turned. Percy was there, smiling. Arthur looked at him reproachfully. 'Percy, you're supposed to have dressed for the occasion.'
'But Arthur, I did.'
'I hardly think that a Dragon's Lair sweatshirt qualifies as knightly attire.'
'Best I could do.' He clapped Arthur on the shoulder affectionately and said, 'I've seen Merlin wandering around. He looks suspicious.'
'Merlin always looks suspicious. That's what he does best-be suspicious. Don't worry about it.'
'Okay. You're the king. Is there anything I can get for you?'
'Yes. Something to drink. Anything liquid, short of motor oil.'
Percy nodded and left.
Costumed actors wandered about, mixed in with the crowd. Young maidens shrunk in fear as amused tourists snapped their photographs-the lasses were concerned that pieces of their souls were being taken. Knights in armor looked gallant, assassins stalked, and a good time was being had by all.
Percy found a booth where cider was being served, and got a large mug of it for Arthur. He turned and bumped into a knight clothed similarly to Arthur, except that his surcoat was solid black. Not a spot of any other design on it. He held a barrel helmet under his arm.
'Excuse me,' said Percy, trying to get around the knight.
But the knight took him forcefully by the arm. Percy looked up in surprise and said, 'What do you think you're-' Then his eyes widened. 'Moe!'
Modred's eyes smoldered with fury, and he said in a low voice, 'Listen to me carefully. Are you listening, Percival?'
Percy stared deep into those angry eyes, and his own glassed over. Modred did not smile at his easy success. He held up a small packet with a green powder in it and said, 'You will take this. You will empty the contents into the drink. You will give the drink to Arthur, and you will say nothing about it to him.' Modred paused to allow the words to sink in. 'Is that understood, Percy?'
Percy nodded, turned and left. He took several steps, then lifted the packet up, tore open the top with his teeth, and spilled the powder into the drink. The cider bubbled momentarily, and a thin wisp of steam rose from it. Then it settled down, changing to a slightly darker hue.
Percy stared at it blankly and went on his way.
Modred smiled and turned, only to bump into two scruffy-looking individuals dressed as village idiots.
'Do I know you?' Chico asked him. Groucho, his fellow village idiot, inclined his head slightly and looked at Modred with passing curiosity.
'No,' said Modred tightly. 'I don't think so.' He placed his helmet on his head and stalked away, patting the hilt of his sword eagerly. Chico and Groucho watched him and scratched their heads in thought.
Back in the reviewing stand Gwen was looking at a printed list of activities. 'Arthur,' she said, 'that joust was the last thing. You think we can go soon? I love the gown, but I'd really like to get out of it.' She smiled mischievously. 'Would you care to help me?'
He laughed. 'Ma'am, I'll have you know I'm betrothed.'
Gwen rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her hands around his arm. 'It can't be soon enough for me, Arthur,' she said.
'Nor for me,' he said.
A cup was thrust under Arthur's nose. He looked up and saw Percy there. Percy was smiling, yet something about his expression seemed a little ... he wasn't sure . . . off, somehow.
'Percy, is something wrong?''
'No, Arthur. Not at all. Here. Here is your cider.'
Arthur shrugged and took the mug. He stared at it for a moment. There was something vaguely wrong. Something he could not put his finger on. But he could not for the life of him figure out what it was.
He shrugged and downed the poisoned cider.
It had a faintly acid taste and he frowned. 'Needs more sugar,' he said.
'Arthur, please,' said Gwen. 'Can we go now?'
'Yes. Absolutely, we'll-'
'Arthur! Arthur Pendragon the Coward, son of Uther Pendragon the Murderer! I challenge you!'
Arthur had half risen out of his seat, and now he sat down slowly, his gaze held by the knight in the black surcoat who stood before him. His loud words had attracted the notice of everyone within earshot. Crowds that had started to disperse began to gather once again.
And Gwen, completely befuddled, paged through her program. This wasn't on the schedule.
Even though the other knight was helmed, Arthur recognized him. He smiled unpleasantly.
'Hello, Modred. Come to wish me success in my new career?'
I have come to put an end to you, Pendragon. You, and your damned notions of a New Camelot.'
There was no doubt in the crowd's collective mind who the bad guy was in this little scenario.
Modred was roundly booed.
It made no impression on him as he drew his sword and pointed it at Arthur. 'Well, Pendragon? Do you dare fight me? Or will you be revealed to all here as the coward that you are?'
There were yells and catcalls as someone shouted out, 'Teach him a lesson, Arthur! Clean his clock for him!' And the crowd, which thought it was watching another staged event, took up the encouragement.
Arthur started to rise and Gwen put a hand on his arm. 'Arthur, please. Don't do this. You don't have to do this.'
'Yes,' said Arthur simply. 'Yes, I do.'
He reached down and picked up his helmet-similar to Modred's, but with a more rounded top. As he began to put it on, the crowd roared its approval.
Merlin, on the other side of the field, froze in horror as he saw Arthur descend from the royal box, Excalibur already drawn from its sheath. 'Oh, no,' he breathed. 'The great fool. We can put all of that nonsense behind us, and he still insists on playing the warrior king/' He started to make his way through the crowd, urgently.
Arthur carried a shield on his left arm, as did Modred. It was wood covered with leather, and it was formidable. Under the helmet his face was set in grim lines of determination. In his right hand he held Excalibur with such ease that you'd never expect it would take an exceptionally strong man to wield it at all with two hands, much less one.
They faced each other. The sun was overhead. Arthur circled slowly while speaking in a conversational tone of voice. 'Modred, you haven't a prayer against me. You're a puppy. You were a puppy in your earlier life and you're a puppy now. You were probably a puppy in every other incarnation you've had in between. Please don't take offense. It's just the way you are. But I can live with it if you can.'
'The only thing I can't live with is you!' snarled Modred, and he charged.
He took three steps forward and immediately staggered back, blinded by the glare of the sun. Arthur, who hadn't moved, grinned and said, 'I could have killed you just then, son. First rule of battle-make certain that your opponent's eyes are in the sun, not yours.'
Modred attacked again, barreling forward and swinging his sword. Arthur sidestepped the charge completely, and as Modred went past, swatted him on the rump with the flat of Excalibur's blade. The crowd roared. 'Come now, Modred. Let's end this nonsense,' said Arthur reasonably. 'You don't have a prayer.'
'No, Arthur. It's you who has no prayer. But you're too stupid to know it yet.'
Modred came forward, sword swinging like a windmill. It bit deep into Arthur's shield. Arthur cut across with Excalibur, fully expecting to slice Modred's shield completely in half. Instead Excalibur glanced off the shield without even so much as making an impression.
Arthur was clearly taken aback by it. Modred enjoyed the small victory. 'Found something your precious blade can't cut through? Here's something else.' Modred's sword flashed and Arthur parried the blow directly, rather than taking the force of it on his shield. The two blades clanged together. Excalibur should have cut the other sword off at the hilt. It did not.
They separated and stepped back from each other. Arthur was now a bit more wary. His superiority to Modred in fighting skills was not at issue in his mind. But these weapons were on a par with his own, and that bore further investigation.
