|
Sir Lionel led his mount down the steep hillside, toward the stream gleaming between the trees. He didn't look very knightly,
as he had fallen upon hard times in recent months, and most of his armour had been sold off to pay for his food and lodging
at the cheapest wayside inns along the road.
"I guess times are hard for you too, old fellow," he murmured, as he stroked the velvety nose of his horse.
"I lead you to water, and never have any trouble getting you to drink. Poor Apollo, sometimes it's the only way to fill
your belly. Never mind, old lad, we'll be down out of these mountains before sundown, and you'll have all the grass and sweet
clover you can eat. I wish I could say the same for my supper, but there may be a fish in that stream."
After another hour, they reached the valley below, and stopped on the bank of the small stream. Sir Lionel let Apollo
drink first, and as the horse turned away to graze on the lush pasture, he dipped his helmet into the stream, and proceeded
to drink his fill. The tiny minnows darting through the shallows would not be sufficient to fill his stomach even if he could
somehow catch them all, so he sighed and resigned himself to another hungry night.
Deciding that he may as well absorb extra water through his skin, he stripped off his chain mail shirt and stretched out
in the water. As he soaked, he remembered the good old days when it would have taken him over half an hour and the help of
his squire to remove all his body armour.
He had cut a striking figure in his dazzling armour, with the scarlet plume flying proudly from his crested helmet. His
squire kept his armour well polished, and it gleamed silver in the sunlight as he rode in the joust, with the ladies pressing
their favours upon him.
But then disaster had struck. The old King had died in battle with no legitimate heir to succeed him, and the Kingdom
had been left to the tender mercies of the Black Baron. Good decent knights like Sir Lionel had become pariahs as the bottom
fell out of the chivalry business, and the black Baron's henchmen had dispersed their numbers to the four corners of the ruined
kingdom.
"I'll not work for the scurvy mongrel who slaughtered my King in battle," growled Sir Cedric, as they rode away
from the blackened castle, now boasting the black and gold flag of Baron Dunsmore from the highest tower.
"Where will you go" asked Sir Lionel.
"I'm getting a little old to be riding into battle again. I have family in the north, so I will settle down to the
life of a country gentleman, and raise cattle." Sir Lionel could see that his old comrade in arms wasn't enamoured of
the idea, but forbore to comment.
"I shall head south," he declared. "There are tales of a boy King who needs good honest knights to help
him establish a peaceful Kingdom, so I shall seek my fortunes in that direction."
Coming to the fork in the road, Sir Cedric bade his friend farewell and turned northward, while Sir Lionel set off south
to seek this new Kingdom, though his progress became very slow, as Apollo cast a shoe, so couldn't be ridden. Odd jobs which
he found along the way barely covered his food and lodging, leaving none to spare for blacksmith's fees.
Rising from the water, he brought his mind back to the present and, pulling on his few clothes, walked across to where
Apollo, now replete with fresh grass, was waiting patiently beside the stream.
"Stick with it, Apollo, old fellow. We'll reach the border in a few days, and then I can apply for a good job with
a nice warm stable for you, and all the oats you can wish for. And you'll have the finest set of shoes that a horse ever
wore."
As they journeyed further south, they heard more tales of the young King and his court, stirring tales indeed, of wizards
and round tables and a golden castle called Camelot. Lionel became even more eager to reach the kingdom and offer his knightly
services to the young King.
At last, one morning as they topped a rise in the ground, they saw it, the golden castle shining in the sunlight across
the long valley. The sight seemed to put new spirit into Apollo, and he almost pulled Sir Lionel along in his eagerness to
reach this beautiful vision, as if he could see the stable with fresh hay and the manger filled with oats.
Right on midday, they ran into a party of horsemen also heading for the castle, and Sir Lionel approached them and asked
politely, "Good sirs, can you tell me if this is the Castle Camelot?"
"And who wants to know?" growled a surly old fellow with a short grizzled beard and a fierce eye. "What
does such a down-at-heel rider want with Camelot?"
"I am Sir Lionel of the Loch, and who might you be, to answer a polite question with an inquisition?"
"I am the King's right hand man, Sir Bedivere, and this is Camelot. Now answer my question."
Before Sir Lionel could utter another word, one of the other members of the King's party pushed forward and came to a
halt squarely between the two. It was obvious at first sight that he was no Knight, as the long white beard and hair and
flowing brown robes proclaimed. His feet were shod in leather sandals of a type Sir Lionel had never seen before, and his
deep blue eyes blazed with the light of sapphires, with power emanating from his whole being. "Let us stop this right
here. Sir Bedivere, this is no welcome for King Arthur's champion."
"Champion?" The older Knight was scandalised. "Merlin, I am the King's champion! He is a stranger.
By what right does he claim my title, without even a formal challenge?"
"By the right of history itself," Merlin thundered. "I have seen it, seen the friendship that he and the
King will share, seen the battles they will win, seen the heartaches they will endure. The legends that they will weave will
live for as long as the earth itself endures."
Sir Lionel up to now had been a silent spectator to this duel of words, but now spoke up. "But Sir Bedivere is right,
good Sir Merlin. I am a stranger to you, yet you speak of my destiny as one who knows. Pray tell me what is going on here?"
"I am Merlin, the King's sorcerer, and I have seen the future, and can remember it with more ease than you can remember
last week. You came here to offer your services to the King, and he will accept your loyalty, and together you will accomplish
brave deeds. Yet there is one thing that troubles me. Your name, Sir Lionel of the Loch. That is not the name I see in
your future. And we already have one Sir Lionel at court, so that won't do. If you wish to fulfil your destiny, then you
must change your name.
"There, it is decided. Now it only remains to select the name by which you will be known for eternity. The "Loch"
part will have to go of course, it is too hard for anybody south of the border to pronounce. I see you carry a fine straight
lance, Sir Knight, so why not Lancelot of the Lake?" With a twinkle in his eye, Merlin said, "That is the name
I have known you by since before you were born, and there is no use arguing it."
Turning to the golden castle before them, he beckoned to the newly named Knight. "Come with me, Sir Lancelot, and
meet your new King, destiny awaits you."
© Sandy Parkinson, November 2007. Word count 1336
|
