Blood dripped through the hauberk’s mail, through the seam between the armor’s back plates, and onto the stone steps leading up to the abbey. Four pairs of legs almost buckling under the massive weight of an unconscious knight as the monks struggled to support him. His helmet glistened in the moonlight while Nascien, the abbot leading the procession, carried it before him as he would the Holy Sacrament.

 

Princess Elaine reached between the monks and placed a hand on his breastplate. Tears filled her gentle blue eyes and streamed down her rose colored cheeks. She brushed back her long, silky blond hair with her other hand and looked up toward Nascien.

 

“Will he live, Father?” She asked.

 

Nascien glanced over his shoulder at her. “We must hurry, Your Highness, his survival depends on it. For even as we speak, his enemies comb the countryside searching for him.”

 

Though the night was warm, Nascien’s words sent a shuddering chill through Elaine. She removed her hand from the knight, pulled her cloak tightly around her and gazed back at the long line of monks who followed. The first carried the knight’s sword and scabbard, the second his shield. The rest were laden with shovels, spades and other digging equipment.

 

The parade of friars came to a halt in front of tall, double wooden doors. Nascien swung the knocker three times. The thundering sound of brass pounding against wood echoed through the great stone church. Elaine cupped her ears with her hands when the noise of a bar slid across the doors from the inside, causing a high-pitched, ear-piercing sound. The doors opened slowly revealing a dimly lit hall through which they all filed. Most of the light came from candles lining both sides of the great room, but the hall darkened considerably when the moonlight was shut out by closing those giant doors.

 

“We must take him to the infirmary,” Elaine said.

 

Nascien shook his head. “Nay, that is the first place they will look. Come, we have a secret place we can hide him.”

 

The monks carrying tools departed company and Nascien led his cortege to the front of the sanctuary where a great stone altar stood. Several monks quickly pushed it back to reveal a hidden staircase beneath. Other monks with torches joined the column as they descended.

 

Elaine became a little hesitant when she placed her hand on the cold, slimy wall to help steady her balance as she followed them down. At the bottom, they came into a room surrounded on four sides by stone walls. Wooden planks and massive beams supported the ceiling, and the floor was hard packed clay covered by sawdust. It was furnished with an old bed, a table and two chairs, all of which were made of wood.

 

The monks bearing torches placed them in slots carved into the walls and then helped place the wounded warrior onto a bed cushioned with straw covered by a wool blanket. Elaine shrieked when a mouse jumped out of the straw and ran for a crack between stones in the wall.

 

With gentle hands, the monks began removing the knight’s armor. A large basin of water was brought to his side and Princess Elaine began cleansing his wounds with a cloth.

 

“Should we not have some leeches?” She asked.

 

“Nay,” Nascien said, “he has lost enough blood on the battlefield to allow the healing process to begin. He needs rest now.”

 

“Who is he? Do you know his name?”

 

Nascien picked up the surcoat. “I have known many knights, but not this one. But this I can tell you,” he said and pointed to a marking at the insignia’s top, “he bears the crest of Arthur in his coat of arms. He is, or was, a member of the Round Table. If that is true, then he is quite possibly the last remaining knight of Camelot.”

 

He dropped the bloody garment onto the floor next to the pile of armor at the foot of the bed. “Many a knight has abandoned His Majesty in these last days, and those who did not perish at Camlann have given their allegiance to Sir Lancelot.”

 

“But I heard one of the friars say that Sir Bedivere also survived the battle,” she said.

 

Nascien nodded his head. “That is apparently true, but I am afraid that Sir Bedivere is a traitor to the crown, for he was seen riding with the Saxons.”

 

“What about King Arthur?” Elaine inquired. “His body was not among the dead. Is he still living?”

 

Nascien looked down at the floor and shook his head. “I wish I knew the answer to that, my child.” He gazed back at the princess. “Before we met up with you, and while we were still far from the battlefield, we came upon a barge floating down the river Camel. On it laid King Arthur with his head resting in his sister’s lap, Queen Morgan Le Fay. Many fair ladies clothed in long hooded robes also were on the barge weeping. When I called unto the Queen, she replied that she was taking her brother to the Isle of Avalon to heal his wounds. We watched them until they disappeared into a strange mist, then we continued on our quest to bury the dead.”

 

“But the Isle of Avalon is a Celtic fable,” she said. “There is no such place.”

 

Nascien placed a hand on her shoulder. “Fable or not, the king is gone and all of Logres is in turmoil.”

 

Princess Elaine’s eyes filled with tears. “And where are my brothers?”

 

Heavy thuds from the knocker on the abbey door interrupted their conversation. Loud voices could be heard coming from outside the compound walls.

 

“We must leave you now, Princess,” Nascien said. “You should be safe here.”

 

 

Nascien and the other monks hurried back up the stairway. They repositioned the altar to its proper place, but before they could slide back the bar on the doors, the hinges gave way to the force of a battering ram.

 

In poured the intruders. Dozens of Saxon warriors, bearing axes and spears, burst through the doorway. They wore ordinary clothing, trousers and short tunics, and carried round shields with no markings.

 

Nascien noticed one intruder wearing a byrnie and a sheathed sword. He appeared to be their leader, so Nascien decided to approach him.

 

“What is the meaning of this?!” Nascien asked. “This is a house of God!”

 

“We fear not your god,” the Saxon scoffed. “Your Jesus Christ is a god of peace, but our god Woden is a god of war!”

 

Nascien stood almost toe-to-toe with the Saxon as he spoke. “Nevertheless, your kings promised us sanctuary many years ago when they reigned. You have no right being in here.”

 

“Our kings reign again and we have every right to be in here, for we search for our enemy.”

 

“There are only the friars and I here; we are not your enemy.”

 

“It was reported that some monks were seen carrying a wounded knight from the battlefield. We want him.”

 

“That is absurd! No survivors were found. We were only burying the dead and giving them their last rites.”

 

The Saxon pushed the abbot back away from him and drew his sword. “You lie Christian! We found a trail of blood in the forest leading up the steps to your monastery.”

 

“That is not the blood of a man,” Nascien argued. “Brother Jude killed a deer with his bow just before dusk. Come. See for yourself. It hangs in the refectory.”

 

“No more lies,” the Saxon said and turned to address his compatriots. “Search the place! Look everywhere! Find the knight and destroy him! Take any gold and silver you find for the new Saxon empire!”

 

 

Beneath the altar in the secret room, Princess Elaine could hear the Saxons as they searched and plundered. With every scream and every harsh noise made by the sacrilegious acts of the barbarians, her heart pounded with increasing anxiety. She wanted to rise up and run as far away as possible, but there was no place to go. The only exit was straight into the hands of her enemies, who surely would ravish and murder her. Trying not to think about what was going on above, she continued dressing the knight’s wounds with bandages left by the monks. With each cut and gash, Elaine’s mind became less occupied with all the commotion above and more occupied on her patient before her. Who was this man of valor? What position did he hold on the Round Table? He was, indeed, an excellent specimen of a man, for every curvature of muscle was perfect. Of course, being strong was an essential requirement for all men who wanted to belong to such an elite fighting force.

 

He was clean-shaven and appeared to be quite young for a knight: probably no more than eighteen or nineteen years of age. Not all knights were as handsome as this. Only Lancelot, Gawain and his brothers, plus a few others, could compare in facial features with this one before her. She was glad that none of the wounds marred his beautiful face.

 

His hair, likewise, complimented his good looks. It was dark brown and wavy, soft to the touch, as Elaine noted when she searched his scalp for injuries.

 

Each time she finished dressing a wound, her eyes would return to his, hoping they would open so she could gaze into them. She longed to see what color they were. She also hoped to find out more about him: when and if he awoke. What sort of man was he? What sort of lover could he be?

 

On examining his left hand, she noticed a gold ring with a strange engraving. She could not recall seeing anything like it before, but, knowing time was important, she put aside her curiosity and continued to search and bandage his wounds.

 

Peace finally prevailed above, everything becoming quiet. Elaine finished dressing his last wound and covered him with a blanket made of animal fur. Exhausted, she sat down on the floor along side his bed, rested her head upon her arms on its edge and drifted off to sleep.

 

It seemed like only moments to Princess Elaine but hours had elapsed when she felt something touch her arm. She awoke, rubbed her eyes and looked around the room. The torches gave off a faint light, making it difficult to see. Where was she? How did she get here? Finally, it came to her and she immediately glanced up at the knight’s face.

 

His eyes were open but overshadowed and they appeared to be looking right at her. She smiled and he smiled back. His lips moved yet no sound came out, but she could tell what he tried to say.

 

“Who are you?”

 

“I am Elaine, Princess Elaine. Sir Gawain’s my oldest brother. Who are you?”

 

He moved his lips again but she could not make out what he attempted to say. He smiled once more, closed his eyes and drifted again into unconsciousness.

 

Elated, Elaine rose up and, as she did, she heard the altar being pushed back. The torches on the walls flickered when a light breeze passed through the room. Nascien, followed by a couple of monks carrying trays of food, came down the stairway.

 

“How are you my child?” Nascien inquired. “Are you hungry?”

 

“I am quite well, and aye, I...“ Elaine gasped when she saw bruises about the abbot’s eyes. “Oh Father, they hurt you!”

 

“I will be just fine, my dear. A little physical persecution does the soul good. Now, how is our patient?”

 

“He was awake. He touched me on my arm and tried to speak, but now I am afraid he is in a deep sleep again.”

 

“He will wake up again, but he needs more rest. We will leave this food for you and bring some more supplies. The brothers are preparing a healing ointment you can use on his wounds.”

 

“What about the Saxons? Did they leave? Was anyone seriously hurt?”

 

“They are gone for now, but they will be back. They are not the type to give up. They bruised us up a bit and they did some minor damage to the abbey, but we will survive. God is very gracious to us.”

 

“What time of day is it Father? Is it morning?”

 

“Aye, and it is a beautiful morning.”

 

“Oh I must see.” Elaine started eagerly toward the stairs.

 

Nascien stepped in front of her. “Nay, Princess, you must remain here for now. Danger still lurks above. The Saxons could come back at any moment.”

 

A feeling of disappointment came over Elaine and she glanced down at the floor.

 

“I will have one of the brothers bring you some freshly cut flowers,” Nascien offered.

 

“Oh, thank you, Father,” she said and threw her arms around the abbot, “you are very kind.”

 

After Nascien and the monks left, and the great stone altar was moved back into place, Elaine sat down at the table to eat. She had been brought a loaf of bread, a large slice of cheese, some grapes and a goblet full of goat’s milk. She had forgotten that it had been nearly two days since she last ate and never had a meal tasted so good.

 

While eating her breakfast, Elaine occasionally glanced over her shoulder at the knight. What was the attraction? She didn’t know; but, ever since she was a little girl, she had admired men in suits of armor. This particular man in armor had caught her attention in a way like none other ever had done before. When he awoke and their eyes met, she felt an awe of excitement she had never before experienced. It was as if someone had surprised her with a special gift she always had wanted.

 

With her back to the staircase, and still lost in thought, she didn’t notice the flame of the torch on the wall flicker. Nor did she feel the slight breeze that swept through the room. She just sat quietly consuming her meal and daydreaming.

 

All at once, a large hand grasped hold of Elaine’s shoulder. The grip was strong and pain shot through her arm. She jerked around to free herself but then her heart began to race wildly when she turned to face a Saxon warrior.

 

The corners of his mouth raised to form a hideous smile as his eyes raked up and down her body. She tried to scream but could not. He laughed wickedly.

 

When she tried to put more space between herself and her assailant, she fell backwards onto the floor. Instantly, the Saxon hovered over her. She tried to scream but again could not.

 

She struggled to rise up but her legs wouldn’t comply. They felt limp and weak. Her eyes fixed on his. She tried to look away, yet could not. For the first time in her life, Elaine felt totally helpless.

 

All at once, the Saxon’s eyes began to change. No longer did they glare at her with evil lust but seemed to grow larger and stare off into space. The corners of his mouth began to droop and blood trickled out over his lower lip. His eyes rolled back into his head as air rushed from his lungs with a mournful sound, gurgling deep from within his throat. He collapsed like a marionette whose strings had just been cut.

 

There, before her, stood the knight with his sword grasped between both hands, pointed straight out to where the Saxon had stood. The blade’s tip dripped with blood and his muscles were tense as he stood completely still like a statue. His teeth were clinched and sweat covered his entire body as it glistened in the torchlight.

 

His bandages were being soaked with his own blood and the knight began to teeter. All at once his muscles relaxed, his sword dropped to the ground, and he fell sideways onto the floor.

 

Nascien came rushing down the stairs. “What has happened here?!”

 

“The knight. He saved my life, but hurry, he bleeds again, we must get him back on the bed!”

 

Together they could not raise the knight. Nascien called for help and, within minutes, several monks arrived. The knight was placed back upon his bed, the Saxon carried away, and all signs of the struggle were removed. Elaine, with the help of two brethren, re-bandaged the knight’s wounds. They bathed him in cool water, for his fever had started to rise. After an hour, he began to rest peacefully but remained unconscious.

 

Nascien approached the Princess. “After dark, we will bury the Saxon outside the abbey in an unmarked grave.”

 

“Where did he come from?” She asked. “How did he get in here?”

 

“He must have been hiding in the chapel. Left behind, no doubt, to spy on us and find the whereabouts of the knight. You are not safe here. We will have to move you and him to a safer haven.”

 

“Where will we go?”

 

“I know a place deep within the forest where you can find refuge. After nightfall, I will have one of the villagers take you there.”

 

 

That night, Elaine was introduced to Maccus, a short stocky man with fiery red hair. She was told he was a direct descendant of a Celtic tribe who, centuries before, had colonized that part of Logres. He wore a brown tunic with leggings common to farmers. His scraggly beard was occasionally accented by a polite, toothless smile.

 

Maccus arrived with a two wheeled cart pulled by two oxen and filled with hay where they hid the knight’s weapons and armor. He was placed on a wool blanket, with his head as close to the front as possible, and covered with a fur blanket. His body extended almost the entire length of the cart.

 

“I have never seen such a large man,” Maccus said.

 

“All the kingdom’s hopes lie in the survival of this man,” Nascien said to the Celt and then turned to Princess Elaine. “Maccus will take you to a much safer place. Deep within the forest of Demetia lives Ivor the huntsman and his wife Morwen. I have sent many a refugee there. They will take good care of you.”

 

“Thank you, Father,” Elaine said, then took the abbot’s hand and kissed it.

 

“Now go, child,” Nascien said. “Go in peace and may the Lord Jesus Christ and the Mother Mary be with you.”

 

With the help of Maccus, Elaine climbed into the back of the cart along side the knight. Maccus slowly made his way to the front of the oxen. Standing to one side and carrying a torch in one hand, he pulled the oxen’s reins with the other and they began the long trek. Elaine looked back and waved at the monks until the abbey’s lights could no longer be seen. She laid down and rested her head on the knight’s shoulder, then reached up under the blanket and placed her hand on his chest. It was warm there and she could feel his massive chest rise and fall with each breath. This made her feel safe and less afraid.

 

The night sky was cloudy and they depended on the torch to pierce the darkness and light the way. It was a slow journey and Maccus said not a word as he looked only straight ahead. Hours passed by as Princess Elaine fell in and out of sleep.

 

All at once, Maccus jerked on the reins to halt his oxen. The sudden surge forward awoke Elaine and she sat up. She noticed Maccus looking back over his shoulder in the direction from which they had come. She turned to see the flames of a large fire along the horizon.

 

“They burn the abbey,” Maccus said. “We move on.” He started walking forward as he pulled on the reins and the cart resumed its slow pace. Tears welled in Elaine’s eyes. She could not bear the thought of Nascien and the other monks, who so graciously had helped her and the knight, in the hands of barbaric Saxons. Though their lives were in peril, she knew she was safe, for men who took a vow of hermitage could sometimes withstand torture better than the bravest of knights: because to them, the body is nothing more than a material possession, and material possessions are unimportant to spiritual men who believe strongly in a soul’s eternal existence.

 

She turned and stared into the darkness beyond the light of Maccus’s torch. Whatever lay ahead for her and the knight, Elaine did not know. She only knew there was no turning back.