Arthur had reached the fortified city of Exeter just after midday. He'd entered the city from the south, the massive red stone walls rearing up out of the hillside above him, and had kept his identity secret as he passed through the guardhouse on the old Roman bridge over the River Exe.

It had been a long journey and he was aware he had little time to sort out a situation which had been worsening for some time.

Stabling his horse at the White Hart Inn on the eastern side of the main gate, he approached the centre of the town. Arthur had always loved the hubbub of Exeter and the bigger cities, there was always so much to see and do. On this day however, he found things strangely quiet, and after asking an Innkeeper what was going on, he found himself regaled of an unusual and disturbing story over a mug of ale.

A young girl had been accused of witchcraft and was due to be hung that afternoon. Born mute, she had been unable to verbally defend herself from the charges, which consisted of the murder of her own father. The claim of witchcraft had been levelled by the Sheriff who had investigated the scene of the murder and had taken her to jail. The Innkeeper had leaned in close at this point and added the local interpretation of the story. She had jilted the drunken Sheriff, who had killed the father himself when he had tried to intervene.

"Of course, no-one will challenge the verdict," the man had said. "Our Sheriff is protected by the Red Knight after all."

Although already aware of the Sheriff's protector, Arthur had let the man carry on his story, hoping to learn a little more about the current situation.

"The Sheriff has employed a Knight to champion the Law in Exeter. He dresses in heavy chain mail, has a blood red surcoat, and matching red enamelled visor and equipment."

"He Champions the Law, meaning none will challenge the Sheriff's word?" asked Arthur.

The man nodded.

"And what of Duke Jaysen?" said Arthur referring to the local aristocracy.

"He is bedridden, and has handed over complete control to the Sheriff until the time his nephew Alden returns from the border wars to the north: if he returns of course."

Arthur finished his ale in silence, disturbed by the story, and shortly afterward, made his way to the Sheriff's building in the city centre where a new gibbet now stood, a noose swaying gently in the light breeze.

A hushed and sullen-looking crowd had gathered to see justice carried out, and minutes later the Sheriff appeared at the top of the steps leading down to the central square.

"Bring out the accused," he intoned solemnly.

Two guards emerged holding a petite dark-haired girl between them. She was battered and bruised, and a few cries of outrage at her condition rose from the crowd. A scuffle broke out, with two older men trying valiantly to hold back a similarly dark-haired young man.

Looking back at the steps, Arthur took in the scene before him. The Sheriff was reading aloud the Laws of the land, paying particular interest to those surrounding the uses of witchcraft. To his right, a massively built man in chainmail stood, his hands resting on the crimson pommel of a huge two handed sword, red surcoat blazing in the spring sunlight. To his left, the gibbet, where the girl now stood with her head bowed in defeat.

"This girl is accused of witchcraft and will now hang until dead," the Sheriff concluded, handing the scroll back to an assistant.

"What proof?" shouted an anonymous voice from the crowd.

The Sheriff turned toward the voice. "I inspected the scene and judged it to be witchcraft. A black cockerel lay next to the dead man on the ground with a stab wound in the same place on its body. It was clear to me that this was witchcraft and the girl has not spoken a word in her defence."

"She's mute!" roared the dark haired youth and powered free of the men holding him back with a sudden burst of anguish. "I challenge the Law," he shouted striding from the crowd. "She is innocent and cannot defend herself. You killed her Father."

The crowd murmured apprehensively as the lad stood facing the Sheriff, a large hunting knife held in his hand, a leather jerkin covering his upper body.

The Red Knight lifted his sword and strode forwards to meet him.

Arthur, cowled and hidden in the depths of the silent crowd, stood open-mouthed as the youth stood ready to face certain death at the hands of the trained fighter. He mentally prepared himself and opened his mouth to intervene, but before he could act, another voice jumped into the sudden hush.

"Hold," commanded a voice from the crowd, and a young Percival walked into the square, the Crimson Knight withdrawing once more to stand by the Sheriff.

"This is a mockery Sheriff. You have no demonstrable proof this girl has committed a crime. The only crime here is against Chivalry. You intend to let your armed and protected knight fight a boy with a knife?"

"Who do you think you are?" demanded the Sheriff, red faced with anger. "You stride in here and insult me. How dare you. I demand you remove yourself, and let justice be done."

"I say again Sheriff, how is this justice?"

Ignoring the spluttering Sheriff, Percival walked over to the girl, placed his hand gently under her chin, and raised her battered face so he could look into her eyes. She had obviously been beaten, bruises decorated her face in ugly rainbow and she had a split lip.

Percival spoke gently. "Did you kill your Father?"

Tears welled up in her eyes and she shook her head angrily and looked back at the Sheriff.

"That's all I needed to know."

Walking over to the boy with the knife he looked at him and made a decision. "I can see you love the girl, but you will get killed if you take on the Crimson Knight."

Indecision warred across the boy's features as he looked into the calm blue eyes of the young Knight in front of him.

"I know what it is to love, but I also know what it is to lose a love. If you fight, she will lose you, and you will lose her. No-one will win. If I fight, there may be a chance. Will you let me handle this?" he asked him quietly.

The boy looked over at his girl, and once again into the pale blue eyes of the newcomer. Seeing only compassion, he nodded abruptly and stepped back to his family in the crowd, who stood hushed with the other townsfolk. Percival moved to stand in front of the still fuming Sheriff, his Knight waiting for new orders off to one side.

"I challenge," he said clearly. "This girl is innocent of any crime other than spurning the advances of a man trying to press his suit on an innocent girl, namely you, Sheriff. Furthermore, I accuse the Sheriff of Murder, Assault of a Woman, and of abusing his position of authority.

"How do you plead my Lord Sheriff?"

"I answer to no-one other than a member of the aristocracy," snapped the Sheriff.

"Then you answer to me," said Percival grimly. "I am Percival, ward of the court of Tintagel, and legally adopted son of King Mark."

"Ah, the Bastard. You boy, are the illegitimate son of a whore who has cast his own spell on the dullard King Mark, and furthermore...."

The Sheriff got no further in his tirade.

Percival took two quick steps and punched the man as hard as he could with a gloved fist, his face white with anger. As he moved to close on the now fallen Sheriff, his face murderous with rage, he was stopped by the swing of a massive sword as the Red Knight moved into action, his blade coming between Percival and the fallen Sheriff.

The Red Knight stood ready.

Percival stepped back and drew his own sword, eyes still burning with anger. Taking a deep breath, he visibly calmed himself and faced the Red Knight.

"Kill him," screamed the Sheriff from the cobbles.

The Red Knight launched himself across the square, and Percival found himself battling for his life as massive blows rained off his desperately wielded blade. He parried frantically, awed by the sheer power of his foe who remained implacably silent behind his visor, the crowd stunned to silence by the speed of the huge blade.

Percival's opponent was attired in heavy chain, with metal greaves fixed to his shins, and the crimson visored helmet covering his head. Dressed only in his light travel chain mail, Percival was well aware that one wrong move would leave him wounded and unable to fully defend himself. He also had the disadvantage of using his shorter bastard sword against the heavier two-handed weapon which, when wielded by such a massive opponent, could prove devastating in effect.

As another massive blow came in at waist height. Percival threw himself backwards to avoid it and came up against a stallholder's cart, the point of the blade missing him by inches. Staggering, he caught his balance on the cart, his left hand squidging into something soft and warm. As the Red Knight came at him again, a warm meat pie caught him full in the face and he staggered backward, giving Percival space to breathe.

The Knight furiously wiped gravy from his visor and, realising his opponent was chivalrously giving him space, he removed his helmet, tossing it to the floor with a dull clank.

Blue eyes regarded Percival from under a shock of dark hair. The man inclined his head briefly in thanks, hefted his sword, and attacked again.

Blow after blow was traded, but it was obvious that the more heavily armoured knight would win eventually unless something changed.

Percival changed tactics.

As the Red Knight came into the attack, a sweeping blow coming in at shoulder height, Percival sidestepped the blow, threw his sword to his left hand and, rather than blocking with both hands as would've normally been the case, he dodged the blow using his left hand to slice his opponent across the back of his unprotected thigh.

Blood gouted from the wound as the knight roared in pain. He stumbled away from Percival, protectively holding his leg with a gauntleted hand.

"Do you yield Sir Knight?" said Percival.

The man, to Percival's surprise, shook his head.

"Kill him you idiot," shouted the Sheriff.

Percival shook his head in surprise at his opponent. "You would take this to the death?"

The Red Knight nodded perfunctorily and then gestured at Percival to come and fight.

"So be it," said Percival grimly, unhappy the Knight had refused the chivalrous way out of the argument.

Percival moved towards the injured knight, and shortly afterward when the opening inevitably came, he skewered his sword through the open mouth of the former champion of the Sheriff of Exeter.

"Guards," shouted the Sheriff shrilly, "arrest that man."

Before the guards could move, Arthur shouted out across the square, drowning out the appalled discontent of the people and, shedding his concealing cloak, strode forwards through the throng.

"Enough," he roared, the crowd dropping to their knees as they recognised Arthur, clad in his pure white surcoat, and white enamelled armour.

The High King walked over to the open-mouthed Sheriff, and backhanded him almost casually across the face, knocking the astounded man to the ground.

"Guards, arrest this man and clap him in irons. You, Sir, have abused your position of trust and will be punished accordingly. Take this filth from my sight."

"So what happened after that?" demanded Iseult, eyes shining with curiosity as she brought Arthur back from his reverie.

"We had a chat," smiled Percival, taking up the story. "Arthur had been in Exeter before the fight, gathering information and listening to the local people. He'd been just about to challenge the Red Knight himself, and remove the Sheriff from office when some hothead from Cornwall decided to jump in instead.

"Different rules apply to the Monarchy and trained Knights. I was able to save the boy with the blade, but Arthur couldn't do anything other than buy me a drink if I won, or pick up the pieces if I'd lost.

"Arthur was kind enough to buy me a drink, and since then Exeter has changed its protocols on carrying a blade within the city walls, and the current Sheriff is a good man.

"After the fight, we traveled to Camelot together and then I was apprenticed. Lord Gornemant became my mentor through the remainder of my training. The rest, as they say, is history."

"He seems to have done relatively well since," said Arthur smiling. "Well, I think perhaps it's time to turn in for the night. We are going to have an interesting day tomorrow. We will meet with the available Knights, discuss recent intelligence, and complete the preparations for the excursion to Silbury Hill."

He stood up, nestling the sleeping Anna, and moved towards her room. "I bid you all good night. Tomorrow, we plan, and start the move to Silbury Hill."