"It won't be long now," she muttered to herself.

Morgause stood looking out of the small window in her suite of rooms. Located as they were above a small Inn overlooking the Cathedral green, she was able to watch as the men from Cornwall gathered in preparation for their journey.

The Cornish miners had finally arrived, and following a night's rest, they had started arranging the equipment that would form a baggage train of pack animals, with several wagons to carry the men.

There was a soft rap on the door, and she turned away from the window. "Enter," she said.

A man in the uniform of a Tintagel soldier slipped quickly into the room and dropped to one knee in front of her, the white cross on black background showing plainly in the early morning light.

"My Lady," he said by way of greeting.

"I take it you will be going with Mark to Silbury Hill?"

"Yes Ma'am."

"That's a shame, I need that fat fool of a Bishop kept an eye on. No matter, there are other ways. You have done well so far in serving me, the information you have passed to me has been useful.

"How long do you have before you are missed?" she asked with a coy smile on her face.

"Long enough," said the man as he stood up and stepped in close, kissing her upturned face.

She kissed him deeply and led him to the four-poster bed in the corner of the room. "Long enough indeed," she said giving the man a hungry look as she drew him down to her.

~~~

It was time to say goodbye.

King Mark, Merlin, Morholt and the fifty liveried soldiers of Cornwall, a group of twenty miners led by their Foreman, Cadan, and another fifty soldiers from the Exeter City Guard were packed and ready to go to Silbury Hill. A long train of mules carried the mining equipment, tents, and other miscellaneous items required by the group, and wagons drawn by oxen had been employed to carry the unhorsed soldiers and miners.

A smaller group were also ready to leave and rested off to one side. Percival, Grayle, Bishop David and Iseult were to travel in the company of a couple of Exeter City soldiers, and there was also Camlan, who was to continue Grayle's training, several members of the Bishop's personal retinue, and a local merchant who had asked to travel with them rather than chancing the roads alone.

Mark and Percival clasped hands, and Mark enfolded Grayle in a massive hug.

"I'll see you gentlemen soon. We'll get the camp set up at Silbury and start these good Cornish boys a-digging. Ask Arthur for some more soldiers and supplies, there's a good lad." The last comment was directed at Percival, who nodded his agreement.

Morholt shouted the larger of the two parties into a semblance of order, and in slow file they moved out of the city, heading to the east and Silbury Hill.

"Right then lady and gentlemen, shall we make a move?" said Percival.

David nodded and looked thoughtful. "I do believe we might make Tiverton by lunchtime," he said. "There's a very good Inn there that serves a wonderful meat pie."

"Father likes a good meat pie," said Grayle softly, earning a scowl from his father.

Iseult threw a questioning look at him and he smiled at her. "It's a long-standing joke, My Lady," he noted. "I'll let Arthur tell the story when we reach Camelot. He tells it very well and does a startlingly good impression of father."

Grayle flinched suddenly as Percival clipped him round the ear. "You may be grown lad, but you're still not too big to get a clip occasionally."

Percival smiled at Iseult who was grinning broadly at Grayle's discomfort. "I think perhaps we'd better get going before your uncle's stomach starts rumbling," he noted.

~

A day's uneventful travel, an overnight stay in Taunton and another morning's gentle riding had brought them to the foot of the Blackdown Hills. Percival looked over his shoulder at Grayle and Iseult, who had been chatting happily for hours. It hadn't taken the two of them long to overcome their shyness, and they had whiled away much of the journey learning more about each other, as well as their respective histories.

"They seem well suited," noted David who had been riding alongside Percival.

"They're the same age and have much in common," said Percival smiling slightly. "It will do Grayle good to relax and talk to a nice young woman. She is a credit to you, David."

David inclined his head at the compliment and looked over his shoulder at his Chaplain who was speaking quietly to Brekk, the merchant.

"I fear Anton will be put out, my Chaplain has long held a candle for Iseult. Ah, these affairs of the heart are complicated are they not?"

"I wouldn't know, Your Grace, I have had little experience of women, they tend not to look past the reputation of Knight of the Round Table."

David looked thoughtful for a moment, detecting a slight tang of bitterness, and then decided to change the subject.

"We will be at Camelot soon will we not, Sir Knight? I haven't come this way for a long time. I was on foot the last time I did so, so the distance is hard to judge."

"Once we're clear of the Blackdown Hills, it's just an hour's ride. It'll take us a little time to pick our way over the ridge though. Thankfully we've not had any trouble coming through here for years. The first time Grayle and I came through here together, Grayle ended up belting a bandit over the head with a great branch he found somewhere. I'd been caught by an arrow and he went a bit berserk. It's one of the few times I've ever seen him lose control. He was very young at the time, just before I formally adopted him and started his training."

He looked back over his shoulder again. Grayle was listening intently to Iseult as she spoke softly, the two deeply engrossed in each other's conversations.

A few minutes later, David dropped his horse back to have a word with Iseult, and Grayle joined Percival to give them some privacy.

"You seem to be having a good chat there son," noted Percival smiling at him.

Grayle gave him a slightly cautious look and then nodded, smiling as he looked back at the girl, who was laughing gaily at something her uncle had just said.

"She's very different to anyone I've met before Val. She's intelligent, witty, and very easy to talk to. It feels like I've known her for years."

"You forgot startlingly pretty son."

Grayle flushed a fine shade of red, and Percival grinned at him before continuing in the more serious tone. "There's never a right time for a father and son to talk of love, and you know how little I have to do with women."

He raised a hand to stop Grayle interrupting as he opened his mouth to deny Percival's words, and then carried on in a quiet tone, looking deep into Grayle's dark eyes, his own blue ones fixing Grayle to his words. "The people around you will always notice before you yourself do son. If you are falling for her, be aware that whenever you fall it will hurt at some point. But, some things are worth tripping over. You may be young, but you will still know. As will she."

Grayle looked at his adopted father mutely. Neither of them had ever really spoken about anything like this before, both content to exist in the knowledge that each was around, and could be depended on.

"I don't think I need to say anymore really, other than whatever you want to do with your life, it is your choice and you will always have my support, and my love."

He held out his hand and Grayle took it, smiling at his father as they continued on in contemplative silence.

David re-joined Percival not long afterwards and told Grayle to keep Iseult company, smiling broadly at Percival as the youth dropped back to chat with her again.

As the small group moved through the woods, Percival, in a rare good humour, regaled David with tales of Grayle's days as a young page. Grayle and Iseult rode behind, with Grayle occasionally wincing as Iseult laughed at one of the many scrapes he had gotten into over the years. The merchant, Brekk, Anton, and a church ward named Daniel were talking quietly in the middle of the group. Only the two soldiers who rode at the front of the group, and Camlan bringing up the rear seemed to be paying any attention to the surroundings. So, when the two soldiers at the front of the group toppled from their saddles it was only Camlan who reacted as the ambush was sprung.

"Cover!" shouted Camlan as more arrows whistled out from the woods around them, the two soldiers writhing in agony on the ground. As they tried to ride away from the ambush, a tree crashed to the ground in front of them and a small group of archers stepped out onto the road, their eyes hard, bows trained on Percival, Camlan and Grayle.

A few minutes later, the survivors of the party knelt on their hands in a circle. Eight dirty but tough looking men surrounded them. One of the men nonchalantly walked over to the two downed soldiers and put them out of their misery, rifling their bodies for valuables.

Percival glared at the man, anger burning in his eyes as he scanned the group surrounding them, looking for a weakness. They were laughing and joking with each other, confident their prisoners were cowed.

The group knelt in a ring, facing each other, heads almost touching. The outlaws were all armed with blades of one sort or another and were admiring the various weapons they had taken from the travelers. Iseult was pale and scared but looked in control. Camlan, David and Grayle were quietly assessing the situation in the same way as Percival, the others remained quiet, their heads bowed.

"Well then, what do we have here?"

One of the outlaws, a skinny rat-faced man had stopped by Iseult. Her head was suddenly jerked backward, and a knife appeared at her throat.

"Hmm, this one is rather lovely. Don't you move boy, or I'll cut her throat and yours will follow."

The man pressed the knife firmly against Iseult's throat. Grayle had instinctively started to move as Iseult had made small noise of pain, but subsided again at the man's warning, a look of white-hot anger painted across his face.

"Grayle," said Percival quietly and then repeated the boy's name when he failed to respond. Two more outlaws had moved around to admire Iseult, laughing and joking about having some fun later, all of them pawing and touching the girl, ignoring her pleas. The outlaw holding Iseult lifted his knife away from the girl's throat, to point it at Grayle threateningly.

"Grayle!"

The boy's head whipped round in response, and Percival recoiled slightly from the look it carried. Grayle's features were torn between a desperate agony and utter madness, hate burned in his eyes and his face had lost all colour.

"Camlan, David," he said softly "be ready. I think something is..."

Iseult started it. As the man withdrew the knife from her throat to point it at Grayle, she flung her head back into the man's crotch. The man gasped in sudden pain, letting go of Iseult to clutch himself in agony. Grayle, who had braced his toes against the ground in readiness, vaulted upwards, his hands moving from beneath his knees as he lifted from the ground, one hand grabbing a knife concealed in the outlaw's boot, the other hammering into the underside of the outlaw's extended wrist, catching the delicate cluster of veins located there and causing him to howl in agony and drop the knife. Iseult, reacting swiftly, swept the knife up from the ground and tossed it to Percival who dragged it out of the air and blocked an incoming blow from the man behind him.

Camlan, still kneeling, kicked his foot back into the thief behind him, crashing him to the ground, clutching his knee and screaming in pain. Punching the man in the face, he broke his nose, picked up his sword, and stabbed him through the throat as the two young clergymen and the merchant scrambled for cover behind him.

Percival had downed one man and was battling another, having also stolen a short sword from his first opponent. Camlan was moving into an attacking position and had stopped to hand David his staff.

Grayle had made short work of his first assailant and had picked up the downed man's short sword, transferring his stolen dagger to his left hand. As he turned back to the main group of thieves, Iseult swung a blow at one of the attackers, who backhanded her across the face.

She crashed to the ground next to Grayle and started sobbing. A dam of walled-up emotion, worry, confusion, and angst exploded from the boy's throat in an animalistic howl of raw fury, and the world disappeared in an incandescent flurry of movement and pain...

... pain. He'd opened his eyes too quickly and the bright sunlight streaming in through the window had speared into his brain. He closed them again, clenching them shut against the pounding in his head and a multitude of complaining nerve endings clamouring for his attention.

He heard movement in the room and opened his eyes to see a figure partially close the shutters on the window. As the light levels decreased, he recognised Percival, who sat down next to him on the narrow bed.

"How do you feel?" The comforting tone of his father eased the pain slightly and he smiled wanly.

"Like I've been sparring with you in a bad mood," he said lightly. "What happened?"

"Do you remember the ambush in the woods?"

Grayle nodded.

"How much do you remember?"

Grayle thought for a moment and then replied hesitantly. "We were kneeling, then one of them grabbed Iseult. Oh God, Iseult, is she...?"

"She's fine," said Percival firmly pushing him back onto the bed as Grayle had started to rise. "She has a few bruises and a cut lip, but Guinevere and the other ladies are looking after her. She's a tough girl," he said admiringly.

"Do you remember anything after that?"

Grayle shook his head, then clutched it with both hands as the pain spiked through his head again.

Percival laid a hand on his arm. "You went berserk. You gutted the man who'd hit Iseult, and then took on four of them alone. Before David or Camlan could intercede, you'd killed two and had started on the other two. One ran away. The other, well, you put a knife through his eye into his brain, screaming and howling all the while. You were wounded in many places, although none serious."

"And..." said Grayle probing the back of his skull with careful fingers "I have a bump the size of an egg on my head. Where did that come from?"

"You attacked Camlan," said Percival flatly. "Thankfully he is as skilled as he is, or he would be dead. David belted you on the back of the head to knock you out. That was yesterday, we were beginning to get worried."

Grayle looked at his father, taking in the hollow eyes and pale face. He'd obviously not slept since the encounter.

"I'm sorry Val, I have let you down."

"No son, you haven't. Everyone goes berserk at some point, but you went utterly feral. I have never seen anyone so fierce."

"Oh God, what will she think of me now?" whispered Grayle, tears falling from his eyes. "I have killed in front of her, in broad daylight, laughing and screaming like a madman, and then attacked my friend.

"Oh Val, what have I become?"

Percival held his sobbing son for some time, at a complete loss for what to say. Eventually, the sobbing decreased and he laid the boy back down to sleep, smoothing his hair away from his face.

A few moments later he stepped out into the hall and closed the door to Grayle's chamber. He stopped and pressed his forehead against the door, closing his eyes.

"How is he?" The deep and concerned voice of David interrupted his tired thoughts, and he lifted his head to look at the Bishop.

"He is tired, emotional, bruised, and in pain. He's upset he attacked his friend, but above all, he is in love, and scared he has lost Iseult."

He turned to face the Bishop who stood in the hallway, his thumbs tucked into the rope belt of his cassock.

"Ah, young love." David smiled. "Iseult is much the same. She is worried sick about him, whether he is well, whether he will want to see her."

"He desperately wants to see her, but he's scared. I'm afraid this is beyond me, David. I've never seen Grayle like this. Before now, he was just utterly focussed, almost emotionless. But now, he is tormented, shamed, scared, and I just don't know what to do."

David looked at him thoughtfully and then spoke. "Would you allow me to have a word with him?"

"Please do, any help is welcomed. Thank you."

A few hours later when Grayle awoke for the second time, he found Bishop David looking at him, concern mirrored in his eyes. The man sat in a sturdy oak chair, a look of deep concentration on his face. Before Grayle could speak, David addressed him, speaking softly.

"It happens to us all, lad, at some point. If I may quote from the good book: Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and always perseveres. And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.

"You are in love. It shows you are human.

"I have seen your father fight with controlled anger, but you fought with uncontrolled love and it was far more powerful. But, that is my point. You fought from the point of love. I know that. Percival knows that. But perhaps, more importantly, Iseult knows that. You carry no shame, no need for absolution, and no sin."

David leaned forward suddenly, fixing the boy with his dark eyes.

"God is love, love is all. She loves you too boy, remember that. Do whatever you do with the knowledge that you are loved."

He stood abruptly. "Bless you, my son," he said and made to leave the room.

"David."

The Bishop stopped halfway through the door as Grayle sat up on his cot bed.

"Thank you."

David nodded and smiled, leaving the room and the man behind him at peace.