THE SHIELD OF LOCKSLEY
PART iv KING PELLINORE'S TALE
King Arthur and Balin
iv KING PELLINORE’S TALE
Pellinore looked at Guinevere, smiling through his food and then nodded slowly. He tore a bite of stale bread, dipping it in his watered wine, sucking on it briefly before wiping his mouth on his sleeve. He looked at the two girls, and nodded again. A part of him wondered if the girls might be too sensitive, and then he gave a light chuckle as he remembered he was taking them to find husbands.
He looked at Guinevere again.
“This is Gwenellyn, my niece. My sister’s daughter,” he added. Guinevere smiled at the girl briefly, and then turned back to look at Pellinore. Servants entered the pavilion and began to pack things up, to make room. Gwenellyn and Miriam were able to stretch their legs, like the girl’s they were. They both looked at Pellinore and waited.
“Are you going to tell us?” Guinevere asked.
“The Delorous Stroke?”
“Is that what you call it?” she asked.
“I don’t call it that,” he smiled. “That’s Myrddin’s wording. He was always the one to come up with those things—a name for this, and a name for that, as Lam always says. He called his own crypt the Crystal Cave. He never told any of us where it was, so we don’t even know if he’s really dead, do we? I suppose not having seen him in years is a good indicator, but he was older than dirt when first we met, so he must be. Or so one would think, right?”
“And what does he have to do with any of this?” Guinevere asked.
“You never did like him, did you?” Pellinore smiled.
“And why would I?”
“Was he wrong? About anything he may have said? Was he wrong? Balin fought with King Pellam because he killed the King’s brother, and Pellam was determined to have his revenge. He broke Balin’s sword.”
“Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself?” Miriam asked, having heard the story too many times for her liking.
“What? Maybe,” he said, laughing. “You’re right. I’m sorry,” he said, looking at Guinevere. “Sometimes I get distracted. It seems that my mind is always somewhere else these days.”
“Try starting from where you left off,” Guinevere said.
“I would, if I knew where that was.”
“I can tell you exactly where it was,” Guinevere smiled. “You left off with such purpose, I’ll always remember that last time. You said it was my Lord husband, the King, with whom Balin had been last seen. But then, he’d set off with such mad intent—or so you said—in pursuit of that knight who refused to pay homage to my Lord husband, the King. Balin, being the good knight that he was, had set off to right the course—or words to that effect,” she said with her perfect smile.
“Ah, that it was,” Pellinore smiled. “ ‘Words to that effect’. The knight had approached Arthur, but refused to halt and salute the King. Arthur would’ve set off in pursuit himself, but he’d taken ill that morning—”
“No doubt, something he ate,” Guinevere smiled.
“One would think that, but for the fact that his Squire and Footmen drew ill as well. And it so chanced that Balin came along a short time later, and stopped because he recognized the King’s flag where it fluttered above his pavilion. There the king’s Squire met with him, hunched over and wrapped in a heavy fur, shivering; as well as his Footmen. Balin found Arthur inside the pavilion resting on his pallet where he heard the King’s complaint. Balin told Arthur he’d right the insult and bring the man back, either willingly, or by force if he must, and set off immediately in search of the man.”
“Of course he did. And let the heaven’s condemn any man for not paying homage to the King,” Guinevere scoffed.
“Is that not as it should be?” Pellinore asked.
“In your world, perhaps,” she said, forcing a smile. “But is anything the way it should be?”
“Seldom.”
There was a moment of silence that seemed to drag on, and Gwenellyn smiled and said, “Perhaps Uncle, if you actually spoke the words out loud?” she said.
Guinevere tried not to laugh.
“Pelly!” she said, and the old man jumped, startled.
“It was at the internment of good King Lot—”
“Good King?” Guinevere interrupted.
“Did you know him?” Pellinore asked. “Did you fight with him? Did you Squire with him, as I did? If he was a good man, it follows that he was a good king. And fuck he was a good man. I wept for him. I’ve wept for a great many in my day. It tells me that I can still love, knowing that I can cry.”
“Wept for him?” Guinevere asked. “You killed him,” she pointed out.
“Would it were that simple,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “Still, those of us who knew him came to praise the man and all he stood for. He kept his keep well-stocked for the winter. His peasants didn’t freeze to death. The livestock were tended; the coops sealed tight. There was enough wood with the forest close by that the castle walls could be extended. And then the war came and we all chose our sides, except, the kings nominated Lot to lead them. He waged a war that lasted ten years. It was a Greek tragedy right from the outset.”
“What does that mean?” Miriam asked.
“A catastrophe.”
“I don’t know what that is, either.”
“A shit-show,” he said.
He ran a hand though his beard and looked at his wine goblet. He reached for the wine pitcher and filled his goblet. His hand was shaking. The wine was sour and burnt the back of his throat, but he drank it anyway. He’d had worse. His hand was still shaking.
“What’s wrong?” Guinevere asked.
“What do you mean, what’s wrong?”
“Your hand? It’s shaking. Can’t you feel it?”
“It will go away. It always does.”
“You’ve had this before?”
She reached out and grabbed Pellinore’s arm, squeezing the forearm. He could feel the muscles in his arm contracting, like the pulsing beat of an animal’s heart. He looked up at her, knowing she felt the same constrictions, and tried to pull his arm away, but she held him tight.
He looked at her and tried to speak, but couldn’t form his words. He tried to stand, but stumbled, clutching his arm and trying to roll to the side. He was falling, and there was nothing he could do to stop himself. He was grateful it was in a pavilion, and not the cold, unforgiving, stone heart, that is Camelot.
“Uncle!” Gwenellyn screamed.
