiled, "Thank you, Charles. Good night." He
returned the smile with a formal nod of his head and left.
"Gad zooks, Toto!" David said when the door was shut.
"I think we've landed in
"Me thinks you're right, Dorothy. I half expect to see Peter
Pan come swooping in through that window at any minute - pixy dust and
all."
"So, what do you say we go out on the balcony, eat the food
and see who drops in for dinner."
"Sounds like a plan to me, I'm starved."
The table was set with silver serving dishes of steaming
vegetables, a tureen of chowder, and a platter with braised game hens in the
center. The place setting was fine Wedgwood, the stemware was a gold rimmed
crystal. A tall bottle of
"It's different," he smirked.
"I can't wait to talk to the Earl. I'm so excited. This is
even better than winning the lottery."
"Almost, better. I'm tired. What do you say we crash for the
night and pick it all up in the morning."
"You go ahead, I want to see what's on the television."
They said their good nights and David lumbered off to his room. Rose stretched
herself out on the lounge and click on the remote control to the TV. The large
screen flickered on to a BBC news broadcast. It was very sad. The IRA and
British troops were fighting in the streets of
"Ms. Pool, I am so pleased to finally meet you face to
face," A tall, burly fully bearded man greeted her with two outstretched
arms, a broad smile and a very heavy brogue. He was dressed in the kilt plaids
of his clan and warmly clasped both of her hands affectionately, as though they
were friends long missed. He held them for a long moment before releasing them
to turn his attentions to David. "And you must be David, the rightful
heir. It's an honorable quest, what your mother is doing for you and your
children. You must be very proud of her."
"I've always been proud of her;" he answered a might
defensively, "but I know what you meant."
The man seemed pleased, rather than offended by the boys show of
temper, and smiled broadly. "Come and let me show you what was discovered
at the abbey." He led them to an enormous office befitting the castle
estate. It was furnished with a variety of finely polished woods and the walls
were covered with books and ledgers of every age, from the oak flooring to the
vaulted ceiling, with large division amid the shelving to accommodate oversized
portraits of ancestors. Rose felt suddenly very small and insignificant
crossing the great hall to the ornate mahogany desk and matching leather backed
chair.
On the desk were several long scrolls of parchment tied with
leather thongs and velvet ribbons, and one huge ledger bound with wood in sorry
need of sanding and refinishing. The Earl eagerly and gently moved the brittle
scrolls aside and unlatched the bronze and leather lock on the ledger.
"You say you found these in an abbey?" Rose asked as he
fiddled with the latch.
"Did I not mention it in the letter? I was certain that I
had." They both shook their heads. "Well, with all the that's
happened, I must've forgotten. I did tell of the discovery, though, didn't
I?"
"You only said something about an ancient registry that
predates all of others," she said; then gingerly added, "The letter
was very brief."
"Oh dear. I do apologize, Madam. It was not my intention to
lure you here with mystery. We did, indeed, discover such a record; but first,
I'll show you this. It's a Register of Ceremony from an ancient abbey we
discovered in
"Everything that ever happened to any living soul was
recorded in ledgers such as this, and we found over a thousand of volumes
stored in a lower room. The monks were very proficient and exacting. The
volumes were stored chronologically. This, we believe, is the first and the
oldest; and here, lad, is the Coat of Arms, of your forefathers," he said
solemnly to David. The boarders of the page were ornately decorated with an
array brightly colored shields and swords, and a leafy green vine connecting
them all to one blazon, which was very much like the one Rose had found on the
Internet. But the writing between the boarders meant nothing to them. Every
letter and symbol was so elaborate that they were illegible; and what little
could be made out spelled only gibberish. Sensing the frustration, Falon
quickly explained, "The language on these pages is that of the ancient
Celts. For the most part, it's an unknown language, dating back to a time long
before Nordic invasions corrupted it. Very little is known. We could never
actually study it because it was not used to keep records. It was thought that
since peasants used crude designs and marks on skins or woven cloth, that the
ancient dialect may not've developed a written alphabet until much later;
sometime after it'd been contaminated with English and French phrasing. This
ledger is the only proof that the language ever existed. But, unfortunately, no
one living today can interpret the original language."
"Do you think this symbol of the shield could mean that this
page is about the Pool's?"
"It could be organized by clan villages; but doubtful. I
think. If it were, the organization of the ledgers would have reflected that.
The monks were renowned record clerks. Most likely, the boarders merely
represented Arms of the various ruling houses or at best, the clans recorded on
the page.
"Then it's possible that this page will reveal something
important about my family."
"That would be a safe assumption, yes," he nodded as he
gently picked through the scrolls until he came to one that was tethered with a
crumbling thong. With great of care, he loosened the thong and unfurled the
scroll. "Now," he began with a mischievous gleam in his eye,
"this is the parchment I wrote you about." A faded sketch of a
crimson dragon headed the parchment. Under that was a writing in the same
language, as that in the ledger, and under that, the Pool Coat of Arms. There
was more writing with several enlarged words scattered through the phrases. She
turned her face up to meet Falon's; her eyes bright with anxious anticipation.
"Aye, Madam," he answered the expression. "The parchment is an
award presented by a king to a knight granting him the right to bear the Kings
Crest, making him what was called `A Crested Knight'. The honor is granted only
to the noblest of knights, and always to the kings first knight. It identified
the knight bearing it to his opponents as the Champion of all knights. The best
of the best; and it evoked fear and respect from any who would cross his path.
I can't begin to express the significance of this. It is even greater than
receiving a Medal of Honor in your own country."
The two gasped and shot a look at each other. "What an
ironic coincidence that you should say that. I am related to by marriage to
Audey Murphy."
The Earl nodded his head. "Then, the Old Ones spoke the
truth," he said. "The noble heart beats strong in your family. It's
in your blood."
"How old is this document?" David asked.
"But we aren't blood relations."
"We each seek our own kind," he pointed out, "The
most honorable are not so easily fooled," he said with assurance, then,
returning his attention to the parchment, said, "We believe it was created
about fifteen hundred years ago."
"Fifteen hundred years! That would be around the end of the
Dark Ages, wouldn't it?
"Aye, perhaps older, even. Carbon dating will narrow it down
some; but that won't happen until we've finished copying the entries."
"So, does this name read Ivan of the Pool?"
"We don't know that for sure, yet, but we think it does.
I've a good crew working on it, and my best is handling this one, personally.
The symbols are entered into a computer program that'll analyze and decode the
alphabet," he said as he rolled the parchment. "Would you care to
have a look?"
"I would," David answered.
"Ah, you know computers, then?" he asked him.
"A little," he confessed demurely. "I like to play
with them, mostly."
"I like to think of them as toys, too," he confide,
"You come with me, then. I think you might like this." He escorted
them through the door, down a great marble floored hall lined with colorful
tapestries depicting feudal battles and courtly jousting tournaments, to a pair
of massive walnut doors where two sentries stood guard. They opened the doors
as the three approached and the straining hinges groaned loudly.
"W-D40 would cure that," David whispered to his mother.
"Shh!" she whispered back with a sharp poke of her
elbow to his side, "mind your own business."
"Wow!" he exclaimed at the room beyond the double
doors. It was filled with shelves of artifacts, and numerous tables and desks
cluttered with books, parchment and computers.
"Impressive, you might say," he raised his eyebrows at
the boy. He took them to the table in the far corner, where a woman was busy
swiping a wand scanner over the tattered pages of a ledger. "Ah, Kara,
how's it progressing?" the Earl greeted her.
The woman looked up from her work and gave him a bright white
smile. "Hello, father." She jumped up from her desk and trotted over
to touched his hands and kiss his cheek. She was very tiny and delicate,
compared to her father, with a tight bun of carrot red strands. It was her
eyes, though, that were the most stunning shade green, and deeply set beneath a
broad strong brow. "It's a painfully tedious process, I'm afraid; but
these pages are so brittle, I fear they'll be damaged by the light from the
copier. I'm doing most the transference by hand." She lightly passed a
gloved hand over an open page as she spoke. "There's not enough information,
yet, to root out an alphabet, though. Many of these documents are too similar.
Not much variation, as it were." With a nod of his head, he made
introductions. "So, you're the heirs I've heard so much about. It's an
honor to meet you, at last," she said with a handshake.
"Well, we're not certain of that, yet," Rose quickly
corrected her. "I won't know anything for certain until this language is
deciphered."
"Are the documents we saw in your father's office in the
system, yet?" David eagerly interrupted.
"Aye, they were the first to be entered; and so far the
Crested Parchment is the only one with a difference. There's no other like it
in what we've found." She turned the monitor for all to see and pulled up
the list of crude symbols.
"This shows the number of repetitions for each symbol. As
you can see, many of them seem to be standards, used over and over. However,
these singular symbols have only been repeated a few times, and they've only
appeared in the one parchment." She tapped on a few keys to pull up
different screen. "This is an analyses of the script origins, a
handwriting program, if you will. It identifies each hand keeping the record by
comparing replicated shapes. You can see that these records were written by
many different hands over the years, and each recorder wrote many of the
documents. The recorders are separated and assigned a code, and the number of
documents matching a code is here, this'll be useful in pinpointing dates
within a life span." She stopped to point at a number to the right of the
codes of origin. "But, there is only one document prepared by this hand,
and that's the Crested Parchment with the Scarlet Dragon."
"A forgery?" Rose suggested.
"Nay, that much is certain. It was stamped with the Seal
Ring."
"Couldn't the seal have been stolen?" David asked.
"It's possible, but very unlikely, I think. The only way to
steal it was to cut it off the king's finger. The Seal, or Crest Ring, as it
was also called, could never be removed and was often buried with him when he died.
Great care was taken to protect it, which could be why the actual burial ground
of many of the kings was kept secret. It prevented unscrupulous nobles from
taking The Seal and forging it on land deeds and such."
"But I thought a king was buried in the castle crypt or the
church."
"Aye, many were, and there they stayed in the Tenth or
Eleventh Century; but the burial of kings was long event, and was followed by
several days of morning ceremonies and prayer that were endless. The Heir would
be crowned soon after, and that would set off another week long frenzy of feast
and more prayer. At some point, probably during the crowning ceremony, the
monks would steal the corps from the crypt and spirit it away to a hidden place
known only to them. Some believe it was to cremate the body in a forbidden
ceremony to honor the old ways. The Christian religion was relatively new, and
many still feared the repercussions of offended Old Ones.
"But remains were found in the crypts."
"Aye, but if there was no Crest Ring, then there was no
king; just another body taking up space."
"So the ring was never passed to the heir."
"Not until later. A new seal was designed by the church. It
fitted so tightly that it was cut off to be refitted when his fingers grew or
changed shape. Sometimes the finger would slowly turn gangrenous and have to be
amputated." An involuntary shiver passed through David's spine at the idea
of having a finger amputated with no anesthesia to help with the pain.
"An eerie thought for a primitive time, eh," she
smiled.
"Really!" he shivered, again.
"Well, this has all been so interesting;" Rose moved to
end the visit, "I wish we could hear more, but I think we've kept you from
your work long enough. Thank you for sharing it with us, Kara. I hope we'll
have a chance to talk with you again before we leave, I love hearing about the
old ways and the kings that ruled them."
"I'm pleased to tell it, and grateful for interruptions,
actually," she admitted shyly. "I hope you'll come back soon to check
on my progress. I'll be disappointed if you don't."
"I promise, we'll make a special trip just to see you."
She turned her attention to The Earl. "Thank you so much for
everything, Lord Falon. I think I won't ever be able to say that enough."
"Don't give it another thought, Madam. It's my job," he
smiled.
"I'm grateful, just the same."
"Might I suggest, that is, if you're interested in such
things, that you go to
"Is it allowed? I thought you had to have some special
permission to go to an archaeological site."
"Yes, well, I think I can still pull a string or two. I
would be happy to make the arrangements, if you'd let me."
"That would be wonderful."
"I'll contact The Chief Herald immediately and set
everything in motion for you."
"We'll be looking forward to it."
-
County Castle Inn,
True to his word, Lord Falon had the arrangements made and the
letter hand delivered by an official courier to their suite that very evening.
The letter hand written and sealed with blue sealing wax and the stamp of his
Coat of Arms Seal:
My Dear Madam:
My staff has not stopped chattering
since your visit. I believe you and your son have enchanted us all.
I've arranged for you to travel by
private jet to
I pray these arrangements aren't
overly presumptuous and the accommodations will please you. It has given me
great satisfaction to see to your needs.
Adieu, Falon
"Oh, David," she said from the balcony overlooking the
sea, "isn't this breathtaking? It's amazing that all of this land hasn't
been cluttered with motels and tourist in this by now."
"I guess capitalism isn't as big a deal over here,
yet."
"I pray it never is; but I think `yet' is the operative
word. I've always been partial to the more social attitudes, anyway. There's
something immoral about getting rich from the exploitation of a bodies need to
survive. It's a shame no one can come up with some way to accommodate both
without robbing the poor and restricting freedom. But, I suppose capitalism and
socialism will forever be at odds; unless, of course, we could find some way to
abolish money and wealth."
"What would that accomplish?"
"Peace, David. A world without want or greed."
"Oh, I doubt that. Some idiot would come along and screw it
up for everybody sooner or later. It seems there's always some-body who can't
be happy unless he thinks he can get away with something, like ripping people
off with shoddy stuff. If there's no money involved, there's nothing for them
to steal. If there's no nothing to steal, then they have no purpose in life.
Since our world is ruled by these people, I'm afraid it there will always be a
purpose in their lives."
"I know, it would someone very strong to lead the way to a
different purpose for living. There may yet come some great protector. A
Knight, of sorts, whose purpose will be to fight off the greedy who challenge
it. A Knight of the songs of the minstrels. A Knight of the old ways."
David snickered "I think you're letting this place go to
your head, mom."
"I know," she smiled, "but wouldn't it be a lovely
world to live in."
-
The Morrow -
The car sped down the coastal country road to a small lively
fishing village where it slowed to a crawl through the narrow streets. There
were some vehicles, dating back to the second world war or before, but most the
inhabitants either walked, rode bicycles or used horses with or without a cart.
The presence of a 1999 Mercedes created quite a stir with the
villagers, drawing the attention of every eye it passed. Some even stooped low
to catch a glimpse of the passengers, as if the queen, herself, were passing
into view. But no one seemed particularly disappointed to find two commoners
peering back through the window. As car crept slowly onward, a parade of
villagers followed it clear to the edge of town. The driver was amused as he
observed the reactions of his passengers in the rear view mirror and smiled to
himself. Rose wondered if she appeared as strange to him as the villagers did
to her.
Once the car was a safe distance from the villagers, it sped up,
shortening the drive to the abbey. Soon the little abbey was in sight. It was
set well back from the road in the middle of a green meadow. Sheep grazing on a
grassy rise were tended by a young boy with a wooden staff and a small black
dog. The boy stood up as the car approached, and did not sit again until the
passengers had disappeared into the abbey.
As the party entered, a very large man, clad in a kilt uniform
and a head full of thick white hair, lumbered across the dirt floor with both
arms stretched open wide. "At last, you've arrived," he announced
gaily, reaching out for both of Rose's hands. "Falon said you were
lovely." Rose could only smile and blush a little. She never thought of
herself of her face as being worthy of praise, so when it happened, it never
failed to catch her off guard. "Ah, modesty, too, I see. Then I'll cause
you no more discomfort. Allow me to introduce you to Nigel Connery, he's
heading the excavation team. Nigel," he called and waved a hand,
"come here, lad. Take a moment to come and meet our guest."
Nigel Connery was a full six feet in height, and a husky,
muscular look like a man who was use to hard work for most of his life. His
face was quite rugged and weather worn, and his clothes hung loosely over his
body. He seemed well within his natural element. "Let me present Ms. Rose
Pool, and her son, David, of
"Madam," he said rather shyly. "David," he
offered his hand to the boy. "I'm told you're claiming the rights to the
hidden chamber," he said doubtfully.
She was about to politely ask him to call her Rose, but taking
his attitude to be negative, decided against it. "Excuse me?" she
said, instead.
"You're heirs to the Dragon Crest, aren't you?"
"Well, that's yet to be determined, actually," she said
coldly. "In any event, I'm only here in search of my origins
to logo my ranch in
is determined, will be for higher authority to decide." Then
turning her back to him and her attention to Sir Ryan.
"What chamber?" she asked him bluntly.
"Oh, Lady, we've discovered a hidden chamber buried deep
within the bowels of this ancient abbey." His poetic phrases mingled with
the rich deep brogue voice bouncing off the rock wall seem magical and pleasing
the hear as they descended the narrow well of stairs to a large circular
basement room lined with narrow shelves. "This is the Chamber Of Records,
where monks toiled for hours, even days at a time, to keep accounts of the
events of this realm." The room had a musty smell from the wood shelves.
In the center of it was a heavy desk and a broken stool. The top of the desk
was marred with rings from wet cups, and a spot where candle wax had melted and
hardened time and time again, still bore the impression of the edge of the
candle stick holder it had melted from. She lightly laid her fingertips on the
mound of melted wax and let them slide over its smooth, undulating surface to
the roughly splintered tabletop, and tried to imagine some hooded figure bent
over a huge ledger, with quill in hand, arduously laboring over each page. She
spied several spots of different hues stained into the wood surface, where
drops of ink must have fallen when he filled his pen. They were faded hues, but
she could still see the greens of the leafy vine, the speckles of gold leaf,
and the reds of a shield; but mostly, there was the black ink of the endless
lines of script.
"The books have all been shipped to Falon's estate to be
studied and dated." Ryan's voice blended well with the images of her
thoughts, and was not as intrusive as it should have been. "The chamber is
located well beneath this room, through a passage hidden behind this wall of
shelving. It was opened only yesterday."
"This is exciting!" she whispered to her son behind
her, before sliding through the tiny passage and descended another spiral
stairwell. "It's easy to understand the fascination we have with artifacts
when you find something like this."
"Aye, Madam," Nigel interjected, "but the truly
exciting part isn't the chamber, but what's inside." He pushed aside an
iron gate hanging slightly askew and grinding on it warped hinges, to reveal a
well lit circular chamber which seemed to be even larger than the one above it.
The same musty smell in the air, in spite of the circulating pump outside,
filled the nostrils with images of another time, and the electric lights cast
haunting shadows on the ceiling.
In the center of the room lay a rubble of carved stones inlaid
with marble slabs that could have once formed a large table in the same shape
as the chamber. But it was the single wall that enclosed the chamber that held
to most value. The entire thing, from floor to ceiling, was covered with fresco
paintings. The colors were still bright with paint and there was no mistaking
their depiction's; unique Coats of Arms over a series of cartoons of knights
performing Acts of Valor. And there, among the numerous Arms of color, was the
blue shield and gold chevron of her ancestors; with a far clearer image of the
goblet in the hollow of the chevron. "David, look!" she exclaimed,
"There it is. It's the same blazon, but the shape of our shield is nothing
like the rest," she pointed to base of it. "There is the goblet. This
is the original shield."
"The shield is French," Nigel said from behind her.
"and the 'goblet' is called a chalice or a grail. It's a
Christian symbol for the blood of Christ."
"French?"
"Aye, the shape of the shield and the fleur shape of the
grail are definitely from the French courts."
"So whoever bore this shield, was originally from
"Either that or a territory under Franco rule, it's too soon
to know which at this early stage; but one thing is for certain, it came from
somewhere across the channel.
A later depiction showed the same shield with a crimson dragon
crest added to the mantle, and new series of cartoons.
"This must be when he was awarded the Dragon Crest."
Her tone had become notably solemn as she studied each drawing.
"This one show's him saving the king from a fatal blow in a
battle.
That must be how he earned the Dragon Crest." She moved
along the series of depiction's, picking out certain ones to suggest an
interpretation. "Here he seems to have won a joust and is being given a
scarf by the queen. There is her lozenge with the scarlet dragon and a gold
chevron in the center. Perhaps he championed her in a tournament." The
final cartoon showed the knight standing naked in the forest with a woman, and
to her astonishment, the queen's lozenge lay draped over a stone nearby.
"Mother of God!" she gasped, attracting the immediate attention of everyone
present.
David stepped to her side. "What is it?" he asked. She
pointed to the drawing in front of her, then she searched the walls for more
evidence of her suspicions. She picked out one knights battle with a knight in
green armor, another presenting a chalice of silver to a frail king, and the
final battle and death of the king. He followed "Your kidding. If I didn't
know better ..." he started saying.
"It is," she cut him off. "It has to be. The
coincidence is too ridiculous. It's Lancelot of the
"That's absurd," Nigel blurted.
"It couldn't be," Ryan gasped at the same time.
"It has to be," she insisted. "Look. Here is Sir
Gawain battling the Green Knight in Arthur's court, and Sir Perceval with the
Holy Grail." Then she pointed to the Lady's lozenge with a dramatic flare,
"And here is Sir Lancelot and the Lady Guinevere. She could have born him
a son while she was in the con-vent, and called him 'Pool' in the place of '
"It's a romantic notion, Ms. Pool, but highly
unlikely," Nigel pointed out. "There's never been a castle, a kingdom
or a country called 'Camelot' recorded on any historical maps at any time. Nor
was there ever a Pendragon king or anyone even vaguely resembling that
name."
"Wouldn't minstrels change the name of the characters to
protect themselves from offending the wrong person?"
"Absolutely. An unflattering tale could cost them their
lives if they were to get back to a king."
"Then it would make since that the names on these walls will
be different than the ones in the Camelot Tales ..."
"... and make those tales more valid," David finished
her thought. He hadn't actually intended to desert her after coming to defend
her argument, but something strange about one of the frescos caught his eye, so
he moved closer to get a better look. The way the lights hit the curve in the
wall, he thought he saw a shadow on the flat surface of the king's burial
cartoon. Running his hand along the mast of the boat, he found the flaw in the
stone. A strange ridge ran along the length of the mast. He leaned over to
examine it more closely and noticed that the ridge wasn't really a flaw at all,
but a tiny door cleverly concealed by the paint. It slid open very easily to
reveal a narrow scroll tucked inside. He removed it and slid the panel back
into place. He wanted to show it to his mother, but something from deep within
warned him not to share it with her yet, so he tucked it into his shirt.
"I'm afraid I must agree with Nigel, mum," Ryan was
saying as he turned around. "The chances of the frescos proving the
existence of Camelot is to extreme. Still, I confess, it is a curious
coincidence that so many of them correspond to the ancient legends; but I fear,
it can only be coincidence. It'll take months to study and decipher their
meaning."
David gave his mother a look; a silent message that she could
never ignore. "Forgive me, Sir Ryan, you're right, of course. All of this
history must have made me fanciful. Only last evening, my son warned me of it.
I guess he was right."
He eyed her sudden change of attitude briefly, as though
inexplicably insecure of its reliability. "It's an easy thing to do at a
dig site," he said at last, ushering her from the chamber. "We'd all
like to believe in the tales of Arthur and his courageous Knights, or Ulysses
and
"Start another war, I guess."
Ryan laughed, "We certainly don't need another excuse to do
that. I think we have plenty as it is."
"I hope you won't hold this foolish episode against me. I'm
usually better at keeping my feet firmly planted."
"Not at all. I found it a charming idea. I hope you'll not
return to
"No, actually, I thought we might tour the country side if
we could rent a some of good horses. It's such a beautiful area, I don't want
to leave until I see as much as I can."
"I could send a guide to show you the sights."
"Oh, thank you; but I like to stumble into things on my own
first."
"I quite understand," he nodded his head. Then he
added, "You'll call if you change your mind, though, won't you."
"Yes, I promise."
The ride back to the
"Why don't you get the keys and see about the horses and
I'll order a quick lunch. Tell them we'll be ready to at
"Sure. Are you okay?" he asked. "You look a little
sad."
"I'm fine. Just moody, maybe. Don't worry. A good lunch and
a short nap will pick me right up."
The groom selected two thoroughbreds; a sorrel mare with four
white stockings and a white blaze that covered both the nostrils, and a tall
spirited bay with a long mane and wavy tail. He assured David they would be
ready and waiting in the courtyard at
"Wow, those clothes really suite you," Rose grinned.
"Thanks. Don't spread it around, though. It feels silly.
These pants fit like pantyhose."
"I didn't know you wear pantyhose. Does Audrey lend them to
you or do you just march right in take them off the rack?"
"Ha, ha. Very funny; but, don't quit your day job."
Tight britches wasn't the only thing giving him problems on that
ride. Rose had used an equestrian saddle before, but a missing saddle horn was
causing endless grief with the trot and canter. He eventually found his balance
in a slow lope, but keeping the spirited animal slow was another matter.
They took the horses off the main road to a sandy stretch of
beach and let the horses gallop in the waves. They came to the mouth of a small
"I just can't get over how beautiful this country is. I can
almost see every fairy tale I've read being played out in this spot right
here," she declared.
"I know. Sometimes, it all feels like this whole country a
fairy tale. I pinched myself a couple of times just to make sure it
wasn't." They lead the horses to a quiet part of the pool to let them
drink the cool water, then they tied them up to a fallen log and left them to
munch on the green grass around it while they explored the rocky waterfall.
David spotted something while sneaking along a slippery ledge to there he could
see behind the falls. "Hay, mom," he called out, "there's a cave
under here,"
"Really? Is there a way in?"
"I think so." He clung precariously to a boulder to
lean out as forward as could. "Yeah," he called back, "I can see
a path on the other side." He jumped down off the rocks and ran down to a
narrow spot where the overflow spilled out into the river. "It's over
here, come on." He leapt from one stone to another and another, then
stopped and turned to check on his mother's progress. Seeing she was right
behind, he leapt five more stones to a path that trailed up to behind the
waterfall and into the mouth of the cave. It was very wet and the path was
narrow on slippery rock. It passed a good distance under the falls before it
veered off into the narrow cave opening, which was actually a small tunnel with
a deep furrow down the middle of the rock filled with a rushing stream of
water. The shallow path continued to follow the edge of it; but it was a much
more treacherous trek. David had trouble finding a safe place to stop to help
his mother along the worse spots before the path finally widened and leveled
off. The deeper into the mountain they went, the wider the tunnel grew, until
it ended in an enormous cavern. The cavern was filled with crystalline
stalagmites with a huge pool of clear water, fed by numerous springs trickling
down the stone, in the center of it. Long, lazy beads of daylight streamed down
through the tree root holes in the ground above, where they had broken through
and rotted away over the ages. The light was refracted in the stalagmites and
produced brilliant rainbows which washed the whole cavern with vibrant colors.
Rose knelt down to the pool with cupped hands to scoop up a sip
of water from the clear pool. "The water isn't very cold in here; but the
taste is very sweet." David knelt down beside her to scoop a sip and
agreed with a nod of his head.
Suddenly, a warm gentle breeze stirred the cavern. Rose felt it
brush against her cheek and flutter the loose strands of hair around her face.
As it swept past the stalagmites it made a strange sounding tune, with a
melodious undulation in the tone and pitch; it play a pleasant melody. The song
grew louder in volume and took on a distinct feminine tone, like a girl singing
to herself. As the music was changed, a colorful mist began to emerge from the
pool of water. It formed itself into the ghostly image of a woman dressed in a
white and gold tunic, with hair the color of spun silver and strands of gold
floating in the breeze like it would in the water. She held a long shining broadsword
by the blade in front of her. As her image seemed to solidify she stretched her
arms straight out away from herself, as if to give up the sword. Rose stepped
down into the water as if to approach, but the spirit pulled the sword back to
herself and moved away to the opposite side. She scrambled to climb out of the
pool, and soon as she did, the specter resumed her previous pose. She took hold
of her son's elbow, who was gawking at the sight with mouth and eyes opened
wide. "You try it," she told him.
He gulped at a mouth full of air, "Are you kidding? That is
a broadsword she's holding, and no toy. It weighs at least fifty pounds and
decapitates with a single blow."
"I know, but I really don't think that's what she has in
mind. Go on," she prodded, "she's looking right at you."
"No way!" he protested.
"Oh, for Pete sake, David. Just do it."
"Oh, all right." He reluctantly slid into the waist
deep pool, muttering, "Here goes nothing," to himself. Keeping his
eyes fixed on the spirit, he slowly waded only two steps when the specter moved
in front of him and smiled. She pressed the sword against his chest and then
turned her face upward. He gingerly grasped the hilt with his right hand, and
she opened her hands, releasing the blade, then spread her arms out wide.
Immediately, he felt the sword jerk his arm straight up over his head. A
thundering deep voice echoed through the cavern, "A King has come, and the
Sword has risen. The Land and the King are One," it boomed. Then the sword
release him and his arm fell limp at his side; the gleaming weapon still tight
in his grip. The breeze slowly subsided, taking the song and the specter with
it; leaving only the mist to be absorbed by the water. When all was gone, David
stood alone in the middle of the pool with the sword still dangling from his
hand. Now his mother was the one who stood with the fixed stare; her mouth
opened wide and locked in that position. Neither of them stirred for a very
long moment.
Finally, David lifted the heavy sword to look at in disbelief;
then he turned to his mother, her mouth still hanging open, and said,
"What the Hell was that?!" He waded some twenty paces
to the bank where she stood and reached up for her hand. The gesture seemed to
snap her out of her daze; and shaking cobwebs out of her brain, obliged him.
"Did you see that?" he cried, climbing onto dry land.
"I saw it," she answered absently. "Are you all
right?"
"I think so. How did I get in the middle of the pond?"
"I don't know. I was blinded by a flash of light for an
instant, and when the spots cleared, there you were, holding that sword
straight up into the air."
"Didn't you hear the voice?"
"I heard the voice; I couldn't understand what it said,
though. It was to foreign sounding, like Gaelic or Norwegian. Celtic,
maybe."
"No, it was English, with a very heavy accent."
"English. Well, what did it say?"
"Your not even going to believe it."
"Oh, and you think I don't believe this?" she pointed
at the sword. "What did the voice say?"
He took a long deep breath, hesitated, and blew it out hard.
" 'A King has come, and the Sword has risen. The Land and the King are
One.'" A silence passed between them before she ask, "Are you
sure?"
"Yes."
"'The Land and the King are One,'" she quoted.
"Yes!" he said impatiently.
"It's important. Now is that exactly what it said?"
"I'm positive. Why? What does it mean?"
"Because, it was the motto of Arthur and Excalibur." He
looked at her incredulously, "Oh, no."
"Remember the in search for the Holy Grail; Perceval was
asked 'what is the secret of the Grail?' Well, that was the secret, 'The land
and the king are one.'"
"Yeah, I remember; but, Mom ...," he began to protest;
but she took hold of his sword hand and lifted them into the air before he
could finish.
"If you say 'That was just a legend,' I'll whack you with
this." He stopped protesting and a strange expression crossed his face.
She patiently gave him time to volunteer; but when he didn't, she prodded him
with that tone only a mother would use, "Out with it, David. What did you
do?"
He cleared his throat a couple of time and shifted his weight
from one hip to the other, and back again. He eyed her patient impatience until
he saw his cue; and stammered, "Oh, well - I - ugh - found -
something," he stalled again to drum up more courage, then said quickly,
"down in that chamber."
"And ...?" she pulled at the rest. "Go on."
"And, I - well - took it," he shut his eyes tightly and
waited for the distasteful tongue lashing he was sure to get. But her reaction
wasn't even close to what he expected. Her eyes lit right up, "You
did?" she smiled, "Well? What is it?" throwing him so far off
balance that he nearly fell over backward.
He wrinkled up one nostril and struggled to collect his thoughts,
then pulled the scroll out of his shirt, "I found this a panel that was
hidden under one of the paintings." He confessed, still eyeing her
suspiciously. The scroll was in excellent condition; as though put there fairly
recently; but the parchment was the same as the crumbling sheets in Falon's
office. He unrolled it delicately with both hands. The same Crimson Dragon
headed the page as the Crest Parchment. Below it near the left boarder, was a boat
like the one in the last chamber painting where he found the scroll. Two of
blue lines extended from the boat to join at separate points with a bold black
shape which extended from the center of the page to the right and bottom left
boarders. No words were written in any language at any point on the page, only
another small dragon drawn near where one the blue lines intersected at the
black shape. Within the shape was the stamp of the Seal Crest Ring of the King
- like the one on the Crest Parchment.
"It's a map," he told her frankly.
"Yes, I see; but of what?"
"Avalon."
"Avalon? How do you know that?"
He pointed to the smaller dragon. "Because it says right
here," he told her.
She looked closely at where he pointed. "I don't see it,
move your finger." He obliged slightly. "I don't see anything that
says Avalon. Just a picture of the dragon and the King's Seal."
"That's not a dragon, it's a word." He bent low to look
in her eyes, "Are you wearing your lenses?"
She sucked a clicking sound with her tongue, "Of course I'm
wearing them. I'm telling you there are no words written anywhere on this
parchment." He pulled the parchment back in front of him- self. "I
think something's happened to you."
Totally frustrated, he dropped his arms to his side and looked
down at her, "Nah, do you think?"
"Don't you take that tone with me."
"Well, of course something's happened to me," he
huffed.
"I was just seduced by a beautiful blonde ghost with a
really big sword and struck by a bolt of lightning. Things like that can shake
a body up a little."
"That's not what I meant. You've changed, somehow. You
understood the voice, now you're reading this map."
Suddenly, he stood very erect, rolled the parchment and looked
down at her. "The sun will set soon. We should return before the
dark." Before she could protest, he took her hand and led her along the
path to the waterfall. She watched him care- fully now; his gate, his stance,
his attitude. All were different. His movements were less gangly, his back was
less rounded. He seemed agile, graceful, and confident; very much like the man
she had always hoped he would be. Even his skill with the horse was much
improved, bordering on masterful.
When they trotted up to the entry, a groom rushed out to meet
them. "At last, you've returned," he said. "We were a bit
concerned for you, Madam." He assisted her with the dismount and took the
reins of David's horse. "We nearly sent a party out to find you."
"Forgive us," David answered, "we found pleasant
spot to rest. The time escaped us." His speech left them stunned, and they
stared openly. The groom turned his look to her and she smiled back broadly, as
though all things were as they should be.
David cupped his hand on her elbow, escorting her to the desk for
the keys. "I hope your ride was pleasant, Madam, we worried you were lost
or injured."
Again, David took the lead, "We had an excellent ride, thank
you. You're grooms keep a fine stable."
A similar dumfounded expression crossed his face. "Th -
Thank you, sir," he stammered. "We are quite proud of them,
actually." David grinned as he took the keys. The innkeeper shot a look at
Rose; who returned the same smile she'd given the groom.
Before they left the desk, David stopped mid-stride and said,
"I'm sorry, I don't think we know your name."
"It's John, Sir. John Flannery, of County Court."
"County Court? One of my grandfathers came from there. He
was a Web, though."
"Ah, yes. There are many Webs in County Court. They've a
large clan there bouts."
"Really," he smiled again. "Good night,
John."
"Good night, sir. Madam."
As soon as they were in the suite, he loosened his shirt and drew
the sword from his pant leg, where he hid it at the gates to the castle. He
held it firmly, making it comfortable in his hand. Then relaxed his grip and
made a few passes, and a drill he once saw in a movie.
She studied him as he studied the sword, and noted the respect,
the admiration he had for it; like a boy with a new toy and a seasoned warrior
at the same time. Both unfamiliar. Her heart was distressed, unsure how to
relate. He no longer just seemed different, he really was different; and
everyone had noticed. How does she talk to him now, she wondered. What could be
going through his mind? What is this happening to my son? Am I clever enough to
help him through it? Her mind was swimming with doubts. She ventured an easy
question. "Are you hungry?" she asked carefully.
"Ravenous, actually," he said, running his fingers
along the blade.
Ravenous? She stared while her heart sank to the floor. "Ugh
- I'll ring the desk," she clumsily offfered. "I'm sure there's plenty
of time for you to take a shower first, if you like," she attempted to
divert him for a moment alone.
"Yes, I think I will. You're sure you don't mind?"
"No, no, you go ahead. I need to call Harry. See to the
ranch. You know," she vigorously nodded her insistence.
"Good." He hid the sword in a drawer and dumped out his
suitcase out over top of it. "While you're at it, think of a way to slip
this thing through customs."
"I suppose we could ship it through an dealer. We should
talk to one and ask him how to go about it."
"Perhaps, but I think we should keep this as discreet as
possible. We can't afford to have examine it too closely."
"Absolutely. Now, go have your relaxing shower. We can
discuss it over supper." He smiled at her and left the room.
When he was gone she collapse onto the lounge. "Dear Lord, I
think I've created a monster."
Harry assured her of the health of the ranch, insisting there was
no need for them to rush home, so the conversation at dinner focused on what to
do next. They rehearsed various stories they could use to pump a dealer for
information about shipping. Then they agreed to return to the chamber to see if
his new "sight" could interpret the frescos. After, Rose did insist
that he retire early for the busy day ahead; but that was not the true reason.
As soon as she knew he was asleep, she dressed quietly and
sneaked out to the stable. She found the sorrel mare and tack she used that
afternoon and quickly tossed them over her back. She led her out into the
courtyard and on down to the gate, to cinch and bridle the mount unnoticed by
the groom. The moon was full in a clear sky and provided good light for the
night ride; but she brought a flashlight for the walk in the wood.
The ride up the beach seemed to take longer than before. She
feared she might miss seeing the little river, with the tide so far out; but
soon, she saw a dark place in the sand ahead, heard the rushing water and saw
the mares ears perk up as she approach. She raced her mare up the trail, over
the green meadow, through the forest to the waterfall. She rode through the
pool and up to the hidden path as far as she could. She tied the mare to some
thickets, and although the tie was not secure, the mare stood fast to watch her
rider ascend the path.
She gingerly made her way to the cavern. To her relief, the
moonlight penetrated the holes in the ceiling, offering a subdued light on the stalagmites.
She searched the cavern for something, anything, to convince her what happened
was real; but there was nothing more than the cavern, the crystals, and the
pool.
Disappointed, she knelt down to steal a sip of the sweet water
before she returned. As soon as her fingers touched the quiet water of the
pool, she felt that same warm breeze brush her cheek and flutter the loose
strands of her hair. The mist welled up and the Lady appeared in the middle of
the pool. "Oh, Lady, please help me?" Rose pleaded from the pit, of
her soul; but the spirit began to dissolve back into the mist. She begged her,
"No, no, please, don't go away. I came to ask for guidance. I don't know
what to do." Then she wept, "God, I'm so afraid." With those
words, the spirit solidified and drifted closer to the edge where the woman
knelt with her face in her hands, as if moved by compassion. She passed a misty
hand through the woman's side into her aching heart, filling it with warmth
that touched inside Rose's soul. Able to collected herself, then, and began to
confide, "It's my son I have fear for. I know something glorious has
happened to him, and I know that it happened here; but I don't understand it,
and I don't know why. I must be sure that it is a good thing. Can you tell me
anything to ease this fear?" The tears welled up again, and she buried her
face back into her hands.
The breeze grew stronger, and the song grew louder, and voice
began to thunder, "The courage of the knight beats deep within the
mother's breast, for therein lies true valor." The air stilled, and the
song subsided, and the mist drifted back into the water. The tears stopped
flowing. She'd understood the words and knew the meaning of them. The anxiety
disintegrated from her chest and her heart felt serenely safe from harm;
though, she had no idea why.
She made her way back through the tunnel, which was much darker
than before, to the waterfall where she found her son waiting for her. "I
knew you'd come here," he greeted her.
She looked up into his eyes through lids still puffy from the
tears. "I had to be sure," she apologized, "I had to know if you
were safe."
"And what did you learn?"
-She looked back into the tunnel and thought of the words she'd
heard. "Only what I've always known. I'd merely forgotten it, I
guess."
He wrapped his arms around her and held her close, "You
never forgot it, Mother," he cooed.
Suddenly, there was a low rumbling sound echoing through the
tunnel and the rocky path under their feet began to sway. Huge boulders rolled
down the face of the waterfall as the tunnel folded in on itself. The horses
reared, snapping their reins free from where they were tied, and scurried away
into the. David grabbed his mother's hand and dragged her helter-skelter along
the shaky embankment to a spot safely past the waterfall, free of falling
debris. Finally, when the tunnel was completely filled in and closed off, the
rumbling stopped and the earth lay still. The landscape around the waterfall
was completely altered. The waterfall was actually moved back nearly two
hundred feet, and spilled over the rock that now filled in the tunnel.
"My God," Rose cried up at her son, "if I'd stayed
only a moment longer, we'd both be..." she buried her face in his chest,
unable to mouth the word.
Fortunately, the horses had not run far and they found them
grazing on the grasses beyond the forest. They rode them slowly back to the
stable and brushed them dry for the night, then they sneaked back up to their
suite and went to bed.
They were up early the next morning and had breakfast in the
suite. A short while later, the John rang to say that the horses were waiting
in the courtyard. In light of the events at the cavern, they chose to return to
the hidden chamber to examine the frescos before searching for an antique
dealer.
Though they had taken the shortest route across country to the
little village, the ride was still long and hard. They stopped at the pub to
rest the horses, and themselves, before going on to the abbey. The villagers
they met friendly, polite and very proper. They insisted on calling them
"My Lord" and "My Lady" and scowled when the pub tender
referred to David a "Gov." They shared tankards, nibbled on the chips
and chatted with the patrons until they felt ready to continue on. They exited
the pub to mount the horses tied in the front, when a woman approached David
from behind and reached up to touch his shoulder.
"Forgive me, sir," she said as she quickly backed away.
"You're David of the Pool, are ye not?" He smiled to himself at the
'of the Pool' reference, and nodded graciously. "I beg you, please, don't
return to the abbey today," she said, and he could see that her plea was
sincere. Still, he frowned and told her to explain her assertion. "The
hidden chamber is not stable and about to collapse. If you're in there, you
will be crush to your death," she told him. He thanked her for warning
them and promised to be careful; but she insisted, "I can no tell ye how I
come to know this thing, only that I've seen it." Her words made him spin
round to see his mother. "Please trust what I tell you, mum," she
begged, "and stay 'way from the abbey." Rose remembered that the team
would be removing fresco that morning, and asked if anyone else would be hurt.
The woman bowed her head low and said solemnly, "No, 'twas no other. Only
your son I saw, mum."
Rose took in the woman's warning, then she thanked her for
delivering it. "Aye, mum," the woman said, bowing, again. As she
turned to leave, David asked her name. She stopped and turned, "My name is
Naoma Hawk, Lord," she said, "I came here from Glen Morren near
"
"Aye, mum."
"You've come a very long way to save my life," he said.
"I'm grateful. You must be hungry and tired."
"Aye, I am that, sir."
"Do you have a car?"
"No, sir. A cabby brought me 'ere from the docks."
"I see. Come in here; we can get a meal in the pub." He
escorted the women to a table and left them to speak with the tender.
"Who's the woman, Lord? We saw her stop ye at the
door."
"I think she's a psychic from
"
"Could you arrange for the horses to be returned to the
stable and a car sent back for us?"
"Aye, one of their grooms lives here in the village."
"That's fine, and could someone whip us up something to
eat?" "Aye, and will ye 'ave another tankard, as well?" David
nodded and took the mugs from the tender back to the table.
"I hope you like ale," he said, setting the mugs on the
table.
"I was weaned on it," she grinned.
"You're psychic, aren't you," Rose said through her
mug.
"Don't know as I'd go so far as that. But I've had 'the
sight' for long as I can remember." She paused while the tender served a
huge bowl of fish 'n chips. He lingered to tell them the status of the horses
and waved off the price of the meal. She waited for him to leave before she
continued her story. "I was born in
"Does your uncle know your here?"
"He knows. A dreadful vision has plagued my sleep, and
Malcolm believes in such things. He paid all the fares for me to come."
David saw the car from the inn pull up out front. "It's very
late and a dangerous time for you to be traveling alone," he told her,
"Please come to the inn and share our rooms. We can talk more in the
morning."
The woman's smile was mysterious, of some secret knowing; as
though he had past some unspoken test of chivalry with his request. Holding on
to the smile, she stood beside the table. She wavered in her stance, as though
she were about to faint. Then her eyes closed and the color drained from her
cheeks. A glow emerged from her crown and enveloped her to the toes. As her
eyelids slowly lifted, and red lights glowed from two large pupils fixed on
David's eyes. "A King has come, and the Sword has risen, again. The parchment
brings him to Avalon, and the new right he seeks. The Land and the King are
one." Her eyes closed again, and the aura drained down into the floor.
When the color returned to her face she reopened her eyes and they were a rich
emerald shade of green. But, it was her skin that had changed the most, it had
become more translucent and youthful, radiant even.
Suddenly she put a hand to her breast and leaned against the
table. David bolted from his chair to catch her. "Forgive me," she
pleaded. "These episodes are often unexpected, and always very
draining." David steadied her for a moment before leading her to the car.
The driver sprang to open the door when he saw them coming and assisted the
woman into it. Rose took the back seat with Naoma, while David rode in front
with the driver. "Is the lady all right, sir," the driver asked.
"Shall I call ahead for a surgeon?"
"I don't think it's that serious. She's come a long way and
the trip has fatigued her. I'm sure she'll be fine after she's rested."
"Is she a friend of yours, if ye don't mind my asking."
David looked behind him as his mother wrapped her arm around the
woman's shoulders to rest her head comfortably on her breast. "Yes,"
he answered, "a very old friend, I think."
The car sped along the road and park at the entrance to the inn,
where David leapt out, lifted the woman into his arms, and carried her up the
stairs to the suite. He took her straight to his mother's bed and laid her on a
down coverlet. Rose pulled a spare quilt from an old chest at the foot of the
bed to wrap her snugly in; they left her alone to sleep, then.
"What are you thinking?" Rose asked him.
He reached into the dresser where he'd hid the sword and
parchment and took them from their hiding place. "I was just thinking
about the words she said, 'The parchment brings him to Avalon, and the new
right he seeks.'"
"The question is, do you know what the right is you are
seeking?"
"The right answers, is all I can think of right now,"
he solemnly, "answers to questions I don't even know how to ask. Or maybe,
I'm just afraid to ask."
"Like what?"
"Like, who am I, and why are these things happening now, to
me. Only yesterday morning I - I was nobody. Just a dumb twenty year old kid,
touring a different country with his rich mother. And now, - oh - I don't
know," he shook his head and slouched into a chair.
"Wow. Here I was thinking that voice had somehow planted
everything you need to know in your brain, already. You know, this is the first
time, since we found the sword, that you've expressed any doubt. I was
beginning to worry about you," she teased. "Has the magic worn off so
quickly?"
"No," he sighed, "but I can't help wondering if it
isn't a really big mistake. It doesn't feel right, like - like it's too good to
be true? I think I'm not - worthy of it all. I'm just an ordinary man; barely a
man, anyway. I'm not even an officer. Just an enlisted man - a specialist. How
can this be mine?"
Wrapped in a gentle moodiness, she confessed, "But, you and
I have never been 'ordinary', David. We've only tried to be, so that we might
fit in somewhere. You know as well as I do that we've always been different
from others. I never knew why, only that it was so. The aloneness is so deep
sometimes. My heart cried for you the moment you were born. You were so much
like me. Your moods, your fears - I knew them all; and I was so afraid."
"Afraid?"
She nodded her head, "Afraid to help you, afraid of making
you repeat my mistakes. God knows how I made a mess of my life. So, I just sort
of left you alone to figure things out; when I probably should've offered you
some kind of advice. I didn't even tell you what things I did wrong," she
chuckled, "because I thought, 'well, maybe if he thinks of it himself, it'll
turn out right; but if I tell him how I bombed out when I tried the same thing,
then he'll be too discouraged to try anything at all.' So, I kept my negative
advice to myself." They laughed for a few minutes at how silly parents
could be. "Anyway, I wanted you to have a better life than me. I hoped you
would be more resilient than me, able to rejuvenate that beautifully valiant
heart that lives so strong in our family. You know, the one nobody seems to
understand. Make it right for you in a way I never could. Maybe we are the way
that we are, because it's what keeps us humble. And maybe, just maybe it's that
tiny bit of humility that makes you the most worthy of all."
"And Audrey? What about her? How do you think she'll feel
about all of this?"
"Audrey is the mother of your beautiful daughter, who is the
rightful heir to whatever comes of this. Only time knows if she'll come to
understand, and love us in spite of it. But she'll have to learn how to share
with the rest of the world, which has never been one of her strong suits, I
fear."
"I hope she can. I don't want to loose her."
"Why don't you call and let her you're thinking of her.
Something tells me she'd like to hear that right about now." He nodded.
"Remember to tell her that I love her, too."
"I will. Good night, mom."
"Good night, son." She went into her room and opened
the old chest, where she found another quilt to wrap up in. She tossed it over
a padded rocking chair and pulled it closer to the bed. She checked on Naoma,
gently stroking the fiery hair to test her temple for fever. Her head was quite
cool, still glowing and luminescent. She pull the quilt up closer to her neck
and smoothed out the wrinkles, then she wrapped took the quilt from the rocker,
wrapped herself up in it and made herself comfortable for the night. The woman
stirred only once that whole night, and when she awoke the next morning to find
Rose still sleeping in the rocking chair, she felt suddenly uncomfortable and
guilty.
Rose awoke moments after. "Good morning," she smiled.
"Are you feeling better?"
"Good morrow, mum," she returned the greeting,
"I'm much better now, thank you. Forgive me, mum, but, did you sleep in
that the entire night?"
Rose had already stood up and stretched out the kinks. She was
still dressed in the habit and boots she had worn the day before. "Yes. I
was comfortable, actually," she assured her. She folded the quilt and put
it away in the chest, then pushed the rocker back to its original place.
"If you woke up in the night, I thought you might be afraid and I didn't
want you to be alone." She went to the closet and took out a pair of
slacks, a blouse and a sweater and laid them on the rocker. "These should
fit you well enough. The shower's down the hall, I'm afraid. You may have to wait
if someone else is using it. In the top drawer over there are packages of new
under things I haven't worn yet, just take what you need. Breakfast is on the
balcony. Do you like tea or coffee in the morning."
"Tea, mum."
"I'll be sure they bring you a pot."
"Thank you, mum; but, I..."
"Don't worry," she smiled. "I promise you, I miss
them," she waived off her objections.
"Yes, mum. Thank you."
"You're welcome," she smiled back through the doorway,
leaving a bewildered Naoma scratching at her red head.
David was already up and dressed when she came entered the
sitting room. "How is she?" he asked when he saw her.
"Confused, I think, but better than she was last night. And
how are Audrey and my sweet grandbaby?"
"Happy, healthy, and anxious for me to come home.
Audrey thinks I should come home and leave you to do your own
thing. I did tell her you weren't the only thing keeping me here.
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing really. It was hard, not telling her the truth.
I wanted to tell her, but the words wouldn't come."
"Did you lie to her?"
"I told her I didn't want you to stay here alone."
"Is that the truth?"
"Yes, but it's not why I'm here. Not really."
"I think your actions are being tempered by some higher
force now. If you couldn't tell her, then there is probably a reason. It may
not be the right time for her to hear it, yet.
Be patient, when it is time the words will come on their own.
You'll see."
"I know."
Breakfast arrived just as Naoma finished her shower. Rose let the
servant push the steaming tray past her through the door and waited for the
woman to cross the length of the hall. "Good timing," Rose greeted
her. "Put your things over there and come eat with us. There's a foggy
mist hanging over the rock below, it's a beautiful sight in the morning."
They passed through glass panel doors out to the terrace and
looked out over the balcony. The tops of the giant rocks that separated the
land from the sea peaked out from under a blanket of fog that spread out over
the water to the horizon. Here and there, the mist would stir as the tide below
rush in and disturbed it. An occasional crest of a wave crashing on a rock
broke through momentarily, then disappeared in the whirl of mist; as swallowed
up by it.
David appeared from behind them and paused to admire the sight.
"Eerie, isn't it," he startled them, then they giggled at their
silliness. "Morning, Naoma. Did you sleep well?" he went on to ask.
"Very well, thank you, sir." He ushered them to where
the table had been set and bade them to sit. "I'd never witnessed a
psychic trance before yesterday, though I often heard of them. I didn't realize
how powerful they are. It seemed to suck all of your strength right out of
you."
"Aye, Lord. I've been known to sleep for two days solid,
after. Auntie even thought I was dead once."
"Amazing. Now, before we talk any further, and while you are
here, would you do me one very small favor?"
"Of course, if I can, sir."
"Please don't call me 'Lord'. I have a name. It's David, and
I'd like for there to be at least one person in Ireland that I can depend on to
remind me of that. Would you mind being that person for me?"
"No, sir. I mean, David. I'd not mind."
"Thank you. Formality is nice, for a while, but it does get
a little tiresome," they all chuckled. "Ah, now we talk like real
people," he concluded, pouring coffee for himself and his mother; Naoma
declined his offer, opting for the pot of tea. "Can you tell me any more
about the visions? What do you think they all mean?" Though Naoma was
starving, she was waiting politely for David to start the meal, as tradition in
her country demanded. She took her first cue from his gesture and filled her
cup with tea; then waited for an invitation to eat. Rose nudged her son, and told
him to pass her the plate of egg. "Meaning is hard to determine
sometimes," she began, scooping an egg off with a long thin spatula,
"because vision is often very abstract, with nothing real to hold on
to." She plopped the egg onto her plate, then stabbed a chunk of meat with
her fork and plopped that down next to it. "I don't try to abstract sight,
unless the meaning is clear. The vision of the tomb was the abbey," she
continued, sawing at the meat with her knife. "It was a hidden room buried
deep within, with many colors, and many stone blocks." She paused to take
the hefty bite she'd cut and shove it into her mouth, "where you found the
parchment," she finished saying between chews, and washed the bite down
with water.
David shot a look of shock at his mother, who returned it in kind
and answered for him. "The parchment?" she asked innocently.
"Aye, Madam," she paused again to scoop at the egg,
"the map David found in the mast of the ship that'll take him to
Avalon," she answered frankly, and filled her mouth with it. She scooped
up another forkful and looking up from her plate saw the blank stares on both
their faces. "The one he showed you in the Crystal Cavern, mum," she
reminded, but when they offered no recognition she sat up straight and frowned
at her host. "Did ye not show her the ancient parchment?" she ask.
"I showed her; but we were alone in that cavern. No one knew
where we were."
"Ah, but you were never really alone," she said
sticking the egg into her mouth. "The Lady was there, with Excalibur,"
she washed down the egg with another sip of water, "and the other
one," she swallowed and sawed off another piece of meat and popped it in
her mouth.
"What other one?"
She washed it down with more water and swallowed it down hard.
Then she cleared her throat and said, "The old one, who waits for you in
Avalon."
"And how do we get to Avalon?"
She reached over her plate to grab off a chunk of bread,
"with a boat," she answered, breaking off a piece of it. Then she
began mopping up the runny yolk with the bread, "you can only find the
Crimson Dragon from the sea," she finally said as she mopped.
"But the map,", he shook his head, "is so obscure.
How can it..."
She looked up from her plate into David's eyes, and he remembered
the glow of them before, "You must believe the old one," she scolded.
Then, as though the subject were closed, she leaned back over her plate and
shoved the drippy bread into her mouth. "The parchment will take
you," she said, and washing the last bite down with more water, "you'll
see." Her meal finished, with a bite of meat left on her plate for the
saints, she poured a tiny drop of milk into her tea, stirred them together and
took a sip. Then she noticed the amount of food still left on the table and
looked from one host to the other, "Are you not eating a meal this
morning? You'd better, you've a long voyage facing you."
The very small sail boat bobbed over the waves. "Do you know
anything about sailing?" David called over his shoulder, clinging
fearfully to the rail for support.
"Don't know," Naoma called back to him over the noise
of the sea, "never been in a boat before."
Rose groaned, stumbling up from the cabin below, "You might
have mentioned that back at the dock."
"Aye, I should have," she admitted humbly, "but
I'm not the one sailing, the boat."
The passengers flashed each other that familiar, "you're
not?" they asked in unison.
"I've not had the rudder for nary an hour or more," she
informed them.
Rose looked around her as if able judge their position, "but
we've changed direction three times," she finally said, making a grabbing
motion at her stomach. "I know, my stomach told me we did."
"Aye," she nodded, "three now, three more later.
That's how I saw it." Then she paused to look around the empty sea,
"We should come to it a' for the next turn," she decided.
"Come to what?" David asked her.
"The dragon's breath, of course," she answered
absently.
David released the grip of one hand on the rail and used it to
pull the scroll from of his shirt. Then he struggled to unroll it with the
single hand; but the roll was too embodied in the parchment, and kept snapping
back to its former shape. He finally gave up and released the other hand long enough
to pull the thing open, then quickly wrapped the arm back around the rail from
the elbow to the pit, leaving the hand free to hold it open. He scanned the
lines that were drawn on it and determined that the black one must be solid
ground. "But the map shows the dragon on the land," he looked around,
"there hasn't been any land in sight for hours," he shook his head.
"The land is here. We'll come to it, you'll see."
"Soon, I hope," Rose moaned under her breath.
With neither compass nor sexton to chart the course, the little
boat pushed on with only the wind as their guide, and the weary passengers sat
helpless, waiting anxiously for "it" to appear. Though the time was
some unknown hour of late fall, when the air should have had a colder bite, the
sun felt strangely hot out in that ocean as the sea grew more calm. Rose pulled
the warm scarf from around her neck, and wetting it over the side of the boat,
replaced it to drip over her shoulders and back. She leaned again to splash her
face with sea water, and stopped mid splash. The air had changed, and the wind
that pushed them along had stopped. The sails gradually deflated, until they
hung down limp from the mast. In a hurried panic, she straightened up to looked
around and see if the others had noticed; but they were looking in a direction
past the sea, with eyes fixed as though entranced.
She stood up to see, but rather, felt it instead; and knew it was
a friend that was with them. It was the warm breeze she'd come to know by its
touch on her cheek, and the fluttering of hairs across her brow. The rustling
of canvas only whispered a moan, as it filled the sails with warm air; then the
boat gently turn in that direction. The others turned to meet the direction, so
she peered from between them to see what they saw in the sea.
A fiery red glow shining up through the water, looked so
distorted by the motion of the sea, that it looked like some creature waiting
deep beneath the waves. As they moved closer to it, she could see more clearly
that it was a canyon filled with molten lava, weaving through a black shelf of
rock, not too far under the water. The closer they drifted over it, the more
apparent it became that the shape did, in fact, resemble the Crimson Dragon
Crest; with wide spread wings and all. The walls of the canyon seemed to rise
up from under very quickly, until there was just barely enough room for the
boat to slip easily between them. She couldn't see where the canyon would lead
them, though, for a heavy white mist had formed in their path. The canyon
veered once very gently, then it veered again more sharply, taking them through
three arch tunnels of giant granite rocks. As the last rock was passed, the
canyon walls gently rose up from the water on either side above the rails of
the boat. They rose higher and higher, still; until they were so high, they
just disappeared into the snowy mist. The canyon abruptly stopped in a solid
wall of granite.
Only a small slip and a dock was left for the little boat to
drift into. The boat drifted as far as it could into it, and moored itself next
to the smooth surface. Naoma raised her right arm slowly, pointing at a crevice
in the granite wall beyond.
"Avalon," she said.
David stepped up out from the boat and stood on the dock with
sword at his side. He raised it in front of him at bent elbow and firmly
gripped the hilt with both of his hands. The women each climbed out and stood
on either side of him; each slipping one hand around an elbow. He turned his
face down to Naoma, who returned his look with a nod. He nodded back, then to
his mother, who repeated the gesture, so he returned the same. Still holding
the sword in that upright position, and with a woman on either arm, he lead
their journey through the chasm, and whatever lay beyond.
It was a short journey; lasting only a mere one hundred passes,
where it opened into a grassy place. It was enclosed all round by the granite
cliff, and sealed by the snowy white mist. The look resembled the crystal
cavern and the chamber hidden deep in the abbey; though, the scale was far
grander than imaginable. In those places where the stalagmites jutted up around
the cavern, and the broken slabs lay in the hidden chamber, stood monolithic
slabs of cold black marble, finely polished to a glossy sheen. Together they
suspended a single slab of crystal, a full twenty feet over than their heads.
In all, the entire structure formed a perfectly circular crystal table suitable
for giants to sit at.
They walked between two of the monolith, passing under the
crystal table to the middle of the hole that centered it. A far smaller marble
slab lay embedded in the grass, sticking up about a foot above that. Atop that
was erected a similar table. Though a much reduced replica of the first, it
still stood nine feet to the top; and looked like a stage for some ceremonial
right, with a canopy suspended overhead.
David stepped one foot onto the slab and the warm breeze stirred
with the song, so the women released his arms. As he leaned forward to mount
the stage, the voice began to thunder even louder than before. "A King is
come," it said, again, "and the Sword is risen. The Land and the King
are One." Then the mist that hung above them, parted at the center over
the hole in the middle of the table. The sunlight shot through it to meet the
giant circle of crystal, and the voice thundered a final edict to all.
"The Crest marks the Right," it echoed off the granite; and at that
very moment, the sunlight bore through both of the crystals, so the beam of
light shot down between his feet.
The women were startled and alarmed by the blaze; they clung each
to the other and trembled. But David didn't stir, nor did he even seemed to
notice that the marble between his feet was aflame. He just stood there, erect
and poised, with the sword still raised in that same position; his face turned
skyward as though in some sacred, hypnotic prayer.
Soon, the snowy mist closed off the peephole and the sun slipped
off behind it, then the light retracted back into the crystals. The blaze, at
last, subsided, to leave a small hole in the marble for David to stick a finger
into, and bring out a magnificent gold ring. It bore the new Coat of Arms for
the bearer of the right; then the voice and the song were gone.
He turned to face the women, and stepping down from the stage,
seemed much older, though nothing about him had really changed. Rose frowned as
she searched his eyes for some sign of the little boy she'd known as David. He
touched her cheek with the palm of his hand and smiled ever so sweetly,
"Don't fear, mother, all is as it should be." She gasped and smiled
back warmly, for the touch upon her cheek, was of that warm breeze she was
trusting more each day. She felt his hand with hers, for just a little
reassurance, that it was real - and not the breeze from in the cave. She knew
it was him when she felt his warm flesh; and counted all of the long fingers,
as if he were a newborn, again. Encircling the longest of those fingers, was
the ring that bore the emblem of the New Crest - the Seal of the New King. The
shield and chevron were similar to the one it bore before, but now, a Crimson
Dragon stood in the middle of the point. The hind foot was poised just above
the chalice, as though he had just emerged from within.
An unexpected voice rang out from the chasm back behind them.
"Saints and dragons be praised!" it said, in a cheerful sort of way.
"I was beginning to think you'd never show up." They turned to see an
elderly gent, in a black robe, covering to his toes. It flowed as he walked,
like his feathery white hair, and billowed like a full sail. He lumbered along,
with his walking tall staff, in their general direction. He halted frequently
in his stride, to plant the stick for balance, and shake one limb, and then
another, or stretch out the kinks of his spine. "It's amazing how quickly
old bodies cramp up when stuck in crystal for a while," he groaned the
last few steps.
His black eyes scanned over each of their hands, until they spied
the Crest on the boy. "Ah, you must be my David," he said, pointing
to the ring. "I've been waiting for you to find your way here." He
moved a few steps closer and bent his head back to see the boys face; but he
only stood barely five foot high, and David's six-five proved too much of a
strain on the old neck. "Oh, my. I dare say such a giant should have no
problem wielding Excalibur," he gloated, "I must've done good for
once. You're certainly big enough," he called up in his direction, to make
sure his voice carried vast distance. He looked around and sighed, "You
would think that on an island of rock you might find at least one suitable for
sitting." He moved closer to the stage and turned around, "Ah
well," he said, poising himself over the slab, "I don't suppose
anyone will mind too much if I borrow the thrown." He laid a hand on the
slab and using the staff for ballast, flopped his butt on top of it.
"Ahhh," he sighed with excellent relief.
"One good sit is worth a lifetime of standing." He
tried to look at David's face again. "Oh," he groaned, "sit down
where I can see you, boy, before my neck snaps off at the quick."
David sat with his long legs folded in front of him in the grass.
"Are you Merlin?" he asked at last.
"Well, of course I'm Merlin," he answered haughtily. He
swiped a hand from his brow back over the balding part of his scalp, until he
felt the few wispy circle of silvery strands which hung to his waist.
"Well, what's left of him, anyway. A mere ghost of his former self, it
seems; but enough to cope with the task at hand."
"And the task is...?" David prodded.
Merlin sat straight, "Why, to whip you into shape,
boy," he said, leaning over to offer him a manly slap on the back.
"Oo, you really are a big boy," he diverted the topic briefly
squeezing the boys shoulder. "I like that, you'll need it for what lies
ahead."
"Like what?" David shrugged his shoulders.
"Like wars to quell," he said holding up one bony
finger, "people to lead, battles to fight, and victories to win. Ha,
ha!" A wave of his arms added punctuation to the list. "You didn't
think it would only amount to a ring and a sword, did you. That's only a
formality. Your work has yet to begin." He paused for a moment to
reminisce, "How like my Arthur you are. I called him Wart, when he was
young. I've forgotten why. He never listened; not before it was too late, that
is. I warned him to about your grandfather and Guinevere; but, he was too blind
with lust to listen."
"My grandfather?"
"Well, I suppose you would call him a great, great, great,
great...," he paused to add up the "greats" for a bit,
"ugh, great many grandfather. A fine and noble knight, he was. His heart
pulsated with valor. The best of the best. No truer man ever lived, but even he
would fall to love's jagged sword."
"Lancelot was one of my grandfather." the boy said with
pride and disbelief.
"Did you think nothing would come of that little romp in the
woods?" he asked. Then raising his eyebrows, added, "You would know
better than that."
"So, there was a child," Rose muttered with an absence
of mind; thus, satisfied with a confirmation of her long time suspicions,
"and he must be the one called, Ivan."
"Yes, Madam. But Ivan was to close to the transgression to
be king, I'd already made that mistake one too many times. His blood was tainted,
and had to be purified for a thousand years before his line could take the
throne."
"A thousand years?" She thought back through the line
of Pools to her father, "but I have brothers with sons. Why are they not
here instead of me?"
"Your brothers all started with the pure heart; but like the
others, fell to the ways of darkness. Now, none but your son can be trusted
with the task. I tested the eldest of your fathers line for five hundred years,
they had a chance to be noble; but they squandered it."
"You tested them?"
"Oh yes, with the toughest tests I could conger to tempt the
devil out of hiding. You were tested more than any of the others; I tempted
your every weakness. You don't imagine you won that money by chance, do you?
That was final your test of true heart. I had to know if you would be the one
who had the strength to fight him off when you were at your most weakest and
vulnerable, or if you would give in to temptation and use the gift foolishly.
She thought back on how she'd spent the money she'd won. From the
motor home to the stable. She'd worked at her old job and honored commitments
while the stables were being built. She searched for people in need of work and
someplace to live to hire and set up medical accounts for them and her parents,
so they would never want for help when they needed it.
Merlin saw through her thoughts. "You see, you could've just
taken off in that little motor home you bought, and lived out the rest of your
days on your winnings," he reminded her, "but instead, you built an
empire for your son and his child. In doing so, you touched the lives of those
who had given up on hope, and instilled in them the meaning of right.
Then he stood with a groan and directed his attention to David.
"Do you know who you are now?" he ask him plainly.
David considered his mother before he answered, "Yes. I
think, I must have always known, in my heart."
"Then my work is finished here. It's time for you to get
back and set the world to rights again."
"But how?" he asked. "I can't walk up to people
flash my sword and say "I'm the new king of the world."
"Why not, it worked for Arthur and his father," he
said, adjusting himself for the stand.
David stood up first and offered his hand, "Because most or
the world is democratic now, and they don't believe in kings, for one
thing."
"What barbarians!" he snorted, and accepted the hand.
"They hold an election and vote on a presidents who only serves for a
short time," he informed him, pulling him to his feet.
He adjusted his robe and straightened his back, "Never
confuse the task at hand with unimportant details," he cuffed him
verbally. "They confound the brain and muddy the vision. The realm will
forever be cluttered with would be kings, both good and bad. You must sort them
out. Choose between the best of them. Then bring them together by proving
yourself worthy of their allegiance, after; as Arthur did. That's what king are
for. One who unites many to defeat evil."
He thought about the different wars being waged throughout the
world, "Where would I start?" he said more to himself than to Merlin.
"You could start by putting an end that infernal bickering
in Belfast," he suggested, "and that fracas with the Holy
Lands."
"The IRA and Iran? That's a tall order. What can I do to put
that to an end to all of that? I don't even know why they fight."
"Only greed can spawn war. Two sides want the same thing and
neither is willing to share. The soldiers in Belfast want their lands and freedom
from tyranny and persecution and the English want to claim possession of all
that they can. Force their allegiance to the crown. When will man learn that
ally means friend. It's a loosing battle for concerned. You must teach them
this, by giving both sides what they want."
"How?"
"They're all seasoned warriors, aren't they. Enlist them
into your army."
"But, I don't have an army," David reminded him.
"You will when they see the sword."
David put his hands on his hips and cock his head to one side
impatiently and said, "Merlin, things have changed a lot since Arthur's
time.
"Are you so sure?"
"Troops don't fight with sword and shield, anymore. They use
M-60's and antitank cannons - and ballistic missiles when things get serious. I
know, I carry these monsters around on drill," he tried to explain.
"Nobodies going to follow a nut with a sword."
"Really. Then what do you call that?" He waved his
staff toward a marble monolith. It began to glow and flicker like a television
screen, until the picture came into view. They saw Queens army passing into
view; reaching for swords to salute her. The picture flickered and he saw The
US Marine Corps in parade dress with sabers drawn, and a leader marched in
front with saber drawn to call commands. Then other pillars began flickering,
until each one glowed with animated troops armed with sword rapier, bayonet and
scimitar from countries around the globe; each following the one sword that led
them. David passed from one to another in an awed state. "The good knight
will always follow the strongest blade, my boy, and Excalibur is the greatest
of them all," Merlin told him.
"Where are the Irish troops? What sword do they
follow?"
Merlin turned silently, head bowed toward his feet, and walked in
the direction of the chasm. "The Irish lost their most precious sword.
They took up the lance of Murdered," he finally answered sadly; "but
they, too, were beguiled by that self serving witch, Morgana," he added,
leading them through the narrow crevasse. "They've always been much too
fanciful," his voice echoed through the chasm, "and far too eager for
a fight. When she called upon the dragon breath to weave a mist around them,
they saw only what they wanted to see. Such an alliance was inevitable."
As they reached the dock, David held the sword up in his hand, to
admire its brightness in the dull light. "You think they'll follow
Excalibur, to reclaim what Morgana stole away, don't you." he said.
"But, how will I convince them to follow me?"
Merlin looked in Naoma's general direction, as though he expected
the answer for there. The others followed his gaze, but to Naoma's surprise,
she suddenly discovered that it lead right to her. She grew increasingly
uncomfortable, being the center of everybody's attention, and began to fidget
and try to shrivel herself up into a tiny, obscure, pole. Failing to respond to
her cue, Merlin poked her with her own prod, "If the Irish are nothing
else," he said slyly, "they're loyal to their own".
Her eyes grew wide, like enormous green saucers. She had hoped
her part in all of this was over. Her visions didn't go past her journey to
Avalon; but judging from the looks on the faces of her companions, her
involvement had not yet begun to be realized. Reluctantly accepting her
inevitable fate, she heaved one weary sigh. "Aye," she nodded
laboriously, "guess I'm in the thick of it now."
Merlin patted her back, and stood away for them to climb into the
boat. When they were seated, he raised the staff and made a gesture with his
empty hand. The boat slowly began to move, drifting slowly away from the dock.
David suddenly leapt to his feet and leaning dangerously out over
the rail, reached for the wizards hand. "Merlin!" he frantically
called out, "Aren't you coming with me? Don't go, please! I can't do this
without you! Merlin!"
"Be still," he scolded, "Sit down. You'll do well
enough when it is time. I'm there when you have need of me; and here when you
return," he assured. "Now rest for a bit. Sleep, and trust in the
dragon wings to carry you home." His voice was melodious and hypnotic.
"Sleep. . ., sleep. . .," it sang, in a rhythm like the motion of a
wing. Soon their eyelids closed with a will of their own, and their heads felt
heavy on weak spines. They laid themselves down, where ever they were, and
drifted away, into dream filled sleep, with the tide.
When she awoke, it was late morning. She was in her own bed.
Though vaguely familiar, it seemed she had not slept in it for a very long
time. She couldn't remember having fallen asleep. The last thought she could
remember, had something to do with her son.
Looking at her surroundings, she spied the VCR. A tape was
sticking out of the slot, where it had ejected to once it rewound and shut
itself off. Her television was sitting where it had been mounted with a bungy
cord strap, a few years ago; the screen blank after it had shut itself off.
She rolled over, and there, lying next to her where she had left
it when she fell asleep, was the laptop computer she had bought with one of
those $300 certificates the Publishers Clearinghouse sends as a
"consolation prize" too losers. It had shut itself off, like
everything else in her world, when it thought it wasn't needed anymore. The lid
was still open, so she flipped it back on to see what she had been working on
was still stored in the memory. She pressed the <CODE and <GOTO keys, and
the <RELOCATE key to move the cursor to the last page she'd typed. After
several seconds, the screen went past the last page to a blank one, so she
scrolled back until she could read the entire last paragraph she'd written:
"In a flash, and a
flurry of flowers and balloons, people scurried to climb out of their rigs.
Then the microphones and the cameras and the umbrellas galore, were most
strategically placed. Once all were assembled where they wanted to be, best to
capture the moment on film, an impeccably groomed gentleman opened the door and
stepping out from the first van onto the muddy drive, sank, an ankle deeper
than his shiny leather shoes, into the pothole his driver had stupidly parked
in.
Undaunted by the gooey
stuff, or the rain soaking his blazer, he smiled cheerfully and
enthusiastically extended to her his right arm. "Congratulations, Ms.
Pool," he announced, reaching for her hand, "you're our $10,000,000.00
Publishers Clearinghouse 1998 Grand Cash Prize Winner." Then shaking her
hand proudly, passed her an over sized and very soggy certificate while the
cameras recorded the event.
Then a reporter darted in
with his microphone armed, and asking, "how do you feel now, Ms.
Pool?" he asked with an air of "as if I didn't", and shoved the
drippy stick in her face. All waited for the answer, wondering if an original
might be said; but Ms. Pools eyes suddenly rolled back up into their sockets as
she melted, unconscious, in the mud."
She filed the piece in memory and saved it on the floppy disk
before pulling up the calendar from the main menu. The cursor blinked on
Monday, January 26, 1998. Evidently, Super Bowl Sunday had come and gone
without her, for she had spent the latter half of that day and night dreaming
about what it would be like to actually win all that money. There had been no
vans, no rush of news reporters, no mad flurry of balloons and flowers, no
oversized certificate for $10 million, and no P-Bar Boarding Stable. There was
only the old gray, "RV want-a-be" van, the yellow mobile home with
the breathtaking view, the nasty, swampy road traversing and weaving its way to
the highway, and the thunderous rain beating down on it all.
There was one thing from her dreams that was still real, though.
A book of the Pool lineage was opened to the page of an illustrated Coat of
Arms. There on the white page was the blue shield and chevron, but with one
slight difference from the actual registry. In the hollow of the chevron, where
the matching Fleur-de-lis had been living for ten centuries, was a silver
chalice, instead.
-The End-