by J A Cummings
“Have you ever made an offering to Sulis-Minerva?”
“No. I have not.”
Portia nodded and reached up to pull a golden pin from her hair. Black waves tumbled free and cascaded over her shoulders, framing her lovely face. Arthur’s mouth went dry and his heart thudded in his chest.
“She accepts anything that her worshipper feels is valuable. Sometimes the offerings she receives are meaningless in the eyes of the world at large, but to the person who leaves them, they are everything. Do you have anything of value you would like to give to the goddess in return for the gift of her wisdom?”
He watched in riveted attention as she untied the girdle from around her waist and dropped it to the ground. Her robe fell open, exposing a narrow strip of milk-white skin and the faintest hint of a black curls between her legs. Arthur’s palms began to sweat and he knew he should have looked away, but he could not.
“I - uh - value. Um. I have nothing of value, my lady.”
“Have you ever been with a woman, Arthur?”
He hesitated, feeling trapped but happy to be ensnared. “No.”
Portia smiled. “Then this will be your first time. The loss of your virginity is a valuable offering, indeed.”
“My… what did you say?”
She slid the robe from her shoulders and let it fall. Her body was perfect, with smooth skin and bountiful curves. He was enraptured by the sight of her breasts, perfect mounds of beckoning flesh with rose-pink nipples that stood erect beneath his gaze. He looked up into her face and felt caught by her violet eyes. He could not have looked away if he had tried.
Portia smiled. “Your turn. Take off your clothes and let me see you.”
He moved as if he was in a trance, with slow and leaden limbs. He could not stop staring at her, and she smiled encouragingly as he obeyed her. He stripped and left his clothing on the floor until he stood before her. She looked at him, releasing him from the pretty prison of her gaze. As soon as their eye contact was broken, he could move again, but he stayed where he was. He felt embarrassed at her scrutiny, especially since his body responded to her observation. He tried to cover his growing excitement with his hands.
“Don’t,” she said. “You’re beautiful.”
He flushed with embarrassment and pleasure, and after a moment’s hesitation, he let his hands fall back by his sides. Portia smiled and nodded.
“Meet me in the water, Arthur. Give your offering to the goddess and she will give you wisdom.”
She stepped into the pool, the water accepting her body like the lips of an eager lover. He had never seen anything so erotic. With a shuddering breath, he lowered himself into the petal-strewn bath. The heat was a shock, but a pleasant one, and his nose was tickled by that incense-like scent. There were oils in the water, dancing rainbow puddles on the surface that skimmed over his skin as he approached her.
Portia looked into his eyes again, and he could feel her in his mind, pulling him toward her. She opened her arms to him, and he stepped into her embrace, his lips finding hers in an electrifying kiss. She moaned into his mouth and his sex twitched in response, bumping against her abdomen. She reached down and took him in her hand, stroking him firmly as she pulled him closer with her other arm. He put hesitant hands on her shoulders.
“May I touch you?” he asked.
She chuckled throatily. “I was hoping that you would.”
He put his hand lightly on her swan-like throat, touching the satin of her skin. She purred against him, and her thumb rubbed over a particularly sensitive spot. He groaned and kissed her deeply, letting his hand trail down to cup her breast. He had never felt anything so magical, the soft heaviness in his palm, the hard nub at the tip. He repeated the motion with his other hand, and she moaned again.
Portia put her arm around his neck and pulled him close, raising one leg to wrap around his hips. She whispered to him, “Lift me.”
Arthur moved his hands from her breasts to her buttocks, squeezing them and pulling her up off of her feet and against himself. She directed him with her hand, and he felt the first searing touch of her as she guided him inside. She sank down onto him until he was buried completely in her body, and then she wrapped both arms around his neck.
It was different than it had been with Amren. It was looser, but wetter, and just as hot. He could feel her tighten around him, and he pressed against her in excitement. She groaned her encouragement, and he began to thrust into her. She pressed her cheek against his and took his earlobe in her teeth, biting sharply and drawing blood. He jerked at the unexpected pain, which drove him further inside her welcoming folds. He moved faster, and she encouraged him, pulling at his shoulders with soft mewling cries.
He could feel his climax approaching rapidly, and he tried to hold it off. He tried to wait for her, to allow her to feel her pleasure, too, but then something took his will away. She pressed her palm against his chest and whispered a word he did not understand, and he could feel his very soul rising toward her as if she was pulling it out of him. He shuddered as he came, and he could feel his life force pouring out of him and into her.
Hands abruptly seized him and yanked him away from Portia, breaking their connections, both physical and esoteric. Merlin pulled him out of the water and deposited him on the floor beside the door, then turned to face the priestess. Arthur lay on his side, panting for breath, dazed and staring at Merlin’s fury.
“You have no right!” the druid shouted. “This boy is mine!”
“I saw no mark!” she objected stridently. “He was unattended.”
Merlin spat a word of magic, and suddenly the priestess was floating above the water, bat wings sprouting from her back. She beat her wings in agitation and hovered in midair, glaring at the interfering druid.
“How dare you interrupt my feeding!” she hissed.
Arthur was horrified. He scrambled for his clothing and tried to cover his nakedness, ashamed. Merlin stood between him and the demon, wreathed in magic and rage.
“How dare you feed upon this boy? He was under my protection. You saw that he was with me when we arrived. You have overstepped.”
Merlin spread his hands, and lightning crackled from his fingertips. Portia shivered and a cloud of distortion covered her, then fell away again like dust. Her eyes widened in shock as her magic failed her.
Magic did not fail Merlin. He blasted her with an arcing lightning bolt, striking her in the chest and surrounding her in an unholy halo. She screamed, and a vivid red column of energy streamed out of her and into Merlin. The more he took, the brighter his flashing magic became, and soon Portia dropped into the pool, a desiccated husk.
Arthur was speechless. Merlin turned to face him, anger still etched into his face.
“That was a succubus,” the druid told him, seething. “A demon who consumes men’s souls and life force through the sexual act. You were very nearly her prey. What were you thinking?”
He shook his head. “I -”
“You weren’t thinking at all. You were reacting.”
“I didn’t know! How could I know?”
Merlin looked down at him, and after a moment, his fury ebbed. He closed his eyes, and the power that wreathed him like a corona seeped into his body and disappeared. When he looked at Arthur again, he was much calmer, but intensity still glowed in his face.
“From now on, you go nowhere and with no one without my knowing it.” He grabbed Arthur’s hand and pulled him to his feet. “These are perilous times, and we are so close to the first hurdle. Don’t fall now.”
He dressed quickly, although his hands were shaking. He looked at the body in the pool. “She was going to kill me?”
“Kill? No. Consume.” Merlin helped Arthur with his belt. “Come, now. We’re leaving before Bedivere can start a war.”
He blinked, still too overwhelmed to comprehend what his mentor was saying. “A war?”
“Yes. Remember, this town is the capital of the Corieltauvi, and they are responsi
ble for the slaughter we saw on the way here. All of those dead Cornovii, servants and tenants of Sir Bedivere and his tribe - he means to kill the Corieltauvi chieftain. We cannot have him bringing full scale tribal war down upon our heads. Not now.”
Arthur shook his head. “This is so confusing.”
“I know.” Merlin’s tone had softened. He put a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Stay at my side and do not deviate from what I tell you. Do you promise?”
“I promise.”
Merlin nodded. “Good.” He sighed. “Now let’s get going before Bedivere does something we will all regret.”
They found the knight in question in vestibule of the temple, tightening the cinch on his mount’s saddle. Griflet was hovering nearby, nervously attempting to be helpful, and Ector was speaking to his old friend in quiet, guarded tones. Arthur was just able to make out his foster father’s words.
“If you do this now, you will bring the entire army of the Corieltauvi down around our ears. We are in their territory and have many miles to go until we leave it. We are dead men if you persist.”
Bedivere growled, “As dead as my tribesmen that we saw along the road.”
“Yes. Just as dead as that.” Ector put his good hand on Bedivere’s arm. “But it would be worse for us, because we travel with the true king, and it is our duty first and foremost to see him to Londinium safely.”
Merlin and Arthur approached them, and the two knights fell silent. Bedivere looked fiercely at Arthur and said, “Tell me, my lord. When you are king, will you permit the Corieltauvi to slaughter the Cornovii?”
“I will permit no Briton to slaughter any other Briton,” he answered, his voice even and strong as if nothing in the bathhouse had taken place. Inside, he was shivering, but he gave no outward sign. He was grateful for whatever skill he had that made him such a convincing liar. “The point of having a High King is to unite us all, isn’t it? Our tribal affiliations mean nothing when the rest of the world is against us. The Saxons are on the east coast, the Irish and the Scotti raid from the west, and the Norsemen beset the north. If we fight amongst ourselves, then the battle is already lost.”
Brastias came forward, his eyes fixed on Arthur’s face. “You speak with a conviction beyond your years, my lord.”
“I speak because I know what’s true and right. You don’t need to be old to understand the way of things.” He took a deep breath, and when he let it out, he shook visibly. It was the first hint that something was amiss. Ector noticed immediately.
“Arthur? What’s wrong?”
“I… the priestess….”
Merlin interjected. “Portia was a succubus.”
Illtyd, who was preparing his own mount, raised an eyebrow. “Was?” he echoed.
“Yes,” the druid answered, nodding. “Was. And she tried to feed upon Arthur’s soul. She was prevented.”
Garwen put her hand over her mouth. “Oh, Arthur! Are you hurt?”
He blushed in shame. “No, my lady.”
“Succubus, eh?” Brastias said, understanding more than Arthur might have wished. “And did rescue come too soon, or just in time?”
Arthur blushed even darker, and his face burned. “Just in time.”
Brastias chuckled. “Good lad.” He helped his intended wife up into her saddle and winked at their young companion. “Welcome to manhood.”
Bedivere took a deep breath and sighed. “I will stay my hand, at least for now.” He seated himself on his horse’s back and added, “I trust that you will remember all of this, my lord.”
“I will.” Arthur looked at Merlin, who offered him a small, supportive smile. “I will remember everything.”
There was nothing in all of Britannia like Londinium.
Arthur rode through the city gates, slack jawed. He had never seen a town so large, with so many people of every description. Britons from every tribe filled the city, grouping together in accordance with their clan alliances. Saxons and Northmen wandered freely. He had never seen people so tall and fair.
A group of boats with dragon heads on their prows were moored at the side of the river that ran through the center of the city. Colorful shields hung on the sides of the boats, giving them a studded appearance. He stared at the Northmen who loitered near the little flotilla, and some of them stared back. One of them grinned and pointed at him with his finger. Arthur looked away.
Merlin had changed his appearance before they entered the city, and he rode beside Arthur in the guise of a simple plowman, as unremarkable as could be. He had even masked the power that normally chilled the air around him. If Arthur hadn’t known who he really was, he would have been completely fooled.
“Those ships belong to King Lot of Lothian and the Orkney Islands,” Merlin told him. “He is the son of the king of Norway and served as a general under Uther Pendragon. He is married to Queen Igraine’s oldest daughter, Morgause.”
Arthur nodded. “He comes with quite an entourage.”
“He expects to be named High King.” Merlin smiled. “He is going to receive a rude surprise.”
“What if he’s not?” Arthur asked.
“What if he’s not what?”
“What if he’s not surprised? Just because someone pulls the sword, that doesn’t mean they’ll have the support of the people.”
Merlin nodded. “A valid concern. That’s why we must proceed with great caution and deliberation. The true king will be supported by the majority of people, because they want to see an end to chaos. The rest, well… we will find ways to convince them.”
Sir Brastias turned in the saddle and said to Sir Ector, “I hope we can find lodging. I’ve never seen the place so full of people.”
Sir Kay looked around. “Are all of these people here to try to pull the sword?”
“Most likely,” his father answered. “And the rest are here to watch.”
Kay turned and looked at Arthur. “Are you ready for this?”
He shook his head. “Not in the least.”
His foster brother smiled sympathetically. “Neither am I.”
They rode to the cathedral. In the center of the courtyard, a massive boulder stood, pierced with a gleaming sword. A throng of people surrounded the strange sight, and as they approached, a broad-shouldered man in a wolf skin cape climbed up to the platform that had been erected next to the stone. He grasped the sword’s hilt in both hands and squared his stance. Someone in the crowd shouted encouragement.
“For the Atrebates!”
The man pulled at the sword, but it stubbornly refused to budge. He strained and struggled, his face growing red with the effort he was expending. The crowd tittered at his failure, and he released the sword with a vile oath.
Another man shouted, “So much for the Atrebates!” The crowd roared with laughter.
Brastias looked at his companions with a rueful smile. “My cousin,” he said.
Sir Ector chuckled. “It was a valiant attempt.”
Arthur asked, “Is he the Atrebates’ champion?”
“He is. Son of the chieftain… not that it counted for much today.” Brastias shook his head. “He will be drinking and whoring with the worst of them tonight, just to reassure himself that he’s still a man.”
“Of course he’s a man,” Sir Kay said. “He’s just not king.”
Merlin rode to where the Archbishop was standing, dressed in his golden vestments and holding his shepherd’s crook. At first, the cleric ignored him, but Merlin whispered to him and the man’s attitude changed. He spoke to the disguised druid, who nodded, then rode back to the group.
“We have been granted lodging in the sanctuary. The brothers who work in the stables will see to the horses.”
Garwen looked relieved. “God be praised. I dearly wish to leave the saddle.”
Griflet looked at his sister with a fond smile. “You’ll be able to rest in safety tonight.”
“It’s a good choice,” Bedivere said. “I can think of no better place to seek our lodging
.”
“Why is that?” Arthur asked.
“Because no Christian will try to murder you in the house of their God out of fear of damnation,” the knight answered. “And no pagan will risk the wrath of the Christians by spilling blood on their holy altar.”
He frowned. “Will all people want to kill me once they learn who I am?”
“Not all.” Bedivere smiled at him, but it was a cold expression, devoid of the least shred of humor. “But most.”
“That’s troubling.”
“Good. If you’re troubled, you’ll be cautious.” Bedivere and Arthur dismounted, and their horses were taken by a monk with a Roman tonsure. Merlin had already surrendered his animal, and he waited to lead them into the cathedral.
Arthur asked as they walked, “How long do you think they’ll want to kill me?”
“Probably for the rest of your life.”
“That’s not very reassuring.”
Bedivere shrugged. “It’s not meant to be.”
Merlin pushed open the cathedral doors, and Kay asked him, “Aren’t you demon-born? Doesn’t that burn your hands?”
The druid looked at him through the corner of his eyes. “A little. Follow me.”
He led them into the hushed building. Arthur stopped at the threshold and stared in wonder at the paintings on the walls and the intricate mosaic tile of the floor. The basilica was flanked by twin colonnades, and at the far end of the building, the apse was painted with gold and studded with miniature portraits of the saints. A free-standing crucifix towered over the altar, which was dressed with cloth of gold, and statues of mourning angels flanked the cross. Incense curled from four censers that hung from the columns, suspended from the outstretched hands of bronze angels whose widespread wings held them firmly in place against the stone.
Sir Ector crossed himself, and Sir Kay followed suit. Sir Illtyd genuflected. All three were clearly moved, and Arthur could well understand why. There was a sense of peace and holiness in this place, and the overpowering presence of something greater than any of them. He took a step inside and turned in a slow circle, taking in the church from every angle.
