For Camelot's Honor Read Online Free PDF Page A

combed, washed, cloaked, and looking stern, but not overly so. He appeared ready to allow the welcome to proceed without interference. Still, his presence unnerved Elen, and she was torn between the desire to look away, and the desire to watch him closely for any sign of mischief.
    Elen took her place to her mother’s left, and glanced to Carys. Her sister-to-be looked fine in her gown of rich blue. She stepped up at once and passed Elen the carved tray that held three of the silver wine cups. The fourth waited before mother. Adara watched Elen with a keen, but cheerful eye. Over her head, Yestin gave Elen a quick and sardonic smile, and Elen found herself returning a smile of her own. Yestin, his young man’s beard combed and clean, was all in blue for this ceremony, with a cloak of black bear’s skin covering his shoulders pinned with a gold broach in the shape of a running mare. A belt of bronze and silver circled his waist, but it supported no sword. The only sword in the hall for such a feast was now hanging beside her father’s shield, and it was a great, gilded weapon sufficient to carry in sacred ceremonies, for treaties and weddings. Should a formal agreement come between their people and Arthur, Yestin would carry that sword to the table where the bargain would be struck. Now, it was just one more reminder of their history and honour. Elen felt the strength of her pride supporting her. Her family were with her, their people surrounded them. Together they could face anything that might come.
    Mother inclined her head. At the far end of the hall, square-built Rob pulled open the great door, and the three messengers from Camelot entered, followed by their train of men and boys. These stayed at the rear of the hall while the messengers approached the high table with long, martial strides. They all of them dressed in leather jerkins covered over with silver rings. Madder red cloaks hung from their shoulders and were clasped with gold at their throats. In perfect time with one another, they knelt before Adara, bowing their heads in formal greeting. Mother nodded again, and Elen, moving carefully so as not to spill the wine, circled the table to bring them the guest cups.
    â€œLet me bid you welcome, my lords,” said her mother as Elen reached them. “Please, do you rise and accept the hospitality of this house.”
    Finally, finally, Elen was able to satisfy her burning curiosity and look closely on these men.
    The senior among them was called Bedivere. Some adventure or accident had taken his right hand above the wrist, but he accepted the cup neatly with the one that remained to him. While his hair and beard had gone winter-grey, his brown eyes were still keen, taking in every detail of their hall. His back and shoulders were both broad and straight. He was said to be one of Arthur’s ten champions, who were his high council. Their cantrev might be small, it might even be weak, but the High King was not treating it so. That alone made Elen incline toward hearing well what these men had to say.
    She offered the next cup to the man on Bedivere’s right. He was Kynon, and was brown skinned, hawk-nosed and brown-haired and had come, gossip said, from Dinas Pwyl. She had heard him in the yard as she’d rushed to and fro, swapping jokes with the men, speaking flawlessly with no trace of eastern accent to his words.
    â€œMany thanks, my lady,” he said now as he took the cup.
    The man to Bedivere’s left was the youngest. He was Geraint, one of Arthur’s four nephews. He was a lean, tall man, with a knight’s strong hands and arms. His black hair waved back from a high brow and deep blue eyes. His skin was fair beneath the tanning wind and sun had laid on. He said nothing as he took the remaining cup, but he bowed his head to show his thanks.
    Probably he does not speak our tongue.
Elen found herself a little sad at this, and wondering what his voice would sound like if