“Kae,” I said. “Arthur’s stepbrother.”
“Yes!” said Sir Gareth. “You do get round, don’t you?”
“You have no idea,” I said. “Really.” And then I looked at him as a thought struck me. I looked back and forth, at all the images of the original Round Table. “These knights are all from sixth-century England. So how come they’re wearing suits of the kind of plate armour that didn’t arrive until hundreds of years later?”
“That was Merlin,” said Sir Gareth. “Remember, he could see the future as easily as he saw the past. He looked ahead, saw the armour, and knew a good idea when he saw one ... He presented the armourers with plans and designs, and next thing you know King Arthur and his knights had suits of armour that no-one else could match. That’s why they won so many victories ...”
“Is that all Merlin gave the knights?” I said.
Sir Gareth sighed heavily. “Who knows? So much was lost, so much was forgotten, after Camelot fell. By all accounts from that period, Arthur’s castle was full of wonders and glories, the greatest knowledge and science of that time, with marvellous devices and amazing inventions. All gone now.”
“What did happen, to the original Castle of Camelot?” I said.
“They burned it,” said Sir Gareth. “Mordred’s followers—in revenge for the loss of their leader. No-one was there to stop them; all the knights had gone off, to fight and fall at Logres. The women and children had just enough warning to get out, before Mordred’s bastards arrived. And afterwards ... the last occupants of Camelot scattered, first across England, and later Europe, telling stories that became legends, of the glory that was Camelot. Nothing of the castle survived, and all too soon no-one even remembered where it once stood.”
“You never found it while you were searching for Arthur?”
“We never looked,” Sir Gareth said simply. “The London Knights preserve the best of the old, and we live by long-established and revered traditions ... but we have chosen to look forward, not back. There’s enough needs doing in the present without obsessing on the past.”
We walked on, talking easily about this and that. It occurred to me that we’d been walking a long time without even a glimpse of the more civilised inner quarters. I was moved to wonder aloud exactly how big Castle Inconnu was.
“Hard to tell,” said Sir Gareth. “We’ve been adding to the old place for centuries, as our order grew larger, and we needed more living space for our wives and families. We’re as much a city as a castle when you get right down to it.”
“So who else wants to find Arthur?” I said. “Name some names. I might know some of them.”
“Personally, or professionally?” said Sir Gareth. “I can remember when the good guys fought the bad guys; now it seems like half the time we end up working together to take down some outside force that can’t even tell the difference between good and evil. But, our main enemy at the moment used to be one of our own. Jerusalem Stark, the Knight Apostate—rogue, heretic, and blasphemer. Once our brightest light, our most accomplished warrior, now our greatest failure and most dedicated enemy. He was the best of us until he had his crisis of faith. Now the man who swore to follow our cause all his life has given his life to our destruction. Sworn to see us all dead, down to the last man. And to achieve that, he has shown himself ready to join with the worst there is. Poor Jerry. We tried to help him after it all went wrong; but he didn’t want to be helped. If he finds King Arthur first, he’ll kill him, if only to spite us.”
“Why?” I said. “What happened, to turn him round so completely?”
Sir Gareth paused, considering his words carefully. “We had gone to war, in another dimension. Worlds in the balance, whole civilisations at stake, everything to play for. We fought valiantly, with Jerusalem Stark at our head; and the enemy could not stand against us. So they fought dirty. They took Jerry’s wife, Julianne. Turn back, they said, or we’ll kill her. But we couldn’t turn back; it would have meant throwing away everything we’d gained. So many lives lost for nothing and so many more put at peril. So we pressed on, and they killed her. Jerry argued against it, begged for more time to come up with a rescue plan, but there wasn’t any time.
“I was there with him when we found the body. After the battle was won. They’d taken their time with her, the bastards. We executed all the leaders, of course; but it didn’t bring Julianne back to life. Or undo one small part of what they’d done to her. Jerusalem Stark cursed us all and walked out. From that day on, he was our most relentless enemy, and all our previous enemies his friends. And as if that wasn’t enough, he made a deal with ... forces best not named out loud. They brought Julianne back from the dead, as a ghost. Now Jerry carries her preserved heart in a silver cage on his belt, to hold her to him.
“He still believes that if he can only find powerful enough allies, someone will bring her all the way back to life. The fool. If it was at all possible, we would have done it. We all loved Julianne. She brought such light and warmth into this sometimes dry and dusty place.”
“Are there any female knights?” I asked.
“No. Tradition, you see. It shapes so much of who and what we are. The order does change, but only slowly. We are still mostly a religious order ... but it wouldn’t surprise me to see the first female knights ordained in my lifetime. We’re not celibate; but it is always understood that our lives and our loyalties belong to the order, first and foremost. ‘I could not love thee, dear, half so much, Loved I not honour more ...’ Most of us have wives and children. We keep them here in the castle with us, where they’re safe.”
“So what do the women here do?” I said. “Act as servants?”
“No,” Sir Gareth said patiently. “The castle may be medieval, but we’re not. Castle Inconnu is full of airy spirits that do all the necessary things. The knights fight; our women provide all the necessary backup work. Doctors, librarians, teachers, historians, armourers ... We couldn’t do what we do without them. Julianne was our spiritual councillor. Our priest confessor in all but name. That’s why she was with us on that fateful battle-field so far from home. We would have saved her if we could. There wasn’t enough time. I would have died for her; but we couldn’t let so many innocents die for her. And she wouldn’t have wanted that anyway.”
“How could you know what she would have wanted?” said a harsh new voice. “You never really knew her. You never loved her.”
We both looked round sharply. Somehow, our steps had brought us round in a circle, and we were back at the beginning of the portrait gallery. And one portrait had come alive on the wall; the calm and peaceful head-and-shoulders pose replaced by a living image. I didn’t need to be told who it was. I never saw a more bitter and haunted face in my life. Jerusalem Stark glared out of his portrait at us, his eyes dark and unblinking, his lips pulled back in a grimace that was as much a snarl as a smile. He had the look of a man who would go anywhere, do anything, for the cause that drove him on. And would never, ever, let him rest. A very dangerous man.
“Hello, Jerry,” Sir Gareth said calmly. “It’s been a while since you last spoke to any of us.”
“As a London Knight, I was granted many privileges,” said Stark, still smiling his unnerving smile. “And they cannot be taken back. I will always have access to Castle Inconnu. You can’t keep me out. You can’t keep the truth out.”