The Night Dance Read Online Free Page B

the idea of using it to take his own life occurred to Bedivere. He should be dead; all his companions lay lifeless around him. It was merely some quirk of fate that he still lived.
    He sat, feeling that the life was gone from him, that he was some freakish breathing corpse whosesoul had gone off to accompany the departed soul of his king.
    Reaching across Arthur’s lifeless body, he lifted Excalibur from Arthur’s loosened grip and laid it on his own knees. Its golden, bejeweled hilt glistened with diamonds and topaz.
    How could he ever throw his king’s weapon away into a lake? It should be hung on a wall as a remembrance of the greatest king the island of England had ever seen. But what wall? Arthur’s castle at Camelot probably had already fallen to invading armies. There was no place for him to return to, no wall of honor on which to mount Arthur’s sword. And besides—he had sworn to throw it in a lake.
    “But what lake, Arthur?” he asked the dead companion beside him, addressing him as the friend he had been before becoming his king. “What lake?”
    He sat beside Arthur for more than an hour. Then Bedivere got on his knees and lifted his king, staggering slightly beneath the dead man’s weight as he stood. There was nowhere to take him, but he could not just leave him there on the field.
    Bedivere carried Arthur toward the sea crashing at the bottom of tall rocky cliffs. The way down to the ocean was steep, yet Bedivere was so deeply entrenched in sorrow that he barely noticed the difficulty.
    When he reached the pebble-strewn beach, Bedivere laid Arthur down while he collected drift wood and lashed together a raft with tough beach grass as rope. It would be strong enough for hispurposes. He wasn’t constructing a vessel that would have to last long.
    When the raft was built, he laid Arthur on it and draped his own cloak over the dead man’s body. He then heaped the raft with more beach grass and wood.
    Bedivere had witnessed warriors from across the North Sea bury their chieftains at sea in this way, and it seemed fitting. With the edge of his sword, he struck a flinty rock but got no spark. Repeated attempts brought no fire until he switched swords and hit the rock with Excalibur’s blade. A spark instantly ignited a piece of grass, quickly creating a line of flame as it spread.
    Satisfied that he’d built a bonfire strong enough not to be extinguished by the ocean breeze, he pushed the raft out into the surf and watched as the tides carried the fiery vessel away from him.
    The salt of his silent tears mingled with the ocean water as he stood a long time and watched the raft disappear out to sea, the flames glinting on the darkening horizon. Once the raft was finally out of sight, Bedivere returned to the beach. With no idea where to go or what to do next, he sat on the sand as a full moon rose and waves crashed onto the shore.
    In his stunned state, with his mind finally free of the pressing urgency of battles and funerals, he recalled the strange thing that had happened to him in the field that day; how he’d swung his blade downupon his enemy, spraying a veil of blood before his own eyes. His heart had hammered with the effort and the relentless horror of flying body parts until he thought he could bear no more— when suddenly he was transported out of the battle.
    Instead of flailing his sword in a fevered dervish of frenetic violence, he was suddenly lying peacefully on a sun-drenched rock. The tranquility surrounding him in this new place was so complete that the smallest sounds could be detected. A bird sang. A brook babbled and insects buzzed.
    His heart-rate slowed and the warm rock soothed his tightly clenched muscles, relaxing them. He heard a woman’s soft sigh, and he had the feeling that the sound had come from his own mouth. He turned, as if, all too soon, his spirit were departing the serene space, and as he looked back he saw a woman reclining on the rock.
    Long, wavy copper-colored