'Help? How do you mean?'
Merlin told him. He told him everything-everything Gwen had said, everything that he'd done.
And Arthur stood there, trying to take it all in.
'You're saying . . . you're saying that she really saved your life.'
'No,' said Merlin, positioning the throw pillow under his head. 'I'm not saying that. I'll be double damned if I'd ever admit that I needed anyone's help to fight my battles. However, if you say it, I won't contradict it.' He stared up at the ceiling. 'I was wrong about her, Arthur.'
'No, Merlin.' Arthur sat across from him. 'You were right. You said she wasn't trustworthy, and you were right.'
Merlin shook his head. 'Her actions were not dishonorable, Arthur. Merely unfortunate.
Mistakes, if you prefer. But I've known you to pull one or two boners in your time. Everything that your precious Gwen DeVere did, she did out of a sense of loyalty to someone to whom she had once sworn loyalty. She was certain no lasting harm would come to you. She was betrayed by Morgan in that respect. As I recall, Morgan pulled the wool over your eyes more than one time. As a matter of fact, Modred would never have existed if-'
'I . . . gather your point, Merlin,' said Arthur sheepishly. 'So that horrid Lance of hers is gone?'
'Not at all. He's over there.'
Arthur turned. A small rat was in a corner of the room, sitting under the television set. He was watching the two of them intently, his little nose quivering.
'What are you going to do with him?' asked Arthur. 'Feed him to a cobra?' His eyes narrowed. 'You're not going to restore him, are you?'
'Oh, Arthur, even if I could, I don't know if I would. But I have no idea what spell Morgan used to change him into a rat. It could take years to find.' He sighed. 'No, I'm going to keep him in a little cage. He'll be comfortable enough. He'll even have company-Gladys.'
'What, the former receptionist?' Arthur looked surprised. 'I thought you'd fed her to our new receptionist.'
'What, and waste a perfectly good shrew? Phawgh. You never know when she's going to come in handy. No, she's safe and sound at home. And I'm certain she's going to adore her new little friend.'
They were silent for a time, and then Arthur said, 'Merlin? How can I trust her loyalty to me now?'
Merlin snorted. 'Good God, Arthur, that woman went through all manner of hell, on the remote chance that she'd win your favor back. Even though her motives were, in a way, honorable, she was still remorseful over what she'd done. She risked life and limb to win you back by undoing the results of her handiwork.'
Arthur shook his head. 'I can't believe some of the things she was capable of.'
'Neither can I,' admitted Merlin. 'Frankly, I suspect she couldn't either. I never thought, Wart, that I would be trying to talk you into taking that woman back. But I owe you my honest opinion, and I will tell you this, Arthur-I would stake my immortal soul on the loyalty of Gwen DeVere.'
Arthur sat there, square jawed, and then said, 'Can I see her?'
'Of course. She's in your bedroom.'
Arthur got up and went into the bedroom. There, stretched out on the bed, was Gwen. There was an ugly bruise on her forehead, and her clothes had the same smoke discoloration as Merlin's. But she was there, and she was sound and whole. Arthur went to her side and took her hand. Her chest rose and fell steadily in sleep. 'Gwen?' he said gently, shaking her shoulder.
From the doorway Merlin said, 'You're wasting your time, Arthur. As near as I can tell, she was taking some sort of pills to keep herself going. You can only do that to yourself for so long before your body just says, 'Enough.' She's going to sleep for quite some time, I would say. There's not a single thing that you could say or do that would bring her around.'
Arthur glanced at Merlin and then back at Gwen. Then he sat next to her on the bed, squeezed her hand and said, in a voice full of love and affection, 'Gwen, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?'
Gwen's eyes fluttered open. 'Yes.'
Merlin sighed and shook his head. 'Women!'
Chaptre the Nineteenth
The horses thundered toward each other, hooves kicking up clods of dirt. On their backs the two armored knights, lances firmly in place, were intent on each other's approach. The sun glinted down on their shields, and the crowd roared as they met. The lance of the knight with the blue plume in his helm shattered against the shield of the other jouster, and a cheer went up. The other knight, in the red plume, was the good guy.
The horses reached the opposite ends of the field, and the blue-plumed knight was handed a new lance. He spun his horse, shook a fist at his opponent, and the crowd booed the unsportsmanlike gesture.
It was a beautiful day for a joust on the fields of the Cloisters. Standing within a mile of the jousting field was a castle that housed tapestries and pieces of lovely artwork. Stretched out around the Cloisters was parkland bordered by the Henry Hudson Parkway, and 183rd Street up to 210th Street. It was a little bit of another century staking a claim against the encroachment of this century.
The knights were members of a performing troupe that produced medieval fairs on a regular basis around the country. But this particular medieval fair was for a very special occasion-a celebration, a party to which all of New York City had been invited. And it was to celebrate the election of Arthur Penn to the high office of mayor of New York City.
A reviewing stand erected on the edge of the jousting field had been deliberately designed to look like something out of an ancient tournament. There was a box down front in which the royalty was supposed to sit, and Arthur had very cheerfully and willingly taken his place there, Gwen at his side. Gwen was stunning in a long white gown and a small crown with sparkling jewels on her head. Next to her sat Arthur, looking as if he'd stepped from another time. He was dressed in full chain mail. The main garment was called a hauberk, sort of a nightshirt made out of chain mail that hung to his knees, the skirt slit up the middle almost to the waist. Underneath the hauberk was a padded tunic to prevent the mail from digging into his chest. His leggings were mail tights called chaussures, tied just below his knee with a wide strip of cloth. Over the hauberk Arthur wore a white surcoat-a sleeveless white garment that had no collar or sleeves. It was split up the sides and laced up from the waist to the armpit. The long skirts fell free and were split up the middle the same as the hauberk. A roaring dragon was pictured on his chest.
Around his waist was Excalibur, visible thanks to Merlin, even though Arthur had not drawn it.
Nor did he have any intention of drawing it. Of course, even the best of intentions are lost sometimes to the flow of events.
Gwen leaned over. *'Arthur, aren't you hot in that outfit?'
'More than you'd believe. Eut look at them.' He gestured to the excited crowds. 'They love the entire concept of me as an ancient king. So occasionally I feel that we really have to give the people what they want, no matter how personally uncomfortable I might be. Let's just be thankful it's the end of November rather than the middle of July. Though it is warm for this time of year.'
The two knights thundered toward each other once more, and this time in a beautifully choreographed move, they knocked each other off of their respective horses.
The knights, who were dressed in plate armor, turned toward Arthur expectantly. An announcer clad in a jerkin and possessing a considerable set of lungs, shouted, 'The combatants request permission from the king to continue the joust on foot.' It was the current mayor, all set to embark on his career, and more than willing to play a part in Arthur's show.
Arthur smiled and gave a thumbs-up gesture. The crowd chewed, as they knew they should, as the two knights drew their swords and began hacking at each other's heavy wooden shields. They took turns whacking at each other, wood chips flying from the shields as they moved back and forth, up and down the field. At one point the red-plumed knight went down to one knee and the blue-plumed knight came in for the kill. The red-plumed knight came in low, swung his sword, and caught the blue-plumed knight across the middle. The air rang with the impact of the blow, and the blue-plumed knight went down. The red-plumed knight was up in a flash and held the blade of his sword over the fallen knight. The crowd went wild as the downed fighter put up a hand in supplication and the announcer shouted, 'The blue knight yields!'
Arthur applauded the outcome along with the rest of the crowd. There was a tap on his shoulder and he
