Pendragon's Heir Read Online Free PDF

more slowly, rose from his seat—the gilded knight snatched the cup from the Queen’s hand even while he spoke.
    And flung the wine in her face.
    “A fig for the Table,” the ruffian was shouting, with a laugh, over the uproar of shouts and falling chairs. Perceval saw the King say a soft word, and a lean grey shadow leaped from under his chair. The gilded knight vaulted to his horse as the hound sprang with bared teeth and straining red maw for his heels. Then the warhorse neighed and lashed out with a hoof. The dog scrabbled uselessly across the floor; another heartbeat, and the gilded knight was gone with the drumming of hooves.
    Above it all the Queen of Britain stood still, wine dripping from her face, her mouth pressed shut in a white and wordless fury which swept impersonally across Perceval and all the people gathered in the hall before alighting on the King. Arthur turned to meet it and with a curiously practical gesture offered her a napkin. Then everyone was talking at once—the knights around the table, the ladies in the galleries above, the plain people at their low tables. But in the midst of the commotion, the man who had risen from his seat at the table when the strange knight first snatched the Queen’s cup now sheathed his sword, stalked up the hall to the King and said, low and grinding: “Give me leave, lord, and I’ll beat him like a dog.”
    It was the hawk-faced knight Perceval had met in the Welsh forest, the man called Lancelot. His words would have gone unmarked in the clamour but for the hush which fell upon the hall when he came to the King.
    Every face was turned upon the knight Lancelot as he stood before the High King of Britain. The Queen bent her head and pressed the napkin to her eyes. Only the injured hound whimpered from the corner.
    Crash! A knotted fist smacked the table, making the cups jump, and its owner—a stocky, bull-headed man—growled, “Sire! I’ll go.”
    “Gawain!” said Lancelot. “Of your courtesy, this is my fight. Sire, give me the quest!”
    Perceval knew that if he waited another moment his own chance would pass. He kicked Llech into a trot and rode to the head of the table, scattering attendants. “My lord king, a boon!”
    The King had stood unmoved amid the outcry, but when Perceval spoke he turned his head and looked from the muddy pony to its skin-clad rider, and a gleam shone in his eye. “Speak, good fellow.”
    “My lord, send me to avenge this insult, and let me receive knighthood when I have proven myself.”
    “What!” A very tall man who, when the knight came, had leaned back and begun to crack nuts, laughed at Perceval. “Look at him! Darts and rabbit-skin armour! One look down that knight’s spear and he’ll run back to his pig-pen. Go away, boy, this is work for knights.”
    If Perceval had doubts about facing the enemy knight, he lost them now. “I came here to be knighted,” he said loud enough for everyone to hear, “but I see I must have an iron pot to put my head in. Very good! I will ride after that knight and equip me with his spoils, and I will bring back the goblet to the Queen.”
    The man laughed again. But one of the damsels who had come to tend the Queen went to Perceval smiling.
    “Sir Perceval, the flower of knighthood,” she said. And she curtseyed to him.
    The tall man jumped up, knocking his chair over behind him. “Spiteful imp! You live here a year, refusing to smile or speak, and now you smile at this puppy in the face of King Arthur and the Table Round, and call him the flower of knighthood?” Before Perceval could stop him, he had reached out and cuffed the girl’s ear.
    “Kay,” said the King, quietly, but Perceval saw the man named Kay flinch at his tone like a dog coming to heel. “Will you prove the knights of the Table no better than their enemies? Be sure you will suffer for that.” He turned to Perceval. “I grant your boon, boy. Follow that stranger. When you return bearing the cup, and