Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  “Oh! I’m sorry...How long have you been standing there?” he asked. He rose and offered his hand. “Unless I am mistaken, you are the man who fostered our new king.”

  “I am.”

  “Well met.”

  They gripped one another’s forearms companionably. “My son, Sir Kay.”

  Constantine repeated the greeting. “Well met.”

  “Sir,” Kay nodded politely.

  “What brings you here, outside of the city walls?” He looked around. “Is the king with you?”

  “No, he is not. He wished to speak with you, though, and so I have brought his invitation to you personally.”

  The prince nodded. “It would be my honor. We had so little time to speak at the stone - none at all, in fact. The crowds intervened so quickly, and we were separated. I trust that His Majesty was removed from harm in time?”

  “He was. He is unhurt.”

  “Well… there’s the mercy.” He sat. “Please, sit. Would you like refreshment?”

  “That would be most welcome.”

  He looked up at the Greek slave, who was still hovering at the doorway. “Alexios, please bring wine for my guests.”

  The slave bowed low. “Yes, dominus.” He walked away to do as he was bidden, but at a rather leisurely pace by Ector’s lights. He smirked. He suspected that this Alexios was less slave and more companion.

  Constantine leaned back on the couch, reclining like a Roman emperor. Ector and Kay sat together on the couch facing him, their feet on the floor. The prince smiled at them benignly.

  “So… tell me about His Majesty.”

  “Well, to start, he’s not been crowned yet, so for now he’s still just Arthur,” Ector said. “But he is an intelligent and good-hearted young man, with formidable fighting skills and a prodigious curiosity about the world around him. He is young, but he will learn quickly.”

  “He will have to.”

  Alexios returned with the wine and cups, and he poured refreshment for all three men. He bowed once more and retreated to stand by the door. Constantine ignored him.

  Kay sipped his wine and Ector smiled to see him trying not to wince. They rarely had wine at Caer Gai, and this vintage was exceptionally dry. It was not a good choice for an untrained palate. In truth, it was not a vintage that Ector enjoyed, either.

  “I must admit,” the prince said, “I was relieved that the sword did not budge for me. I have no desire to be High King. I find the tribal politics in Britannia to be complicated and confusing. In Armorica, things are much more straightforward.”

  Something in the prince’s easy tone made Ector suspicious. “So that is why you were so quick to acknowledge him? Because of your relief?”

  “That, and because I saw my uncle and his wife in him, and I do not doubt the story is true. Although what your Merlin stands to gain in all of this is an open question.”

  Ector smiled. “He is not my Merlin, Your Highness. I doubt if he belongs to anyone.”

  “Perhaps he can belong to the new king, whenever he is crowned.”

  “Merlin is not someone who can be owned.”

  Kay glanced at Alexios, but the slave was staring straight ahead as if he heard nothing. Ector took a sip of his wine. It was still awful on the second taste. “Are King Ban and King Bors your liegemen?”

  “No. They share control of the half of Armorica to which I have no claim.” He drained his cup and put it on the table. Alexios began to step forward, but Constantine held up a hand to stop him. He went back to his vigil by the wall. “I cannot say why they chose to bend the knee to young Pendragon, but I am grateful that they did. I fear that others have no intention to cooperate.”

  Ector nodded. “King Lot and King Uriens made their opinions very clear. I suspect they will be mounting insurrection as soon as Arthur is made king.”

  “I doubt that they will wait that long.” He smiled. “So, tell me, Sir Ector. With Arthur Pendragon being so very young and callow, will you be the true power behind the throne?”

  Kay spoke up. “My foster brother is many things, Your Highness, but callow is not one of them. He will be king in his own right. My father may advise, but Arthur will wear the crown.”

  “Hmm. I wonder.”

  Kay’s face flushed, and Ector subtly put his foot on top of his son’s and pressed. The younger knight kept his silence and his seat. After draining his own cup, Ector said, “If you wish to accept this invitation to parley, then please come to the cathedral after prayers at prime tomorrow. We are staying there in the archbishop’s hospitality.”

  Constantine smiled. “As I will be attending prime, that will be no hardship.” He rose and walked toward a door, turning his back on them and clearly intending to leave the room. Over his shoulder, he said, “It was a pleasure meeting you both. Alexios, please see them out.”

  The slave escorted them to the door with a bland smile and set them out upon the road. Kay looked back at the front wall of the domus and snorted. “Well, that was rather abrupt.”

  “It was, indeed.” He began to walk back toward the city. “Let’s get back to the cathedral and tell Arthur that his cousin is coming.”

  In his cell, safely tucked in privacy behind the closed and heavy door, Arthur dreamed.

  He was lying in the light of a summer sun, soft and dewy grass beneath his body. He could hear ducks and geese and the quiet sounds of running water, and he knew he was resting on a river bank. Behind him, he heard hammers and chisels on stone and the barks of masons in the throes of construction. He felt safe and warm.

  Something broke the surface of the water, and then he was joined on the bank by a woman, clad only in the silvery drops that clung to her fair skin. He looked up into her face and knew her as the fey king’s ward, Guinevere. She smiled down at him, and he at her. Her eyes were deep blue, like the ocean, and her long black hair fell in ringlets, dripping water. He touched those locks, and they were silken and fine.

  “Are you happy?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Yes. Very.”

  Guinevere kissed him, and when she pulled back, she was smiling. “I am very glad. But how could you not? Your destiny is here.”

  He woke with a jolt, and the dream scattered like sparks from a fire. He shuddered and looked around the cell. The air felt excited and alive, as if there had been a nearby lightning strike. He rubbed his hand across his face.

  My destiny...

  In the corridor beyond Arthur’s door, Merlin sat, his eyes closed. He had seen the young king’s dream, and displeasure ground in him. Guinevere. The time was out of order, and he cursed himself for taking Arthur to Leodegrance’s keep without looking ahead. He did not expect Fergus Mor MacEirc to have sent his ward out so soon. She was early, far too early, and Arthur never should have seen her face.

  Now things were complicated. He only hoped that the Other stayed far away until the time was right. If he came into Arthur’s life too early, as well, then all of Merlin and Vivienne’s carefully-crafted plans might come to naught. His only hope was if the Other was delayed.

  There had already been a slowing influence in the curse by Annowre, and Evienne’s intercession had likely disjointed the time even further. Something had to be done to set things right. He rose and frowned, casting his traveling magic and taking himself away to Benoic.

  He emerged back into reality on the shores of the Ar Goued, the river separating Benoic from Gaunnes. King Ban’s castle stood nearby, guarding the estuary where the river emptied into the Oceanus Britannicus. Merlin knelt at the bank and tapped his hand upon the surface of the river three times in slow succession.

  He waited only for a moment before one of nine Ladies of the Lake emerged, her green-tinged hair flowing over her bare shoulders. She smiled at him.

  “My lord Merlin,” she said, greeting him warmly. “How can I be of assistance?”

  “Nyneve,” he said, kneeling on the bank. He kissed her lips, and she kissed him back hungrily. “I came to tell you of a child
in need of rescue.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “A child?”

  “Yes. You and your sister Elayna need to know of him.”

  The nymph smiled and beckoned him into the water. “Come with me. Make love to me and then tell me about this child.”

  Merlin laughed softly. “Don’t you know that demon blood and fairy blood don’t mix?”

  “Who said anything about mixing blood? I know what you are, and I know what delight there can be in lying with one of your kind.” She leaned forward and whispered. “Incubus...”

  “Half incubus,” he lied, not certain why he was entertaining her suggestion this way. “Half human.”

  He stripped and went to her, diving into the water and swimming into the welcoming circle of her arms. She was more than ready for him, as he was for her, and he slid into her welcoming heat with a sigh. Nyneve claimed his mouth greedily, and he pulled at her tongue, sucking it gently, dragging life force out of her through the contact. She laughed and pulled away.

  “Only a taste,” she said, rocking her hips against him, “until you tell me about the child.”

  He cast a spell upon himself that permitted him to breathe under the water, and he bore her down to the bottom of the river. There, in the soft silt bed, he settled her onto her back and knelt between her legs. He thrust into her, using all of his demonic talents to leave her quaking and begging for release. She locked her legs around his hips and tugged at him, encouraging him to go faster, and he obeyed. They bucked together in a desperate rhythm until they both exploded in their passion, quaking in one another’s arms.

  When it was over, she swam him back into the air, and he reclined against the rocks on the riverbank. She rested against him, smiling.

  “Now that we have said hello,” she said, “tell me about the child.”

  Merlin ran his hand through her hair, then said, “In this castle behind me, there is an infant. There will come a time in the very near future when he will be left unattended on the side of this very river. When that happens, I want you and the rest of the Ladies to take him through the portal at the bottom of Lake Sologne and put him in the Fey Lands until I send for him.”

  She straddled his lap, her hands rubbing the muscles in his shoulders. “And why should I do that, hmm?”

  “Because I asked you nicely.” He grinned. “And because he has a very important part to play in times to come, but he cannot arrive too soon. You must delay him. Can you do this for me?”

  Nyneve kissed him deeply, and when she pulled away, she asked, “And when he is mine, what can I do with him?”

  Merlin gave her his brightest smile. “Anything you like. Just make certain not to break him too much, because he’ll be needed for fighting when I bring him back.”

  She reached down between their bodies and took him in her hand. “And can I alter the time? Can I have him as a child for but a day and as a young man forever, until you come for him?”

  He sighed at the pleasure she was giving him. “What you do with him when he is in your kingdom is not my concern. Just be certain that he is able to be a proper knight when he returns.”

  “I will do this for you,” she breathed into his ear. “And I will think of you all the while.”

  They kissed hungrily, and she pulled him under the water once again.

  Merlin was happy to go.

  The cathedral bells tolled every three hours, calling the monks from their beds for prayer. Arthur and his party were awakened by the ringing, but unlike the holy brothers, they were able to just roll over and go back to sleep. None of the group had difficulty with the task except for Arthur himself. He had gone early to his rest the night before, and now he woke with hours to spend alone.

  The bells were chiming for lauds, the prayers that were said three hours after midnight. This hour was arguably the darkest of them all, and he lay in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had no lights in this basement room except for the flickering yellow glow that shone around the edges of his heavy door. He could hear Kay snoring away in his own cell next door, and the sound was comforting, reminding him of the days when life was less confusing. He had been happy, truly happy, when he and Kay had shared that room in Caer Gai, and he knew now with an aching certainty that he would miss those days for as long as he lived. He would never know such simple happiness again.

  Another hour passed, and the bell announcing the end of lauds rang out. He lay in bed for hours, unable to sleep, until he heard a distant cock crow, signaling that the first rays of the sun had emerged from hiding for another day. He gave up on his bed and rose, dressing in sturdy clothing meant for walking in the winter air, and he left his borrowed cell. He passed the beds standing in the corridor. Two were empty now that Brastias had gone to speak to his chieftain, taking Illtyd with him. Bedivere, though, still slept on his hallway cot, his sword in his hand. Arthur realized that he was standing guard over him, and that knowledge made him warm with gratitude.

  As soon as he had stepped out of his cell, Bedivere snapped awake, his light eyes shadowed but alert. “My lord,” he said, his voice ragged. “Are you well?”

  “Yes. Go back to sleep, Sir Bedivere. There’s no need for you to rise.”

  “On the contrary, if you are up and awake, then I should be, as well.” He rose to his feet. He had been sleeping in his chain and plate, which no doubt contributed to the lightness of his slumber. “If you are going out, then I am going with you.”

  Arthur sighed and nodded. He had hoped to be alone, but this was likely to be the best he could hope for in his new life. He had never realized how much being a king could be like being a prisoner. “All right. Thank you. I want to see Londinium. There must be sights here that are worth seeing, and I want to take them in while I still can.”

  Bedivere’s gaze softened with something like pity. “Because you will be prevented by your role as king, or because you fear that death will find you?”

  “Both,” he answered honestly. “I have many enemies now.”

  “That you do, but you also have many friends.” Bedivere walked with him in thoughtful silence. Finally, he said, “I did not protect my son as I should have done, as you well know. My sins are plain where he is concerned, and if I am ever forgiven, I will be surprised. I will make amends the best I can by protecting the man that my son loved instead.”

  Arthur closed his eyes against the pain for a moment, then said, “Amren always defended you. He loved and respected you as a good son should.”

  The knight’s jaw muscle twitched, and he said, “I did not deserve his loyalty, or his forgiveness. I will earn it in time, I hope, if you will allow me to try.”

  They climbed the steps to the cathedral apse, and there the young king turned to his companion. “Are you with me for the sake of Amren only, or are you also here for me?”

  Bedivere looked him in the eyes. “I serve you with my whole self, not just in the memory of my son, whom you loved, but also for who and what you are. Never doubt me when I say I love you well.”

  The young king embraced him, and the knight held him, too, for a long and wordless moment. When finally they parted, Arthur said, “I accept your love with gratitude, Sir Bedivere. I hope to someday be worthy of it.”

  He smiled, and his eyes were moist. “You already are.”

  They walked out of the safety of the cathedral and into the arms of the waking town. Craftsmen and laborers were just starting their days. Potters and smiths were stoking the fires in their furnaces, and bakers were firing up their ovens for another long day of work. Everywhere they went, people bustled, intent upon the business of their lives. Arthur watched them all, taking in their movements and listening to their speech. He had never heard such a cacophony of accents, and it filled him with wonder. In all of his childhood days at Caer Gai, he had never suspected that there were so many different kinds of people in the world, with such different ways of dressing and speaking. As he watched, though, he realized that under the differences, they were all very m
uch the same. They all washed, ate, raised their children, needed water, needed protection…and it occurred to him quite suddenly that all of those needs would now be his duty. It would fall to him to make certain that these people remained safe and secure, with enough to eat and enough to drink and wood for the fires that would keep them from freezing on winter nights. It was not just the people of Londinium to whom he owed his duty, but also to the people in every city and every hamlet and every remote village all throughout Britannia. The responsibility was awesome and terrifying.

  “Good God,” he said. “Good God.”

  The knight looked at him with a raised brow. “What is it?”

  Arthur shook his head and kept walking, and Bedivere kept pace. They went through the forum and past the temple that was dedicated now to Bacchus but which still bore the telltale signs of its first master, Mithras. They walked past sleeping hovels and elegant townhouses and down to the docks where the fishermen were already bringing in nets full of fish. He saw how vulnerable they were, how one ship of Saxons could float down that river and set the whole city ablaze, something he knew had been done before. He had never realized that it could have been done so easily.

  “Is there a druid grove nearby?” he asked his companion.

  “Not that I know of,” Bedivere said. “The nearest thing is probably the wood outside the city. Do you want to go there?”

  The bells of the cathedral tolled the call to prime, the prayers that were said at dawn. He shook his head. “Let’s go back to the church,” he said. “I need time to think.”