Arthur

Prologue

When Arthur and Lancelot were young men together, they were the best of friends. As old men together, they were comfortable companions. In between, they were bitter enemies.

Arthur hated sending Guinevere to the convent. It was never an easy decision. If he’d had his way, he would have spared her – maybe made her retire from public life, but he would have kept her in his household. But public opinion called for her censure. Public opinion called for her to be sent away. And the worst part was, he was responsible for it all. If he hadn’t been so much in love with them both, things might have been different.

Chapter 1

The Future King

Arthur’s stomach was in knots. He worried the ring on his finger. He’d never been this far from home, or to a gathering like this. So many people all in one place!

The ring had been a gift from his foster father Ector Ambrosius for his eighteenth birthday.

“This ring is from your true family, Arthur,” Ector had explained. “It came with you as an infant, with instructions I was to keep it safe until you came of age.”

The ring was a simple band of silver, but if he looked closely, Arthur could make out a faint etching of a dragon encircling it. There was no explanation what that meant.

Ector had slipped it onto Arthur’s third finger on his right hand. It was still loose on him and he had developed a habit of twirling it when stressed. Someday, his finger would grow into it.

Arthur and his foster father Ector and foster brother Kay – in truth, they said they were his uncle and cousin – were venturing all the way to the Salisbury plain to attend a great gathering of knights and knights-to-be at a huge Tournament – the one held every three years. Men traveled from far and wide to participate. Fortunes were made, lives were changed, all based on the outcomes of this Tournament. Kay had been to the Tournament three years ago, acting as page of a wealthy neighbor.

In their loft at night, Arthur had asked Kay repeatedly to tell him about the jousts, and the sword fights, and the great knights. What did their armor look like? What kinds of weapons did they have? They’d talked about it for months. This year, it was Kay’s chance to join the ranks of the great knights. This year, Kay was to compete, with Arthur as his page.

The two had lain awake long into the night before, fantasizing about the Tournament – and being knighted. Arthur longed to be a knight someday. He was certain Kay would attain knighthood this year.

Arthur absolutely worshipped Kay. Kay was handsome, confident, athletic – expert with the bow and lance and sword. He was large boned and well-muscled. Arthur looked up to him – not merely because he was three years older, but he stood nearly half a head taller than Arthur, and with his dark curly-haired good looks, was a surprising counterpart to Arthur, who had light hair. In fact, the entire family was counterpart to Arthur’s paler looks. It was obvious to any who cared to notice, this younger “brother” was a foster. But Arthur received love and nurture from the family and was never made to feel like an outsider.

In an effort to keep up with Kay, Arthur practiced with his own bow. He used a long straight branch as a lance for make-believe jousting, and found an old piece of iron to choreograph imaginary sword play.

Kay and Arthur were close. Even though Arthur was a foster, they had grown up like brothers. Arthur was considered a full member of the household. Ector had never told Arthur all the details of his birth family, but he knew that for some reason his own mother couldn’t care for him so he had been sent to his uncle Ector to be raised as his own. Kay had been a jealous toddler at the time, but came to love Arthur as a brother as they grew. Arthur looked up to Kay like any younger brother would.

Now, they were headed to the Tournament in Salisbury! He was to keep his brother’s equipment in order and readily at hand, see to the horses, Kay’s armor, and clean and repair his weapons as needed. It was a big responsibility for a boy his age, but he had more than proven his abilities on the farm. Ector was a strict taskmaster and both boys worked hard. The farm did well.

On the road, Arthur took the initiative and pitched their tent and had supper heating over a fire before darkness had fallen.

“You are proving yourself to be an able page, Arthur,” said Kay. “Here’s hoping you’ll do as well at the Tournament. A good page can make or break a man’s chances at the Games.”

“I promise I’ll see to your every need, Kay. I’ll look for things that need doing before you even realize.”

“I wish you had seen the need for more padding in my bedroll,” complained Ector. “This hard ground pains my old bones.”

Arthur ducked his head.

“Sorry, Uncle. I packed everything I could think of. The pack horse is struggling under all our gear. I don’t think I could have stuffed another item into the load.”

“I jest! You’ve done your best. I doubt there will be anything we need at the Tournament that you haven’t anticipated and brought along.”

The three of them finished their meal – a stew Ector’s wife had prepared the day before and sent with the adventurers. They settled on their bedrolls and slept. Ector and Kay in the tent, Arthur under the stars to attend the fire.

It would take them another full day’s ride to reach the plain where the Tournament was to take place. They had allowed plenty of time for the journey, not knowing what hold-ups they might encounter on the way. Robbers or highwaymen were a real threat, as was injury to the horses on rough ground, and sickness or injury to the travelers themselves. Life was uncertain and emergencies were more commonplace than would have been desired. But they made it to the Salisbury plain safe and sound. They had one night to rest from the journey before the Games began.

Arthur worked late into the night cleaning and polishing Kay’s armor and laying out his weapons for tomorrow’s contests. It would be his responsibility to get Kay outfitted and carry the needed weapons to the contests for Kay. Their camp was a twenty-minute walk, even on horseback, from the center of activity – even farther for some of the venues. The wealthier contestants had showy pavilions surrounding the competition fields, but the less wealthy had to choose campsites further away. He would have to be on his toes in the morning and all day tomorrow. Kay couldn’t afford a delay caused by a mix-up. It wasn’t so much Kay would be angry with Arthur if he messed up. It was his disappointment Arthur wished to avoid.

Arthur finished his preparations, banked the fire, and settled down to sleep. Had he packed the bread and cheese for their lunch tomorrow? He doubted he’d have time to run back to their camp to fetch it in the short time they’d have for a midday meal. He lay awake long into the night, going over the day’s schedule in his mind, watching the stars turn in their nightly rotation. By the time he settled enough to sleep, dawn was creeping along the horizon.

He woke with a start. Ector and Kay were already stirring, emerging from the tent. Arthur jumped up, stirred up the fire and rushed to cook their breakfast – eggs he had lovingly carried in his own saddle bag on the old horse he rode. He had cradled the eggs with straw and eider down to keep them from breaking. It worked! Mostly. Only two of the eggs had cracked, leaving a sticky mess in the straw and down, but Arthur discarded that and cooked up the rest of the eggs as quickly as he could. Kay wolfed down his food.

“We’ll have to hurry to make the first match, Arthur. No time to make the camp tidy. Let’s get going.”

“I’ll be right there, Kay. You two go on ahead. I’ll gather your gear and catch you up at the field.”

So, Kay and Ector mounted their horses and set off toward the center of activity. The first contests were to be bow and arrow competitions. That would quickly reduce the field of players to around four dozen – enough for the jousts, which would take place tomorrow. The following day would be spent on the finals – the whole huge crowd watching men compete one on one in sword fights. That was what they came for. The swords had sharpened edges. The contests were serious. Blood was drawn.

The fights weren’t to the death, but serious injuries weren’t uncommon. In the end, the two who made it to the top earned the right to compete against each other for the victory crown. This Tournament was designed to find the best warrior in the land.

But this year was different. King Uther Pendragon was old. He had no heir. The land would fall into civil war if a future king wasn’t found. Although the Tournament was a festive gathering for folks from all over the island, this year its outcome was serious business.

Arthur caught up with Kay and Ector in time to get Kay set up with his bow and quivers of arrows, ready for his turn at the shooting. According to the posting, Kay was scheduled for the third round of matches against a rival archer from Wessex. When it was Kay’s turn to shoot, Arthur and Ector held their breath on the sidelines. He managed to hit two bullseyes in his first two sets, and win the match. Father and cousin cheered mightily for Kay’s victory.

There followed a short interval, during which Arthur retrieved Kay’s arrows from the target and repaired the fletching on several that were damaged. He replaced the blue-dyed goose feathers with fresh ones he had packed. The blue color represented the house of Ambrosius, recalling Sir Ector’s Roman heritage. Arthur carefully inserted the fresh feathers, trimmed them with his belt knife, and slipped the arrows back into Kay’s quiver. He had two quivers. It was Arthur’s duty to keep them filled with perfectly crafted arrows.

Kay’s second match was ready to begin. This time, his foe was a neighbor. Kay handily beat the young man with his expert shooting. They took their lunch on the grassy field beside the archery range. After lunch, Kay had one more match, against one of the other winners from the morning. His aim was true and his arm steady as he not only hit a bullseye immediately following a center hit by his rival, but his arrow knocked the rival’s arrow aside and split it as it flew home. Whoops of triumph rose from the trio as they celebrated Kay’s victory. A crowd of spectators cheered as well. Kay seemed to be a favorite. He had joined the elite group of victors to move on to the jousting competitions for tomorrow.

That night, much revelry was taking place all over the encampment. Ale and mead flowed freely and celebrants wandered from tent to tent in their festivities. Ector warned Kay and Arthur to stay close. These revelers would be hung over and dull tomorrow. They needed to stay sharp. But once Ector had retired to the tent, the boys joined the revelers. What harm would a flagon or two of ale do?

Before they knew it, they were drinking and laughing with a group of young men from far to the north. Their ale was good – and plentiful. They shared generously. Kay, being the larger of the two, seemed to be unaffected no matter how much he drank, but Arthur’s head was swimming after only two of the large flagons. These Orkney lads could party mightily! And they had brought friends and families. Gorgeous dark-haired beauties mingled freely with the men. Kay emerged from a tent with one under each of his huge arms.

“Meet these lovely sisters, Morgan and Morgause. Not sure which is which, but what matter?”

Arthur attempted a courtly bow and lost his balance. The four laughed heartily. Kay extended a hand to help him up, and he found himself practically in the arms of the taller one, Morgan – or was it Morgause?

Kay and the other wandered off behind the tents for some privacy. Arthur faced his companion and swallowed hard. This woman looked to be far more sophisticated than the simple farm girls he’d previously been with. Before he could overthink, he found himself embracing her, kissing and caressing her, taking her behind another tent.

Arthur kind of blacked out for a bit afterward. He panicked when he woke up, alone on the ground. Thank the gods it was still dark.

“Kay! Kay!” he dared not call out loud. Searching behind the next tent, he found Kay still in the arms of whichever sister he’d chosen.

“Kay! Wake up, wake up. We have to get back to our tent. Father will be awake soon. We’ll be in trouble!”

The two hurried back to their camp. Kay crawled clumsily in beside his father, disturbing him enough to make him roll over and ‘Harrumph’ in his sleep. Arthur bedded down at his place by the fire. They had barely closed their eyes when the morning sun intruded on their sleep.

Arthur’s stomach was touchy, his head throbbed, and his mouth was dry. What were they thinking? He exchanged a sheepish look with Kay. His cousin appeared unphased by the night’s escapades. He wolfed his breakfast hungrily. Arthur covered his lack of appetite by busying himself gathering Kay’s armor and lances for today’s jousts.

“We’d best make our way to the arena,” said Ector.

They gathered their gear, mounted up, and headed to the jousting venue. Along the way, they had to slow their horses to pick their way through a crowd that had gathered along the roadway. They were all packed around a large stone. One of the young men was standing on top of the stone, straining to pull something up. According to long-told legend, a sword existed that was buried in the stone. Every time the Tournament was held, contestants tried mightily to pull it out. Nobody had. It was believed whoever succeeded would be the next King. Since it was unlikely the sword would ever be pulled, the Games were set up to declare the winner as the future king. It was a brilliant idea. The future king would be a great competitor and warrior – one who could lead his men in battle against all invaders and rule the land with might and power. Everyone placed their hopes for the future of the land on the outcome of this year’s Tournament.

“What’s that?” asked Arthur, craning his neck to see as they rode past.

“Never mind. It’s that silly sword. Every Tournament, young fools break their backs attempting to pull it out of that stone. It’s impossible. Anybody can see that. But still they try.”

“Aren’t you going to have a go?”

“I did, three years ago. Nearly stove in my back for the remainder of the Games. Didn’t mention it when I came home because I was too embarrassed. I’ll not let myself get sucked into that foolery again.”

“Hurry along, lads,” urged Ector. “The contestants are lining up.”

Arthur took one quick look back at the stone. At the top, he spied a magnificent sword – finer than any he’d ever seen. Far sleeker and more elegant than Kay’s heavy weapon. Finer even than the much-used sword Ector had brought to camp.

Kay took his place at the edge of the jousting fields. Matches would be taking place all day, until the winners of these rounds emerged as an elite group of a dozen to compete in the sword matches tomorrow. The pairings for the first matches were already posted when Kay, Ector, and Arthur rode up.

Names were called to take their places at each end of the long run for the joust. When a flag was dropped, they would spur their horses to run at full speed toward each other on either side of a low fence and each try to unseat the other.

Those who weren’t jousting in the first matches stood on the sidelines at the ready. The jingle of the harnesses punctuated the stamping and snorting of the high-spirited horses. Then came the startling crash of the lances as wood met metal in the joust itself.

When Kay’s name was called for his first match, Arthur and Ector stood anxiously at the sidelines. His opponent looked fierce. Arthur fiddled with his ring.

The two contestants spurred their horses from opposite sides of the field and sighted each other along their long lances. The aim was to knock the opponent off his horse. Points were also scored for direct hits to the chest or shoulder. Although the contest looked brutal, injuries were limited to bruises and sometimes a broken bone. The lances were made of a soft wood that broke under stress, and were rounded on the ends – only used as blunt instruments to unseat the opponent.

Kay and his opponent gained speed on their horses as they rode toward each other from opposite sides. A great crash sounded when the two lances hit home. Kay had managed a hit to his opponent’s shield, and his lance had shattered. Both riders held their seats, but Kay had taken a direct blow to his inner shoulder and chest. He appeared to be struggling to catch his breath as he neared the sidelines.

“Can’t breath! Can’t breath!” he gasped.

As Kay dropped out of the saddle, Arthur and Ector put their hands under the edge of Kay’s chestplate and pulled – with all their might. Finally, the dented armor gave under their efforts and eased the pressure against Kay’s chest. They helped him into the saddle again and Arthur saw Kay’s entire arm was shaking as he handed him a fresh lance. Would he be able to hold it in place with this injury?

Kay barely stifled a gasp of pain as he seated the butt of the lance in the hollow of his shoulder and took his place for the second go. When the flag dropped, he rode with a grim determination. He spurred his horse faster and faster. With a great crash, his lance hit the center of his opponent’s chest and he knocked him backwards off the horse to land on his back in the dirt. It appeared the wind was knocked from his opponent’s lungs. Kay took a victory loop on his horse, raising his left hand in triumph. The right arm he cradled on the saddle. Thank the gods, he didn’t have another match until afternoon.

Arthur and Ector helped Kay out of his armor and Arthur dug a small pot of salve out of the bottom of his saddle bag. He scraped the remains of the broken egg off the pot and slathered the healing salve on the great purple bruise that was blossoming over Kay’s right shoulder and chest.

“Are you going to be able to continue? Will you be able to keep your lance steady with that shoulder?” concern was evident in Ector’s tone.

“I did it once, I’ll manage this afternoon,” said Kay through clenched teeth. “Arthur, I hope the salve works fast.”

Arthur wrapped Kay’s shoulder with a length of cloth he’d packed in his other saddle bag. He hoped the combination of the salve and the warmth of the cloth would keep the shoulder supple for the remaining joust.

Kay ate little lunch, but let Arthur massage his shoulder one last time and re-apply more salve before he allowed himself to be strapped back into his armor and pushed up onto his horse again. This time, the whole lance shook as he seated it against his shoulder.

“Maybe you should . . .”

But Ector’s words trailed off as Kay spurred his horse to the field. When the flag was dropped, he again rode forward with that fierce determination Ector and Arthur had seen that morning, and was able to unseat his opponent on the first blow. His opponent tilted to the side, overbalanced, and landed in a heap beside the track. Thankfully, the joust was over. Kay moved up to the finals for tomorrow – if he’d be able to wield his sword with that shoulder.

Back at their camp, Arthur massaged Kay’s shoulder after they had eaten their supper and rubbed in more salve, then re-wrapped it, and they all went to bed with the pungent odor of the salve in their noses. No revelry for them tonight. Kay would need all his energy to heal as much as possible for tomorrow. Other revelers appeared to be saving their strength as well. The entire encampment quieted down shortly after midnight.

Later in the night, they were awakened by somber voices murmuring throughout the encampment. King Uther had fallen ill. Now the outcome of tomorrow’s Tournament had taken on a new urgency. Gods, thought Arthur, by the end of tomorrow, my brother could be the future king! They stayed up for a while discussing the implications, then Ector told them they all needed to get some sleep. Kay’s shoulder wouldn’t benefit from staying up all night.

In the morning, Kay’s shoulder was swollen, painful, and stiff. He could barely lift his arm, never mind the heavy sword he was to wield in a matter of hours for his first match. What could they do? Arthur had no real magic at his fingertips. The best he could do was help Kay limber up as much as possible. He massaged and kneaded the muscles as vigorously as he dared, eliciting grunts of pain from Kay. He slathered the last of the salve on and wrapped the shoulder firmly. He prayed it would be enough.

By the time they reached the open field marked off for sword fighting, opponents were already facing each other, taking practice swings and posturing.

“Quick, Arthur. Give me the sword. Gods, I wish it wasn’t so heavy.”

“Mine is lighter,” offered Ector. “Do you think you could use it? It’s back at camp.”

“I could try. Arthur! You’ll have to hurry to get it here in time. Go!”

Arthur hopped onto his trusty old horse and took off toward their camp. He urged his mount faster and faster. He was held up a little more than halfway by the large crowd that had gathered once more beside the path and had spilled over into the roadway – near the infamous sword in the stone. He slowed, making his way carefully through the crowd. He craned his neck as he progressed to see who was at it now. A muscular young man was standing on top of the stone, attempting to pull the sword out of its resting place. Arthur was fascinated.

Suddenly, hands were pulling Arthur off his horse.

“No, I have to . . .”

“Come young lad. You take a try!” The speaker was a burly man who was obviously still drunk from the night before. Evidently some revelers had carried on all night. He pulled Arthur down and led him to the stone. Multiple hands lifted him and before he could protest further, Arthur found himself atop the stone facing the elegant sword. It was long and slim. It had jewels set in the pommel. It looked to be much better made than Ector’s well used sword, the one he was on a mission to fetch. If I could get this sword for Kay, surely he’d win the Tournament, he thought. He realized he was running out of time. He’d have to get this sword and carry it back for Kay to use. There was no time left to get all the way back to their camp now.

Arthur took a wide stance, bent his knees, and placed his hands around the gracefully shaped grip. Taking a deep breath, he was barely aware of the crowd chanting “Do it, do it, do it!” He braced himself for a great deal of resistance, and nearly fell over backwards when the sword lifted with ease. He staggered and caught his balance, then held the sword aloft to show the crowd he’d freed it. Caught up in the moment, he temporarily forgot about his mission for Kay. He let himself be carried off the stone and passed from shoulder to shoulder. When he remembered Kay, he extricated himself from the cheering crowd and took the sword back to his horse, turned around and galloped back to the arena.

The crowd followed at a run. Kay was just entering the field of battle, carrying his own heavy sword with both hands, saving his shoulder for the fight. When Kay saw Arthur, his look was first one of annoyance, then rapidly switched to jaw-dropped wonder. Arthur’s stomach was churning. Had he let his brother down? Would this sword do?

Before he could hand it over, Kay, Ector, and the entire field of gladiators had dropped to their knees. Arthur heard a strange sound behind him and turned to see the whole gathered crowd on their knees, bowing before him. A chant started quietly at first, then grew to a deafening din. “The Future King! The Future King!”

Arthur realized by degrees that the cheering was for him! He held the sword aloft again so everyone could see and a great roar went up. He turned to Kay and Ector for a clue what came next. They were still on their knees with heads bowed in respect. He was uncomfortable with this adulation. There must be some mistake. Certainly, someone before him had loosened the sword. That person must be around somewhere. He scanned the crowd and spied the muscular young man he had seen on the stone. He motioned for him to come forward.

“You must have loosened this before I pulled it,” he had to yell in the man’s ear to make him hear above the noise of the crowd.

“Not I!” yelled the young man. “It was all you!”

At that moment, several official-looking guards approached and asked Arthur politely if he would please come with them. Cradling the magnificent sword in his arms, he followed them. The crowd parted before them, then closed in behind Kay and Ector, who had fallen into step immediately behind Arthur. The entire group made their way to King Uther Pendragon’s pavilion set on a raised platform at the side of the field.

“Bring the boy closer. Let me get a good look at him.” A thin voice sounded from a curtained sleeping platform deep inside the tent.

Arthur bowed before his King – now feeble with age and sickness. He tried to keep from trembling as he waited for judgement. He was certain he would be punished for defiling the magnificent sword by pulling it from the stone. What would his punishment be? Exile? Imprisonment? Death?

The King conferred briefly with an elderly advisor – dressed in long magician’s robes.

“This is the lad? Are you certain it’s him?”

“Yes, Lord. I saw him arrive with Sir Ector and Kay. He wears the ring. It is him.”

“Come forward, son.”

King Uther looked closely at Arthur’s hand, then his face, and into his eyes. He paused to take a raspy breath.

“You have your mother’s look. Ah, how I miss her. Would that she were here to take pride in this moment.”

Then, the old King motioned for his aides to help him stand. He straightened himself the best he could and placed a hand on Arthur’s head.

“I hereby declare you, Arthur Pendragon, my official heir. You have earned the title by being the only one of hundreds to pull Excalibur from the stone, and by your birthright. You shall return home and begin your training. When the time comes, you will travel to my holdings to take your place as Future King.”

Uther motioned for Arthur to help him walk to the entrance to the tent. Everyone who was attending the Tournament stood facing the tent, spread across the vast field of competition.  They quieted and came to attention when the men appeared outside the pavilion. Uther took Arthur’s arm, which held the magical sword, and raised it over their heads.

“The Future King!” he shouted in a loud voice, then coughed, staggered, and was helped back to his bed inside. Arthur remained outside while the crowd roared and cheered. He was stunned. He stood before them in a state of wonderment and disbelief. When their cheers began to quiet, he turned and re-entered the pavilion.

“Come close, son,” said Pendragon. “Yes, you definitely favor your lovely mother. You have her pale hair and eyes. Nothing of my coarse ginger looks about you. But pray you have my mental abilities, and my cunning. You will make a formidable king someday. First, you must travel back to your home with Sir Ector and take your training. You will be summoned to Pendragon castle when it is time.” Arthur’s head was spinning. He was now the King’s heir? He looked with new eyes at the silver ring he wore. It bore the Pendragon symbol? What was it that King Uther said about my mother . . . and my birthright?

Chapter 2

The Birthright

Arthur went outside and stepped down off the platform, walking directly to Ector and Kay, who were still standing in the front of the crowd.

“Uncle Ector,” he said, close to his uncle’s ear. His voice was hot with anger. “King Uther declared me his rightful heir. He said it was because I pulled the sword, but also because of my birthright. What did he mean?”

Ector sighed and put his arm around Arthur’s youthful shoulders.

“It’s a long story, lad. Come. Let’s start for home and I’ll tell you on the way.”

The sword fighting was called off as a means to find the future king, but those who wanted to stay for friendly swordplay and revelry were welcome. Kay said he’d had enough. He’d let his shoulder heal before engaging in any more competitions.

So, the three made their way back to their camp, packed up, and set off for home. Arthur wasn’t ready to give up his position as Kay’s page yet, so he scurried about, loading the pack animal with the tent and cooking pot, and all the items strewn about their camp, his anger festering the entire time. These two had lied to him his whole life! By the gods, he’d get the truth out of them now!

Once they had traveled far enough down the road to be away from the noise of the crowds at the encampment, Arthur turned to Ector and Kay with tears of anger and betrayal in his eyes.

“Tell me. What is this about my birthright? Are you even my uncle?”

Ector sighed again.

“Sadly, no. Only your foster father.” Ector fell silent for so long, Arthur had just opened his mouth to say something angry, when Ector spoke again.

“You were born under less-than-ideal circumstances, to say the least. Your father, as you have just recently learned, is none other than King Uther Pendragon. Your mother was the lady Igraine, lawful wife of Gorlois, Duke of Tintagel. Your father took a liking to her at a feasting day and would have her, no matter the consequences. The consequences turned out to be you. You saw the magician who attends the King. He is called Merlin. It is said he controls great magic. The night of your conception, Merlin caused the lady Igraine to see Uther as her husband. She was unaware of the ruse until news came to her later of Gorlois’ death on his way back from battle in the north. Instead of welcoming her husband home from his campaigning, she welcomed your father, King Uther, to her bed – while her husband lay dead on the road.”

“It’s a lie!” yelled Arthur. “You’re making this up!”

“Wish that I were,” said Ector with a low voice. “There’s more. Will you hear it?”

With bowed head and sagging shoulders, Arthur murmured “Tell me.”

“When your mother gave birth, Merlin took you from her to be raised in anonymity. Uther had enemies. He feared if the circumstances of your birth were known, you would be sought out and killed before you ever had a chance at life. Merlin brought you to my good wife and me to raise as a long-lost nephew, and cousin to our Kay. We brought you up as brothers.”

Arthur turned his wrath on Kay.

“You knew? You knew and kept the secret all these years? I thought we shared everything!”

“I swear, Arthur, all I knew was that you were my fostered cousin. I never heard this story myself until just now!”

The three rode in silence for a while. Arthur’s anger had simmered into sullenness. He had so many questions, but he held his tongue. Ector had more to tell. He needed to be patient and wait for the truth to unfold.

“When Uther grew old and sick, we waited daily for word from Merlin. We knew your father would claim you someday, but we dreaded it. We have come to love you like a son, Arthur . . .”

“And I like a brother,” interrupted Kay.

“We had sworn an oath to keep your birthright secret, and we did. But when you pulled that sword, the secret was all but out. Uther is ill – probably dying. He had to acknowledge you as his heir. Now your training will begin in earnest. You will learn to ride like an expert, wield your sword, and be cunning in battle. Merlin will come soon, I am certain. He will teach you the wisdom you will need to rule this land.”

Arthur swallowed hard. Rule? The whole land? Would he be up to this? He rode on deep in thought. He worried the ring on his finger. Suddenly the dragon engraved on the small silver band made sense.

* * *

Over the next several months, Arthur practiced long and hard with the new horse he was given. It was a young stallion, spirited and lively. The young horse and the young man learned together to ride as one. Once Kay’s shoulder healed, he practiced with Arthur with the sword, lance, bow, and other weapons. Arthur should be well versed in the use of whatever weapon came to hand. Arthur was a quick study. Kay stood inches taller than Arthur and outweighed him by a great deal, but Arthur always won in sword play. His recently gained sword, Excalibur, seemed fitted exactly to his hand. Arthur wielded it with ease and grace. Kay felt slow and clumsy against it. Arthur was already an expert bowman, and had a good arm for the lance. Ector ordered custom armor crafted for him.

Ector pulled out volumes of accounts of past battles. Together he and Arthur went over the strategies that were successful, and those that weren’t.

One day, four months after the Tournament, a lone rider approached the farm. He wore a hooded robe and carried a long staff capped with a large milky gemstone. It was fall. The harvest was almost in, and Arthur was helping Kay tie up sheaves of grain in the field.

“Merlin,” whispered Arthur. He pointed to the distant rider.

The young men finished up what they were doing and headed to the pump to clean their hands and faces. In spite of the cool day, they had been sweating over their labor. Arthur had just finished ducking his head under the spigot to come up dripping and shaking the water off his hair like a dog, when he heard a deep hearty laugh.

“Well, isn’t this a royal sight!”

Ector and his wife came out of the house to greet the visitor. Kay stood aside with respect, and Arthur wiped his hands on his shirt and went to help the mage down from his horse. But, despite Merlin’s elderly looks, he was quite strong and agile, and alit from his horse like a boy.

Over dinner, Merlin explained to the family his plan to take Arthur to Uther’s court and teach him to be King. Simple plan.

Arthur realized he’d be leaving his home and family – maybe for good. The only family he’d ever known. He hoped no one saw as he blinked away a tear.

The next morning, Arthur couldn’t blink away the tears that fell as he said his goodbyes in turn to his foster mother, his foster father, and his foster brother. The love and nurture they had given him was priceless. He would forever cherish them.

“You must come visit me. I’ll send for you. I promise.”

He had to spur his own horse to keep pace with Merlin as they rode toward Uther’s court at Pendragon. All the way, Arthur asked questions about his lineage. Was his mother still alive? Did Uther have any other heirs lying about? What would his duties be, as future king? Would he have grand rooms to live in? Would he have servants?

“Alas, your mother died of fever ten years ago. And no, Uther has no other progeny.”

The questions about servants and grand rooms were answered when Merlin showed him to a sleeping cubby in Merlin’s own rooms. The question about his duties were answered when Merlin explained that Arthur would act as servant during his training period. He would keep the rooms clean, carry food from the central kitchen, and still have to keep up with rigorous studies. Merlin was a strict teacher, expecting Arthur to memorize great sections of text about historical battle tactics and strategies.

Arthur was an apt pupil. He caught on quickly to the battle strategies Merlin taught him. He excelled on horseback and with weapons training. Three more months went by. Arthur was doing well, but he was still young, far from ready to be king. But one night Arthur and Merlin were summoned to Uther’s private chambers. Uther was at death’s door. It had only been through the strength of Merlin’s magic he had lasted this long. But even Merlin could not postpone the inevitable forever. Mere moments after they entered Uther’s bedroom, Uther breathed his last. A somber silence fell over the company gathered in the chamber. Arthur tried, but he was unable to summon grief for this man who called himself Arthur’s father. For all practical purposes, Ector was still his father. Word went out about the King.

The King is dead. Long live the King!

Arthur was hastily sworn in as the new King. A coronation ceremony was planned for three weeks hence. Ector and Kay would come, along with people from all around. Huge feasts would be held. Celebrations would carry on for days. Arthur had the feeling the world was moving faster than he could comprehend. Developments swirled and he felt carried along by the momentum of events beyond his control.

Still reeling from being torn from his foster father, now losing the father he’d only recently met, it was too much for a young lad. He fell into a confused depression, barely paying attention to the bustle of activities swirling around him – fittings for new robes of office, rehearsals for the coronation, being asked to approve the guest lists and seating for the banquet.

On seeing the names of his foster family, he brightened a bit. He wanted them seated as close to the dais as could be arranged. Hundreds of good folk would be traveling to Pendragon for the party. Arthur was nervous. What would these people think when they saw their new king was a mere lad? He looked to Merlin for advice.

“Should I act aloof? Should I be friendly? I know many of these people from my days as Ector’s foster son and farm hand. How will I convince them I am capable of being their liege ruler?”

“Just be yourself, lad. Greet them as neighbors, because that is what they are. They are your friends and neighbors. Be wary, however, of those who would be your friends with thought of gain for themselves.”

“How will I know?”

“You won’t.”

Arthur barely slept the night before the fetes began. He had been rehearsed in the lengthy ceremony involving the weighty staff and scepter that he would have to bear for hours. He had memorized the speech he was to give to the crowd. His advisors had carefully written it to stir up support for his kingdom and hatred for the invaders who would plunder it. He went over it again and again as he lay in his bed. The words weren’t what he himself would have said, but the advisors must know best.

He was sweating under the heavy robes and shaking under the weight of the huge gold crown that had been stuffed with batting so it wouldn’t fall over his eyes when placed on his head. His arms were numb from holding the staff and scepter for so long. This is torture, he thought. Don’t drop anything. Don’t show weakness. Gods, if I could just take off this robe! If I could rest but a moment!

But the ceremony lurched along at its own snail pace. By the time the priests had given their last prayers, Merlin had performed his final incantations, and the court officials had read out the lengthy proclamations, dark spots were dancing before Arthur’s eyes and he feared he would lose consciousness. What a showing that would be for a young king!

When it came time for his speech, he had forgotten all the carefully memorized words he had been given. He felt bile rise in his throat as he momentarily panicked. Then he took a deep breath, looked out at all the expectant faces, and remembered what Merlin had told him about greeting them as friends and neighbors.

“Countrymen! Today I have been crowned your king. But know this; I am also your neighbor – and your friend. I grew up on a farm. There, the most important thing was the land. I bring that knowledge here. I will not be hidden in my castle, ruling you from aloft. I will walk the land among you, work the land with you, defend the land beside you, and together we will make this land great!”

A great cheer went up and advisors and ministers congratulated him on a worthy speech. He was finally led to the huge throne where he took his seat gratefully. He was able to hand off the staff and scepter to aides, and then sat for another eternity as lords and earls from all over the kingdom lined up to kiss his ring – the same silver band he had worn for over a year now – and make sure he knew their names and fiefdoms. He was certain they would all be asking favors in the near future. But today, they were making connections. His stomach began to growl and he had a great and growing thirst.

Finally, long after the sun had sunk and the torches and candles had been lit in the hall, the last of the well-wishers had passed and he was free to remove the robe, get a goblet of wine, and take his place at the head table for the feast. It seems celebrations had started prior to his entrance. There were many drunken cheers as he entered the dining hall.

Kay and his parents had come. He greeted them warmly as he passed their seats. Many well-known knights and ladies were in attendance. Arthur felt intimidated by all these prominent people, then reminded himself they were here to pay respect to him. He raised his glass in a toast.

“To the kingdom!”

All voices rose in a cheer and everyone drank heartily of their wine, mead, ale. Let the revelry begin.

Arthur ate hungrily, and drank a great deal of ale and wine. He did stay away from the mead. It was far too powerful. But his head was still spinning by the time the hall began to quiet down and folks were leaving in pairs to celebrate privately together. He rose unsteadily and located Kay with his great arms around two lovely ladies. The two sisters from the Tournament! Ector was nowhere to be seen.

“Remember Morgan and Morgause?” Kay smiled his huge smile. “You can tell which is which because Morgause is the tall one.”

“Ladies,” Arthur attempted another courtly bow, but this time he grabbed Morgause before he fell at her feet. The foursome collapsed in peals of laughter.

Arthur took Morgause’s arm and Kay took Morgan’s and they strolled out into the night. Arthur watched as Kay and Morgan wandered away into the dark to find some privacy. Arthur turned to his companion.

Morgause stepped close to Arthur and they kissed and embraced like before. They looked for a sheltered spot away from the candles and torches. He was suddenly taken with a tidal wave of passion and came to his senses just as he was shuddering in ecstasy with Morgause beneath him on the grass. They had found a secluded spot on the lawn at the edge of a small wood. It was far enough away from the castle so the light did not reach it. Afterward, he and Morgause lay side by side and studied the night sky. Arthur pointed out the North Star, Orion, and some other well-known constellations that Merlin had taught him about. Morgause went on to point out some little-known star groups he’d never heard of. Eventually, the long day and evening’s festivities – along with the wine, caught up with Arthur and he slept.

When the sun shone in his eyes and woke him the next day, he was dry-mouthed, headachy, and alone. He wandered back to the castle and entered the dining hall. He found Kay at table, eating a hearty breakfast. No ladies in sight.

“What happened to our lovely companions?” asked Arthur.

“They must have gone home in the night.”

The smell of Kay’s breakfast was making Arthur nauseous, so he excused himself and went to his chambers to sleep. Now that he’d been officially crowned, he no longer occupied the sleeping cubby in Merlin’s chambers. His personal things had been moved to the King’s chambers. A huge bed had been made up for him there. He flopped on his face and was asleep in minutes.

When he woke, later in the day, he talked to Kay and asked about the sisters.

“Who were those two sisters who visited us again last night? Where are they now?”

“No idea, brother. When I awoke they had disappeared. I will inquire.”

Kay came up with no information. Surely someone must know who they were. Where they were. But nobody had a clue – either who they were or where they had gone. He thought to ask Merlin. Surely his magic could find them.

“I see them at the Tournament, and at the coronation, seducing your foster brother and yourself. But the rest of their paths are dark to me. I sense some great magic in play. Take care, Arthur. They may mean you harm.”

Arthur shrugged.

“Well, whoever they were, they entertained me and Kay well enough again last night.”

“Ah, the recklessness of youth. Be aware, though. The burdens of your position will soon weigh heavy. You will have to give up your youthful recklessness very soon.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You will soon be required to choose a wife.”

“A wife? But I haven’t even . . .”

Merlin held his hand up, palm out, to quiet Arthur’s objections.

“But first, your enemies are moving in. There will be battles to fight. You will need to choose your knights and warriors – the sooner the better.”

Arthur’s hangover was forgotten. He began to think of all the men he’d seen at the Tournament – all the knights he’d heard stories about. He wanted the best of the best to fight beside.

“I want Kay, and Sir Bedivere, and Sir Vortigern. Also send messengers to Gaheris, Geraint, Lamorak. We will become a circle of knights.”

Arthur’s mind was going at light speed. He was thinking about who he would include at his table, how they would arrange themselves. What would the hierarchy be? Would he sit at the head? How would the knights be arranged down each side? By age? By wealth? By prowess in battle?

“I need to think! This is moving too fast!”

“Arthur, the world moves at its own pace. You need to keep up.”

“I will. I can. Just give me a moment. I’ll issue my orders at supper. I promise.”

Arthur retreated to his rooms. He needed some time alone to think. He found a pen and parchment and began to write down the names of the knights he’d already mentioned to Merlin, along with others he knew of. Others he would be honored to fight beside to defend his land. After two hours, he had some rough sketches of a meeting room, and a list of ten names. Most of them were probably still recovering from last night’s revels somewhere on the grounds. Messengers would be sent to those who had already returned to their homes. He would send men to find them and summon them to his public hall.

He emerged from his chambers with his sketches and list. He had an aide read out the names at supper and gave the sketches to the master carpenter. Couriers scurried about the castle and grounds to locate the knights from the list who were still on the premises. Those who had left, or who were still in their homes were chased down over the next few days. Then Arthur issued his first official edict. A call to all worthy warriors to join him in defending his new kingdom. He would need all the help he could muster against the invaders who waited on the borders, ready to strike from the north and from the east and west. Picts came from the north, Saxons from the east, and there was always the threat of Viking and Danish invasions from the west. The kingdom to the south was currently an ally, so he might be able to seek help there as well.

It took a full three weeks for all the knights on Arthur’s list to respond. Word had gone out all over the land for able warriors to join Arthur’s army. Willing recruits were lining up at the castle gates. Arthur’s army was growing by the hour! He was greatly heartened by the showing. Now, all he had to do was lead them to victory.

Chapter 3

Arthur and Lancelot

The first opportunity came a month later. Barely trained to work together, Arthur and his ten chosen men, along with a small group of barely organized troops marched north to rescue Lord Leodegrance of Camelliard from Lord Ryons. He was being held hostage by the northern lord. Arthur consulted his advisors and fretted over battle strategies all the way north. But when the company arrived at the fort where Leodegrance was being held, the group attacked with a disorganized ferocity appalling to Arthur. Arrows flew haphazardly. Men leapt and lunged at each other like animals. His men abandoned their horses and battled toe to toe with their enemies, mostly hacking their way through the defenses to get to the inner chamber where the king was locked up.

By some miracle, the campaign was successful, but not without casualties. Several archers lay dead, and many swordsmen had major and minor slashes on their bodies. Arthur himself had suffered a glancing blow along his inner thigh. While it bled profusely, once the blood was staunched, it appeared not to be too deep. While the company rested after returning Leodegrance to his own home, healers were summoned to visit the injured and see to their wounds.

Leodegrance’s own daughter, Guenivere was well versed in the healing arts. She took her potions and medicines and bandages and moved with her attendants through the small encampment, applying ointments and tinctures, stitching wounds closed, and comforting the injured as best as she could. When she came at last to Arthur’s tent – he had insisted his men be treated first – her face showed surprise.

“What were you expecting? A weak old grandfather?”

“Sir, I had heard the new king was young, but I had at least expected a bearded man!”

“I promise you, a beard won’t make me wise. Only learning and experience bring wisdom. Learning I have in plenty. Experience will come as it comes.”

Arthur too was amazed at Guenivere’s looks – at her beauty – at her youth. He had imagined old Leodogrance’s daughter to be a plain-faced spinster, but her bright red hair framed a lovely intelligent face. He was pleasantly surprised. Guenivere motioned for Arthur to pull down his britches.

“Pardon me sir. I must stitch this injury. I will put my hands near your intimate parts. Please excuse my boldness.”

“I take no offense,” said Arthur, his eyes twinkling. “Do what you need to do.”

Guenivere proceeded with professional efficiency to clean and stitch up Arthur’s wound. When she was finished, he put his hand on her arm and looked her in the eye. No embarrassment, no blushes.

“Thank you, fair lady. Your healing touch is sure but gentle. I’m sure I will be good as new in short order.”

All the way home, though Arthur’s thigh wound made sitting horseback painful, he toughed it out until he was able to limp to his chambers and sleep around the clock in his own bed. The campaign had been messy, and there were too many injuries – a couple deaths, but it was successful in the end. They had won their objective.

Now it was time to get to work and develop real strategies. Learn to work as a team. Learn to work as one.

In gratitude for his rescue, king Leodegrance sent word he wished to grant the new King some favor, some endowment, some great gift.

“What should I ask for, Merlin? Gold? Jewels? His daughter?”

“Think long and hard what you would ask, young man. It’s true, you need to take a wife, but be sure to choose one who will be forever loyal. Guenivere may be destined to betray you.”

“There is no deceit in her. She treated my wound with care and efficiency. I trust her. You must be mistaken.”

“Choose her if you must, but take some time before you bring her here. Let her true character be known before you make your vows.”

So, Arthur sent word to Leodegrance that he would have his daughter Guenivere for his wife. His Queen. He would send an escort to fetch her to his castle for the marriage in due time.

Leodogrance sent word back that he had passed the request to his daughter and she would be honored to be his wife and queen. The betrothal was set.

Meanwhile, Arthur needed to round out his Circle of Knights. Counting himself, there were now eleven of them. One more knight would complete the circle. He sent an appeal south and it was quickly answered.

Two weeks later, the most beautiful person Arthur had ever seen appeared before him.

“Sir, my name is Lancelot du Lac. I beg permission to join your Circle of Knights. I assure you, I am the greatest knight in all of Brittany, and I will be the best by far in your Circle.”

“Better, even, than me, your King?”

“That, sir, shall remain to be seen.”

Arthur laughed heartily at Lancelot’s arrogance, but fell immediately under his spell. He was smitten. Over the next several months, a bond developed between Arthur and Lancelot that was none other than love. Arthur was drawn to Lancelot like he’d been drawn to Guenivere. He felt the physical pull. He loved him.

Lancelot completed the Circle of Knights. He brought confidence and expertise to the cadre. And the friendship between the two deepened.

Long into the evenings, Lancelot and Arthur would remain at table, discussing strategies and battle techniques. Lancelot bragged of knights he had bettered. Arthur began to consult Lancelot for advice about military leadership, his reign, personal matters.

It was spring again. The days were growing warm. One day, Arthur took a small party to a nearby quarry to engage in a refreshing swim. The quarry had long been in disuse. Now, young folks challenged each other to dive for geodes that were still to be found beneath the crystal-clear water.

Kay, Bors, and several others, all got off their horses and out of their clothes and ran as a group to the edge of the rock cliff that overlooked the quarry and jumped into the icy water. Arthur’s gaze was fixed on Lancelot’s magnificent body. He was tanned, muscular, Arthur envied his beauty. When Lancelot executed a perfect dive into the water, he found himself caught up in admiration of his friend. The group swam and splashed in youthful delight. Several dived below the surface and came up exclaiming about sparkling gems in the depths. They had all heard the stories.

Arthur was determined to bring up one of the legendary geodes. He threw off his own clothes and jumped in. He took a deep breath and dove beneath the surface. Moving along the sheer cliff wall, he came to a small niche formed by a pile of boulders. As he passed, a tiny glint of light caught his eye. There was a gem of some sort tucked into that niche!

He returned to the surface for air. Taking another deep breath, he dove again and swam straight to the niche. He could see a fist-sized geode inside. He reached his hand to grab it. It was further back than he had estimated. His arm was in nearly to his shoulder. He put his fingers around the rock and pulled. It was wedged into place. He took a firmer grip and felt it give, along with some of the boulders that surrounded the niche. Just as he started to pull it free, one of the boulders came down on his arm and he was trapped – caught under at least his own height of water, and rapidly running out of air!

Suddenly strong arms wrapped around his middle and pulled. No use. His arm was firmly stuck. His vision was narrowing. It took every fiber of his will to stop himself from filling his lungs with water. The arms around his middle were gone and before Arthur could wonder why, Lancelot’s face appeared in front of him and he came close. A kiss? Suddenly, he felt much needed air being blown into his lungs. Then Lancelot disappeared again. When he reappeared, he grabbed the large stone that was holding Arthur’s rapidly numbing arm in place. Lancelot’s muscles bunched and strained to move it.

Arthur’s consciousness was fading when he suddenly felt his arm released. The great weight was removed and he was pushed and dragged to the surface. He choked and coughed and took great whooping breaths of fresh air.

Arthur climbed on shaking legs back to the top of the cliff. He lay on the ground until his heart calmed and his breathing returned to normal. Lancelot sat nearby, periodically placing his ear to Arthur’s chest to listen for water in his lungs. The rest of the company had climbed out of the quarry and were dressing.

When Arthur recovered, he dressed himself and they all remounted their horses and returned to Pendragon. Before they got there, Arthur spoke to the group.

“I beg you, no one speak of the events at the quarry. I am ashamed of my stupidity in attempting to obtain that small gemstone. I am King. I own many jewels far more precious than that geode. If not for the quick thinking and strong arms of my savior, Lancelot, I would be dead. Drowned. Lancelot, I owe you my life. I am forever in your debt.”

On return home, Arthur sought Merlin’s healing potions for the bruised arm. He explained it away by saying he’d hit a boulder when diving into the water. Merlin narrowed his eyes. He must have sensed Arthur was keeping the truth to himself. Arthur’s love for Lancelot was growing, and the bond between the two deepened more after the incident at the quarry, although they never again spoke openly of it.

Meanwhile, Lancelot took over practice with the knights and warriors until discipline was sharp and they were able to sense each other’s intentions in battle situations. Arthur was most pleased when he reviewed his army. In the months since Lancelot had joined them, he had turned them into a crack troop, capable of defeating any enemy who threatened.

Arthur asked Merlin one day how old Pendragon – the holding they lived in – was, and would it be imprudent of him to build a new home.

“This place is ancient,” answered the mage. “And crumbling. It would be wise of you to build a new home – a proper castle – where your people could come for petitions and festivals and where your knights and army could live and work. A shining place for friends and enemies alike to see and know that this is the place where King Arthur and his Circle of Knights reside.”

“Well, when you put it like that, I would be imprudent NOT to build! I shall begin work on a plan immediately. Lancelot, come help me imagine our new home.”

So, the two men put their heads together and spent many an evening working over sketches and drawings, arguing over the placement of turrets and windows. Arthur would have windows in the private apartments looking out over the countryside. Lancelot pointed out that would make the apartments vulnerable. Best have archers’ slits only. They finally agreed windows could be used on the highest levels, where arrows and shot could unlikely reach.

Months later, final plans were drawn up, and work was begun. Arthur wanted white granite for the outer walls and façade of the castle itself. The nearest granite quarries were in Cornwall. Arthur sent his stone masons to find the whitest granite available. They brought back samples.

“No, no, and no! This one is too gray. This one is yellow! I want white – pure white! It must shine and glisten. I want my new home to be visible for miles and miles across the plain. I want it to glow like a beacon in the dark. I want it to draw the eye like the rising sun, or the silver moon at midnight.”

“You’re such a romantic!” chided Lancelot. “Choose this one. The veins of gray give it depth, and it has bits of quartz that make it glow when the light hits it just so. It’s perfect!”

Arthur frowned at the samples. He took the veined piece to the light at the window and turned it this way and that.

“As usual, you are right, Lancelot. This one it is.”

Lancelot clapped Arthur on the shoulder.

“Congratulations! The building shall commence!”

Trains of carts rumbled over the roads between Cornwall and Pendragon, carrying load after load of the gray-veined granite. Meanwhile, the household moved to temporary quarters in the village while the old holdings were demolished and the stone re-worked and re-used for foundations and inner walls.

Months went by. Slowly, the shining white castle began to rise on the plain. Villagers and travelers alike watched, transfixed, as the edifice grew level by level until it stood towering above the flat ground. An equally high wall encircled the entire complex. Shops, small dwellings, storage buildings, all stood surrounding the courtyards, protected by the great wall. Inside the castle itself, one entered a great meeting hall with a raised dais at one end. This was where King Arthur would meet his people, gather them for feasts and celebrations, and hear their petitions. Another hall was behind that first one. It was only slightly smaller than the first. It would be the meeting place for the Circle of Knights.

Arthur first envisioned chairs placed along the walls of this meeting hall where all twelve of his Knights could sit for their meetings. But the question again arose – how to arrange them? What hierarchy? He saw them all as equals. Well, maybe Lancelot was a little more equal than the rest. But he didn’t wish to lift any man above the next – himself included. He wanted them to remain a band of brothers – equal in importance in war and in peace.

He made a sketch of a large square table, with three seated along each side, but again the question – where would he sit? In the center of one of the sides? On one of the corners?

Lancelot took the parchment from him and quickly altered the sketch.

“Here. Have the table made like this,” he said, pushing the drawing in front of Arthur. “See? If you make the table round, every Knight is equal all around. No one has a more prominent place than anyone else.”

“Lancelot, this is perfect! I’ll have the plans drawn up right away.”

So, a great table was designed, along with twelve matching great chairs to seat the Knights. When Leodogrance got wind of the table, he insisted on having his own artisans craft it and gift it to Arthur. Months later, Arthur and his people were able to move into the almost-finished castle, and Leodogrance sent word the table was ready. He proposed to travel himself, along with the table and twelve chairs, bringing his daughter, Guenivere with him, to spend time getting to know Arthur, her betrothed.

Arthur was excited to see the table, of course, but more excited to see Guenivere, and to introduce her to his best friend Lancelot – the man he loved more than a brother, and the woman he would grow to love. He wanted them to love each other as much as he would love them both.

Chapter 4

Camelot

Arthur found himself worrying his ring. Would Lancelot approve of his choice for a wife? Merlin had expressed misgivings, but nothing had occurred so far to give Arthur doubts about Guinevere’s loyalty. Of course, he’d only met her the once, when she’d stitched up his wound so professionally. But he remembered beauty and a sure hand. Beautiful strawberry hair. A steady look from gray eyes.

A feast was planned for the evening meal on the day Leodogrance, Guinevere, and the table and chairs arrived. The lord and his daughter were weary from the journey so they begged leave to retire directly to their rooms and would greet the king and his company later at the feast.

“Wait ‘til you see her, Lance. She’s beautiful. Her hair makes a flaming halo around her face. Her skin is made of ivory. Her eyes gaze at you with such honesty – as if she could see right to your soul!”

“You should have been a poet! Such romantic words!”

Arthur ducked his head and blushed.

“I’ve had long enough to think about her. She did heal my wound – and those of my men – when we helped rescue her father from Lord Ryons. In my mind, perhaps her beauty has grown over the months, but I can still feel her gentle touch and sure hand. She is a treasure. You’ll see.”

The tables were set with the king’s finest cutlery and food service. Platters of meat and roasted vegetables, trays of fruits and breads, and pitchers of wine and ale – bottles of mead – were all set out in honor of Lord Leodogrance and his lovely daughter. The hall was softly lit with candles, the light of which glinted off gold and silver goblets and plates.

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath when he entered the hall and glimpsed his betrothed standing beside her father. She wore a gown of green that complimented her flaming hair. She curtsied properly, then rose to bestow upon him that direct clear-eyed gaze.

“Lady Guinevere, Lord Leodogrance, welcome to my home. I thank you for your generous gift of the table at which to seat my Circle of Knights. We will have formal introductions of all of them tomorrow, when the table and chairs are installed in the hall through there. Meanwhile, let us dine together and enjoy each other’s company. Oh, one introduction I’d like to make at this time.”

Arthur turned to Lancelot, who stood at his side.

“Lord Leodogrance, Lady Guinevere, this is my greatest knight and closest friend, Lancelot du Lac. He comes from the south, from our allies in Brittany.”

Lancelot bowed gracefully first to Leodogrance, then to Guinevere, and took her hand and brought it to his lips. She blushed demurely.

“Sir Lancelot,” she murmured. “My pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all mine, I assure you,” answered Lancelot, straightening up and returning Guinevere’s steady gaze.

The moment stretched out until Arthur grew uncomfortable.

“Let us be seated,” said Arthur, abruptly interrupting the connection between Guinevere and Lancelot.

The group arranged themselves at the table – Lancelot on Arthur’s right hand and Guinevere on his left. Arthur felt suddenly shy and awkward beside his betrothed.

“I would have you know, my wound healed quickly with no infection. Your medical skills were much appreciated.”

“I was pleased to be of help.”

Arthur cast about frantically for some way to continue the conversation. It wasn’t considered exactly proper to talk about one’s battle scars at table.

Lancelot leaned forward to make eye contact with Guinevere.

“What do you think of the king’s new castle? We designed it together, although I must say, most of the features that are both pleasing to the eye and practical for defense are mine. I have a gift for that sort of thing.”

Arthur looked sharply at Lancelot, then turned to Guinevere to see how she was responding to Lancelot’s braggadocio. She appeared to be entranced. He glumly selected a slice of beef from the platter before him, and took a large drink of the wine. While he continued to interject thoughts into the conversation, it seemed both Lancelot and Guinevere dominated the evening’s talk. It was almost as if they were the only two at the table. Lord Leodogrance, on the far side of Guinevere, ate his dinner with more attention to the food than the conversation. Merlin, meanwhile, at the far end of the table, only listened.

When dinner was over, Arthur had hoped to find a private moment with Guinevere, but she excused herself when her father yawned and said he wished to retire. They said their goodnights and left the hall.

“Well, what do you think, Merlin? She’s beautiful, right? Just like I remember her. I’ll bet she’s clever too. She doesn’t seem silly, like so many girls do. What did you think?”

“I’ll withhold judgement for now,” said Merlin. “She is indeed beautiful, I’ll give her that. Clever? Maybe too much so. You need to hold off a bit longer, Arthur. Be sure of her.”

“I think she’s incredible,” said Lancelot.

Arthur turned to his friend with a smile.

“I told you! I told you, you’d love her like I do.”

“Just be careful you care for the real woman, not the idea of her,” warned Merlin. “Be sure of her heart before you commit yours.”

“Yes, yes,” laughed Arthur. “If my friend here approves of her, surely I have chosen well.”

Arthur put his arm around Lancelot’s shoulders as he spoke. Then, with his heart full of hope for his future marriage, he bade them both goodnight and headed for his chambers. As he walked away, he heard Merlin speaking sternly to Lancelot about something, but decided if it was important he would hear about it tomorrow.

The next day, all of Arthur’s Circle of Knights gathered in the antechamber behind the great hall where the beautifully crafted round table and twelve chairs had been placed. It was amazing that Leodogrance’s artisans had been able to achieve such a masterpiece in so short a time. The table was breathtaking in its intricacy. It was made of many types of wood, inlaid into the top in a pattern of twelve divisions that radiated from the center out. Each wedge held a painted design of the Pendragon dragon – an echo of Arthur’s ring. A border of diamond shapes and intricate Celtic knot designs decorated the edge all the way around. Each chair repeated the border pattern across its back and down the arms. The knights stood hesitantly about the room until Arthur motioned them to approach the chairs.

“There is no seating order here. We are all equals around this table. Choose whichever seat pleases you, and if you are unhappy with that choice, choose a different seat tomorrow. Everyone has an equal voice at this table.”

With that, Arthur moved to the chair closest to him and sat. The rest of the knights sat. The remainder of the people in the room, including Lord Leodogrance and his daughter Guinevere took plain chairs that had been set along the walls.

“Lord Leodogrance, Lady Guinevere, please accept my heartfelt thank you on behalf of all my knights seated at this table. Your generosity is most appreciated. Let us always remain close allies and good friends. I will let it be known throughout my kingdom that this round table comes from you, and henceforth my Circle of Knights shall be known as the Knights of the Round Table.”

“Here, here!” and “Huzzah!” rose up from the folks assembled, and the knights all pounded their fists in approval on the sturdy table top.

When the exuberance died down, Arthur went around the table and introduced each knight in turn.

“Meet my foster brother, Sir Kay of the house of Ambrosius. He is strong like an ox and I once saw him unhorse an opponent in the joust in spite of a painful shoulder injury. I feel blessed to have him at my back in battle.

“Next is Sir Bors de Ganis, cousin of Lancelot. Bors is very strict when it comes to his own diet and behavior. He eats only bread and water, sleeps on the floor, and remains celibate. We all admire his self-discipline.

“Sir Bedivere, who fought beside me at the rescue of yourself, Lord Leodogrance. Sir Vortigern, Sir Agravaine, and Sir Gareth also helped in that mission.

“Sir Pellinore, Sir Bedivere, and Sir Gaheris are my best horsemen. Sir Lamorak is my best archer.

“I hereby dedicate this meeting place, and this table around which we meet, to be the place where we come together as a circle of men to plan our strategies and share our dedication to defend this land. We are the Knights of the Round Table!”

More fist pounding and cheering went on until Arthur quieted them down with a raised hand.

“Now, please join me in the great hall for dinner and entertainments.”

They all rose and exited the chamber into the larger hall, where another sumptuous banquet had been laid out. This time, Arthur placed Guinevere on his left and her father on his right. Lancelot sat on the other side of Leodogrance, and Merlin sat beside Guinevere. Arthur made a point to engage Guinevere in conversation throughout the meal, and the entertainment that followed. Lute music was followed by a recitation by Merlin of the myth of the sword Excalibur and how Arthur had pulled it from the stone when no other could. How he was the true heir of Uther Pendragon, destined to rule the land and defend it from all enemies. Everyone retired to their chambers feeling satisfied with the day’s events.

Lord Leodogrance and his daughter left for their home the next morning, with Arthur’s promise he would send someone in due time to fetch them for the long-awaited marriage. Meanwhile, he needed to see to the finishing of his castle, and the defense of the land.

Several months went by. The castle’s outside walls and most of its inner chambers were nearly finished. The high granite defense wall that surrounded the complex was more than halfway completed – only slowed down to wait for more granite to be quarried and carted overland to the site.

Arthur and his knights continued to train under the expert guidance of Lancelot. They learned battle strategies and swordsmanship never seen north of Brittany before. They began to act as a cohesive fighting force, perhaps capable of bettering any enemy, defeating any foe, repelling any attack.

And attacks began coming – several from the east. Arthur and his men put them down with ease. He and Lancelot fought side by side on the battlefield as they repelled the enemy. Then came a group of Saxons, bent on pillaging and raiding. They had already cut a swath of destruction in their march from the sea. Now they approached Arthur’s newly completed castle. Arthur visited each guard point along the perimeter, going over last-minute preparations for defenses. His men understood the seriousness of the situation. This was the first time the enemy had threatened their home, their castle.

As the horsemen approached, archers picked off point men one by one. The ditches they had dug and camouflaged in the weeks before caught another small percentage of the attacking army. Finally, the Saxons set up their siege engines and began the direct attack to the castle walls and gates. Arthur and his men doused them with hot oil and rained rocks on their heads. They pelted them with arrows, pushed their ladders away from the walls to send men crashing to death or injury as they fell, and captured men as they climbed over the wall to be surrounded by Arthur’s men wielding their weapons. The captives were thrown into a large chamber deep in the bowels of the castle. Lancelot had designed it. He called it an ‘oubliette’ – place of forgetting.

With the smoke of battle in his nostrils, his own sweat stinging his eyes, and the ring of steel on steel in his ears, Arthur finally made out a single Saxon warrior who came forward waving a white cloth of parley. He motioned for his men to stand down and ordered the gates opened to let the envoy enter.

“I bring terms of surrender from my lord, Guthrun,” said the envoy.

“Your surrender?”

“Yours.”

Arthur threw his head back and laughed. This was ludicrous! They could hold out here for months if need be. They had plenty of food and livestock within the castle walls, and a deep well for fresh water. A siege would be pointless.

“Tell Guthrun this: I will allow him to take his worthless army back to whence he came. I will send an escort to follow him to his longboats at the coast, and see him sail back east. I will not harm another warrior of his as long as he makes progress in retreat. If he refuses to comply with my demands, I will kill a captive every day until he agrees.”

The envoy looked displeased and anxious, but bowed and took the message back to his lord.

An hour passed. Arthur paced the parapets and worried his ring. Finally, he saw movement as the encampment of Saxon warriors took down their siege engines, packed up their tents, and mounted their horses. A lone envoy – the same as had come forward earlier – approached the gate.

“We go. But my lord Guthrun would have you know, he will face you again. Someday, when you least expect it, he will face you again.”

“Be gone, cur! And tell Guthrun I hope to see his scurvy face next time – so I can look him in the eye as I run him through!”

The Saxons left, followed at a distance by a smallish troop of Arthur’s horsemen. They sent a courier back each day to report the Saxon’s progress toward the coast, until the last of the escort returned to say Guthrun and his men had left in their longboats.

Arthur’s confidence was boosted greatly by this successful defense of his home. He felt he was growing into his role as king and defender of his land. He decided to ride out with his men and take a survey of his holdings. It took several weeks to ride the borders. He owned all the land from close to the east coast up to the river Cam on the north, including Leodogrance’s domain, and south almost to Londinium. To the west, his border was less well defined, including some of the land into Cornwall, but not all the way to Land’s End. He did claim Tintagel – the place of his origin. The castle there had fallen into ruin by now, but a small village stood nearby where his name was spoken in reverence.

Lancelot had suffered a blow to the head in the Saxon attack, so he remained convalescing while Arthur took his survey. He was fully recovered and waiting when Arthur and his company returned.

“Welcome home, lord,” he greeted with arms open.

Arthur embraced Lancelot warmly.

“I am overjoyed to see you, friend. And fully recovered from your injury! I must admit, my mind was troubled with worry about you while I was away.”

“I’m fine. Merlin kept me off my feet and ministered his potions. I was in good hands.”

The two kept their arms about each others’ shoulders as they walked into Arthur’s great hall together. Now they were re-united, they wanted to stay connected. Arthur called for a feast and everyone ate and drank that evening in celebration of defending the castle against the Saxon invaders and defining the borders of his kingdom.

“What would you call this castle, Arthur? It is the center of your kingdom. The seat of your rule.” asked Kay.

“The river Cam flows nearby, and fertilizes this plain,” said Lancelot, leaning close. “You could take the name from that.”

“Hmmm. Cam . . . Cambria . . . Camden . . . Cam-whatever.”

“How about Camelot?” suggested Lancelot.

“Camelot,” repeated Arthur. “I like that. Camelot. Camelot it is.”

Arthur tapped the side of his silver wine goblet, demanding attention.

“From now on, this place shall be known as Camelot!”

“To Camelot!” rose the toast innumerable times during the festivities.

Again, Arthur drank liberal amounts of ale and wine, but avoided the stronger mead. Long after others had succumbed to their indulgences, Arthur and Lancelot, and a few others – Kay, Bors, remained awake. And was that young Galahad still standing? Arthur and Lancelot talked quietly at the table, attended by Kay, and Merlin.

“We have created a wonderful and rare thing here, my friend,” said Lancelot. “A kingdom where citizens can be safe from invaders, and live in peace and prosperity. Let nothing come to change that!”

Lancelot drunkenly raised his flagon for one more toast. Arthur drank the last of his ale, then proposed they all go to bed.

As he rose unsteadily to make his way to his bedchamber, Merlin approached with a hand on his shoulder.

“A word, if I may?”

“What is it, Merlin? Make it quick. I am asleep on my feet.”

“I must remind you, Arthur, now your borders are secure, of the need for you to produce an heir,” he spoke. “No one in the kingdom feels totally secure until your line is assured of continuity.”

“There is time enough for that,” laughed Arthur. “I am young, and strong, and well protected by my knights here. I have already chosen my future wife, but you yourself cautioned me not to hurry the wedding. Be sure of her loyalty before sealing the vows, you said.”

“I did. But there is talk among your people that it is high time for the king to have a family –  a wife and an heir. They love you, Arthur, but people can be fickle, and if you push them, they can turn.”

“I’ll take that under consideration,” murmured Arthur, and he took himself to bed.

Chapter 5

The Tournament

Another year went by. Arthur was able to enjoy his reign in a peaceful land. Crops were plentiful. The people prospered. The knights grew fat and lazy with idleness. One day, Lancelot suggested they revive the old Tournament.

“We no longer have need to find a Future King, but worthy knights could be selected to join us, and our own company could use the activity to keep our bodies fit and our skills sharp.”

“As usual, you are insightfully correct, Lancelot,” said Arthur. “I’ll leave it to your immeasurable skills to organize and direct the Tournament. We can hold it right here on the plain outside the castle walls. It’s very close to the location of the old Tournaments. It will draw able young warriors from all over the land. We can expand our circle of knights to include any who qualify.”

“I’ll get right on it, friend. It will awaken us all from this lethargy that has descended upon us. We will all benefit from training again, and some healthy competition!”

So, a great Tournament was announced, to be held on the flat land outside Camelot’s walls. It was to take place at the height of summer, right after the bonfires marking the solstice had burned down. Celebrants would already be gathered nearby at the stone circle called Stonehenge for the solstice festivities and they would only have a short journey to the Tournament grounds.

Arthur and his men, meanwhile, took up training again themselves. They would be having archery contests, jousting matches, and swordplay, and Lancelot suggested they also add weight lifting, wrestling, and foot races. Perhaps racing on horseback was a possibility. Soon, the great Tournament gathered momentum of its own and throughout the land, talk of the upcoming Tournament had young and old men alike training and honing their skills with arrow and sword, lance and horse. Every farm lad sported sore muscles and bruises from wrestling with his peers, and every village had a favorite to support.

The Tournament – like the old one – would be held over a period of days, with participants camping on the plain surrounding the playing fields. Wealthy families traveled with their entire households and set up elaborate pavilions at the edges of the arenas. Single contestants pitched smaller tents at greater distances from the fields. Unlike the old Tournament, contestants would not be eliminated until one final winner stood out. Each contest would yield its own set of winners. Best archers, best at the joust, best swordsmen, best horsemen, on down to fastest runners. Prizes would be given in each category at the end of that competition. Finally, after a week of competitions, a great banquet would be held honoring all the winners and inviting each of them to join the circle of knights in King Arthur’s court – not the inner circle of twelve, but the seats along the walls of their meeting hall had yet to be filled.

Applications came in from far and wide. A great scoreboard was erected, with space for the names of contestants for each category, and the names of the winners would be written in chalk at the end of each day’s matches. Lancelot and his group of assistants spent days organizing the matches – who would compete with whom – until they were sure fair matches had been made overall.

On the evening before the Tournament began, Arthur rode out to the plain to address the gathering. He remained on his horse so he could be seen and his voice carry to as many folks as possible in the huge press of people who had gathered.

“Countrymen. I took my place as your king following a tournament similar to what you are about to engage in. It was only a few short years ago, but maybe you have forgotten. Knights and warriors came from all across this land to determine the best of the best in search of the Future King to replace the aging King Uther Pendragon. When I successfully pulled Excalibur from the stone and my true birthright as Uther’s heir was revealed, I was declared the Future King.

“This Tournament is not meant to find my heir – I’ll provide my own heir in due time – but it will spotlight warriors and knights with sufficient skills to join my circle and my army of men. I hope to see many of you join the ranks of my elite knights and warriors.”

Arthur’s comments about producing his own heir elicited a great deal of whispering and some tittering laughter throughout the crowd. Merlin looked pointedly at Arthur.

“Let us get through this Tournament, Merlin. Then I will plan my wedding.”

The following day saw archers competing simultaneously at eight different targets. Each contestant was allowed a dozen arrows. Points were scored according to how close to the bullseye their arrows landed. At the end of the day, Tristram, Borne, and Pedivere of the Marshes rose to the platform to receive ribbons and recognition as the three highest scorers in the archery matches. Their names were posted on the huge scoreboard, and much cheering and back slapping took place.

That night, like in the Tournament of Arthur’s youth, ale, wine, and mead flowed freely and revelers celebrated heartily. Arthur walked among the crowds, keeping half and eye out for the two dark-haired beauties who had shown up at the Tournament of a few short years ago and again at his coronation. But they were nowhere to be seen.

The second day of the Tournament saw match after match at the joust. There were three fields marked out for the contestants to ride at each other and try to knock the opponents from their mounts. The winners of those matches would all be posted at the end of the day, and vie with each other the next day, and perhaps the next, until the three finalists were chosen. They would be ranked according to points they had scored in their matches for unseating the opponent, a direct blow to the chest, a blow to the shield, etc. Lancelot and his committee had it all figured.

Many of the joust contestants wore scarves of their favorite ladies on their sleeves. They fought in honor of those ladies and it gave them a passion for the competition. Percival wore the colors of his mother, who he had reluctantly left at home to travel to the Tournament. He was one of the youngest competitors, but rode his horse with great bravery. He won the first match by his agility to lean back on his horse far enough to let his opponent’s lance pass over him. Somehow, he had figured a way to keep his own lance level and landed a square blow to the man’s chest. A second go saw his opponent badly bruised on his lance arm and unable to continue. Percival won by forfeiture. The opposing knight – Bellius – lodged an official appeal, saying Percival’s tactics were illegal to the rules of the joust. Lancelot and the other judges laughed at his indignation and tore up his appeal. Percival managed to win two more matches by more conventional tactics and rose to the top of the scoreboard for the joust. He was closely followed by a Hungarian lad, Urre, who rode with a fierceness rarely seen in gentle Camelot. Prince Boudwin rounded out the trio of winners.

On the fourth day, the sword matches began. They were organized much like the jousts, by elimination. until three finalists were left. Again, they were scored by forcing the opponent to surrender, disarming the opponent, inflicting wounds to the opponent, etc. The contestants were warned against lethal blows, but in the heat of battle serious injuries might occur. Blood flowed freely. The spectators were frenzied.

While all comers battled away on the fields, Arthur and his knights longed to take part. So, Lancelot organized a private tournament for them to sort out which of them were best at various weaponry. Lancelot won the swordplay hands down, until he faced Arthur himself. Arthur always suspected Lancelot backed down a small bit on purpose, letting Arthur and Excalibur get the upper hand, but Lancelot swore he gave his all. A smaller scoreboard announced Arthur as the top knight and warrior, Lancelot as a close second, and Kay and Bors evenly tied for third place.

Meanwhile, wrestling matches, contests of strength – such as weight lifting and tossing large stones and logs – were taking place at separate venues. A large oval track had been laid out for men to run repeated laps until two miles had been achieved. The first three to cross the finish line had their names added to the score board.

Finally, men gathered on horseback and set out on a course marked out in the surrounding countryside. They rode over the plain into rolling hills, through dense woods and small villages, up craggy high slopes, down into deep ravines, across rivers and streams, until they finally circled back to the starting place. This race took most of the final day. Lancelot had stationed judges at checkpoints along the way to keep an eye out for accidents or cheating. The three horsemen to finish first were added to the list of winners.

By the time the horses had made it across the plain into the first of the hills, the field had spread out considerably, revealing several definite leaders. These five continued to hold the lead, jockeying alternately for the first three places. When they entered a small village at the edge of the woods, two elderly villagers failed to clear the road in time and were knocked down by the charging steeds. One of the villagers, an old man, was kicked in the head and died instantly. The other, his wife, suffered a heart attack after she saw what had happened to her husband. Later, when Arthur and Lancelot heard of what had happened, they sent their heartfelt condolences to the family and the villagers, and Arthur had the pair buried with high honors in the village cemetery.

In the end, four had died during the Tournament – one who was accidentally hit in the eye during a joust, one who bled to death from a severed artery in his leg during an unofficial grudge match sword fight, and the two peasants from the village by the woods. Many lay in sickbeds, recovering from injuries, mild to serious.

But overall, Arthur, Lancelot, and the rest of the company deemed the Tournament a huge success and decided it would become an annual event. Arthur announced this at the great feast that was held at the end to recognize all the winners and invited them to join his band of warriors. All but Percival accepted immediately. He said he had to journey home for his mother’s blessing, but he was certain to be back.

Chapter 6

Lancelot and Guinevere

In the lull of activity following the Tournament, after all the would-be winners and spectators had left for their homes, and the winners had been installed as knights at Camelot,  Merlin and Arthur and I remained at table after dinner one evening, quietly talking.

“Isn’t it about time for your wedding, Arthur?” I asked.

“I guess so, dear Lancelot. I am looking forward to having the lovely Guinevere here, but I will miss the freedom and frolics of youth. I suppose, however, it is time to take up the mantle of responsibility and finally produce an heir.”

“Let me help you with the arrangements, brother,” I said. “Let me fetch the lady and her father, to travel here in style with a knightly escort.”

“Thank you, my friend. That will be excellent!”

Merlin passed a pointed look at me, but I pretended not to notice.

So, it was decided, I would travel north with a small company of knights to escort King Arthur’s bride to Camelot. The wedding was to be in high summer – when the meadow flowers were blooming.

I chose three knights to accompany me on my journey north. Sir Percival – who had returned with his mother’s blessing to our company, my own young cousin Galahad, and the venerable Sir Vortigern. Various pages and servants would also accompany the party. The trip was expected to take several days to reach Lord Leodogrance’s holdings, then up to four more for the return journey, not wishing to tire the elderly lord or the bride-to-be, for the wedding. Arthur saw us off, then returned to the beehive of activity the castle had become in preparations for the big day.

Meanwhile, the journey north for myself and company was uneventful – thank the Lord! This road was notorious for robbers and thieves who would set upon unsuspecting travelers and take even the clothes from their backs. But the sight of four royal Knights and our large company may have discouraged any would-be robbers from approaching. They would have been met with hard blows and sharp swords.

On reaching Leodogrance’s holding, the entire party was given lodging and rested for a night. We all set off the next day for the journey back to Camelot. Leodogrance had several servants to attend him, and Guinevere had three ladies-in-waiting accompanying her. She, with her father and her ladies all seated in a cart drawn by two fine horses. It was the very same cart that had brought them to Camelot with the fine round table they had delivered. This time, the back of the cart was fitted out with benches to seat the ladies and servants. Guinevere and her father rode at the front, alongside the driver. The going was slow because of the rutted road. Leodogrance insisted on stopping often to stretch his legs. He complained of stiffness in his joints.

“Sir, it is my sincere desire to see you as comfortable as possible on this long journey. Please accept my cloak as extra padding between yourself and the hard bench you occupy.”

“Thank you, sir, but I fear even the softness of your cloak will not bring the spring of youth to my old bones. I do appreciate the gesture, though.”

“And you, fair lady,” I turned my attention to the gray-eyed gaze of Guinevere. “How can I add to your comfort on this trek?”

“Perhaps some interesting conversation would help the time pass more quickly?”

“Aah. It would be my pleasure to engage with you in interesting conversation. Tell me fair lady, how are you inclined toward your impending marriage?”

“Oh, well enough. I am certain my love for the king will grow in time. You have remained close to Arthur for several years, Lancelot. What can you tell me of him – his passions, his desires?”

“I know he loves his people and his land more than life itself. I know he has been a true and steadfast friend to me. I know I love him like a brother.”

“Your good opinion means much to me, sir. I think you must be well educated in many ways to have such insightful observations.”

“Indeed.”

We rode on in companionable silence for a bit until Lord Leodogrance once again requested a stop. I helped Guinevere and then her father down from the cart and we walked about and stretched our legs as we waited for the elderly lord to re-emerge from the woods at the side of the road where he had disappeared for privacy. I sent Sir Vortigern along to stand watch against robbers and highwaymen.

As we walked side by side, the fair lady held my arm to steady her step on the uneven ground. I found her touch most pleasant. When the party stopped for the night, I made sure the lady and her father and the entire party were bedded in comfort. Her ladies-in-waiting shared one tent. The Lord’s servants another. Lord Leodogrance slept alone in his own pavilion, and the fair lady had a separate shelter next to her father’s. My knights and party slept under the stars, on the ground, as we usually did.

Late in the night, I woke to a small sound. I saw a lone figure, her copper hair glinting under the full moon. I rose quickly to warn her not to stray too far from the camp and its safety.

“Oh, Lancelot! You startled me! I am unable to sleep. I find my heart filled with apprehension as we draw nearer to my fate.”

“I would see your heart calmed, lady. I especially wish to protect your feelings as I come to know you better. Be assured, I will not stand for your heart to be trifled with in any way.”

“Tell me of Arthur. You are close to him, are you not? Is he a good man?”

“His heart is filled with good intentions. He treats his people fairly and tries always to do what is right.”

“Is he brave?”

“Always, but not quite as successful in battle as myself, if I may say so. However, he has no equal with the sword. His sword, Excalibur, makes him superior to all – even myself.”

“Indeed.”

Guinevere then gazed off into the night, still not entirely at ease.

“What still troubles you, lady?”

“Will he be a good husband? Will he love me with all his heart? Will he be true to me alone? Will he always be honest with me?”

“I . . . I.”

The lady ducked her head and quietly laughed a little.

“Never mind all my questions. I know you couldn’t possibly answer them. Only Merlin might see into the future to give me answers.”

“I will tell you this, Lady Guinevere. When Arthur gives his love, it is with his whole heart, and he promises it forever.”

“Thank you for the assurance, Lancelot. I can see why Arthur values you so. You are a true and honest man.”

She gazed into my eyes for several moments and in the moonlight, I saw a friendship growing. Perhaps the lady and I would become as close as her husband-to-be and I were. Perhaps the three of us would be as one. I escorted her back to her tent and bid her good night. Then lay on my pallet and stared at the night sky for a long time.

The next day we spoke more about Arthur, life at Camelot, and possibilities for the future welfare of Arthur’s kingdom. Would-be raiders gathered constantly at the borders. We all hoped our circle of warriors would be able to repel them. Our time on the road passed quickly with our conversation.

That night we made camp again, with the sleeping arrangements in the same configuration. Around midnight, after the fire had been banked and all had retired, the lady Guinevere again emerged from her shelter into the moonlight. I rose and joined her. We walked arm in arm a little away from the camp so our voices would not disturb the others.

We spoke more of our hopes and dreams for Camelot and the kingdom. Guinevere spoke of her desire to provide Arthur with many heirs. She longed for a large family. It had been her alone with her father since she was very young and she wanted to hear the sound of children’s laughter through the halls of Camelot. She wanted the activity and hustle-bustle of many young ones to care for — and love.

As she spoke, we reached a large rock atop a small hill in a clearing. We sat side by side. She stopped talking and laughed, shy and coy.

“Listen to me, going on and on. I am heartless! What of you, Lancelot? Is there a wife and family in your future? Do you have a lady love awaiting you at Camelot, or perhaps back home in Brittany?”

“None, fair lady. My heart is given over to King Arthur, and now you. I live for your welfare.”

She raised her head and was suddenly sober. We sat side by side, our faces turned toward each other, our eyes locked.

I leaned in and before either one of us could think, our lips were touching. Our arms embraced. It was electric. It was magical. It was heaven.

She gasped. I pulled away.

“Forgive me, lady. I have forgotten myself.”

“Never regret your passion, Lancelot.”

“But, I have been charged to escort you safely to my king. I have broken his trust. I must confess as soon as we reach the castle.”

“Pretend this never happened. We shall not speak of it again. It shall remain our secret.”

Though I still wanted to tell Arthur about the incident, the lady convinced me it would only cause bad feelings. We should go on as if it had never happened. We would eventually move forward with our lives. The kiss would be forgotten. But, would it? Could it?

“Of course it can,” she read my thoughts. “It must be. We will go to Camelot, I will marry Arthur, and the three of us will become great friends. I know this, Lancelot. I have dreamed it.”

Her steady gaze relaxed me. I nodded. Of course. The kiss would be forgotten.

I looked forward to having this intelligent and gentle woman at Camelot. She may be Arthur’s wife, but she would always be my friend. I almost wished the journey would not come to an end, so much did I enjoy her company. I hoped we would have many chances to speak together after the wedding.

Once we entered the gates at Camelot, events were set in motion that moved us all toward our inexorable fate. The wedding was to be in two days and activity had reached a fever pitch. Guinevere and her ladies disappeared into their suites of rooms to prepare the bride for her nuptials. The finishing touches were made to the gown she would wear. Flowers were gathered to be woven into a headpiece and fashioned into bouquets for her and her ladies to carry.

Meanwhile, musicians practiced in the great hall. The cooks were making cakes and pastries and numerous gourmet delights to be served at the wedding feast. Delicious smells emanated from the palace kitchens, and melodic sounds wafted from the hall. Carpenters pounded in the courtyard, decorators busied themselves hanging cloth and banners. There was activity everywhere. I found Arthur sitting glumly in the Round Table room, looking a little sick. He was twisting the ring on his finger.

“Is something amiss, my friend? Your wedding day is two days hence. What worries you?”

“Lancelot. You’re back. How was the journey? Are the lady and her father well?”

“The journey was long, but we all fared well. Your lady, Arthur, is a most interesting companion on the road. We passed the time in deep conversations about many things. She is well versed in many subjects.”

“She scares me, Lance. I am tongue-tied in her presence. She will become bored with my limited experience. Every time I am with her, I stutter and stammer. How will I ever manage?”

“My friend, surely you will manage. You are the king. How do you manage that? Didn’t Merlin himself give you good advice once about how to address your people? Be yourself. With the lady, be yourself. She will grow to love the true you. As I myself have. You’ll see. She is not only beautiful and fair, she has a great wisdom. She sees things as they really are. The three of us shall have wonderful conversations about all sorts of things. It will be a circle of love.”

“A circle of love,” repeated Arthur. “Just remember who is marrying whom within this circle, friend.” But he said it with a smile.

So the two days went by and the wedding took place. It was a marvelous affair. Arthur’s subjects came from all over the kingdom. Even some of my own relatives came across the water from the south. The weather held and the ceremony was held on a hill just outside the walls of Camelot. Flowers adorned a wooden archway the carpenters had built. The lady appeared in a lovely snow-white dress adorned only with flowers in her hair and in her hand. A veil of white covered her glowing copper hair, but was flung back at the end of the ceremony so the husband and wife could share their first kiss.

Later, after the ceremony, during which a Christian priest gave the couple his blessings, and Merlin in turn gave his, everyone was invited to a huge feast. Trestle tables were set up in the castle courtyard for the common folk and an elegant feast was set up in the inside hall for the wedding party and their honored guests.

I watched Arthur carefully during the feast. He’d always regulated his drinking — staying away from strong drink and sticking to ale and wine that were less heavy in alcohol, but this night, he downed several glasses of whiskey brought from the north and pour after pour of the local mead. I feared he would pass out with drunkenness on the very night of his wedding. How could he risk missing a night of passion with his wonderful treasure of a bride?

“Shouldn’t you take it easy with the hard drink?” I whispered to him so no one else could hear.

“Don’t tell me what to do! I can take it. I need the courage it gives me. Ironic, isn’t it? I’m fearless against Saxons. Victorious in battle, but here I am trying to find my confidence in drink. What should I do, Lancelot? What would you do?”

“I’d sober up and take my bride to bed. You have an extraordinary woman on your hands. Do not ignore her, or treat her with indifference. She can become your best advisor and confidante, if you give her your trust and love.”

“I feel so comfortable here with you, Lance. Why can’t I feel that way with her?”

“You will, once you know her well enough. Trust me, she is not only beautiful, but wise. I learned that on our journey here.”

“Should I be jealous?”

“Ha ha! My love is for you, Arthur,” I grabbed Arthur’s arm as I spoke. “And through you, for her. There is nothing more.”

“I . . . I guess. Wish me luck, Lance. I do trust you. And your advice. I hope I can measure up.”

With that, Arthur lurched away from the table and headed across the room to where Guinevere sat surrounded by her ladies. Shy smiles were seen as he held out his arm for her and they made their way toward the king’s chambers. A drunken cheer rose up from the knights still present. We all wished the couple the best.

I was a little stunned at Arthur’s hesitance with Guinevere. I’d heard the stories of the dark-haired beauties at the Tournament where he’d been discovered as Future King, and again at his coronation festivities. Kay had regaled us all one evening with those stories. Arthur himself had bragged about his fierce passion. Now he seemed to have lost his confidence. I was sure, once he and Guinevere found themselves alone, he would forget his doubts and eagerly perform his manly duties. The castle halls would soon be filled with the sounds of children.

Chapter 7

Arthur and Guinevere

Arthur led his bride to his large bed. It had been decorated with flower petals and candles were lit in the sconces to provide soft light in the chamber. It had been transformed from the austere sleeping chamber of a warrior to a romantic bower for the newlyweds.

Their attendants waited to prepare them for bed. Guinevere waved her lady away, indicating she wished privacy for herself and her husband. Arthur gestured for his footman to leave as well.

He fumbled with his outer garments, then stepped close to Guinevere to help her with her hooks and buttons. Finally, dresses and tunics were pushed aside. The couple reclined on the bed in their undergarments. Arthur was hesitant. What was he waiting for? Why was he reluctant to embrace his bride? Maybe because she was no farm wench? No tournament groupie?  She was a true lady. Truth be told, Arthur felt a bit intimidated.

He slowly turned toward her and put his shaking hands on her shoulders. He awkwardly kissed her lips. She responded by embracing him and sighing softly. Maybe she was looking forward to this night. He wasn’t expecting her to respond to his first touch. Now he felt a little bolder.

He carefully tugged at her shift. She stayed his hand and sat up to remove it herself. He paused in awe on seeing her unadorned beauty. He remembered himself when he felt her hands tugging on his own shirt. They eventually moved on to their drawers. Once not a stitch of clothing existed between them, they moved their bodies together on the huge bad. Arthur found his head spinning and his stomach in knots. Perhaps it was love – most likely it was the alcohol. In spite of his desire, he found himself distracted with doubts. Would she be satisfied with his brute thrashing? Would she desire more sophisticated techniques of love-making? Techniques he knew little of? He should have consulted Lancelot on these matters. Surely Lancelot – superior man that he was – would be well versed in the arts of love. Brittany was known to value those skills above all. Why couldn’t he feel at ease with Guinevere the way he felt with Lancelot?

Now, in bed, with his bride waiting for his next move, it was too late. He’d have to somehow muddle through this night and hope she wasn’t too disappointed. Suddenly his loss of confidence in his own love-making skills was sabotaging his physical abilities. He found himself losing his passion. His head was spinning. He felt sick to his stomach. He lurched from the bed and rushed to the facilities in the nick of time.

Feeling shaken and weak – and ashamed – he sank to the stone floor and covered his face with his hands.

“Arthur? Arthur, are you unwell?” Guinevere called gently at the door. “Shall I fetch your footman? Or Merlin?”

“No! I had too much to drink is all. I am unused to the strong whiskey from the north, or even the mead we make here.”

Arthur splashed water from a pitcher over his face and head. He steeled his shoulders and emerged from the bath and headed unsteadily to the bed. He avoided eye contact with Guinevere’s steady gray-eyed gaze. He covered himself, embarrassed, and implored his wife to be patient.

“Give me a bit to sober up. I promise, my passion will return when this drunkenness passes.”

“Of course,” Guinevere agreed, with downcast eyes.

She quietly lay beside him, but stayed to her side of the oversized bed. Thus, the newlyweds spent their wedding night naked in bed together, but not touching. Not sharing any intimacy but that one awkward kiss.

Arthur was asleep immediately. Passed out from the drink, most likely. While Guinevere lay awake beside her husband — she confided to him years later — puzzling over what she might have done wrong to spoil what should have been a magical night.

In the morning, Arthur was reluctant to meet Guinevere’s gaze. He kissed her chastely on the forehead and promised the next time would be better. He apologized for having drunk too much the previous evening and promised to be more prudent from now on.

Guinevere nodded and assured her husband all would be well.

After breakfast, Arthur made himself busy with his horses. He decided hard physical work in the stable and a long ride would clear the fog of the previous night from his head, and get him away from the bothersome gaze of his wife.

What is wrong with me, he thought. I love her, don’t I? Why am I so awkward around her, and why did I make such a fool of myself last night?

The more Arthur thought about it, the worse he felt. His stomach lurched and he had to stop while mucking out his horse’s stall to be sick. It must have been the mead.

As he was saddling up to ride out, Lancelot approached.

“Wait, friend! I would ride with you. You must tell me about your wedding night! I spent the entire night wanting to be you. You realize what a lucky man you are, do you not?”

Arthur had rather be alone, but how could he deny his dear friend without sounding surly and ungrateful. He pasted a smile on his face and gestured for Lancelot to saddle up. The two rode out of the castle gates side by side.

After they had let the horses run a bit, they slowed down and walked them in silence for a while.

“Well?” asked Lancelot after the silence stretched on and on. “Are you so exhausted from your exertions in the bedchamber you have no energy to even speak of it?”

“What goes on between a man and his wife is private.” Arthur answered.

“Not when you are the king and everyone in the land is waiting for an heir.”

“I will not speak of it . . . to you or anyone else.”

“Very well. It’s only, you do not have the look of a man who just spent the night with the most beautiful woman in the land. Is there a problem, friend?”

“I said, I will not speak of it.”

Arthur spurred his horse to a trot and rode ahead. The rest of the ride was spent in silence. When they returned to the castle, Arthur gave his horse’s lead to a stable hand and stalked off to his private chambers. Later that day, he waved away a lunch tray, saying he had a headache. Which was actually true, but the headache extended to his heart. As the day wore on, he began to think about the coming night. Would he fail Guinevere again?

He ate little at supper, and drank even less. He tried to convince himself his failure last night was because of the strong drink — and perhaps that was somewhat true — but, his failure was more of his mind than his body. He had let the fear of failure convince himself that he was inadequate and he became intimidated by his own wife. Tonight would be different. He would approach the bed sane and sober, and love his Guinevere like she deserved to be loved.

He excused himself a little early from the evening discussions over ale that night. He caught Guinevere’s eye where she sat with her ladies and she put down her stitching and followed him.

When Guinevere’s maid followed as far as the door, she motioned her in to help her undress and prepare for bed. Arthur was busy with his footman fussing over his preparations to sleep. Finally, the two were again alone. Arthur got into bed on his side and his wife lay down on her side.

“I am sorry, madam, for my drunkenness on our wedding night. I hope to make it up to you tonight and in the future.”

“Husband, there is no need for such formal apology! We are partners. What does or does not transpire between us — in the privacy of these chambers — is what it is. No more apologies. We shall put last night behind us and move forward.”

Guinevere rolled on her side and faced Arthur. She reached across the space that separated them and patted his arm. Then she closed her eyes and seemed to sleep. Arthur was unsure whether he should pursue lovemaking, or let her sleep. As he pondered, he grew sleepy himself and finally slept.

He determined the next day he needed to seek counsel. Lancelot could help, but the chance for private conversation with Lancelot didn’t seem to present itself. Arthur had the feeling Lancelot was avoiding him after the rude way he’d treated him on their ride. He went to Merlin.

“Merlin . . . I . . . um . . . I wondered if I could ask you something? I have no one to advise me on these matters.”

“What is it, lad? You may ask me anything.”

“I . . . um . . . Now that I am married . . . ah . . . I am expected to perform . . . ah . . . certain expectations are placed on me. I . . . ahem . . .”

“Spit it out, boy! What would you know?”

“I wish to know the arts of love.” Arthur finally blurted it out. His face grew hot and he suddenly didn’t know what to do with his hands. He waited. Merlin looked at him for a long time.

“You speak like a lad barely weaned from his mother’s breast! You have surely lain with women before Guinevere, have you not? Weren’t there farm girls at Sir Ector’s, and what about that dark beauty at your coronation?”

“Yes, but none of them were like Guinevere. She scares me, Merlin! The farm girls when I was with Sir Ector were nothing but a bit of fun. Kay and I joked about them! Then, the dark beauty who approached me at the Tournament and again at my coronation, put some kind of enchantment over me. I became like an animal. I was barely aware of what I did.

“Guinevere looks at me so intensely! She deserves my best and I become like an awkward child with her. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what to do. I need help.”

“One cannot teach the art of love, Arthur. You and Guinevere will learn together as time goes by. You will come to understand each other’s needs and desires and be able to satisfy them.”

“But what if we don’t? What if I can never give her what she desires?”

“Until you understand what that truly is, you’ll never know. You must trust her, son. Be honest with each other. Hold nothing back.”

“I’ll try.”

The conversation left Arthur feeling no better than before. He knew he needed to relax and open himself to Guinevere, but that was easier said than done. If only he could feel as comfortable in her presence as with Lancelot. He couldn’t shake the feeling of inadequacy she engendered in him. She didn’t judge. She wasn’t critical at all. But he still felt he was being compared to some idea of love he’d never measure up to. He wished he knew more of her background. He’d assumed she’d lived sheltered within her father’s protection. He was pretty sure she was a virgin. But had she had any previous suitors?

None had been discovered during the vetting process, after he had announced his intentions for her. Royal advisors and councilors had made discreet inquiries and come up with nothing but that she had lived quietly with her father and had studied healing and the usual feminine pursuits such as needlework, riding, horticulture. She knew a great deal about herbs. Maybe she would know of one that could help them. If he dared ask.

The day passed quickly — too quickly. Arthur kept busy with things that took him outside. He avoided conversation with Guinevere. Too soon, dinner was over, the castle was quiet, and it was time to take his bride to bed. Arthur twisted his ring. He found excuses to stay up and talk quietly with his knights. When Guinevere herself caught his eye and headed to their bedchamber, he couldn’t avoid it any longer. It would look strange for him to stay.

He made his way to the chamber. Guinevere had prepared herself for bed and was lying awake propped up by her pillows.

“Hello, husband.”

“Wife.”

“I fear we have gotten off to a bad beginning for our marriage. Perhaps a different approach might be helpful. I want you to know I am willing to try new things. Whatever works best for you.”

Arthur felt shamed to hear his wife speak so. It sounded as if she suspected he was perverted in his requirements for satisfaction.

“Guinevere, I assure you, the usual intimacy of a man and his wife is all I need — or ask. I am only in such awe of your beauty and perfection, I find I have lost all confidence in myself as a man.”

Arthur was grateful for the low light in the room. Maybe Guinevere could not see how his face reddened as he spoke. She reached to the small table beside the bed and picked up a stoneware mug containing some sort of tea.

“Drink this, Arthur. It is a mild herb known to encourage thoughts of love in men. It may be of help.”

“Where did you get this?”

“I brought my supply of herbs and medicines with me when I journeyed here. My knowledge of healing has been useful in the past. It may be useful in the future.”

While they spoke, Arthur drank the warm liquid. It had a somewhat grassy taste and went down smoothly. Guinevere took the mug and drank the last few sips herself, and they got into bed together.

Arthur felt a warmth spreading through his entire body, centering in his groin. He felt a tension growing in him, and a need to have it satisfied. He began kissing and caressing his bride. She eagerly returned his kisses and caresses and soon they forgot any awkwardness between them. Afterward, he continued to keep his arms around her and they fell asleep entwined in the center of the bed.

In the morning, Arthur was awakened by a gentle kiss from his wife. Her smiling face was the first thing he saw when he opened his eyes.

“What a wonderful way to be wakened! I would have every day begin like this.”

At breakfast, he asked Lancelot to ride out with him. Lancelot reluctantly agreed to go.

“I apologize for my surliness the other day. I was hungover from too much drink on my wedding night. I’m afraid I failed badly in the bridal bed. But since then, my wonderful wife has proven patient and wise and has dealt with our situation exceedingly well. I am certain an heir will come along in due time.”

“That is good news, my friend. I am overjoyed for you.” But the joy did not show in Lancelot’s face.

Just then, Lancelot spurred his own horse into a gallop and the two raced across the countryside, Lancelot staying always a bit ahead of his king, so that Arthur could not see his face. Arthur saw it as joyful fun between friends, but Lancelot told him years later, he had hoped Arthur’s horse would misstep and a fatal accident would occur. But Lancelot had forgotten what an expert horseman Arthur was.

Arthur continued to worry the ring he wore. His kingdom lived mostly in peace for several years, he was married to the most beautiful, wise, and patient woman in the land, and he had a circle of trusted warriors surrounding him — led by his closest friend, Lancelot. Life should be wonderful. His marriage should be blossoming into a deeper and deeper relationship. Yet he continued to rely on the herbal brew Guinevere provided to perform properly in bed.

What was wrong here? He’d performed well enough in his youth. His only explanation was that Guinevere intimidated him to the point he needed the mild push from her brew to regain his drive. But he would continue to drink the liquid and perform his marital duties, at least until she became pregnant. Why wasn’t that happening? They’d been doing it several times a week for more than five years now. Surely, his seed should have found fertile ground by now? Maybe his seed was impotent. How could he know? Maybe his wife was barren. Could she be examined? It was all too much for Arthur — and such a bother. He had a kingdom to govern. Petitions to hear, enemies to repel, subjects to care for. These domestic concerns were a distraction.

Again, he sought the counsel of Merlin.

“Merlin, I would ask . . . is there a way to determine why my marriage has not produced an heir? Six years have passed. My wife and I have . . . we have done more than our duty to each other, yet no child grows in her belly. Should we be concerned? Are there tests?”

“Do not panic, my son. It is early days yet. Sometimes these things take more time than one would imagine, and worry over the very thing one desires makes it ever more elusive. Relax and enjoy your time with each other. All will play out in due time.”

“I don’t have due time! My people are growing concerned — as am I. I need to produce an heir!”

“Calm down. Take your mind off this worry. Find a distraction. In my experience, the very time people cease to dwell on the lack of a child is when the miracle happens. If it will ease your worries, I will perform a fertility rite for you and prepare supplements for you each to take that will enhance your chances for a child. But do not rely too heavily on herbs and drugs, Arthur. Your own body must be left to do what comes naturally for it.”

“I don’t know what that is any more. I love Guinevere, but my thoughts go elsewhere when we are alone together. Would that I were as comfortable with her as with my dear friend Lancelot. Lancelot and I share everything. Our deepest dreams and fears. I don’t have that with my wife.”

“You must learn to trust her, Arthur. She is to be your partner through life. You must separate yourself from Lancelot and cling to Guinevere. Her love is a delicate thing. If you do not nurture it with your attention and trust, it could be fleeting. I warned you when you chose her she could betray you, but only if you allow it. That must never happen.”

Chapter 8

Lancelot and Guinevere

The years passed one after another, until nine years had gone and still no child for Arthur and his wife. Merlin had done his incantations. Arthur and Guinevere dutifully took their supplements. They had to discontinue the herbal brew Guinevere had provided because Arthur began suffering headaches and a racing heart. They were still able to manage lovemaking from time to time. Arthur hated that his attraction to his wife was fading, but what could he do? It seemed every time he thought of making love to her, the whole kingdom was watching, judging his performance, waiting to see results. He began to cast about for alternatives.

Maybe they could secretly employ a surrogate. A hired woman he could make pregnant, or who was already in that state that they could keep out of sight in the castle while Guinevere was made to appear to be carrying a child. Then, when the baby was born, Arthur and Guinevere could present it publicly as their own.

But no, too many people would have to keep the secret. Castle gossip was always a problem. Very little stayed secret within the walls of Camelot.

It would only work if Guinevere herself bore the child. But what if it was not Arthur who planted the seed? Could that be possible?

That would mean a man other than himself would have to sleep with her. Arthur dismissed that idea, thinking he could never bear to share her with another man or risk the scandal if it became known. Besides, who could he trust enough to perform this duty? Unbidden, the name of Lancelot came to mind. He shared everything with Lance. But his wife? Never!

Arthur was pained to see the longing looks on Guinevere’s face. He knew how much she wished for a child. By now he was convinced it was his poor performance as a husband that was responsible for this lack. If only he was able to give her what she longed for.

Again, the name of Lancelot rose in his thoughts. Lancelot had a reputation by now of attracting the ladies, but either he refused them all or he was very discreet. There had been the matter of the lady Elaine, who had born a son, Galahad. When Galahad came to court after his mother’s death, he exhibited many of the talents thought unique to Lancelot alone. Rumor was, Galahad was Lancelot’s son, though he never formally recognized the fact. He was never seen in company of one woman more than another, and no woman ever accused him of unwanted attention. But he did lavish gentlemanly attention on them all. Arthur was certain Lancelot was well versed in the arts of love. He had a way of making each person he was with feel his undivided attention and charm. He made everyone he spent time with feel special — and loved.

One evening, after many tankards of ale, Arthur and Lancelot were the only two still awake in the hall. They sat side by side, quietly talking at the Round Table.

“Lance, I am worried that I have no heir — after more than nine years. What do you think I can do to fix this problem?”

“Make love to your wife.”

“I do! But she has not conceived in all these years. Merlin has examined her — as have her own midwives. She is healthy and experiences her moon phases regularly. Nothing is amiss there, she assures me. It must be me! I must be lacking in viable seed!”

“That could be, Arthur. But what can be done? Have you asked Merlin for a remedy?”

“I have drunk herbal brews until I gag. I have suffered headaches and heart palpitations. Rashes and sores. Nothing has made a difference.”

“What you need is potent seed. Would that I could lend you mine.”

The two met each other’s questioning looks. Was this even thinkable?

* * *

One lovely midsummer day, Guinevere rode out with her ladies to a woodland nearby to hunt for herbs to replenish her store of medicines. She was particularly looking for herbs she had only read of that were said to encourage conception. She’d been told they grew in these woods, so she intended to gather a large supply to have at hand.

Arthur had provided a lovely white mare for his wife to ride. She had ridden a little as a young girl, but hadn’t been astride a horse for almost ten years before she came to Camelot. But she took to riding her mare easily and enjoyed exploring the countryside with Arthur or Lancelot by her side, or alone with her ladies.

On this day, the men were busy designing a new stone rampart to go all the way around the inner side of the castle walls, to replace the rotting wooden planks. They wished to be able to defend the wall against any invaders who might attempt to climb over at any spot. So, while Arthur, Lancelot, and Kay put their heads together over their drawings and designs, the ladies excused themselves to ride out.

They ventured several miles eastward to a large wood where Guinevere had been advised to seek the elusive herbs. It took them a while to locate a small cluster of the plants and the ladies refused to venture near them as they were afraid merely smelling the herbs would cause them to fall pregnant. But Guinevere laughed at their silliness, knowing it took more than the aroma of these herbs to produce a child. Guinevere had finished gathering a large pouch of the leaves, rejoined her ladies, and they were preparing to ride the several miles back home when riders approached from the other direction along the road. The women were suddenly surrounded and weapons pointed at them, both spears and arrows. Guinevere was dragged off her mount and roughly placed in the saddle in front of a large warrior who quickly lashed her wrists together and held her in place with his muscled arms. The rest of the women were dragged off their own horses and the horses were all swatted until they galloped away, leaving the ladies-in-waiting helplessly behind. The company of men disappeared back eastward with the queen.

The women set out walking back to the castle. It took them the better part of the afternoon to reach the gates. Weeping with despair over losing their queen and distress from their long trek home, they told their story to Arthur. He was livid. Not with the women. They were poor helpless ladies-in-waiting. What could they have done? He was angry with himself. He should have sent men to guard the women on their outing. Why hadn’t he? Because he’d been distracted. He’d been caught up in the plans over the ramparts, wrapped up in the proximity of his soul-mate Lancelot. When Guinevere had told him she intended to ride out to gather herbs with her women, he had waved them away without a thought.

He immediately organized a search party. The day was getting on. He sincerely hoped they would find his wife before dark. They galloped in the direction the women said the kidnappers had gone. All that stood in that direction were some small farmsteads and the holding of a minor lord. They inquired at the farmhouses, but no one had seen anything. It was growing dark, so they bedded down for the night in the farm’s stables. In the morning, they rode on. By midday they came to a small fortress, home of the minor lord, Meliagant, who had always been a thorn in Arthur’s side. He had raised a great objection when Arthur annexed all the land surrounding his holdings as part of Camelot. He refused to recognize that Arthur was now his king, maintaining his boundaries as sovereign land. But Arthur paid him little note as eminent domain law made it clear his small fortress and land was now part of Camelot, whether Meliagant liked it or not.

The knights rode up to the front gate of Meliagant’s fortress. They were greeted by rocks hurled toward them from the top of the walls.

“Come out and speak to me, you old fool!” shouted Arthur. “What have you done with my wife?”

“She is safe!” came the shout from Meliagant. “But you’ll not see her again unless you agree to my demands.”

Arthur decided to engage the lord in parley while he motioned Lancelot to take a few men quietly around to the rear of the holding. They would try to find a back-door way in.

“And what, pray tell, might those demands be?”

“I demand you recognize my borders and declare publicly that I am Thane of my own sovereign land. I refuse to simply be absorbed into your vast kingdom, losing the autonomy I maintain. Agree to that and your bride shall be returned unharmed. Deny me and your bride shall suffer!”

“You cannot hold your queen — my wife — hostage to these demands! I insist you release her immediately. If you do, we can forget about this incident. Accede your lands to the kingdom of Camelot and I will pardon this egregious disregard for the laws of this land. Refuse, and you shall suffer all the might of my court and my knights of the Round Table!”

While Arthur and Meliagant hurled threats at each other, Lancelot, Kay, and Galahad crept away and circled around to the back side of the fortress. There they found an entrance left unguarded, next to the rubbish pile and midden heap. Apparently, it was used by servants in tossing away any and all refuse.

The knights quickly made entry into the fortress and disabled several guards they encountered in the hallways. They confronted a terrified servant who readily pointed in the direction where Guinevere was being held.

Lancelot burst into the chamber where Guinevere had been clumsily lashed to a bedpost. He threatened the poor handmaiden who was attending her until she fled in terror. He moved to the bed to free Guinevere’s bonds, touching her cheek with his and sighing softly as he bent close to untie the strips of cloth that bound her wrists.

“I have not breathed since the news came of your capture,” he whispered. “My heart stopped beating in my chest when I heard you’d been taken. I feel I have been re-awakened from death itself now that I have freed you!”

“Lancelot, you are my savior indeed! What of my husband? Is he not participating in my rescue?”

“He is outside the front gate, distracting old Meliagant so I — and my men — could secretly enter this vile place and secure your rescue.”

Lancelot then lifted Guinevere in his arms and insisted on carrying her out the way they had come in. His men went before them to be sure of the way. Three guards had stationed themselves at the midden door, but were quickly dispatched by Kay and Galahad.

When Arthur saw the party emerge from around the left wall of the fortress, he broke off his talking with Meliagant. This occurred at the exact moment Meliagant was urgently approached by several of his own men. Looking totally taken by surprise, he stared with his mouth agape as Lancelot placed Guinevere before Arthur in his saddle, and the party rode away. Did Arthur sense some reluctance as Lancelot let go his hand that supported the queen’s back? Did he see a look pass between them that expressed more that gratitude and relief? Perhaps so.

It was well past dark by the time the party approached the castle. They were jubilant at first, but grew subdued as Arthur began to sternly reprimand his wife for venturing away from the castle with no escort. It began to sound as if he blamed her for her own abduction. She bore his scolding in silence, refusing to either argue for herself or apologize. By the time they reached the castle gates, everyone simply went inside in silence and refused to answer questions that greeted them about how they had won the queen’s release. The servants inquired whether a celebration feast should be prepared for Guinevere’s successful return, but Arthur waved it off. He said the queen was exhausted from the events and would be retiring early.

He put his arm possessively about Guinevere’s shoulders and took her off to bed. When they had been prepared for sleep, Guinevere finally broke her silence.

“How dare you accuse me of carelessness for everyone to hear? Do not ever chastise me before your own men! You were all too busy with your “projects” yesterday morning to even take notice of my excursion. Besides, this kingdom is supposed to be at peace! Are you unable to control your own subjects? Meliagant should have been dealt with long ago. It is another sign of your weakness, Arthur, first as a man, and now as a king! And who was it who rescued me? Not my husband. Oh no, he was too busy engaging the miscreant who stole me in witty conversation! Lancelot shall henceforth be the brave savior in my eyes!”

These were harsh words and cut deep into Arthur’s heart. He had no defense — either of his performance as a man, or as king. He was ashamed that he’d let the situation with Meliagant go on so long. He should have dealt with him decisively at the very first sign of resistance. Now the problem had come to disturb the peace in his own bedchamber. He sullenly put himself to bed and turned away from Guinevere. For her part, she reminded Arthur that the excursion was undertaken in the first place to seek herbs that might bring about an heir — which he had yet to manage himself.

The coolness between them still hung in the air all the next day, and the day after that. Arthur spent his days engaged with his men — training, riding, planning campaigns that never happened, staying up late into the night to speak quietly with Lancelot. Despite Lancelot and Guinevere’s apparent attraction to each other — oh yes, Arthur had noticed — he remained close as ever to Lancelot. When Arthur finally made his way to the bedchamber, he slipped into his side of the bed without disturbing or waking his sleeping wife.

By now, he was beginning to feel all this business of making an heir wasn’t worth the bother. It was high summer by now. All that thrashing about in the oppressive heat was unpleasant.

It would give time for the air to clear between them. Guinevere would forget about her anger at his scolding over the Meliagant incident. Had he been wrong to send Lancelot to the rescue? Should he have entered the fortress himself? He noticed Guinevere now gazed openly at Lancelot with admiration. Of course, it was natural for her to feel gratitude toward her rescuer, but was there more?

“Merlin, I find myself once again in need of advice. I feel there is more than gratitude in my wife’s eyes when she gazes on my favorite, Lancelot. Am I being stupidly jealous, or should I be worried about their growing friendship?”

“I must remind you, lad, of my warning. I sensed that Guinevere was destined to betray you, but you paid no heed. It may be coming soon.”

“Is there nothing I can do?”

“You need to see to it she has a child. Once she becomes a mother, her wandering eye will gaze only upon her babe, and the man who gave it to her. You need to be the one she thinks of constantly. You need to show her your ardent love every day and every night. Do not allow her thoughts to stray to Lancelot.”

“But I . . .”

Arthur left Merlin’s chambers with his head spinning. He wasn’t in the mood to re-win his wife’s love. He wasn’t even sure he wanted to. By now, the thought of Lancelot taking his place in the marriage bed was beginning to sound reasonable. If he could only find a way to make it happen without Guinevere suspecting.

The next evening, Arthur kept Lancelot in conversation long after everyone else had retired.

“You know Guinevere rode out with her women to search for herbs that might help us get a child. I do not wish her to be put in that sort of danger ever again. Do you remember our conversation from earlier this summer, Lance? I am convinced that what she needs to get a child is virulent seed. I am convinced you can provide that. As an act of love for me and my kingdom, I would ask you to lay with my wife.”

Lancelot’s eyes grew wide with disbelief. He merely nodded solemnly.

But Arthur chose to ignore the speed of Lancelot’s agreement. He only thought of how they might carry out this plan. Remembering the story of his own conception, he decided to consult with Merlin again.

“Merlin, I recall Sir Ector telling me of my own origins. How you yourself performed a magic to make the lady Igraine believe my father, King Uther, was her own husband and took him gladly to her bed. Um . . . do you think you could perform that trick again?”

“It was no trick. It was deep and difficult magic, for which I paid a heavy price. Magic never comes without a price. And what, pray tell, are you thinking?”

“I am thinking, sir, of substituting someone to get my wife with child. There, I’ve said it. Lancelot would be the first choice, of course.”

“Have you even thought about how dangerous that would be? Surely you have noticed the attraction between the two. Why would you knowingly want to encourage that? Are you addled, boy?”

“Merlin, I have thought about this long and hard. If your magic fails and Guinevere becomes aware the man in her bed is not myself, she might not be so inclined to raise an alarm if it’s Lancelot. Yes, I am aware of the attraction. The whole household sees it. Lancelot admitted to me they had even shared a kiss when he fetched her here for our wedding. If I fight against it, they will only cling closer to each other. I can’t send my wife away. I can’t send Lancelot away. I still love him too much. In spite of the threat of treachery against me, I still love him. So, I will use the attraction between the two to my advantage. I will put him into the marriage bed in my place. He will be able to father the child I cannot. After Guinevere is pregnant, I will make him leave her alone, and reclaim my rightful place as husband and father. I’ve thought this through and through. I have it all planned. I have discussed it with Lancelot even. He is agreeable.”

“Of course, he would be,” said Merlin. “He’ll agree to any insane plan if it gets him into bed with Guinevere . . .”

“No, it’s not like that for him. Yes, he is attracted to her, but he is too much a gentleman to take advantage. He said he’d do this as an act of love for me and my kingdom.”

“Hogwash! All young men, such as yourself and Lancelot, think with your cocks. Nothing else matters to you! I refuse to take part in such a stupid plan. Firstly, I grow old. Such strong magic would drain away what little vigor I still have. Secondly, it is perverse. I refuse to be part of it.”

“Then we shall have to proceed without you.”

It was decided by Lancelot and Arthur that the deed should take place on Alban Elfed, the fall equinox. A large festival was planned. There would be drinking and storytelling. Arthur and Lancelot decided that would be the best time to make the switch. They would besot Guinevere with wine to which they’d add a mild sedative — just enough that she wouldn’t notice the man in bed with her was not her husband. Maybe she would notice and not care. Yes, it was a chancy plan, but Arthur was desperate, and desperate men make desperate schemes. He convinced himself it would work. He placed his trust in Lancelot to see the duty through and then secretly make the switch back to Arthur when Guinevere fell asleep post-lovemaking.

They would dismiss all the servants for the evening to enjoy the holiday themselves, and ply the unsuspecting Guinevere with the lightly drugged wine. By the time the deed was done, Lancelot would be gone and Arthur would be beside her in the bed, and no one would be the wiser.

Arthur barely noticed the festivities of the evening. By the time the storytellers had quieted down and folks began retiring to their homes, he was nervously twirling his ring and pacing. When he saw Guinevere yawning and nodding over her cup of drugged wine, he caught Lance’s eye and gently supported his wife as he led her to their bed. She snored lightly as he laid her down and removed her clothing. Then he went to the door and let Lancelot in. The plan was for him to give Lancelot half an hour to do the deed, then go to the bathroom facility in the hallway. Arthur would be waiting there. He would return to the bed and sleep beside his wife as if he’d been with her all along.

If she came out of her stupor before Lancelot and Arthur could make the switch, Lancelot would feign drunkenness and pretend he had gotten into the wrong bed. Would Guinevere believe that? Probably not. But maybe her secret feelings for Lancelot would keep her from raising an alarm. She had kept their kiss secret all these years. She might stay quiet.

Arthur slipped to the door and found Lancelot waiting in the darkened hallway. He hesitated. This was a bad idea. He opened his mouth to tell Lancelot “never mind”, but hesitated yet again. This was the only way. They had to go through with it. Without a word, or barely a look at him, Arthur let Lancelot enter the bedchamber and closed the door behind him. He went into the bath and waited in the dark with his hands over his ears. He feared sound might carry from the bedroom and the last thing he wanted to hear was his best friend making love to his wife! He waited. And waited. Surely half an hour had passed. What’s taking him so long? Maybe the lady came to her senses and a struggle was taking place. Maybe she was about to raise an alarm, and the whole sordid scheme would be exposed. Arthur felt sick. This was a mistake — a big mistake!

Just as he was about to give up in despair, the door opened and Lancelot slipped through.

“Hurry, I think she’s about to wake up. Get in there — quickly!”

Arthur paused and opened his mouth, but couldn’t think what to say. He slipped into the bedchamber and lay down beside his sleeping wife. She stirred slightly but didn’t wake. Arthur tried to calm his breath and lay quietly beside her the rest of the night.

In the morning, Guinevere woke up slowly, rubbing her temples.

“I fear I overindulged in drink last evening.”

“You were a little drunk,” Arthur said with a small smile.

“I had a very strange dream. I dreamed we made love with great passion, and we did things we’ve never done before. It was most wonderful.”

“Maybe that wasn’t all a dream, wife.”

“Did we . . .?”

Arthur hesitated. He didn’t wish to lie to his wife — especially in case she asked for particulars — but if he denied it and she did end up pregnant, she might count back and realize last night was the only chance. He had last lain with her more than a month ago and most likely would not do so again in the next several. When he thought about the whole mad scheme in the unforgiving light of day, he realized what Merlin had meant. The plan was perverse.

“I did not mean to take advantage of your dazed state, but you looked so beautiful when I got you safely to our chamber and in the bed, I couldn’t resist. The passion just came over me.”

Guinevere blushed daintily and smiled ever so slightly.

“It is your right, husband.”

Suddenly Arthur wanted this conversation to end. He did not want his wife to ask questions about the previous evening that he could not answer. He got out of bed quickly and signaled for his footman to help him dress.

Three months went by. Guinevere showed no signs of being with child. When Arthur looked at her questioningly, she merely shook her head sadly and lowered her eyes.

“Perhaps it is not in our stars to have a child of our own, Arthur. Perhaps the people of Camelot are all our children to care for and nurture. Perhaps that is our calling.”

“But the people want an heir. A kingdom with no heir falls into chaos.”

“Can you not do as your own father did? Hold a huge Tournament to find the best person for the job?”

“We already have a tournament every year. That isn’t the answer. Uther Pendragon already knew of me. He used the Tournament as a way to introduce me to the people.”

“But didn’t you pull the sword from the stone?”

“Yes, but I’m sure King Uther would have named me his heir however that attempt had ended. I have no bastard son from my past to call upon. I have no solution to this problem.”

“Consult with your advisors, husband. Lancelot or Merlin can advise you what is best.”

Arthur did consult with Merlin. But his advice was not what he wished to hear.

“You must try harder, Arthur,” said Merlin. “It is imperative that you produce an heir. If not by Guinevere, perhaps it is time to consider sending her away and find another wife. One who is fertile.”

“How can you say that, sir? I would never send Guinevere away. She is my partner. We have developed a deep friendship and respect for one another. While our feelings are not lustful, we do have affection. I could not possibly send her away.”

“Then you will leave your kingdom headless.”

“I will find a way.”

Arthur stalked back to the great hall. He was angry and frustrated.

“What troubles you, dear friend?” questioned Lancelot.

“What troubles me? The same thing that has troubled me for more than ten years now. I must get an heir. I must get my wife with child. Would that my kingship could stay out of my bedchamber!”

“Do you once again need my services, friend?”

“You are too eager. No. That was an ill-advised adventure. No more of that. I will find another way.”

That night, as Guinevere and Arthur lay side by side, settling from the day so they could sleep, Arthur quietly opened the conversation.

“Wife, you have knowledge of herbs and remedies, do you not?”

“You know that I do.”

“Is there no herb that can make it easier for you to become pregnant? Is there not a way for your medicinal skills to help this dilemma?”

“I have done all I can, husband. It appears to be our fate to remain childless.”

“If I were a common man, I could accept that. But I am a king. I must get an heir. I must!”

Guinevere was silent. She had no solution.

Chapter 9

The Holy Grail

Several more years went quietly by. The knights continued to train, but even that was perfunctory. They were growing complacent and lazy. An apathy had descended on the Round Table. Arthur himself was finding contentment in idleness. Wasting days and weeks doing little or nothing. It left him with too much time to worry about the heir business. He decided they needed a purpose. Maybe a mission or a quest . . .

“What we need is a distraction.” Arthur pounded his fist on the table, startling the entire company. They had all been idling after dinner, frankly bored. No recent invasions had taken place, no castle gossip to spice things up, no intrigue or missions or even purpose for months. After the incident of Lancelot in Guinevere’s bed — of which everyone but Arthur and Lancelot remained innocent — nothing of much interest was happening.

One evening the company was lounging in their seats around the Round Table, drowsing over drink, when suddenly an otherworldly light appeared above the table. It slowly moved from one knight to the next, until it had circled the whole table, causing everyone to rouse from their stupors. Arthur turned to Merlin.

“What magic is this?” he asked.

Merlin himself was as amazed as the rest.

“I know of no magic like this,” he whispered.

Sir Galahad spoke from his seat, the last one at the table to be filled. When Galahad had joined the group, the other knights had already chosen their seats. The one left had been avoided. It was said this seat was meant for someone pure at heart. It was whispered throughout the castle if any person with darkness in his heart tried to take it, he would be struck dead on the spot. When Galahad took it, no bolt of lightning came to strike him down. The rest of the knights treated him with new respect of his purity.

“I know something of this,” he said. “It is the Grail. It was the cup that held wine at our savior’s last supper. It is said to have the power to heal the sick. Cure any affliction.”

Galahad had been raised in religious piousness by his mother, Elaine. Before she died, she had made him promise to pursue a life of piety and purity. He was convinced if he was to recover the Holy Grail itself, his mother’s dream for him would be fulfilled and if he died then and there, his life would be complete.

Arthur thought immediately of his own shortcomings in the bedchamber. Perhaps this Grail was the answer.

As the company watched, the light grew dimmer and dimmer until it disappeared.

“Can we obtain this thing?” asked Arthur.

“Only the purest of heart may seek it,” said Galahad.

“Can you take on the quest to seek it? You are by far the purest among us. And . . . if you truly do find it, would you return to Camelot with it? I have a . . . particular need for its healing.”

Galahad nodded and looked around the table.

“Who would join me in this quest?”

“I will,” said Percival.

No other knight offered to join the quest.

The young knights stayed up long after the rest of the company had retired. They decided to venture to Glastonbury where they would pursue a rumor of the Holy Grail there. It had been said by holy men at the abbey there that none other than Joseph of Arimathea had secretly brought the cup to Britain. It might, even now, lay at the bottom of a well near the abbey. The two young men, along with a small party of pages and attendants, decided to investigate.

Lancelot took Galahad aside before the party left.

“Do not be overly eager about this Grail story, Galahad,” warned Lancelot.

“But sir,” argued the younger man, “I know in my heart this is true. I have seen it in a vison. A dream. It calls me.”

“Then you must heed the call, but I warn you, do not spend your life’s energy on this call. If it turns out the Grail is not at the end of your journey, come home. Come back to Camelot. There will be no disgrace. Many men before you have sought mystical objects of power such as the Grail. I know of none who have succeeded.”

“What of our king?” said Galahad. “Did not Arthur pull the magical sword he wields even now from a magical stone to claim his right as king?”

“Sometimes stories about our heroes get exaggerated. There may have been a sword, and maybe even a stone, but Arthur became king by his birthright. He was finally acknowledged as the son of Uther Pendragon. That was his claim to the throne.”

“I see. But may I still travel to Glastonbury, if only to satisfy my own curiosity about the Grail stories? And Persival also has felt the call.”

Finally, Lancelot gave Galahad and Persival his blessing for their quest. Arthur watched them, envious, as they left with their party. If he were a younger man, perhaps he would have gone with them. But this quest was meant for the exuberance of youth — and the pure at heart. He wished them well.

Galahad and Persival set out on their quest with all the hopefulness and optimism of the young. They traveled many miles the first day and sat long at their campfire where they had stopped that first night. Long after the attendants and pages had been dismissed for the evening, the two young knights discussed what finding the Grail would mean to them.

“I’ve heard anyone who drinks from it will be cured and preserved from all ills,” whispered Persival.

“I think merely seeing and touching it will purify one’s soul so that you may die, and when you are placed in audience before God himself, you will not be found wanting,” shared Galahad. “My mother told me it is one of the only means for mankind to become pure enough to enter Heaven.”

The two young men stayed up late into the night sharing what finding the Grail would mean to them. Persival wished to take it back to his king. Galahad said he would happily die after being allowed to see it in its full glory. When they finally said goodnight and fell asleep, each had dreams filled with visions of the holy object they sought.

On their way through the kingdom, they encountered a knight they had never met or heard of before. He called himself the Red Knight, and he guarded a narrow bridge across a large chasm. At the bottom of the deep gorge flowed a rushing river.

“Halt, you must pay a toll or I will not let you pass!” shouted the huge well-muscled knight as the party approached.

“Stand aside, sir,” shouted Galahad. “Our quest is holy and must not be delayed by such as yourself.”

At that, the Red Knight merely scoffed.

“I shall take him down,” whispered Persival. He took his place at the front of the party, pointed his lance at the Red Knight, and spurred his horse to step onto the bridge. The Red Knight lowered his own lance and the two rode toward each other at ever increasing speed. A loud crash echoed off the canyon walls when they collided.

Unseated, Persival jumped quickly to his feet and drew his sword to stand defiant against the charging Red Knight.

“Persival! Withdraw!” shouted Galahad. “Let me try!”

Sir Persival merely shook his head at Galahad’s cries, never taking his eyes off the Red Knight who stalked toward him across the bridge, sword in hand. The two came together with a mighty clash. Steel on steel rang all down the canyon below.

Galahad feared for Persival’s life. This guardian of the bridge was much bigger, and stronger, than Persival. He could die here.

Blow after blow struck Persival’s armor, but his quickness managed to avoid a direct hit. The most the Red Knight could do was hit Persival with glancing blows. But even glancing blows could do damage after a while.

Persival was wearing down, bit by bit. He staggered on his feet and blood ran down his arm where a particularly vicious strike had grazed it. Finally, winded and shaken, he retreated back to the near side of the bridge, shaking his head in defeat.

“I am sorry, Galahad. He is too strong for me.”

Galahad placed Persival in the hands of his attendants and braced to face the Red Knight himself. He lowered the visor on his helmet, unsheathed his sword, and ran at full speed toward the villain. Righteous outrage turned his vision to red and he fought like a madman. The Red Knight, already wearied by his skirmish with Persival, was taken off-guard by this fury presented by Galahad. Perhaps it was Galahad’s skill with the sword, perhaps it was the purity in Galahad’s heart, perhaps it was luck, but a sudden blow took the Red Knight to his knees and another that followed with lightning speed made him drop his sword and yield.

Bested, he retreated back to the far side of the bridge, nursing his wounds. Galahad saw to Persival’s wounds then urged them all to proceed across the bridge.

Once across, Galahad asked the Red Knight if they could bind his wounds as well before they continued on their way. Either pride or prejudice made him refuse.

The party rode on and eventually reached the abbey at Glastonbury, where they were given shelter.

“We come seeking the Grail,” said Persival to the abbot. “Both myself and my companion here have seen visions of the Grail and have traveled here to find it. We would carry it to our king.”

The abbot looked at them kindly, but was shaking his head.

“Many have come before you, my lads, seeking the very thing you seek. It is only for the purest at heart, and as for carrying it to your king, that may not be possible at all. But you may try. It is said to lie at the bottom of the well in the small garden just beside the abbey.”

The young knights went to the well and knelt in prayer. Galahad in particular prayed most fervently. He prayed for the Grail to reveal itself to him and his party. He prayed for the purity of heart to bear its presence. He prayed for a miracle.

Finally, the same light that had appeared over the Round Table came up out of the well. Both knights remained kneeling in reverence. The pages and other attendants backed away in fear. A voice emanated from the light.

“Who is it who seeks my blessing?”

Only Galahad dared to speak.

“It is I, Galahad, son of Lancelot, humbly beseeching you to allow me to remain in your presence.”

The voice spoke again.

“Galahad, I know of your pure heart. You, and only you, will be allowed to remain for the rest of your days. The other must leave and take word of what he has witnessed back to your king.”

At that, the light moved close to Galahad and a pure white chalice appeared at the center of it. Galahad fell down in a faint and his body shown with a heavenly brightness. Persival backed away in awe. He stumbled to his feet and joined the pages and attendants. They all whispered together of what they had seen and heard.

“We must return to Camelot and tell Arthur and Lancelot of this miracle.”

The party immediately took their leave of the abbey, begging the abbot and his monks to look after Galahad if he should awaken. Persival feared Galahad would never awaken to the world again. They rode solemnly and silently away.

When they came to the gorge with the bridge that the Red Knight guarded, he blocked their way across.

“Halt! You shall not pass,” he shouted. Then took a closer look at Persival, who now stood at the front of his party. “Wait, I know you. You and your companion bested me a while ago. I shall permit you passage, but where is your companion?”

“He has completed his quest and has chosen to remain at the abbey at Glastonbury,” said Persival with downcast eyes and drooping shoulders. He was overcome with sadness to impart this news. “He said he would happily die in the presence of such holiness.”

The Red Knight bowed his head and stood aside to let the party pass. They made their way back to Camelot.

“Sire,” said Persival, kneeling before Arthur. “We found the Grail. It was in the well at Glastonbury, just as the stories said. It spoke and showed itself to Galahad and myself. It was more than I could bear. I retreated from the holy sight in fear. I was unable to even touch it. It could never be owned by any man, or transported here. But Galahad stayed. He fell in a faint and his body glowed with a heavenly light. The abbot promised to care for him should he awaken.”

When Lancelot heard the news, he was saddened that his son was gone, but knowing he’d been taken by the Grail gave him peace, and pride. He was heard often after dinner relating what he knew of how his son, Galahad had been so pure and holy. It was said his body still lay in state at Glastonbury, but no one ever traveled there to see it.

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the inhabitants of the shining white castle on the wide plain, a small party was making its way across the countryside, headed for Camelot.

Chapter 10

Morgause and Mordred

The lady Morgause rode toward the seat of power with her half-grown son, Mordred. The boy had his father’s pale hair and light eyes. He was small for his age, but wise for his years. Mother and son had relied on only each other for his entire short life. She was all he had. He was all she had. Until now, they were enough.

At the castle gate, they were stopped and questioned by the guard.

“Who are you, and what is your business in Camelot?”

Camelot, is it? Morgause secretly smiled at Arthur’s vanity in building this sparkling white edifice in the middle of the Salisbury plain. And naming it Camelot. It had the sound of the Garden of Eden! Just who did Arthur think he was?

“I am the lady Morgause and this is my son Mordred. We come from the north, the Orkney islands, to be exact. I am related to King Arthur. On his father’s side. I would have audience with him at his earliest convenience.”

The guard stood, indecisive. Should he let this stranger enter? If she was indeed a relative of the king, would he be in trouble for making her wait?

He stammered and blushed and finally stood aside and gestured for the lady, her son, and their party to enter.

“Wait here, if you please, my lady. I will notify the king you are here.”

With that, the guard left the party in the courtyard and made haste toward the royal chambers. He found Arthur and his queen in the main hall, hearing petitions from their subjects.

He approached the thrones respectfully.

“Begging your majesty’s pardon, but there is a lady and her son in the courtyard claiming to be relatives. She says they have traveled from the Orkney islands all the way to Camelot for audience with you, my lord.”

Arthur finished quietly speaking to a gentleman before him, then dismissed him and turned to his guard.

“A lady from Orkney? Did she give you her name?”

“Yes, sir,” the guard said with a nervous bow. “She says her name is Morgause and her son is called Mordred.”

At the mention of the lady’s name, Arthur came to full attention. It had been many years, but he did recall the dark-haired beauty he had lain with twice in his youth. Once at the tournament where he had been named future king and once the night of his coronation. Could it be the same Morgause here to see him?

He risked a look at his queen, Guinevere. How would she react to an old lover of his? In matters of the heart, namely, the bedchamber, Arthur knew he walked a precarious line. How would this appearance of Morgause affect that delicate balance? All these thoughts flashed through Arthur’s head in an instant.

“Bring her forward,” said Arthur. He worried his ring as the guard retreated to fetch Morgause and her party. Arthur prayed she would keep quiet about their previous encounters, but he had a bad feeling. He quietly asked his attendants to usher the rest of the petitioners into the antechamber. He would hear them when he had finished audience with this lady.

A regal-looking tall woman with luxurious long raven hair entered the audience hall along with a handsome young man with pale hair. Arthur recognized her immediately, and was surprised to see her son was nearly a grown man. He had imagined a younger lad.

“Welcome to Camelot, Lady Morgause,” he said. “And your son Mordred? My guard informed me you wish an audience. What can I do to help you?”

Arthur was hoping if he made no mention of their former acquaintance, Morgause would take the hint and keep quiet as well. He was wrong. So wrong.

“Our son wishes to join your band of knights,” she stated flatly.

Arthur was taken by surprise.

“Excuse me? Our son?” asked Arthur. He sneaked another look at Quinevere, who sat gazing at Mordred with an unreadable expression.

“Do you not remember lying with me at the Tournament, and again the night of your coronation? Surely, you can’t have forgotten.”

“I . . . I . . .,” Arthur stammered. “I was drunk on both occasions. Surely I can’t be responsible for . . .”

Morgause held her hand up to silence the king.

“I am not here to accuse you. Or accurse you. I am merely here to have our son claim his rightful place as a knight of your Round Table.”

“He is very young for a knight,” said Guinevere, startling both Morgause and Arthur. He was extremely uncomfortable for her to be part of this conversation.

“He has reached his fifteenth year.”

“My queen is correct,” said Arthur, turning to the young man. “A man must prove himself in the annual Tournament before being considered for knighthood. There will be another one soon, in the spring. You may return to Camelot then and complete along with everyone else when the time comes.”

“We have come a long way, sir,” said Morgause. “We will stay, and Mordred will join your knights. Give him a test if you must, but he will be a knight.”

Arthur was angry. This woman presumed too much. She showed up here unbidden with her untrained son and expected to be welcomed to court with open arms. Besides, he wasn’t entirely convinced this Mordred was his son. He wasn’t entirely convinced he was physically capable of siring a son. But counting back, the timing was about right.

Without really looking at them, he spoke, attempting to keep his feelings out of his voice.

“You may remain. But Mordred will be tested. The staff will see to your rooms. You are dismissed.”

Arthur sat staring after the pair and their small party as they left the hall. He could feel Guinevere’s eyes on him, boring her questions into his brain. But he waited as long as he dared before turning her way. What in the name of all the gods could he say to her? His anger dissolved, leaving him feeling nothing but shame.

“Husband . . .?” she began, her voice quivering with pent-up emotion. “What news is this? Do you, after all, have an heir?”

Arthur cast about for an answer. He motioned his attendants to escort the waiting petitioners back into the hall. He hoped his shame and Guinevere’s anger would dissipate during the time the rest of the audience took. They would retire to their private chambers to discuss Morgause and her son afterwards. In private.

When the last of the petitioners had been heard and dealt with, Guinevere spoke up.

“I would speak with you, husband. Now, if you please.”

She’d been most patient all afternoon, but her forbearance was thinning. Arthur could hear it in her voice.

“Yes. We need to talk,” agreed Arthur, following her to their chambers. They dismissed the servants. Arthur turned immediately to his wife and began.

“Guinevere, I can explain. It was a long time ago. I was young. And drunk. Both times. At the Tournament, Kay found her and another woman — her sister, I think — and we were drunk on ale and in high spirits with the gathering. When I awoke later she was gone.”

He stopped to see how she reacted to his explanations so far.

“Go on,” she prodded.

“The second time was at my coronation. She just appeared out of the crowd and took me off into the bushes. I think she put a spell over me. I was like a madman!”

Guinevere narrowed her eyes at him.

“I swear, wife, she meant nothing to me. Again, like at the Tournament, when I awoke she was gone. I put Merlin on her trail, but both she and her sister had disappeared. I have not heard any more of her until this very day, I swear! I never heard of a child.”

Arthur couldn’t look at Guinevere, but he remained silent, waiting for what she would say.

“I think I know a little of how passion works in young men. This all took place long before you even knew me. I shall not hold it between us, Arthur.”

Arthur allowed a quiet sigh of relief.

“But what of the boy?” she went on. “Will you recognize him as your true heir? It appears I have been no use to you as a wife. I fear you will send me away.”

“Never!” insisted Arthur, laying a hand gently on her arm. “I will never send you away. You have my word. We will figure a way to deal with this.”

Guinevere thought for a bit. Then she spoke.

“It is not uncommon for a king to have several illegitimate children. Some they may claim, and some not. Let us wait and see how Mordred proves himself. If he turns out to be worthy, you may choose to name him as your successor. If not, nothing more need be said.”

“But what about Morgause?  She will not be quiet. She will loudly proclaim her son’s birthright, as she sees it.”

Arthur could see the wheels of Guinevere’s mind turning this dilemma over.

“I had not thought of her. I should leave you to deal with her on your own, but Camelot is my kingdom too. I will not let this woman cast a tarnish over us. Promise her that Mordred will receive his due eventually, but now is not the time. Perhaps that will put her off until we can come up with a better plan.”

Arthur impulsively embraced Guinevere in a bear hug.

“I do not deserve you, wife. Truly, I do not!”

He met privately with Morgause later that day and explained that he would eventually acknowledge Mordred as his flesh and blood, but that Mordred was as yet untested and far too young to sit at the Round Table. When he reached his full maturity and had been properly trained, she may petition the court again and he would give him due consideration. Morgause was not happy, but accepted being put off for now. She had her own reasons for appearing now and her plan involved Arthur, his wife, and their dear friend Lancelot.

Her son would be king one day. She would patiently wait until the time was right.

For her own part, Morgause kept to her rooms most of the time. Mordred, being an energetic and inquisitive young man, spent time following Arthur around, asking questions, until Arthur sent him off to the stables to practice riding, and off to the practice fields to learn the knightly skills of sword and lance. Sir Bors and Sir Bedivere reported to Arthur that he was an apt pupil and a quick study. He did well under their tutelage.

He was also very charming, becoming well liked over the months throughout the court. Lancelot in particular took a liking to the lad. Perhaps it was the loss of his own son Galahad that attracted Lancelot to Mordred. Perhaps it was his likeness to Arthur. For indeed, Mordred did favor Arthur, both in looks and temperament. Everyone could see it, although nothing was mentioned aloud.

One day Mordred found Lancelot attending his horse in the stable. He approached him respectfully.

“Sir,” began the lad with a tentative manner. “I have noticed an attachment between yourself and the queen.”

Lancelot stopped what he was doing and looked pointedly at the boy.

“What?”

“I said I have noticed the closeness you enjoy with not only my father, the king, but especially with the fair Guinevere.”

Lancelot returned to grooming his mount.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course, we are all close friends. Arthur and I have known each other for many years, and his wife and I enjoy lively conversations about many subjects. She is versed in many areas. I admire her for it. There is nothing else.”

Mordred narrowed his eyes at Lancelot. He obviously did not believe what Lancelot was saying.

“Oh, I think maybe you see her as more than a friend. For instance, I know you shared a kiss with her when you traveled north to bring her here for their wedding.”

Lancelot was speechless. How did this mere child gain such secret knowledge in the short time he’d been here?

“And I have heard the gossip about the troubled relationship between the king and queen in their bedchamber.”

Lancelot was incredulous. And impressed. He was a lad. But evidently he had learned how to listen and gain knowledge from all around himself.

“How do you come by all this knowledge in the few short months you have been at Camelot?”

“Because of my youth, people tell me things they wouldn’t disclose to another adult. They think my young age makes me a safe repository of their secrets. They think I will forget what they have told me. But I do not. I remember all of it.”

Lancelot leaned close to Mordred, not wishing to be overheard.

“Would you betray me if you had knowledge that could harm me?”

Mordred shook his head and gazed at Lancelot with his innocent face and wide eyes.

“No sir. I look up to you in so many ways. I would never betray you. As a matter of fact, I could help you and the queen be together. I could contrive to keep the king busy while you visit the lady . . .”

“No! What are you suggesting? I would never betray my king that way.”

Lancelot turned and started to walk away from the boy in disgust.

“Sir, what about the time you lay with her?” called Mordred softly after Lancelot.

Lancelot jerked his head around to stare at Mordred.

“Where did you hear that?”

Mordred’s lips twitched with a small smile.

“People talk, sir. One only needs to learn how to listen.”

“It’s not true! It’s nothing but idle gossip!”

Mordred merely smiled his innocent smile. Lancelot turned again and stalked away. Who was spreading his secrets? He would get to the bottom of this. He went straight into the castle to find Arthur. They needed to put a clamp on this gossip!

Lancelot found Arthur at the Round Table, alone. He had the kingdom’s accounts spread out before him but he was gazing into the distance, deep in thought. He startled slightly when Lancelot cleared his throat to make his presence known.

“Oh, Lancelot. I fear these accounting chores are boring me to daydreaming. What say we go for a ride? I could use the fresh air.”

Lancelot nodded and the two went quickly to the stables. Mordred was nowhere in sight. Once they had saddled up and mounted their horses, Lancelot spoke softly to his king.

“I would speak with you about an incident in our past we agreed to forget. Somehow, there is gossip about me taking your place in your bedchamber with your wife. Apparently one of your attendants has been spreading the tale.”

Arthur was horrified. And angry. He had thought his secret was only shared with Lancelot. He had dismissed all the servants that night. Someone had spied on them!

In a fit of anger, as soon as the two men returned from their ride, Arthur stormed into the castle and summoned all the personal servants before him in the main hall.

“You are all dismissed,” he said. “Leave the castle immediately.”

The maids and footmen just stood there.

“Did you not hear me?” he shouted at them.

One of his footmen dared to speak up.

“What have we done, sire? What is our infraction . . .?”

Arthur cut him off by calling loudly for guards to escort all the servants out of the castle.

“Get out! All of you!”

Soft whispering and crying could be heard as the group was surrounded by palace guards and herded out of the room. Arthur sat alone on his throne with his head in his hands.

Lancelot entered the hall quietly and approached the throne.

“I have banished all the servants.” Arthur said. “There should be no one left on the premises who knows of our secret.”

Lancelot sat on the queen’s throne.

“There is your son.”

Arthur looked startled at Lancelot.

“What?”

“Your son. He is the one who alerted me of the gossip.”

Lancelot waited for Arthur’s response.

“I will speak with the lad’s mother,” said Arthur.

He pushed himself out of his chair and strode through the hall and up the stairs to the tower rooms shared by Morgause and Mordred.

He pounded on the door, but there was no answer. She had to be in there! He pounded again.

“Footman!” he shouted, before remembering he had dismissed his footmen only moments ago.

He pounded again, and finally the lock turned and Morgause stood in the open doorway. She nodded her head to the king.

“Sire, forgive me for making you wait. I was . . . otherwise engaged.”

Arthur pushed past Morgause and entered the chambers.

“I’ll get straight to the point, lady. It would seem your son has been listening to, and spreading, idle gossip about the place. He shared some of it with Lancelot. I have dismissed all my servants. I’m certain it was one of them who whispered these lies in your son’s ear. You must tell him to stop spreading the tale. If he truly wishes to become a knight, he must learn to exhibit restraint, both in his actions and his tongue. These lies must go no further!”

Morgause maintained her composure throughout Arthur’s tirade.

“May I offer you a cup of tea, sire? Or would you wish something stronger? A dram of whiskey perhaps?”

The lady sat in a chair beside the window and offered Arthur the other. Now that he had made the action to dismiss his servants and confront Mordred’s mother, his adrenaline drained away and he sat gratefully. He nodded to her invitation for refreshment.

“Whiskey, please, if you will,” he said.

Morgause lifted a finger and her servant hurried to the next room and came back almost immediately with two small measures of whiskey on a tray.

After they had each taken a sip, Arthur sighed deeply.

“Forgive me for my anger when I entered. I was taken aback when Lance told me what he’d heard from Mordred’s own lips.”

“Have no worry, sire. I will speak to the boy. This need go no further.”

Arthur bowed his head in relief.

“Thank you, lady,” he said.

“But tell me, Arthur, in confidence. Is it true that your wife and your best friend Lancelot hide feelings for each other? How do you bear it? How do you allow it?”

“That’s none of your business!” Arthur retorted. “My queen and I have been married for many years now. She is my close friend and ready council. I trust her in every way. And Lancelot has been my best friend for even longer than I have known Guinevere. We are a close trio of friends who love and trust each other completely.”

“If you say so, my lord,” said the lady.

The two silently sipped their whiskey. When Arthur had finished his, he had nothing more to say. He grew awkward.

“Well, I have business to attend. I will take my leave.”

As he descended the stairs back toward the great hall, Guinever appeared on a landing looking cross.

“Where are my ladies-in-waiting? What have you done, husband?”

“I dismissed them. Along with the rest of the servants. They were spreading rumors and lies. They had to go. All of them! Do not fret. I will hire new servants from the village and swear them to loyalty. I will make them swear to come immediately to me if they hear any more gossip or rumors. I will not stand for talk behind my back!”

Guinevere did not look happy, but he was the king. It was his decision to make.

Later, he happened upon Mordred in the training yard. He was practicing with a lance.

“Son,” called Arthur. “I would speak with you. Put down your lance and come over here.”

Mordred walked to the fence, but still carried the lance.

“Yes, father?” he asked politely.

“The rumor you shared with Lancelot earlier today is nothing but a lie generated by malicious servants. They have been dealt with. Now I ask you, say nothing more of it. It is untrue and unbecoming for such as you to spread such a tale.”

Arthur waited. Mordred looked at Arthur with innocence written on his face.

“I am most sorry, father. I took the tale as true, and since Lancelot was involved, I felt it my duty to share it with him. From now on, I will be more careful.”

“See that you are. If you expect to become a knight in my company, you will have to learn to comport yourself with better discretion.”

Arthur wished their relationship was easier, but the lad had to learn how to behave himself at court. As his father, he felt it his duty to correct his behavior so he would grow up to be a fine knight someday.

Meantime, the harvest feast was coming. Preparations were being made throughout the castle for a huge celebration. The harvest had been plentiful this year and hunting parties were already killing deer, wild boars, and many many rabbits and fowl were gathered in anticipation of the grand feast.

Guinevere found herself put upon to deal with untrained servants while she also had to oversee the preparations for the banquet. Simple but plentiful fare for the subjects to eat in the courtyard, and more sumptuous fare for the repast within the castle hall. It was a chance for those who had labored so hard all year to enjoy the bounty their hands had wrought, and for them all to come together to celebrate the good life they all had in this peaceful kingdom.

The unexpected presence of this woman Morgause, and her inconvenient son was readily accepted and soon forgotten.