Merlin's Gold

Merlin's Gold - Chapter 4 - Tristan's Legacy

Chapter 4 – Tristan's Legacy

Merlin stayed at Tintagel Castle for several weeks as the plans for the forthcoming trip were put into action. As far as the townsfolk were aware, their King, his son and grandson, had been invited to Camelot for a royal ball, and Merlin had travelled down to check his cave which ran underneath the castle. The official story also ran that Arthur, on a Kingly whim, had asked Mark to bring along some of the famous tin miners of the region so they could provide him with a short tunnel under Camelot that could be used as a wine cellar.

Percival had been put to task sorting out equipment and supplies they might need, but Grayle had found himself at a loose end.

For several days, he had found himself wandering out along the headland to a secluded spot atop the cliff. Sheltered by wind twisted trees, it offered a level grassed area perfect for his training.

On the third day of preparations, he jogged to the clearing, loosened his shoulders in the clear morning air, and began practicing strokes with a long sword. The only sounds for a time were the keening cries of the gulls in the morning air, the faint swish of metal slicing through the sunlight, and the soughing of the wind through the branches of the beech trees behind him. It was utterly peaceful, and he was so engrossed in his sword work, and trying to remember what both Percival and Father Tristan had taught him, that he almost dropped his sword when a discreet cough announced Camlan's presence.

"Your grandfather thought perhaps you could do with a little company," the man said as he movedout from the cover of a newly budded copper beech.

Grayle lowered his sword and watched the man approach. He was about thirty, of average height and build, but moved like one of the big cats Grayle had once seen in a circus. His dark hair was greying at the temples slightly, and Grayle realised he reminded him of Percival. There was the same sense of tightly leashed aggression, but he was obviously highly trained in the use of weapons, or he would not be in Mark's employ.

"I always welcome company," said Grayle quietly. "Although I also enjoy my own."

"As it should be," noted Camlan. "You seem very at ease with yourself for a young man."

Grayle looked at him questioningly, an eyebrow raised.

"Your father mentioned you were devout," he explained. "He also mentioned you knew Tristan. From what I have seen of you, it appears he taught you well."

"You knew Father Tristan?" Grayle said.

"No, I knew Tristan," corrected Camlan. "He became a servant of Christ after I knew him. He joined Bishop Brian's 'Army of God' and marched to the Holy Land, helping to protect the clergy and pilgrims as a Church Knight. But when I knew him he was Uther's Champion. Once Arthur inherited the throne he was no longer needed. Then, to me, he was simply Tristan. A good man, a bonny fighter, and a bit of a reprobate too," he said with a wry smile. "He also taught me."

"He died," said Grayle simply. "In the last battle we fought against the tribes in the north. He saved Percival when we ran into a group of marauding tribesmen. Tristan was outnumbered, armed with nothing but a quarterstaff, and waded into a group of five of them. He almost made it too, but one of them went berserk and wouldn't go down. The man was all but dead and treading on his own entrails when he killed Tristan. Percival had opened him up, but had taken a blow to the head and had gone down. Tristan was the only thing that stood in his way."

Grayle bowed his head, studying the grip of his sword. "I was too late." He said quietly. "My arrow took the man through the throat, but not before he had run Tristan through. He died in my arms."

Camlan stepped forward and put his hand on the boy's shoulder. "I knew him well enough to know he would be proud of what you did when the raiders attacked the Castle the other day. Sometimes things happen that you have no control over. You must not, and should not, blame yourself for his death."