The Return of Sir Percival Read Online Free Page A

serving as her desk and, often, the place where she took her meals. The two candles on the table illuminated a small, windowless room whose walls were lined with half-empty bookshelves and locked wooden boxes in varying sizes.
    As she sat down, Cadwyn said in a whisper, “I checked on the two guards the bishop left behind. They are dicing in their quarters, and both have had more than a fair share of mead, so we need not fear eavesdroppers tonight.”
    Guinevere nodded as she glanced toward a nearby window to make sure the shutters were closed. Bishop Cosca Verdino had arrived at the abbey six months after she had taken refuge there, dressed in full liturgical regalia, accompanied by a cadre of four guards wearing outlandish uniforms.
    According to the bishop, he’d been appointed by the Holy See to serve as both the Bishop of Albion and as the papal legate to the Queen of the Britons “in her time of need.” Guinevere had been skeptical of the pompous little man, whose face was rendered nearly invisible by his bushy beard and the overly large alb and miter he wore whenever they met; but the abbess had vouchsafed for the official-looking documents he bore.
    At first, Guinevere had ignored the wheedling little man’s oft-repeated warnings regarding the dangers of leaving the abbey’s grounds, but over time, it had become more difficult. Verdino had proven to be both persistent and clever, and his authority over the Abbess and the other sisters had given him the means to enforce his will.
    Unaccountably, the abbey’s horses would be unavailable on the days when the Queen had scheduled a ride. When the horses were available, Verdino would order his guards, along with the unhappy abbess and a flock of sisters, to accompany her on the ride. The tactic was as galling as it was clever. The devious prelate knew she wouldn’t countenance the imposition of such a burden on the abbess and the sisters solely to accommodate her own pleasure.
    When Guinevere had confronted the bishop regarding his interference, he’d politely offered her a surprising compromise, one she’d felt compelled to accept. Somehow, Verdino had discovered that the tide of chaos and violence sweeping over Albion had deprived her of the ability to collect the rents due from the tenants farming or grazing livestock on her lands and on the lands of the crown. Verdino also knew that without this source of income, Guinevere had no means of maintaining her own modest household; nor could she provide relief to the loyal subjects who continued to serve the needs of what was left of the kingdom.
    Verdino had professed to have the means to collect these rents and tithes, through the “power of the church,” despite the land’s dark times. He promised to collect them if, in return, she would agree not to leave the abbey’s grounds unless accompanied by a sufficient force of guards. Although Guinevere had been incredulous of Verdino’s claim, the bishop had been true to his word, and so, in the main, she had been true to hers. At times, she found the bargain she’d struck to be oppressive, but it was a burden she had to bear, like so many others, for the good of what was left of the kingdom.
    Cadwyn, on the other hand, was not one to bear the bishop’s restrictions without complaint. As far as she was concerned, the bishop was a loathsome scoundrel whose sole objective was to find and steal the hidden trove of treasure Arthur was rumored to have left to fund a restoration of Camelot. Although Guinevere suspected this treasure might well exist, its whereabouts were unknown to her. So even if Cadwyn’s suspicions were correct, the bishop’s avaricious plans would, in the end, come to nought.
    â€œWhat did the messengers bring today?” Guinevere asked.
    Cadwyn sat on the wooden bench, placed the basket in the middle of the table, and drew off the cloth, revealing twelve scrolls of parchment, each