Grayle watched with interest as Guinevere and Iseult practised their archery skills. He had not seen his aunt use a bow for some time, and had forgotten how fluid and sure her movements were, and how skilled she was. Both women were dressed in trews, and wore tight fitting leather waistcoats to reduce the chance of clothes or other attributes getting caught in the bow string.

Iseult had very quickly become used to the feel of the recurved bow Guinevere had suggested she use, and the light shorter range weapon seemed to suit her perfectly. His aunt was now correcting her on minor points of stance before letting her shoot.

The girl glanced over her shoulder at Grayle, who was sitting quietly on a nearby bench with Anna, and smiled warmly at him before turning her attention back to her teacher.

"Now, as you draw, keep your hand in close to your check, other arm straight. Sight along the arrow, find your centre. If you breathe in as you draw, the expansion in your chest muscles adds to power in your arms to draw the string back smoothly. Once you have drawn back with the fletching of the arrow nestling against your cheek, bring the arrow down onto target, breathe out, and before you breathe back in again, correct your aim and fire, and..."

There was a near simultaneous twang, sharp smacking sound, a thud, and high pitched "ouch" as Iseult dropped the bow, clutching at the tender skin on the inside of her left arm.

".... and I was about to say that before you release the string, make sure you have your leather bracer on your arm, or the bow string may hit it and it'll sting like hell. Right, go and get the bracer, and we'll try it with an arrow this time."

Iseult scowled at Grayle who was grinning broadly at her. Anna next to him crammed her hand over her mouth in an attempt to stop giggling, but failed, and scampered behind Grayle's back to try and muffle the laughter.

Still rubbing her left forearm furiously, the girl walked to the pile of equipment next to Grayle, smacked him round the head with the leather cuff she picked up, and walked back to a smiling Guinevere lacing up the bracer. Slipping the leather tab back on over her fingers to protect her drawing hand, she nocked another arrow and started again, her arrow finding the edge of the straw target a few moments later.

Grayle watched arrow after arrow wing its way to the target, marvelling at the speedy improvement of Iseult as she practised, Guinevere occasionally interjecting with a minor correction or note of praise.

After a few minutes, he became aware of Percival standing next to him, also watching as the ladies practised.

"Are you sure she hasn't done this before Grayle?" he said softly. "She's very good isn't she?"

"She is." Grayle nodded, watching as another arrow thudded into the target. "It's time to go isn't it?"

"Aye lad, it is. I'm sorry. Go and make your goodbyes son, we'll be leaving shortly."

Guinevere, noticing Percival's presence, put down her bow and lifted a protesting Anna from the bench, wandering nonchalantly after Percival to leave the two youngsters alone for a few moments.

~

Grayle cast a smile back at Iseult as the column started moving. He was saddened to leave, but relieved Iseult was in a safe place. He looked over at his father who was having a last few words with Arthur. They clasped hands and Percival drew his horse alongside. "All well?" he asked.

"Yes, but I hope you've packed enough bacon for grandfather," noted Grayle smiling, "you know how much he enjoys it."

"Would I dare forget?" Percival kicked his heels gently to his horse's flanks, and the column moved along the cobbled streets of Camelot, and out along the road towards Silbury Hill.

~

The trip was largely uneventful, although Grayle insisted they stop in the lee of the great monoliths at Stonehenge, spending a happy hour wandering around the stones as the men ate. As they rode away from the stones, Gawain drew level with him. "Did you find anything of interest back there? You seemed to spend quite some time wandering around those old rocks."

"I find most things interesting, but Merlin had told me that if I ever had the chance, that I should go and have a look at the stones."

"You know Merlin?" the voice came from just behind them, and Grayle and Gawain turned in their saddles to see Daniel riding a horse's length to the rear.

"I... I'm sorry, I did not mean to intrude, it's just that Merlin has always fascinated me in the same way the circle fascinates Grayle, and well...."

"There's no need to apologise," said Gawain, and moved his horse away from Grayle, motioning the other young man into the gap.

As Daniel came in line with them, Gawain repeated his question and Grayle thought for a moment before answering.

"The stones are immensely old, and Merlin was trying to work out how they placed them there. He spent some time in the Holy Lands as a younger man, and studied mathematics, philosophy, and science among other things. He told me the rocks of the henge are identical to those you find in the Welsh hills, although how they transported such huge monoliths so far is beyond me. I suspect Merlin's worked it out though. Although he is a little grumpy sometimes, he is a very clever man. And, once you get past the sarcastic crust, a very good teacher too."

"I've never met him, but Bishop David said he's a good man, for a pagan."

"Merlin is clever and utterly devoted to Arthur, but he knows far more than we do about many things, and has a reputation of doing what needs to be done by whatever means," responded Grayle.

Gawain laughed loudly and clapped Daniel on the back. "Ignore my doom laden friend here, Merlin is an old rogue who knows far too much, and thinks instead of fighting."

"A bit like myself perhaps?" noted Daniel with a slight smile motioning to his priestly attire.

"Not that there's anything wrong with thinking of course," blustered Gawain.

"Not that you did before you made that comment," said Grayle smirking.

As the three chuckled and continued to rib each other, the convoy moved on towards Silbury, various scouts and trackers moving ahead of the main party, and armed and mounted men strewn along the length of the train.

That night, as the column made their last camp before reaching Silbury Hill, Percival watched happily as Gawain and Grayle proceeded to beat each other up with the weighted wooden swords, occasional yelps of pain punctuating the still early evening air. Daniel, sitting on a nearby fallen tree, looked on with interest as Camlan put the young knight and his trainee partner through their paces. Gawain proved to be worthy of the title of Knight, and his training by Gornemant had given him a similar fighting style to Percival, although he was less skilled with his left hand.

"That I think is something we need to work on Gawain," said Camlan as the two younger men finished sparring. "You never know when you might need to change hands quickly or use a knife or backup weapon for two-handed fighting. I'm impressed though, Gornemant has taught you superbly well. Grayle, you're coming along too, but you need to build more strength in your upper body to be able to use the heavier weapons more efficiently. We can work on that though." He bowed to the group. "I'll leave you gentlemen to pack up."

Camlan left the small clearing they'd been using as a training ground, heading back to the camp. As he went, Gawain tossed his sword at Daniel who had been sitting with Percival, trying to catch him out and saying "catch that, oh thinking one," as he threw it.

Daniel deftly caught the sword and, standing up, hefted it expertly before practising a couple of sword strokes, leaving the point hovering briefly at Gawain's throat, before reversing the blade, and holding it hilt first over his forearm at an open-mouthed Gawain.

Percival laughed softly, Grayle joining in from behind him with several wooden swords held in his arms.

"Never judge a book by its cover lad," said Percival clapping Gawain on the back as he passed. "I'll see you gentlemen back in camp."

"How'd you do that?" said Gawain, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Daniel.

Daniel laughed somewhat sheepishly. "I'm afraid I haven't been entirely open with you my friends. I am the youngest son of a minor noble, and so I have been trained as a warrior. But, at present, I am training with Bishop David to become a church knight rather than a priest. Currently, I am learning the ways of the church, and have taken a vow of non-violence for a year. Once that year is up, I will change my robes for chain mail, renew my training, and join the ranks of the church in a more knightly role."

Gawain grinned at him. "Aha, a wolf in priest's clothing. I thought you looked too skinny to be a churchman."

Grayle smiled shyly at him. "I too wish to be a church knight, or at least I'm thinking about it. I'm not quite sure yet."

"Can you read?" asked Daniel.

Grayle nodded. "I was taught by Father Tristan when Percival and I fought in the border wars to the north."

"And you can certainly fight. Good start." Daniel grinned at him.

"You can both read?" The quiet question came from behind them and they turned to face a downcast looking Gawain.

"I take it you can't?" said Grayle quietly. He looked up at Daniel. "What do you think Dan, reckon we can teach him?"

"Anything is possible. As long as he learns his letter quicker than he swings a sword, we'll be fine."

~

Towards the end of the fourth day, the slow-moving column finally came in sight of Silbury Hill.

Rising up over a hundred feet from the flat land around it, the ancient conical mound lifted like a giant barnacle washed up on an inland sea of grass. As they looked, they saw figures dotted around the hill and surrounding area, and trenches and battlements under construction.

"Looks like your grandfather has been busy," noted Percival pointing to the camp at the base of the mound.

Grayle, riding next to him, nodded, awed at the fortifications Mark had built up in such a short period of time.

A rough palisade had been thrown up around a camp at the foot of the hill, with sharpened stakes, a moat, and lookout towers. Their focus was south towards the Saxon Shore, and as they watched, trees were being cleared in the area immediately in front of the camp to provide a killing ground for the archers.

"Your grandfather is the absolute master of a siege you know. But I've never understood his fascination with being bottled up inside a fort," said his father with a smile.

Abruptly, Percival's hand flew to his sword as a man materialised from the bushes at the side of the road, but he relaxed as he saw the smiling face of Morholt.

"Well met, my Lords," he said bowing. "May I escort you into the camp?"