Mark and Percival had been surprised when David and Grayle had joined them at the same moment, and even more so when the Bishop had recounted the events from earlier in the day.

Percival had bound a shallow wound on Grayle's arm, pride shining in his eyes as the Bishop had told the story.

Once the remnants of the meal had been cleared, Mark brought them back to the problem at hand. "Your Grace, our thanks for a truly excellent meal, but perhaps we ought to discuss matters at hand. You requested our presence?"

"I did Mark, and please all of you call me David. I am indebted to your house, and you owe me no obeisance."

Mark inclined his head at the courtesy and smiled broadly as David continued. "Right then gentlemen, shall we attend to business? I have called you here on the instruction of King Arthur. He sent me a message, via trusted courier, with instructions for the forthcoming excursion to Silbury Hill.

"Mark, you and Merlin will take your Cornish miners, who I believe are due to arrive tomorrow, on to Silbury where they will make a start on the excavations. Merlin will be in charge of the mining operation. Mark, you will be Marshall in charge of the area itself. Set up whatever fortifications you think you need to secure the Hill and keep Arthur informed of both operations, and any Saxon incursions or movements.

"Percival, you and Grayle will go straight to Camelot to meet with Arthur and the Knights of the Round table. Pick up any new intelligence and information they have, discuss the deployment of Arthur's other forces, and marshal any additional forces Mark may require. You will then take additional staff, supplies, and equipment to Silbury to reinforce Mark."

David looked worried for a moment and sighed. "I also have a favour to ask of you gentlemen. My niece has been asked to join Queen Guinevere as a lady-in-waiting, and my presence has been requested as a representative of the Church. Would you escort us safely to Camelot?"

"It would be our great pleasure David," said Percival. "And your trust in us is a great compliment."

"It is settled then," noted David. "All I have to do now is tell Iseult."

A small sound of dissatisfaction from outside the door was followed by swiftly retreating steps.

"I suspect she may already know, David," noted Mark with a broad grin.

"Oh bother," muttered the Bishop. "You gentlemen may want to retire to the local ale house. Hopefully you won't hear the argument from there."

A few hours later Bishop David joined them at the Inn on the opposite side of the square from the clergy quarters. A serving girl brought him a frothing tankard, and he slumped into his chair with a sigh, taking a long draught of beer.

"I take it she's not too keen on coming along, Your Grace?" Mark slipped back into more formal tones given the public surrounding, but still grinned widely at the corpulent clergyman.

"She was enthusiastic in her arguments, but I did note that it was the order of the Queen, so she quietened down in the end." He sighed. "She will be fine with Guinevere and the child, but she is my only family and I will miss her."

Mark reached for his own tankard. "Percival and Grayle will make sure you both get to Camelot in one piece, Your Grace."

"I know they will, and I am happy with the escort." He raised his tankard and toasted them. "To the house of Cornwall!"

The following morning found Mark nursing a hangover, much to the amusement of Percival and Grayle, and they had left the grumbling King in his room. Daybreak found the two of them lightly armoured and sparring with Camlan on the Bishop's lawns. Camlan was working Grayle through a system of movements with a battleaxe, something Grayle had not used before and was patiently explaining some of the differences between using a sword and an axe.

"You can use it not only as an edged weapon, but also as a means of gaining some distance by using it to push your opponent away, a blunt weapon by using the side of the head, or as a short staff by grabbing the shaft behind the head."

Camlan turned his head to look at Percival. "Sir Knight, would you be willing to assist?"

"Certainly Camlan, although please call me Percival. I'm afraid I won't be much use though, I am far from expert in the use of this type of weapon."

Grayle shot Percival a confused look but held his tongue as Percival picked up an axe and moved opposite Camlan.

As Grayle watched, Percival and Camlan mimed in slow motion the various ways in which the two-handed weapon could be used, so he could see how the movements were carried out.

"Thank you Percival," said Camlan. "Now, if you'll excuse me gentlemen, King Mark has asked me to run an errand. Grayle, you need to practice your dagger fighting, I suspect your father could help you with that."

Camlan bowed and moved away to find Mark.

"Why did you tell him you couldn't use a battleaxe?" asked Grayle quietly.

"I didn't say I couldn't son, merely that I was far from expert."

"You're splitting hairs and avoiding the question," said Grayle, his expression intent.

"Never let anyone know exactly what your capabilities are," said Percival soberly. "Camlan is a mercenary. Today he is a friend, and wears the white cross of Cornwall: tomorrow he may be fighting for someone else. Only you and Mark know the extent of what I am capable of, and even then I suspect you don't know everything."

"Like the meat pie?" questioned Grayle with an impish smile on his face.

"Honestly," muttered Percival. "You have one fight where you use something slightly odd."

"Slightly odd? You may as well have fought him with a turnip!"

"There weren't any available at the time. Now, tidy this lot up, there's a good lad."

Grayle's smile dropped from his face as Percival grinned at him in revenge. "See you later son."

As Percival wandered away whistling to himself, Grayle sighed and started to collect the equipment. Quiet steps and a rustle of fabric from behind disturbed him, and he turned to find himself facing Iseult, who stood in the doorway of the courtyard. He found himself staring after a few seconds and coughed, both to cover his embarrassment and the flush colouring his cheeks. The shadows of the night before had hidden her features, and in the heat of the fight and subsequent covering by her uncle's robe he had not really gained much of an impression of David's niece. That impression now revolved around a pair of intense brown eyes and an elfin face.

He found himself staring again, and spoke hesitantly to cover his momentary befuddlement, bowing as he did so. "Good morrow, my lady. I trust you are recovered from your ordeal of last night."

"I am yes, I just wanted to say thank you. You were very brave in taking on all those men."

"I was rather glad that your uncle was there too, and I would have to say you have a very well-aimed foot." Grayle smiled and looked at her shyly.

She smiled back and changed the subject. "I understand you are to escort me to Camelot. Do you know anything of Guinevere?"

"She is my aunt," said Grayle simply, and Iseult's eyebrows raised in surprise.

"And yet you do not live there with her?"

"Percival is my foster father, I was his page before I found out the truth of my lineage."

"It sounds like quite a tale," noted Iseult. "Perhaps I could pour you a flagon of ale, and you can tell me all about it?"

"I would like that," said Grayle, smiling. "But I'd better get this lot away first."

After they had finished packing away the training equipment, he and Iseult moved to the cavernous kitchens of the Bishop's residence, and, hesitantly at first, he started talking, his memories drifting to the surface of his mind as he spoke.

~~~

Grayle fidgeted in his new page boy's uniform. The material was fine, but stiff and new, and the surroundings were not putting him at ease. The uppermost room in the tower where they stood was dominated by the Round Table, its massive oak bulk set immovably in the focal centre of the room. All around them hung the banners of the various knights who formed the Round Table. Suits of armour and weapons gleamed in alcoves, but the room was empty apart from Percival and his Page. They stood in front of Percival's own banner and waited for the other Knights to enter the room.

Unwilling to let go of his bag of possessions, and still untrustworthy of anyone other than Percival, Grayle had placed his knapsack behind him by Percival's banner and was feeling nervous.

"Stop fidgeting boy, you're making me cross."

"Sorry sir," he whispered at Percival, who looked down at him and then flashed him a quick grin, ruffling his hair.

Abruptly, the large oak door to the Tower Room creaked open, and a procession of Knights entered in file, preceded by several servants carrying platters of food, or carafes of ale and watered wine. The Knights arranged themselves around the Table, standing in front of their respective emblems, and then as one drew their swords, placing them on the table with the tips pointing at the central bole.

Percival nodded at Grayle and then moved to one of the four remaining empty chairs. He drew his own sword, placed it with the others and stood waiting with the other Knights. Grayle stood behind Percival's chair as he'd been instructed.

A tall thin man entered next dressed in a long blue robe, his long white beard tucked casually into his belt, and the King and Queen entered arm in arm, moving to the two remaining chairs.

King Arthur, dressed in his customary white, ensured his Queen was comfortably seated, gestured to Merlin to sit, and turned to face the remaining men.

"Good morning, my friends."

His deep baritone was quiet, yet reassuring, and as he welcomed his Knights, Grayle found himself drifting, thinking about all Percival had told him about Arthur. Percival interrupted his daydreams by tapping him none too gently on the head.

"It seems your new page is slightly dreamy Percival," said Arthur smiling benignly.

"I was asking if you would like to say anything young man?" noted Arthur, repeating the question for him.

"About what?" said Grayle, and then hurriedly added "er... my King," as Percival shot him a glare.

Guinevere hid a small smile behind her hand, and Lancelot roared with laughter as King Arthur smiled broadly at the boy.

"Shall we start make ourselves a little more comfortable before we hear more?"

"Pay attention boy," hissed Percival furiously as Arthur gestured for the knights to sit. Drinks were served, and then the staff retreated from the room.

"To summarise our brief discussions from earlier, Percival has done well and has found a lead on the hunt for the Grail."

"It is good to finally feel like we are getting somewhere, although there are still many unanswered questions." Arthur paused and leaned forwards, his dark eyes intense. "And that, young Page, brings us to you."

All eyes at the table turned to look at Grayle.

"Your name: how did you come by your name?"

Grayle was silent. He was not used to people being interested in him or staring at him unless of course they thought he'd stolen something.

Percival sighed, gesturing the boy to stand alongside his chair and looked into his eyes.

"You can speak now lad," he said quietly. "No-one will hurt you. All you have to do is speak the truth."

"Yes, sir."

The boy faced Percival, his eyes dark troubled as he struggled to speak.

"Grayle," said Percival gently. "You are in the company of good people who will look after you no matter what comes to light this day, do you understand?"

Grayle nodded and looked deep into Percival's blue eyes. "I haven't told you everything about myself: there are secrets." He whispered so quietly, that Percival could barely hear him.

"We all have secrets lad. I have taken you on as my Page, nothing you say here today will affect that."

Grayle nodded and faced the knights and monarchs who sat silently in the tower room, still awaiting a response to the King's earlier question.

"My name," he started hesitantly and stopped again. He looked down at the floor, visibly gathered himself with an indrawn breath and then looked up at Arthur, emotion strong in his voice. "I was given my name by my mother who kept me largely apart from the townsfolk of Tintagel. I am a bastard, son of no-one. She bore me in secret, and when we were out, pretended I was the son of a friend so it wouldn't affect her station. She was an advisor to King Mark."

Guinevere abruptly sat up straight in her seat looking pale, eyes suddenly intent on the boy as he continued his story. Arthur gave her a concerned glance but looked back to the boy as Grayle continued.

"I grew up in a small stone-built house, by the landing bay, close to Merlin's Cave, opposite to the island part of Tintagel Castle."

"My cave?" murmured Merlin querulously. "I hate legends. You cast a simple bit of magic and suddenly everything is Merlin this, and Merlin that."

"Merlin," said Guinevere quietly, "hush". "Carry on boy," she said ignoring the old man who muttered darkly to himself as Grayle continued.

"Um, yes Ma'am. My mother died when I was five, and I was brought up by some of the fisherfolk who had been friends of hers: she did a lot of healing work with the poor of the area. My adopted family were wiped out recently in a raid by the Franks. I was away, fishing further along the coast, and didn't get back in time to save them.

"I should've been there," he said faintly.

He glanced at Percival, his face burning with shame, and then looked at the floor as Percival spoke quietly to him.

"There's nothing you could've done lad, believe me. You would've died like the rest; the Franks don't care about sparing children."

Guinevere spoke softly into the silence. "What was your mother's name?"

Grayle looked up into Guinevere's eyes. "My mother was called Guennuuar."

Guinevere drew in a shaky breath and then released it slowly, her face pale in the sickly light cast by the scudding storm clouds outside the windows. She reached across and grasped Arthur's hand, seemingly needing some reassurance.

"King Mark sent notice that she had died, but he didn't mention a child," she said softly.

"King Mark didn't know. Dressed as she was in the robes of The White Faith, no-one knew she had been with child until the night of my birth. My adopted family were sworn to secrecy. She left only enough money that my new family could care for me, and a few possessions."

Guinevere stood, smoothing down her gown and walked around the table, kneeling by the boy.

"Do you know nothing else of your mother, where she came from, your father?"

"No."

She reached up and stroked the boy's face, smiling at him sadly. "Guennuuar was my sister. I am your aunt."

He retreated slowly from the kneeling woman and then suddenly darted across the room to Percival's standard, reaching into his small bag of possessions. With something wrapped in a dirty muslin cloth clasped tightly in his hands, he ran back to the Queen.

"I'm sorry My Lady, it's all I have to give. This was my mother's, she said that if ever came across any of her family I should give it to them. I would like you to have it."

He backed away from the Queen and made his way back to his spot behind Percival's chair, head bowed and blushing furiously. Guinevere still caught by surprise, carefully unwrapped the muslin cloth as she moved back to her seat. Once she'd finished, she placed the object on the table and sat down again.

As she put the small pottery piece on the bare oak in front of her, Merlin sat bolt upright in his chair, wide-eyed and white-faced as he grasped the arms of his chair.

"Merlin?" said Arthur surprised at his reaction.

"Where did you get that boy?" he hissed at Grayle. "How did you come by this?"

"It was my mother's," he whispered, "and she said that..."

"We know what she said," Merlin cut harshly across the boy's answer. "You must know more. Arthur, this is it, this is what we have searched for all this time."

Arthur looked at the small pottery cup in front of his queen. A simple brown cup with bare clay exterior; light glaze on the inside, and a rim marred by a crack on one side.

"The Grail? Merlin, are you sure?"

"Yes." said Merlin hoarsely. "I can feel its power."

~

"And that's where I got my name. My mother named me as a clue to anyone who cared," finished Grayle as Iseult gazed at him, rapt with attention. "Percival adopted me that night with permission of King Arthur, and I've been with him ever since."

He anticipated the next question. "Guinevere is a kind and wonderful woman. Although I haven't spent much time with her, she always welcomes me and we often spend hours talking. I suppose because I am the only link she has to her lost sister. She is intelligent, warm, and strong; she is also a fighter, daughter of one of the Welsh kings, and easily my match with a bow. I think you will like her."

"Thank you, that is good to know." Iseult paused and then changed the subject. "Do you know when we are to leave?"

"We are waiting for the Cornish miners to arrive, and then a small group of us, including Percival and I, will journey with you and your uncle to Camelot. It is a truly wonderful place."

Iseult stood and smiled at him. "I think I will enjoy the journey, it will be nice to talk to someone my own age for a change. Until tomorrow then, Grayle."

Grayle stood and bowed, and Iseult moved away flashing him a last smile over her shoulder as she moved into the house.

~~~

In a room near the Cathedral, Morgause brooded, her dark eyes hooded and angry. She sat unsmiling in the Turk's Head tavern and fumed as the minutes ticked away.

Eventually, a heavily cloaked form slid into the seat opposite her, face hidden in the midnight depths of its hood and she stared at him, tight-lipped.

"I'm sorry I'm late, I could not get away without being seen until now."

"I do not like being kept waiting."

"My apologies, it will not happen again."

"It had better not, or we know what the consequences will be don't we, Your Grace."

She slipped the last two words onto the end of the sentence with serpentine malevolence, the words tripping off her tongue with venomous malice.

"I told you not to call me that in public," said the figure, suddenly angry. "How dare you..."

"How dare I?" she interrupted softly, anger in her eyes. "Let us remember who is in charge here, shall we?"

The man shrunk back, suddenly deflated and slumped at the table.

"Now, what news do you have?" she pressed.

"They leave in the next few days," responded the man in a flat defeated tone. "As soon as the miners from Cornwall have arrived, they, along with King Mark and Merlin will travel on to Silbury Hill. The rest of us will journey on to Camelot."

Morgause sat back in her wooden seat, eyes sparkling with malice.

"They suddenly become vulnerable then."