Sleepless Knights by Mark Williams Page B

without mishap.
    We emerged from the trees onto the shore of the Enchanted Lake and I took down my hood. Immediately I pulled it back up again as clouds of sprites swarmed into my face, pulling at the short hairs of my beard and making obscene gestures. I swatted them away and dismounted by the misty waters. Not a single sound of fish or fowl came from that bewitched place. I felt a queer sensation passing down my spine and swatted my back; several sprites yelped in pain and dropped to the ground. A peculiar music filled the air. I tried to block it out, fearing its purpose was to bedazzle the unwary listener, and started to hum a boyhood ditty to counteract any malign influence.
    My fears were confirmed by the appearance of a ghostly arm in the centre of the lake. The arm started to beckon me forwards in time to the music. I hummed louder. When it could see, or rather sense, that I was not about to move asinstructed, the arm was followed by the rest of the body. There before me stood a lady and, to my great relief, in her non-beckoning arm she held a sword.
    â€œWho approaches the Lady of the Lake?” she said.
    â€œSir Lucas, madam, of King Arthur’s Court.”
    â€œWhy do you approach me, Sir Lucas of King Arthur’s Court?”
    â€œI seek a magic sword, faerie-forged and fit for a King.”
    â€œWhy does King Arthur not seek such a sword himself?”
    â€œHe is otherwise engaged, but I come as his envoy.”
    â€œYou are his greatest champion?”
    â€œNo, madam.”
    â€œA powerful magician?”
    â€œCertainly not, madam.”
    â€œA bard?”
    â€œNot I, madam.”
    â€œThen, who are you?”
    â€œI am the King’s butler.”
    â€œAh,” she said. For some reason, I cared even less for that “ah” than for the peculiar music. “Then, step into the barge,” she said.
    Before I could ask “what barge?” a small boat silently and smoothly parted the mists of the lake and came to rest at my feet. I carefully stepped into it, and slowly — much too slowly for my liking — it conveyed me to where the lady stood on the water, cradling the sword like a beloved child.
    â€œBehold — Excalibur,” she said. As she did not immediately offer it to me, I beheld it for what I hoped was an appropriate interval. “This sword cannot be broken while it is wielded by the hand of the just,” she said, eventually.
    â€œThat is good to know, madam,” I replied, and made to take it. But she was not finished.
    â€œFar more precious than the sword is the scabbard. It will protect the wearer from shedding blood and cause his wounds to heal. ”
    â€œUnderstood, madam,” I said.
    â€œKnow also that Excalibur cannot be used against another who has wielded it. If it is, then the sword will shatter and a curse fall upon he who struck the unjust blow. He will be doomed to wear the scabbard for the rest of his days, or else suffer all the wounds from which it has ever saved him!”
    â€œI fully comprehend the terms and conditions.”
    She nodded and gave me the sword in the scabbard, which I tied securely around my waist. The peculiar music faded away and the Lady of the Lake sank beneath the misty waters.
    If anything, the boat’s return passage was even slower. Although it would have been the height of stupidity to jump out and wade through the enchanted shallows, the temptation to do so was almost unbearable. At last I was back on the shore, where Plum was trying to shake off a posse of sprites who were making imprudent use of his saddle. I brushed them away, placed my foot into the stirrup and fell backwards to the ground as the untied saddle came loose in my hands. Accompanied by much spritely laughter, I re-fastened the saddle girth and tried again. In the corner of my eye I saw one particularly amused culprit, doubled up with mirth at my fall. I shot out my hand and grabbed him before he could