“Sir Corey, I’ve heard report of your doings this day,” he said, clasping my hand. “It makes your carrying Lance seem more believable. I must say you’re more a man than you look — meaning no offense by that.”

I chuckled. “No offense.”

He led me to a chair, handed me a glass of pale wine that was a bit too sweet for my taste, then said, “Looking at you, I’d say I could push you over with one hand — but you carried Lance five leagues and killed two of those bastard cats on the way. And he told me about the cairn you built, of big stones —”

“How is Lance feeling today?” I interrupted.

“I had to place a guard in his chamber to be sure he rested. The muscle-bound clod wanted to get up and walk around. He’ll stay there all week, though, by God!”

“Then he must be feeling better.”

He nodded.

“Here’s to his health.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

We drank. Then: “Had I an army of men like you and Lance,” he said, “the story might have been different.”

“What story?”

“The Circle and its Wardens,” he said. “You’ve not heard of it?”

“Lance mentioned it. That’s all.”

One boy tended an enormous chunk of beef on a spit above a low fire. Occasionally, he sloshed some wine over it as he turned the shaft. Whenever the odor drifted my way, my stomach would rumble and Ganelon would chuckle. The other boy left the room to fetch bread from the kitchen.

Ganelon was silent a long while. He finished his wine and poured himself another glass. I sipped slowly at my first.

“Have you ever heard of Avalon?” he finally asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “There is a verse I heard long ago from a passing bard: “Beyond the River of the Blessed, there we sat down, yea, we wept, when we remembered Avalon. Our swords were shattered in our hands and we hung our shields on the oak tree. The silver towers were fallen, into a sea of blood. How many miles to Avalon? None, I say, and all. The silver towers are fallen.”