The knights were members of a performing troupe that produced medieval fairs on a regular basis around the country. But this particular medieval fair was for a very special occasion-a celebration, a party to which all of New York City had been invited. And it was to celebrate the election of Arthur Penn to the high office of mayor of New York City.
A reviewing stand erected on the edge of the jousting field had been deliberately designed to look like something out of an ancient tournament. There was a box down front in which the royalty was supposed to sit, and Arthur had very cheerfully and willingly taken his place there, Gwen at his side. Gwen was stunning in a long white gown and a small crown with sparkling jewels on her head. Next to her sat Arthur, looking as if he'd stepped from another time. He was dressed in full chain mail. The main garment was called a hauberk, sort of a nightshirt made out of chain mail that hung to his knees, the skirt slit up the middle almost to the waist. Underneath the hauberk was a padded tunic to prevent the mail from digging into his chest. His leggings were mail tights called chaussures, tied just below his knee with a wide strip of cloth. Over the hauberk Arthur wore a white surcoat-a sleeveless white garment that had no collar or sleeves. It was split up the sides and laced up from the waist to the armpit. The long skirts fell free and were split up the middle the same as the hauberk. A roaring dragon was pictured on his chest.
Around his waist was Excalibur, visible thanks to Merlin, even though Arthur had not drawn it.
Nor did he have any intention of drawing it. Of course, even the best of intentions are lost sometimes to the flow of events.
Gwen leaned over. *'Arthur, aren't you hot in that outfit?"
"More than you'd believe. Eut look at them." He gestured to the excited crowds. "They love the entire concept of me as an ancient king. So occasionally I feel that we really have to give the people what they want, no matter how personally uncomfortable I might be. Let's just be thankful it's the end of November rather than the middle of July. Though it is warm for this time of year."
The two knights thundered toward each other once more, and this time in a beautifully choreographed move, they knocked each other off of their respective horses.
The knights, who were dressed in plate armor, turned toward Arthur expectantly. An announcer clad in a jerkin and possessing a considerable set of lungs, shouted, "The combatants request permission from the king to continue the joust on foot." It was the current mayor, all set to embark on his career, and more than willing to play a part in Arthur's show.
Arthur smiled and gave a thumbs-up gesture. The crowd chewed, as they knew they should, as the two knights drew their swords and began hacking at each other's heavy wooden shields. They took turns whacking at each other, wood chips flying from the shields as they moved back and forth, up and down the field. At one point the red-plumed knight went down to one knee and the blue-plumed knight came in for the kill. The red-plumed knight came in low, swung his sword, and caught the blue-plumed knight across the middle. The air rang with the impact of the blow, and the blue-plumed knight went down. The red-plumed knight was up in a flash and held the blade of his sword over the fallen knight. The crowd went wild as the downed fighter put up a hand in supplication and the announcer shouted, "The blue knight yields!"
Arthur applauded the outcome along with the rest of the crowd. There was a tap on his shoulder and he turned. Percy was there, smiling. Arthur looked at him reproachfully. "Percy, you're supposed to have dressed for the occasion."
"But Arthur, I did."
"I hardly think that a Dragon's Lair sweatshirt qualifies as knightly attire."
"Best I could do." He clapped Arthur on the shoulder affectionately and said, "I've seen Merlin wandering around. He looks suspicious."
"Merlin always looks suspicious. That's what he does best-be suspicious. Don't worry about it."
"Okay. You're the king. Is there anything I can get for you?"
"Yes. Something to drink. Anything liquid, short of motor oil."
Percy nodded and left.
Costumed actors wandered about, mixed in with the crowd. Young maidens shrunk in fear as amused tourists snapped their photographs-the lasses were concerned that pieces of their souls were being taken. Knights in armor looked gallant, assassins stalked, and a good time was being had by all.
Percy found a booth where cider was being served, and got a large mug of it for Arthur. He turned and bumped into a knight clothed similarly to Arthur, except that his surcoat was solid black. Not a spot of any other design on it. He held a barrel helmet under his arm.
"Excuse me," said Percy, trying to get around the knight.
But the knight took him forcefully by the arm. Percy looked up in surprise and said, "What do you think you're-" Then his eyes widened. "Moe!"
Modred's eyes smoldered with fury, and he said in a low voice, "Listen to me carefully. Are you listening, Percival?"
Percy stared deep into those angry eyes, and his own glassed over. Modred did not smile at his easy success. He held up a small packet with a green powder in it and said, "You will take this. You will empty the contents into the drink. You will give the drink to Arthur, and you will say nothing about it to him." Modred paused to allow the words to sink in. "Is that understood, Percy?"
Percy nodded, turned and left. He took several steps, then lifted the packet up, tore open the top with his teeth, and spilled the powder into the drink. The cider bubbled momentarily, and a thin wisp of steam rose from it. Then it settled down, changing to a slightly darker hue.
Percy stared at it blankly and went on his way.
Modred smiled and turned, only to bump into two scruffy-looking individuals dressed as village idiots.
"Do I know you?" Chico asked him. Groucho, his fellow village idiot, inclined his head slightly and looked at Modred with passing curiosity.
"No," said Modred tightly. "I don't think so." He placed his helmet on his head and stalked away, patting the hilt of his sword eagerly. Chico and Groucho watched him and scratched their heads in thought.
Back in the reviewing stand Gwen was looking at a printed list of activities. "Arthur," she said, "that joust was the last thing. You think we can go soon? I love the gown, but I'd really like to get out of it." She smiled mischievously. "Would you care to help me?"
He laughed. "Ma'am, I'll have you know I'm betrothed."
Gwen rested her head on his shoulder, wrapping her hands around his arm. "It can't be soon enough for me, Arthur," she said.
"Nor for me," he said.
A cup was thrust under Arthur's nose. He looked up and saw Percy there. Percy was smiling, yet something about his expression seemed a little ... he wasn't sure . . . off, somehow.
"Percy, is something wrong?''
"No, Arthur. Not at all. Here. Here is your cider."
Arthur shrugged and took the mug. He stared at it for a moment. There was something vaguely wrong. Something he could not put his finger on. But he could not for the life of him figure out what it was.
He shrugged and downed the poisoned cider.
It had a faintly acid taste and he frowned. "Needs more sugar," he said.
"Arthur, please," said Gwen. "Can we go now?"
"Yes. Absolutely, we'll-"
"Arthur! Arthur Pendragon the Coward, son of Uther Pendragon the Murderer! I challenge you!"
Arthur had half risen out of his seat, and now he sat down slowly, his gaze held by the knight in the black surcoat who stood before him. His loud words had attracted the notice of everyone within earshot. Crowds that had started to disperse began to gather once again.
And Gwen, completely befuddled, paged through her program. This wasn't on the schedule.
Even though the other knight was helmed, Arthur recognized him. He smiled unpleasantly.