Prince Accolon (A Children of the May Short Story - Book 1.5a)

Chapter Three: The Black Chapel

The chapel Accolon, Ontzlake and the fair maiden rode to was an unusual one. There were no crosses hanging anywhere that Accolon could see, nor an altar table in its normal place in the chancel. The squat building was made of black brick, and stank of incense. It was staffed entirely by beautiful priestesses, each of whom was almost as pleasing to the boys as the fair maiden herself.

They were kept entertained for several days, and Accolon forgot the beautiful maid’s promise of the magical sword. He was entranced by the strange ceremonies of animal sacrifice the priestesses practised each evening; the hypnotic, abandoned chanting and dancing in which they encouraged their guests to participate. Each night Accolon found himself welcomed into the bedchamber of the fair maiden, where she pleased him with all sorts of lovely enchantments.

‘It is almost time for you to leave this place and take up your task on my behalf, my swordless champion,’ said the maiden in her whispering, enveloping voice on the ninth night of their stay.

‘Just a few more days and I will have sufficiently regained my strength, fair one,’ said Accolon, lying under the fur covers of her bed. ‘Let us stay just a few more nights and then I will take up your quest.’

Her ringed fingers stroked Accolon’s smooth chest. She kissed his bare shoulder. ‘Oh, my great and powerful prince,’ she said, ‘when you have achieved your quest you may order me wherever you please. I will be your own slave. But tonight you must participate in our final ceremony at the black chapel, and receive the gift I promised you at our first meeting. Come.’

Hand-in-hand the two of them went from the maiden’s chamber into the chapel, where the priestesses had arranged themselves in a more formal order than had been usual. They were in two rows, forming a guard of honour, only where knights would have raised their swords to form a roof under which the focus of their ceremonies would pass, the women of the chapel used branches of green leaves. The room was filled with the smoke of burning sprigs of rosemary and thyme.

The fair woman gave Accolon one last kiss on the cheek, and went to the head of the chapel. The prince could see her through the corridor formed by the priestesses. Chubby Ontzlake appeared behind him.

‘This is it, brother,’ said Ontzlake. ‘This gift you’re to receive is what gets you what you’re owed.’

All the candles in the chapel were suddenly extinguished, and the chapel was plunged into darkness. The priestesses began to chant in the oldest language of the Britons, which Accolon did not understand. The chanting was quiet at first, accompanied by the percussive sounds of the priestesses knocking their branches together, and the rustlings of leaves. As the chant grew louder Accolon became aware of a strange green glow filling the black chapel. At first it swirled around the rafters, but gradually it became bright enough that they could see the priestesses’ strange dance. All those lovely women were moving with a warlike edge, very differently from the ecstasy of previous nights. They clashed their branches together, they stamped their feet in martial rhythm.

Strangest of all was the sight of the fair maiden in her place at the far end of the dance. She now held a sword in her hands, still in its fine scabbard. It seemed as if the green glow in the chapel was coming from that sword. She unsheathed the blade, and a bright beam of green light shone directly into Accolon’s eyes.

‘Prince Accolon of Caerleon,’ said the fair maiden, in a voice which seemed to resonate through the bricks of the chapel, amplifying it so she could be heard above the dance. ‘Though you have not asked my name, which would have been courteous, I give you my gift. Come to me.’

Accolon took a step forward, but Ontzlake grabbed his hand to stop him.

‘There’s dark magic in this, my friend. Are you sure you’re determined to accept the gift?’

‘Oh yes,’ said Accolon, staring at the strange blade. ‘With that sword I can win the kingdom. I know the toy. It is Arthur’s sword Excalibur. They say that the one who wields it and wears the scabbard can never be harmed.’

He wrenched his hand from his friend’s grasp and stepped into the dance. He flinched as the branches clashed around him, but though the priestesses swung them inches from his head, he was untouched.  

‘Kneel before me,’ the fair maiden ordered when he reached her. When he had fallen to his knees she knighted him, but not in the ordinary way, with the flat of the sword. She knighted him by digging the sword’s point into his skin. Each touch drew a fine droplet of blood from the prince.

‘Know that your quest is to kill King Arthur,’ said the maiden. The priestesses gave a hellish scream that the woman relished, but hurt Accolon’s ears. ‘And know that the one who gives you this quest is Arthur’s sister, Queen Morgan le Fay. I will have my brother dead.’

The priestesses howled their appreciation. Accolon knew that with Morgan’s gift he could subdue the whole world to his will.