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chapter two
arthur
To a boy who had grown up in a fishing village and later in a mountain cabin far from any civilization, Camelot was something unfathomable in its majesty and vastness and I found myself staring slack-jawed when I arrived at the gate, nearly forgetting my bloody mission with my awe. The town was sprawling and lively, with rich woman shopping for fabrics in so many bright colors they hurt my eyes, and men bartering with tradesmen for the best prices on goods and horses. The children I saw were happy, and even the beggars looked fat compared to the ones I had grown up with. It seemed that what everyone said was true; that this was indeed a golden age for the kingdom, and Camelot was flourishing under Arthur’s rule. A cold feeling entered my gut, and all awe and excitement washed out of me like a sigh as I was reminded of my mission. I knew in my heart that a king whose kingdom looked like this could not be an evil tyrant. I had hoped—a small part of me had hoped—that I would be able to hate Arthur Pendragon—anything to make this horrible charge easier, but I knew it was not to be. I knew then, and I would only be more convinced later when I had actually met Arthur himself.
I did not
go to the castle first off, for it was evening when I arrived, and I wanted to
make a start of it in the morning. So I found an inn to stay at for the night
and enquired about how best to approach the king as a knight.
Most men
looked at me skeptically, and I knew well I was no real knight, but they didn’t
say me nay. Perhaps it was my dark desperate look, for I had become a bit of a
hard looking young man for my suffering at Lady Morgan’s hands and perhaps,
despite my young age and willowy figure, they were willing to give me the
benefit of a doubt.
One man, a
trader, was very kind to me. “I am going to the castle myself tomorrow with a
shipment of cloth for the Queen’s wardrobe. You may travel with me if you
wish.”
“I would be
glad to,” I replied and also allowed him to buy me an ale that night.
I slept poorly,
my stomach churning, tossing mercilessly on the rough cot, with the thought of
meeting Arthur the next day—if he were not too busy to see me. I wished, oh how
I wished, I could have run with any hope that Lady Morgan would never find me,
but I knew it was not to be. I feared her powers with magic, not knowing how
much she really possessed and not wanting to take the chance. Perhaps I should
have just let her kill me and be done with it, but I knew she would not have
done that, ever. She needed me for some insane reason, and I knew she would
make me do it all one way or another before she ever killed me. The only other
option was to plunge a knife into my own breast, but I blanched at the thought.
It was not that I was too much of a coward to do it; it was that I thought the
action too cowardly in itself. If I killed myself, I would never be able to
beat her, and thus she would have won, and that thought tormented me more than
anything.
So I went
to the castle the next morning with the trader and left him in the courtyard to
go and speak to a knight who was standing to one side, talking to a groom and
stroking his horse fondly. He was a kind looking fellow, like one of those
carefree men who was always ready to laugh and make for easy friends. He looked
the least likely person to be cruel to a boy, so I chose to ask him.
“Your
Mercy,” I said respectably and he turned around, a big, broad man with wild
blond hair, and I could not help but notice that he was the complete opposite
of me: confident, sure, and visibly merry.
“Can I help
you, lad?” he asked, fondling his horse’s forelock as the beast whickered
against his shoulder affectionately.
“I came
seeking service,” I told him. “I wish to serve as a knight for the king.”
The man
laughed but not unkindly. “Not to mean offense, lad, but you have neither
device nor spurs on your boots; are you indeed a knight?”
“I would
like to be one,” I said, trying to sound hopeful, half torn between playing a
charade, and hating the thought of lying to good, just men.
He grinned
again. “Well, then, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try your luck. The king is
always looking for young gallants to build up his knightly circle when his
current ones fall or become too old to wield a sword. I’m Gawain,” he added,
reaching out a hand.
“My name is
Mordred,” I told him and clasped his forearm, feeling the iron muscles hidden
under his tabard.
“Well,
then, Mordred, you had best come with me. Owen!” He called the groom over again
and the man took care of his mount as Sir Gawain led me inside the castle. “I
don’t think His Majesty is up to much right now—probably wants a break from
signing useless documents, so he should be happy to see you right away.”
I was half
shocked at his easy, and nearly disrespectful speech toward the king and the
kingdom’s affairs, as if he were speaking more of a brother. I figured he must
be a very good comrade of Arthur’s to be able to speak so and loudly enough for
all to hear, and that both heartened and saddened me.
The palace
was the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I would have thought it the halls
of Faery if I didn’t know better. I truly felt the naive boy as I stepped
through the stone halls, warmed by colorful tapestries and populated by
servants bustling to and fro. Sir Gawain led me up a flight of stairs and down
a hall to a room I would later learn was called a solar, where King Arthur was
apparently seeing to his business.
The knight
did no more than knock on the door before opening it, poking his head in
casually.
“Arthur,
there’s a lad here who wishes to speak with you about terms of service.”
“Send him
in, please, Gawain, I’m nearly done here.”
Sir Gawain
took my shoulder and pushed me through the door before closing it behind me. I
glanced back, feeling a bit deserted, and uncomfortable to be left alone, but
then remembered where I was and who I was in the company of, and I turned
respectfully to the man sitting at the desk and fell to one knee, bowing my
head before I had seen him properly.
“No need
for all the groveling, lad. Come, tell me your name and where you hail from.” I
looked up finally to see the famed King Arthur and as his soft blue eyes met
mine, I knew in my heart that I could never kill this man or be in any way
responsible for his death.
He just sat
there at his desk, no crown, no royal robes, dressed simply in a loose shirt
rolled up to his elbows and ink on his fingers. There was nothing in his
overall appearance that looked kingly, but his face and bearing held a majesty
that told of an instinctive dignity; one that came from character, and not
status although he was one of the few men who blessed with both.
“Speak up,
boy,” another voice said, and made me realize with a guilty start that I was
staring. My attention was instantly turned to a man lounging in a window seat
behind the king with a small smile on his lips. He was tall and thin, with dark
brown hair and odd eyes that somehow managed to look both sad, deep, and
mischievous at the same time. He looked how I had always pictured elven
princes, and I never did find out whether the great sorcerer Merlin shared Fae
blood—no one ever knew for sure where he came from, and he would never tell—but
I would come to know him to be both a good, loyal man, and one never to be
crossed.
“I-I’m
sorry, my lord,” I stammered, and to my surprise, Arthur stood from his desk
and came over to me, reaching down to grab my shoulders and pulling me upright.
“Don’t be.
But there is no need to be so in awe. I am only a man as other men are, but one
who has the misfortune to be a king. And don’t you mind my companion; he is not
as dodgy as he looks. Now, let me know your name, my young gallant.”
“Mordred,
my lord,” I told him.
“Do you
have a family?” Arthur asked. “What is your surname?”
I drew in a
breath, wary of the other man sitting in the room. Even though he seemed not to
be paying any attention, I somehow knew he was listening to every word. I took
a deep breath and met the king’s eyes. “My lord, the subject of my family is a
delicate matter; I would speak to you privately.”
Arthur
seemed to find that amusing. “Ah, I see. I will assure you that Merlin is my
most trusted advisor as well as my dearest friend, and anything you say here
will not leave this room. But if you wish…”
“I should
leave anyway,” Merlin said, rising languidly from the seat and striding from
the room. “Call out if he tries to murder you, dear friend.”
My heart
jolted at his words, but the man was smirking and Arthur shook his head with a
longsuffering expression. The door closed behind the strange man, and I was
left alone with the king. He motioned me to a chair.
“Make
yourself comfortable, Mordred. I wish to hear what you have to say.”
“I’m your
son,” I blurted, deciding it was better to get it out, and would have more
conviction that way than if I gave him some long backstory first.
That
stopped him. The smile slid from his face as he froze, looking at me with wide
eyes, scrutinizing, seeming to search for something, perhaps a likeness, maybe
trying to see if I was lying. But I had had my feelings scrambled around so
much by Lady Morgan with her torments that I felt little discomfort with lies
and I knew it would not show on my face. However, there were a few moments of
bated breath for me as Arthur looked me over, then he slumped, turning to sink
into his chair as if all his energy had been spent. And it was then that I knew
he had believed my lie by some miracle and I allowed myself to breathe again.
“I never
thought…” he began, then shook his head and tried again, “I regret that my
youth was a bit cavalier, but…Oh, by the saints!” His face was buried in his
hands. I stood by awkwardly, waiting for him to re-emerge from his tormented
thoughts that weren’t even true. Finally he raised his head and faced me again.
“What of
your mother, Mordred, who was she?”
“I never
knew her name, for she died at my birth,” I told him, continuing the story Lady
Morgan had created for me. “But I was left at an orphanage with a note telling
the truth. I do not mean to grieve you over this revelation, my lord. Truly,
you must believe that it is the last thing I would wish.”
“There is
no way for me to know whether this is actually the truth?” Arthur asked.
I shook my
head. “I am afraid not, my lord. You do not have to believe me, and I would
understand if you did not want me here. Know that I did not come here to seek
your charity; I want it not, for I have been poor all my life and would never
know what to do with any wealth at all. I simply had nowhere else to go. I do
not want special treatment, I want only to be a knight and serve you as a
knight serves his king. You need never mention that I am your son again; I just
thought it best you knew the truth.”
He was
silent again, running a hand through his blond hair. “I appreciate that,
Mordred,” he said. “I do. Honesty is a noble thing in a man,” my heart lurched again;
pained for the lies I had told him. “But you do understand that this can never
be known by anyone but you or I. I cannot let this get out, not for worry of my
own sake, mind, but for Queen Guinevere’s.
It would be shame and gossip upon her even though your conception was
long before her marriage to me.” He smiled again, sadly. “Ah, I curse my youth,
but, oh, Mordred, you must never think that I wish you had not been born.” He
took me by the shoulders and smiled upon me as if he were a proud father
indeed. “I like you very much already, and I will be happy to get to know you
better.”
“Thank you,
my lord,” I replied quietly.
“Come now!”
he said, clapping my shoulders before he released me. “It is a great and
exciting thing for me to have a long lost child of my blood pop up out of the
blue. I would love to fulfill your desire to become a knight, but I cannot do
it rightly without cause, you’ll understand. For I know nothing about you, nor
your skills, and I cannot in good conscious elevate you to such a position
right off. It would not go well for you with some of the other men. I will have
to have you squire for another for at least a year, or until you have
distinguished yourself in some way, and fear not, you shall have opportunity
aplenty. Tell me, young Mordred, what thought you of Sir Gawain?”
“I thought
him a good and kind man, my lord,” I replied truthfully. “Though I only just
met him.”
“Good! You
shall squire for him, then. He shall be glad of it, and he will be good to you.
He’ll make you work hard, have no doubt, but he will not be a cruel master and
will be a good instructor in all things knightly. You shall start with him
first thing tomorrow. Now I really do regret it, but I must get back to my
work. Why don’t you find your way down to the kitchen? If you have problems,
just ask any of the servants. You can have something to eat there. I will have
a room readied for you as well.”
“Thank you,
my lord,” I told him and bowed again before I left the room, so many mixed
feelings rushing through me that I knew nothing of what I should think or feel
at that moment. I was startled to hear a voice coming from the shadows of an
alcove I had just passed on my way down the hall.
“Allow me
to help you wend your way through the castle, young Mordred.” I looked up and
saw the strange man, Merlin, looking at me with his faery eyes and odd smile. I
didn’t know what to reply, but he put a hand on my shoulder and pushed me
forward so I walked with him, having little choice.
“There’s
something hanging over you,” he said musingly. “A sadness, a darkness. I don’t
know if I like it or not.” I didn’t say anything. What could I reply to that?
This man scared me.
“But fate
has many different paths, and I feel you have yet to choose your true one,
young Mordred.” He smiled, a genuine one now and rested a hand more kindly on
my shoulder. “In any case, I shall be keeping an eye on you. Both for your own
safety and that of my friend the king.”
“What do
you do here?” I asked. I felt, even as I let the words leave my lips, that I
was being somewhat rude, but I couldn’t help it. He had flustered me, and I
thought it was only right to be able to pay that back a little.
He grinned.
“What do I not do? I advise for the king, I act as ambassador, among other
things, and do most of everything of import around here.” He laughed at my
shocked expression. “But no, Mordred. I know I must seem odd to you, but you
will get to know, in time, my role here.” And with a smirk he snapped his
fingers and a flame appeared in the palm of his hand. I jumped back slightly,
but then finally realized who was standing next to me with no small amount of
fear and awe.
“You’re the
great sorcerer Merlin,” I said, finally recalling the name for what it was, for
everyone had heard tales of Merlin and indeed, he held a role in Camelot second
only to the king. I was frightened that such a man was taking so much notice of
me, and feared that he saw through my façade. Knew it, almost, but for some reason
I also trusted him not to tell anyone. Perhaps he understood my uncertainty;
later, I would think his belief in me, however cynical it might have seemed at
the time, helped my ultimate decision. He was always a strange man in my mind,
but I also came to know him as a great one, and even as a friend, but that
would not come until later.
He seemed
amused by the excitement my own revelation had caused me. “Yes, so it appears.
Or so people like to think. You may
think what you like, it makes no difference to me.” He pointed me down a hall.
“The kitchen is that way, and I must be off on business. I do wish you good
fortune, Mordred.” And then he was gone, slipping away so quickly that I half
wondered whether he had magicked himself away. It was only then I realized that
he had somehow known I was going to the kitchen, and the only way he could have
known that was if he had heard my conversation with the king. And then I knew
he had heard it all and I wondered what that could mean, if it meant anything
at all.
I ate a
good meal in the kitchen, and spent the rest of the day looking around the
castle with nothing better to do, feeling a bit lost and much out of place in
this world that was so unlike any I had ever known. In the evening, I begged a
bit of supper from the kitchen again and then was accosted by a maid who was
instructed to show me to the room that had been made up for me for the night.
I suspected
I would be staying in the barracks once I had been fully established as Sir
Gawain’s squire, but it seemed for that night I would be staying in the small
cozy room with the warm fire and the soft bed. My few belongings were there and
I only took my boots off before I curled up on top of the bed, still fully
clothed. My mind was in turmoil, and I hated Lady Morgan even more at that
moment, if it were possible. I cursed her viciously. I cursed and cursed, until
I felt a slight pang in my chest as if she knew I did so and was threatening me
with her tortures.
But I had
come to the conclusion I knew I would and I was half glad and half resigned. I
would not kill Arthur Pendragon, and I would simply stay here and live the new
life given to me until Lady Morgan la Fay came to find me herself, because she
held no power over me that I cared to admit, and I would not be her puppet, for
King Arthur’s eyes had been so kind when they had looked on me, even when
thinking I was his illegitimate son, and how could anyone kill a man like that?
I curled up
tight, feeling very alone, and to my shame, fell asleep weeping.
©Copyright 2013 by Hazel B West
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