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The tattoos were triangular, with each of the three corners extending down, like an outstretched arm, curving inward into a protective spiral.

An emblem of brotherhood, Tristan reflected, a Celtic symbol of some kind.

Perhaps Lancelot will grace me with another of his fine tales when he explains its significance.

Hiding his grin, Tristan lifted his chalice and drank deeply of the rich burgundy wine.

When the final course of the meal was finished and the dishes cleared away by discreet and diligent servants, fiddlers and flutists began performing in the ballroom.

The four distinguished couples seated at their table rose to join the many other lords and ladies who had flocked to the dance floor, leaving Tristan, Lancelot, Esclados, Laudine and Agrane to chat more freely.

Taking advantage of the lull in conversation, Tristan decided to satisfy his curiosity and inquire about the mysterious tattoos. “I’ve noticed that you all bear the same mark on your inner wrist,” he began with a quiet smile. “What is the meaning of the tattoo you share?”

Lancelot stared proudly at the green design on his wrist, glancing up at Tristan with a grin.

“It’s the emblem of the Tribe of Dana—the Goddess of Nature.

We’re the defenders of Her realm—the sacred forest , such as Brocéliande; the sacred waters , such as the Fountain of Barenton, and the sacred stones , such as les Menhirs de Monteneuf , which are portals to the Otherworld. ”

Tristan glanced at Sir Esclados and Lady Laudine. Their faces glowed with the same reverence that shone in Lancelot’s bright blue eyes.

Tristan noticed that Laudine also bore a similar tattoo, with the same curves ending in spirals but with thinner, more delicate scrolls.

Laudine, observing his inquisitive expression, explained the meaning of her tattoo.

“My tattoo is given to priestesses of the Tribe of Dana who have defended the sacred waters of the Goddess. I am the guardian of the sacred spring of Barenton. I wield its holy power to heal and protect.” Her face glowed, a warm smile reflected in her kind eyes.

Lancelot flashed his boyish grin at the lovely Lady of the Fountain.

“Laudine studied with my mother Viviane—the Lady of the Lake—who bestowed upon her the curative powers of the sacred fountain. Many a wounded warrior has been healed by the lovely Lady of the Spring, in our sacred Forest of Brocéliande.” Lancelot raised his goblet of wine in a toast. “To the Tribe of Dana! Defenders of Her sacred realm!”

Tristan joined his fellow knights in the tribute to the Goddess as he clinked his goblet to theirs, drinking in the spirit of brotherhood with generous swallows of his host’s fine wine.

The merriment and revelry continued for three days, with Tristan strolling along the lilied pond and under the floral trellises with Lady Laudine, galloping into the forest for hunting and falconry with Esclados, Lancelot, and Agrane.

Nightly feasts offered jubilant revelry, with troubadours, harpists, and fiddlers entertaining the joyous dancers in the expansive ballroom.

Each evening at their dinner table, Lancelot planned maneuvers with Esclados and Agrane as they included Tristan in the knights’ training at la Joyeuse Garde .

Most of the royal guests then departed, returning to their chateaux and stately manors.

Some of the knights escorted the ladies home—including Laudine— returning to la Joyeuse Garde for vigorous training with Lancelot, Esclados and Agrane.

As the weeks flew by, Tristan saw a marked increase in his strength, accuracy with a bow and arrow, and dexterity with the sword.

One afternoon, when Lancelot and his knights were in the midst of their midday meal, a horseman arrived at the chateau with an urgent message. A servant ushered him into the La Joyeuse Garde while a stable hand tended the slathered horse.

Breathless, the rider gasped as Lancelot and his knights gathered to listen. “Sir Lancelot, Lord Esclados—I have come from the chateau of Landuc. The castle is under attack!”

The horseman wheezed, winded from hard ride. Esclados rushed forward, his eyes blazing. “My wife. Has she been harmed?”

The messenger shook his head, panting. “No, my lord. The Lady Laudine is inside the castle. She is well protected by two dozen knights. With two dozen more manning the defense towers.”

Lancelot helped the horseman to a seat and knelt beside him, his expression grave. “Who is behind the attack? How many soldiers?”

The rider fixed his desperate eyes on Esclados.

“It is the dwarf Bédalis, my lord. He has an army of knights surrounding the castle. He knows that you and most of your men are here training with Sir Lancelot. So, he has attacked now—while you are away.” He gulped some water that a servant offered.

“The dwarf has demanded that Laudine surrender the castle.”

Lancelot rose to his feet, his brows lowered. “Bédalis delves in the dark arts. He wants control of the spring. If he abducts Laudine—”

The Red Knight interrupted Lancelot and began barking orders.

To Agrane, he commanded, “Summon the Tribe. Leave immediately. Meet at Comper .” He glanced at Lancelot, who nodded in confirmation.

Agrane and six knights rushed into armor and strapped on their swords while the grooms raced to ready the horses.

Lancelot dispatched a messenger for Comper, with orders to prepare the chateau for his imminent arrival.

Esclados turned back to the rider from Landuc and fired more questions. “Has the castle been breached? Are there armed men inside the gate?”

“No, my lord. When I left—three hours ago—they had not yet breached the outer wall.” The Red Knight paced back and forth in front of Lancelot and Tristan.

“Agrane and his men can summon two—perhaps three—dozen members of the Tribe. We can bring sixty knights with us, and still leave a minimum of guards here for defense. If we surround the dwarf’s men and block any escape—the element of surprise is in our favor. ”

Lancelot shouted to his knights. “At arms! We ride to Comper. We attack tonight. Now go—make haste. To Comper!”

Esclados approached again, pensive and grave. “As Lord of the Spring, I also wield its power. For its defense .”

Tristan watched the Red Knight pace, forming his battle strategy. Esclados turned abruptly to Lancelot.

“If I can reach the fountain, in the heart of the forest, I can summon a storm. Lightning, thunder, winds, hail. By drawing forth the divine power of the sacred spring.”

Adrenaline flooded Tristan’s veins as the dark eyes of the Red Knight blazed in the setting sun.

“There’s a sacred pine tree beside the well. Where the spring forms the Fountain of Barenton. A golden basin hangs from one of its branches. I can summon a tempest by pouring three drops of the sacred water from the fountain onto le Perron de Merlin —the wizard’s ancient stone.”

The thrill of battle surged through Tristan as he listened, enthralled.

“With lightning, tremendous winds, and hail appearing out of nowhere, Bédalis’ men will be terrified. They’ll suspect an evil enchantment.”

Lancelot’s eyes were aflame, caught up in Esclados’ plan. “We attack from behind. Overpower them. With the element of surprise, the terror of the storm, the cover of darkness—all in our favor.”

The three men nodded, quickly donning their armor and swords. They dashed outside to the awaiting horses as Lancelot gave instructions to his servants.

“Most of our knights will return tomorrow. I’ll keep a half dozen with me at my mother’s chateau. I’ll return in three or four days.” With a quick nod to Tristan and Esclados, they mounted their destriers and rode off to join the warriors of the Tribe of Dana.

* * * *

At the Castle of Comper, Lancelot, Esclados, and Agrane were outlining plans in the Great Hall. Knights were sharpening their weapons, checking their armor and horses, preparing for battle. Lancelot, his chain mail gleaming in the candlelight, addressed the tribe.

“Esclados, you and Tristan disguise yourselves as beggars, with a large cloak to cover your armor. Approach the spring slowly, with stooped backs, as if you’re elderly.

If you’re stopped and questioned—say that you’re pilgrims, on your way to the chapel of the Goddess Dana.

That you stopped to rest and quench your thirst at the fountain. ”

Both knights nodded solemnly. “Tristan, sit down on Merlin’s perch—the sacred ancient stone—while Esclados fetches the golden basin. To summon the storm.”

Tristan’s muscles were tightly coiled, screaming for release.

Lancelot turned to address one of the tattooed warriors of the Tribe who had been summoned by Agrane.

“Kirus,” he said, garnering the instant attention of a tall, burly soldier with dark brown hair and a brutally scarred face.

“You and the Tribe will wait in the trees west of the spring. When the storm begins, bring Esclados and Tristan two horses and proceed to the front of the chateau . If the castle has been breached, engage in battle.” Kirus nodded, his regard savage and fierce.

Tristan’s heart thumped through his armor, the wings of a sea raven ready to take flight.

“Agrane, you and your knights approach from the rear of the castle. Engage the enemy from the east and prevent any escape.” Lancelot locked eyes with the First Knight of Landuc. “Take no hostages.” Agrane nodded gravely.

Lancelot turned to face another senior knight from his own command. “Judoc, you and your men approach from the south.” Another nod of comprehension. “And I will lead from the north. All right, men. Get into position and wait for the storm. May the Goddess Dana assure our victory! We ride!”