Page 10

The Knighting Ceremony

As a reward for the Tournament of Champions, King Marke presented a destrier —a warhorse—to each of ten winners from the kingdom of Cornwall.

The generous king also gifted each of the champions a new suit of armor, with a surcoat bearing the knight’s coat of arms, for the journey to Camelot.

The knighting ceremony had officially begun with a sumptuous feast of fresh fish, roast boar, spring vegetables and assorted fruits, followed by the ritual bathing and dressing in white for the Night Vigil in the castle chapel.

This morning, Tristan and his fellow knights, traditionally attired in red cloaks and black breeches, followed Lord Gorvenal to the entrance of the Great Hall of Tintagel where the dubbing ceremony—the adoubement— would take place.

The long rectangular Great Hall of Tintagel was made of stone, with columned arches along the eastern wall, where morning sun shone through the stained glass ogival windows.

Four enormous chandeliers hung from the intricately carved wooden embellishments which graced the high, curved ceiling.

A large oval window stood high above the raised dais of pine-scented gleaming fruitwood where King Marke, in a splendid red velvet cape with ermine at the collar and front, a golden crown adorned with glittering gemstones atop his regal head, sat the tufted red velvet throne, flanked by four royal guards in finest livery.

The animated voices of lords and ladies, resplendent in bright satins, jewel toned velvets and rich brocades filled the vast room.

Joyous music of fiddles and pear-shaped rebecs soared through the air.

Lovely daughters of marriageable age, clad in softest silk, tittered with excitement at the prospect of finding a handsome husband.

Wealthy nobles displayed their affluence in fur lined capes fastened with golden brooches which glinted in the morning light.

The heady scents of rosewater, jasmine, and lavender perfumed the air.

The herald’s trumpet resounded through the Great Hall, announcing the arrival of Gorvenal—the First Knight of Tintagel—and the ten accolades.

The jubilant throng of spectators parted to allow the procession to form a queue upon the carpeted area before the king.

At once, all heads bowed before King Marke as he stood to welcome the ten champions who would journey to Camelot and become Knights of the Round Table of King Arthur Pendragon.

One by one, the accolades knelt before the dais to pledge their oath of fealty. King Marke dubbed each knight, bestowing the title of “Sir” with the official adoubement .

As Tristan approached the dais to kneel before the king, his stomach clenched; his mouth went dry.

Wavy brown locks fell forward as he bowed his head humbly before his uncle, lowering himself to his knees.

In a deep voice which rang out through the Great Hall, Tristan pledged his vows as a knight of Tintagel, his right fist chested in fealty.

“I swear my allegiance to you, King Marke of Cornwall. I swear to always protect and defend a lady. To show loyalty, honesty, and integrity. To defend the weak and the poor. This I solemnly swear, my sacred oath of chivalry.”

King Marke stood before Tristan. He unsheathed his royal sword Plantamort and dubbed his nephew’s right shoulder, then the left. “I dub thee Sir Tristan, the Blue Knight of Cornwall. My nephew, my champion, and my heir.”

The king sheathed his sword and raised Tristan to his feet. As he searched his uncle’s bearded face, crinkled in a rugged smile, Tristan saw pride shining in the king’s deep blue eyes, filling him with joy. He grinned from ear to ear as his uncle wrapped him in a hearty embrace.

Celebratory music began anew as the lively chords of fiddles rippled through the Great Hall. Jubilant spectators rushed forward to greet and congratulate the ten newly dubbed knights, who followed their squires to the area designated for donning the new armor, gift of the generous King of Cornwall.

Tristan saw Gorvenal approach, carrying a white surcoat displaying King Marke’s royal coat of arms. Clad in fine chain mail armor of his own, his mentor’s brutal, scarred face was stretched tightly in a broad, fraternal smile. He unfurled the magnificent surcoat before Tristan’s admiring eyes.

Upon its white background, the side profile of the head of a Cornish chough— a black sea raven—was centered amidst an ocean of blue waves, outlined in a perimeter of the fifteen gold bezants of his uncle’s royal heraldry.

Like the cherished ring, whose brilliant blue topaz eye glinted in the morning sunlight upon the largest finger of his left hand.

“The Blue Knight of Cornwall,” Gorvenal chortled. “The king’s champion…and heir.” He slapped Tristan on the shoulder, his teeth gleaming white. “Congratulations, Sir Tristan of Lyonesse!”

Tristan laughed from his belly as Gorvenal helped him don the new chain mail armor and the magnificent surcoat bearing his uncle’s royal heraldry.

King Marke stood in regal splendor upon the dais before his velvet throne. With a grand sweep of his mighty arm, he gestured towards the banquet hall and bellowed to the exuberant crowd. “And now, in honor of the ten newly dubbed knights of Cornwall, let us feast. Come one, come all. ENJOY!”

The inviting aroma of roasted meats and spices wafted through the air as servants scurried to serve the elegant, seated nobles chattering at the tables in the bright banquet hall.

Silver goblets glistened in the candlelight of the four chandeliers, suspended over the rows of rectangular tables.

Colorful gowns and rich brocade tunics of the royal guests embellished the gaily decorated room, where garlands of ivy woven with fragrant yarrow adorned the wooden walls.

At the royal table where King Marke awaited, ten places had been reserved for the newly dubbed knights, with Gorvenal placed at the end opposite the king.

Now seated to the right of his uncle at the royal table, Tristan caught the eye of his companions, his fellow knights who would train with him under the legendary Sir Lancelot of the Lake.

Tomorrow, they would begin the two-week trek across southeastern Britain to the wondrous Castle of Camelot.

Their faces beamed with pride, a hearty grin spread from ear to ear, as they feasted on stuffed pheasant, roast venison, and imbibed in King Marke’s delicious ale.

His voice exuberant, his heart filled to the brim, Tristan raised his goblet to toast their success. With the same cheer that Vaughan had shouted at the celebration feast after the tournament of champions, Tristan roared with joy.

“To Camelot!”