Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  “You promise?” Kay asked.

  “Oh, yes. I promise.”

  The youth took a deep breath. “Did she love Arthur?”

  “As if he were her own. Your mother had no shortage of love.” He brushed a stray lock away from his son’s forehead. “She accepted him as our child even before I did, I think.”

  “Did she cast me off when he came?”

  “No.” He frowned. “Of course not. She would never have done that. You were already nearly weaned when Arthur came to us.” He jostled Kay amiably. “You became a big, tall young man, and you’re about to be a sturdy young knight. I think you didn’t suffer for want of early nourishing!”

  Abruptly, the youth rolled onto his side. “Father, when I become a knight, will you make me leave Caer Gai?”

  Sir Ector blinked, surprised by the question and Kay’s emotional tone. He had heard his son angry, and spiteful, and jealous, but never afraid the way he sounded now. “Of course not. You’ll be so young, yet, and you’ll need both protecting and training still. You won’t be ready to go out into the world for several years.” He caught Kay’s chin between his finger and his thumb. “You’re barely sixteen years old, and Arthur just fifteen. You think you’re a man already, but trust me - you are not ready to be without me yet. And I’m not ready to be without the two of you.”

  “And Amren?”

  “He will stay until it’s time for him to become a knight, or until his father sends for him.” He lay back. “He and Arthur are such good friends, I hate to separate them.”

  Kay looked away. “To separate them might take a hoe,” he grumbled, “or an axe, like when the dogs are mating in the yard.”

  “I have never taken an axe to the dogs in the yard, and neither have you,” Ector corrected, giving up on his bed and sitting up. He leaned upon his ruined elbow and ran his remaining hand through his own gray hair. “I don’t think I need to take an axe to your brother and his lover.”

  Kay was startled that his father already knew the truth, and he nearly lost the threads of his argument. “In the Good Book, it says that to lie with another man as you would lie with a woman is a sin.”

  “First of all, since when do you read the Good Book?” Ector rose and sighed. “Secondly, I can tell you with certainty, you absolutely cannot lay with a man as you would with a woman, because the right parts aren’t present. Although it’s possible to lay with a woman as you would with a man. It’s the rare woman who’d allow it without complaining, though.” He shrugged into a clean tunic.

  Kay was aghast. “Father Marcus says it’s a loathsome sin.”

  “Father Marcus is so freshly minted as a priest that his crucifix still has an umbilical cord.” He tried to comb his crumpled beard, then gave up on the pretense. “Don’t be so hateful of your brother, Kay. Be glad that he has found someone to love. You will find someone someday, too.”

  “Maybe,” he allowed. “But when I do, it won’t be some lax-assed…” He saw the dangerous look in his father’s eyes and wisely chose to cut short his diatribe. “I’m sorry, Father. I just… it’s distasteful to see.”

  Ector sat on the edge of the bed to finish dressing. “Then don’t look. Once you’re knighted, you will have a chamber of your own in the guest house, and you won’t have to witness them anymore.” He had already lost patience with the subject, and he gestured toward the door. “Now go and try to catch some geese or something, won’t you? Extra mouths to feed and all that.”

  His son left the room reluctantly, and Ector watched him go before he slumped back into his bed.

  Arthur had four rabbits in hand when he finally turned back toward the keep. He was unsurprised to see Merlin approaching him through the trees. This was the normal time of day when the two of them would meet. His teacher would be irritated with him for not bringing his book.

  Since the first day they’d met, Arthur and Merlin had been coming together in the wood outside Caer Gai. Sometimes the druid would teach him from books, and sometimes he would teach him the old ways and some select druidic learning. He had been the first to put a sword in Arthur’s hand and show him the right way to use it, the first to instruct him on how to fight with shield and spear, the first to tell him the finer points of the art of war. He had taught him to be as fluent in Gaulish, Gaelic and Cornish as he was in his native Brythonic, and he had taught him history and the arts of the old gods. He had learned many things from the druid, things that his father, his brother, and his lover never knew. For reasons unknown to Arthur, Merlin had sworn him to secrecy about their meetings, and he had kept that pledge. As far as anyone knew, Arthur was just given to taking long walks alone.

  “Good morning, Merlin,” he greeted warmly.

  “Good morning, Arthur. Out hunting, I see.”

  “Yes. We have guests for Kay’s knighting, and Father was afraid we might not have enough meat to go around.”

  “His knighting?” Merlin looked surprised, something Arthur had very rarely seen. “Is it time for that already? I confess, I have lost track of the days.” He rubbed his chin. “Hmm. Events have advanced further than I anticipated.”

  By now, Arthur knew better than to ask the strange man what he was talking about. He gestured with this head. “Amren is over at the lake, catching fish.”

  “You’ll have enough with the rabbits and the boar in the larder.”

  “We have a boar in the larder?”

  “Yes. It will be brought by Sir Bedivere, who’s arriving today.”

  At the mention of the knight’s name, the youth scowled. “Oh. I see.”

  Merlin found a fallen tree and brushed off enough space for the two of them. “Here, come. Sit with me, Arthur.”

  “I don’t have my book.”

  “That’s all right. Today I mean only to talk with you.”

  Arthur hung his rabbits on a tree limb, then sat beside the druid. He turned to face him more comfortably, and Merlin watched him with a friendly smile.

  “You’re getting very tall, my boy. You’re already as tall as many full-grown men I know.”

  “Perhaps I come from tall stock.”

  “That you do.”

  “Who was my father, Merlin?”

  He had been expecting the question, and so he had already prepared his answer. “It is not yet time for you to know that name, Arthur. Be content in knowing that he was a man of great courage on the battlefield, and of great renown through all of Britannia.”

  “He was a warlord?”

  “For part of his career, yes.” He watched as Arthur considered this news. “He also loved your mother very, very much. Some might say too much. It made him incautious.”

  Arthur nodded. “Is his lack of caution the reason I ended up here?”

  “That was part of it.” Merlin smiled.

  “Was he a good man?”

  “Hmm, well, he was a strong man.”

  “That isn’t the same thing.”

  “No, it’s not.” He smiled. “So, up until now, we have read Plutarch, and Plato, and Aristotle, and Homer, and Cicero, and Caesar.”

  The boy poked at the ground with a stick he’d picked up. “I didn’t care for Caesar. He was a braggart and he was very proud of killing. It’s fine to kill an enemy, but he was killing families in his campaign in Gaul.”

  “He was following his orders as a soldier.”

  Arthur scoffed. “No, he wasn’t. He was trying to aggrandize himself so he could be a bigger, greater man when he returned to Rome. Those people weren’t his enemies until he made them so.”

  Merlin remembered the events somewhat differently, but his student’s point of view was intriguing. “And what do you think he should have done?”

  “He should have established a benevolent co-rule, where the Senate in Rome was in power, followed by him as regional governor, but then by the native Gaulish tribes, ruling in their custom.” He shook his head. “They mightn’t have rebelled if he’d let them keep a little say-so in their lives.”

>   Merlin chuckled and rose, stretching. “That is an interesting plan. And how would you have dealt with the rebel groups that had already sprung up to oppose the legions, if you were Caesar?”

  Arthur watched him warily. There was something about Merlin’s body language, something coiled and ready, that made him nervous. “I would have summoned their leaders to me under a sign of truce so that they could tell me their concerns, and then I would have tried to address them.”

  “And if there was no addressing them?” He walked a few paces away and turned back to face him, smiling. “What then? A sword between the ribs?”

  He gestured to illustrate his words, and a sword appeared in his hand, the point against Arthur’s breastbone. The boy felt his belt sag with a sudden weight on his left hip, and he reached across his body with his right hand, feeling the waiting hilt of a practice sword that had been magically summoned into place by the druid’s power. He tumbled backward off the tree and pulled the sword in the same movement, coming up with his weapon at the ready and putting space between him and his attacker.

  “No. If there was nothing to be solved by talk, then they would be given free passage back to their homes.”

  Merlin pressed in, his blade dancing. Arthur parried and fell back, and parried and fell back again, and still the druid came on. He parried a third time, then added a hard riposte, nearly toppling his opponent in the process. He leaped forward and bounded onto the top of the tree where he’d been sitting, and he held Merlin at bay.

  “And then?” the druid responded, thrusting at the boy with a will.

  Arthur batted the sword away and jumped down, backing into the open clearing. Merlin followed him in, and they fought there, their blades clanging and gleaming in the sun. They whirled together, face to face, and while they seemed evenly matched, Arthur knew that Merlin was holding back. It angered him.

  “And then,” Arthur answered, “I would send diplomatic envoys to the local chieftains with gifts and offers of peace.”

  Merlin laughed and said in Gaelic, “They kill your envoys. They take your gifts and send you their heads in baskets.”

  He scowled and answered in the same tongue. “Then I would go out with my soldiers, and we would force them to take our terms.”

  “They won’t,” the druid said, grinning.

  He kicked the druid in the chest and sent him sprawling, then fell on him, his sword held high over Merlin’s head. “Then that is the time for the sword between the ribs.”

  In the time it took Arthur to blink, the druid was suddenly gone. He spun on his knees and brought up his blade just in time to parry a thrust toward his back. Merlin dropped his hand and laughed.

  “Well done, little bear. Well done.” He offered Arthur a hand, and he helped haul him up onto his feet. “You are becoming a doughty fighter.”

  “Because of you. Nobody else teaches me the things you do.”

  They sat together on the tree once more, shoulder to shoulder, looking off toward Caer Gai in the distance. Finally, Merlin switched back to Brythonic and said, “The time is coming when you will be revealed as your true father’s son, and there will be an inheritance for you. What do you think of that?”

  “What I think depends on what that inheritance is,” the youth replied. “A castle, maybe? Land? A title?”

  “Maybe all of it. What would you think of that?”

  Arthur spun his sword, point down, digging a little divot in the dirt. “I don’t really know what I think, apart from hoping that I’d be a good lord if that time should come.”

  Merlin looked at him again, judging his responses, his keen eyes fixed on the youth’s face. “In the old days, nobody would care if you had a man in your bed, as long as you were the one doing instead of being done to. But now, with Christianity spreading so widely, you cannot continue as you are. You have to take a lady to wife.”

  “No, I don’t.”

  “You’ll need an heir.”

  “I can adopt.”

  “In a Christian land? No. Only the blood of your own loins will be a suitable heir to these godly men.” He could not keep the sneer out of his voice.

  Arthur frowned. “I don’t want a wife.”

  “Because of Amren?”

  “Yes. I don’t see why we can’t be together after I inherit something from my father, if there’s really anything to inherit.”

  “There will be men among your vassals who will not be content to bend their knees to a man with a male lover at his side.”

  “Even if I’m the active partner?

  “Even then.”

  The boy made an impatient sound. “That’s stupid. I’ll just prove myself to them.”

  “That will be difficult to do if you are dead.”

  “Who would want to kill me because I’m in love with Amren?” Arthur laughed.

  Merlin scowled. “I could make a list, and I find no mirth in the situation. This is in deadly earnest, boy. Can you, when the time comes, put Amren aside and take a wife and live as your people will expect you to?”

  He sheathed his sword, and it vanished into the ether from which it had come. The weight lifted from his belt. “I will be a good lord, if that is what I am called to be, but my private choices are my own.”

  “Even if they cost you your own life?”

  “Worldly honors mean nothing if it means living without my love.”

  “Your love.” He rolled his eyes. “Oh, Arthur, really…”

  “Yes, Merlin. Really. You of all people know what Amren means to me. I could never turn away from him.” He pulled the dead rabbits from their temporary home in the tree. “I need to deliver these to the cook. Are you coming?”

  He shook his head. “No. It is not time yet.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Merlin canted his head as Arthur began to walk back to the keep, his shoulders betraying his tension. “Are you angry?”

  He stopped, then replied without turning around. “Not angry. Just...annoyed. Kay loudly disapproves, and now you…”

  “If Kay disapproves, and he is your brother who loves you, how do you think that greedy lords who stand to benefit from your untimely death might react?”

  “Kay doesn’t love me. He hates me. And I can’t believe we’re even talking like this, anyway. I can’t believe that my real father could possibly be anyone important. I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s a fantasy.” He turned. “How can he be anyone important when I’m just...me?”

  “Someday, Arthur, you will see yourself quite differently. Someday you will realize the greatness within you, the greatness that cannot be denied. You have a heavy destiny.”

  “Maybe I don’t want it.”

  “You won’t have a choice. Destiny will not be denied.”

  The youth had no response. He simply returned to the path, leaving Merlin in the wood.

  Bedivere and Ector embraced in the great hall of Caer Gai, the host’s hearty, back-slapping greeting raising clouds of road dust from the other knight’s cloak.

  “Welcome! I’m so glad you could come.”

  “I’m happy to attend.” Bedivere looked toward Kay, who was standing behind his father, a smile on his face. “Congratulations. You stand on the very brink of manhood.”

  Kay beamed. “Thank you, sir.” He turned and barked at one of the servants. “Take Sir Bedivere’s cloak!”

  The hapless girl hurried forward. “Yes, sir. Your cloak, sir.”

  Bedivere removed the garment and dropped it in her waiting hands, sparing her not so much as one look. Ector gave the girl a smile.

  “Thank you, Aithne.” The girl bobbed a quick curtsey and scurried away. Ector put an arm around Bedivere’s shoulders. “Come, sit. Tell me all about what you’ve seen on the road.”

  They sat on the long benches near the cold hearth. Bedivere stretched his long legs out before him while Ector and Kay sat side by side, leaning forward in unintentio
nally identical poses, elbows on knees, hands dangling. Bedivere chuckled at the sight.

  “Illtyd and Brastias were coming…”

  “Already arrived. We drank a bit last night.” Ector was interrupted by his new guest’s snort, but only for a moment. “All right, more than a bit. They’re still abed. Any news of Ulfius?”

  “He spent some time with Lot and then with the Gododdin, and then with Uriens in Rheged. Last I heard, he had taken his leave of them all and was headed back here to Cambria to see if perhaps Pryderi might have a place for him.”

  Ector shook his head and scratched at his stump. “What an old war dog. He just will never change, will he?”

  “Not until someone makes him, no. It’s the Norse blood.”

  “Well, in this world, there is no shortage of use for men like him.” He glanced at his son. “I was thinking that after his knighting, I would take Kay and Arthur to the Giants’ Dance. Perhaps you and Amren would like to come along?”

  Kay nearly leapt up from the bench in his excitement. He had long heard of the mysterious ancient monument, but had never seen it. He had always wished he could. “The Giants’ Dance? Really, Father?”

  Ector and Bedivere chuckled at his enthusiastic response. “Really, Kay. I think it’s time that you got to see first-hand some of the wonders of Britannia.”

  Bedivere crossed his arms. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. Amren and I would be pleased to go with you on your journey.”

  “Excellent.”

  “What’s this? Journeys?” Brastias’s voice boomed out as he strolled into view. “Bedivere, you only just arrived, and already you talk of leaving us!”

  The old friends greeted each other heartily, and Ector called for drink. Aithne returned with mugs and a pitcher of cider, which was quickly poured out. Brastias sat beside Bedivere, facing Kay and Ector, and the four of them settled in for a companionable visit.

  “Tell me where you’ve been and what you’ve seen,” Brastias urged. “I’ve already heard all of Ector’s stories. Miserable sedentary life he lives. But you...tell me the tales of Bedivere!”