by J A Cummings
King Gurgurest and King Arthur led their armies to Eburacum, which sat gleaming like a pearl at the confluence of the rivers Foss and Ouse. They approached from the east and encountered stout city walls, made of stone and embanked with clay and sod, long before they ever sighted the water. The city was large and manifestly prosperous, and Gurgurest’s standard flew from every tower and spire.
“It’s very grand,” Arthur said, trying not to sound as impressed as he was.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Gurgurest said proudly. “Two separate Emperors of Rome chose Eburacum as the place to die, and it was from here that the Emperor Hadrian designed and built his wall.”
“With respect, Your Majesty,” said Bedivere, who was riding beside Arthur, “I don’t think the Emperors came all the way from Rome just for the chance to die here. I think that this is just where Death caught up with them.” He turned to Arthur with a smirk. “The moral of the story, I think, is that this place kills kings. Be cautious.”
Gurgurest favored him with a reluctant laugh. “Perhaps you’re right, Sir Bedivere, but I think the distinction still merits mentioning. It’s certainly more than Viroconium can claim.”
The not-so-subtle dig at Bedivere’s own holdings was meant to put him back into his place, and it accomplished the task. The knight fell silent and sullen as the gates were opened for their king and his guests.
Within the walls, the city was impressively large, with a basilica to rival anything that Arthur had seen in Londinium. He looked around in wonder as the royal party approached the fortress, which had been converted into a palace during the reign of Gurgurest’s father. Temples and gardens, stele and statues stood everywhere he looked, and the city was like Rome writ small. He shook his head and could not contain his reaction.
“Amazing.”
They rode through the gates in the palace, where a pair of tall and well-built guards saluted them smartly. Grooms from the stables were waiting to take their horses when they dismounted, and a beautiful lady in a gown of blue velvet was standing at the hypostyle waiting to welcome them. Her blonde hair was bound into elaborate plaits and pinned up with jewels and gold, and more gold graced her wrists and throat. Her fingers sparkled with rings and precious stones, and when Gurgurest approached, she curtsied gracefully, sinking nearly all the way to the ground.
“My lord,” she greeted in a silky voice, “welcome home.”
Gurgurest took her hand and brought her back to her feet, and he kissed her fingertips lightly. He turned and said, “High King Arthur Pendragon, may I present my queen, Severina?”
Her blue eyes flickered to her husband’s face, and then she dropped into that extraordinary curtsey at Arthur’s feet. “You honor us, great king.”
“Thank you for your lovely welcome,” he said. “I am pleased to see Eboracum and its crown jewel at last.”
He smiled for the queen, hoping that she knew he referred to her. She bowed her head and murmured, “You are too kind, Your Majesty.”
Gurgurest smiled broadly to his king. “I am a fortunate man, King Arthur. Very fortunate.”
“Indeed you are.”
A man in rich robes stood behind the queen, and Gurgurest gestured to him. “Sir Aglonides, my steward.”
The man bowed deeply. “An honor, my lord.”
“Well met,” Arthur said. In truth, he was at a loss about how to respond, but those words seemed as good as any others.
His host introduced the knights in turn, leaving Sir Ector for last. When it came his turn, Gurgurest said, “My dear, this is Sir Ector of Caer Gai, here all the way from Cambria. He fought at Terrabil with King Uther.”
“Indeed,” she said.
“It was where I was injured,” Ector said.
“Her father fell upon that field,” the king advised him. “His name was Brodober. Did you know him?”
The queen’s gaze was intent upon his face as he replied, “I did, and I remember him with great respect. He was a sturdy warrior and an honorable man. He died well.”
There was a flicker of relief in Severina’s eyes, and she said, “Thank you for those words, Sir Ector. They are a comfort to me.”
Arthur spoke up. “Sir Ector is my foster father.”
“Ah! So you were not raised in Pendragon’s court?” the queen asked.
“No.” He thought that by now everyone knew that he had been kept in hiding, but he supposed that news took some time to travel to the northern reaches of the country. “It was my good fortune to be raised in peace and quiet in Gwynedd.”
“I can hear it in your speech, sire,” she said.
Sir Aglonides, who walked with a limp, led them further into the castle. “We were happy to receive your message, sire, so we were able to prepare a proper feast for you and for your esteemed guests.”
As they reached the interior of the great hall, a pair of armored soldiers fell into step with the party, acting as an honor guard. Their breastplates were rimmed in gold and set with shining garnet cabochons, and the swords at their hips were clearly ceremonial. If they had been more martial in appearance, Arthur might have worried, but as they were, it was as if they were one more ornament in the ostentatious hall.
The place was an artisan’s dream. There were statues in alcoves and mosaics on the floors, and bucolic scenes had been painted onto the plaster of the walls. Sconces stood with oiled torches at the ready, not yet lit due to the brightness of the day, and a deep red carpet led the way to the throne.
King Gurgurest saw that Arthur’s eyes had fallen upon that august seat, and he said, “I will, of course, defer to you while you are here, my lord. As High King, this will become your court instead of mine. Tomorrow, as my liege lord, you will of course sit in judgment over any petitions that my subjects bring to me. But now, my chefs will prepare a fine meal to welcome you to our city. We will soothe your hunger soon.”
Uncertain, Arthur glanced at Brastias, who nodded once. The young king said, “My thanks, King Gurgurest. Your hospitality is immaculate.”
He sounded like a prig. It made him grimace inwardly at his own words. Bedivere’s mouth twisted in a smirk that he tried unsuccessfully to hide.
“My lord,” Sir Ulfius said, sounding amazingly civilized now that he had an elegant woman to judge him, “we are dirty from the fighting and from the road. Out of respect for your court and your queen, may we be shown the way to your baths?”
Gurgurest smiled. “I am headed in that direction myself. My queen’s ladies will attend you, King Arthur, and your goodly knights. The baths are best this side of Aquae Sulis, if I may say so, and you are all welcome to enjoy them to your heart’s content.” He gestured. “This way.”
Queen Severina accompanied her husband, no doubt to attend to him as the ladies of the court would be seeing to the knights. Arthur whispered to Ector, “What does he mean, the ladies will attend us?”
“They will help you remove your armor and bear your clothes away to be cleaned,” his father answered. “They will help wash you if you desire it.”
“I most certainly don’t.”
Ector chuckled. “You may well receive offers for a good deal more than a back scrub, my king, although I would caution you that it is unbecoming to leave too many bastards scattered about.”
Arthur’s mouth fell open, but he saw the jolly twinkle in his father’s eyes, so he relaxed and tried to enjoy the joke.
The travelers were escorted to the beautiful baths. Each of the knights was greeted by a lovely lady of the court, who took them into private, curtained-off alcoves to be divested of armor and clothing. Arthur was the last to receive an escort, and when he did, it came in the person of a doe-eyed young man with soft hands and a mane of reddish-brown curls. He was dressed in a white tunic made of the finest linen Arthur had ever seen. It seemed to reveal more than it covered. The young man bowed deeply to the king.
“Your Majesty,” he said, his voice flavored with the accent of Greece. “I have been sent to care for you afte
r your long travel.”
Arthur looked around him, wondering if this variation on the common procedure was meant to be mocking or was in earnest. He saw no one looking on, so he turned back to the youth. “Thank you.”
The young man took his hand and led him into an alcove, where he drew the curtain closed. He stepped close to the king and unbuckled the straps at his sides, standing near enough that Arthur could smell the scent of apples in his hair. His attendant took the breast and back plates off together, then set them aside. He returned and gathered Arthur’s chain shirt in his hands, rolling it up in his palms and then pulling it over the king’s head. He put that aside, as well.
Arthur found himself holding his breath, almost afraid to move, uncertain what was expected of him and what was allowed. He could hear the sound of someone’s ragged breathing somewhere in the echoing bath, and he knew that at least someone was taking some physical comfort from his attendant. He wondered who it was.
The young man looked at Arthur and smiled. “Do our customs embarrass you, Your Majesty?”
“I … you… no.” He sounded like a virgin plowboy, and he winced inwardly at his own ineptness.
His companion only smiled and knelt, seeing to the closures on his greaves. He leaned in closer, the curls on his head almost brushing against Arthur’s groin. He tilted his pelvis slightly away, trying to avoid that touch.
“What is your name?” the king asked.
The young man put the first greave aside, then turned to the other. “Lindos.”
“You are…”
“Greek.” He finished with the armor and stood with a smile. “From Eresos.”
“I’ve never heard of it.”
Lindos smiled. “I know. It’s very small. I would be surprised if you knew it.”
He took hold of Arthur’s tunic and gathered it in his hands as he had the mail, and he pulled that over the king’s head, too. Lindos looked at Arthur’s revealed chest and smiled, then cast his eyes downward, his ridiculously luxurious lashes hiding the dark irises. Arthur could feel himself blushing, and his body began to betray him, which Lindos could well see.
“I…”
“Shh.” He put his hands on Arthur’s chest, then ran them down to the laces on his trousers. “You have been wounded.”
He tried to speak, but his voice failed him on his first attempt. On the next try, he managed, “I - it’s nothing.”
“I will be gentle when I bathe you.”
“When you...I can…”
Lindos looked him in the eye. “You are a king. You do not bathe yourself.”
A feminine moan somewhere in the bath punctuated the sentence, and Arthur’s cheeks turned bright red. Lindos chuckled softly but not unkindly, and he continued to divest the king of his clothing. He finished on his knees in front of Arthur, looking up at him with a little smile on his full, pink lips.
“I… you…” Arthur fumbled.
Lindos extended his pink tongue and touched the king’s stirring sex with just the tip, and all words and inhibitions were forgotten. The servant wrapped his warm mouth around him, and with a grateful sigh, he abandoned himself to the Greek youth’s ministrations. Lindos was skilled, and Arthur added his own moaning to the collective in due course. When it was over, Lindos smiled and swiped his tongue over his lips to be sure nothing remained.
“Thank you, my lord,” he whispered.
Arthur could barely stand. “Y-you’re thanking me?”
Lindos only continued smiling and led him out into the heated water of the baths. Some of the others - Ector, Brastias and Griflet - were already in the water, their attendants vanishing through the double doors at the end of the room with their armor and clothing. Griflet gave Arthur a surly look when he came in with Lindos, and then the young knight turned away. A cry of delight rose from behind one curtain, and Brastias shook his head with a snort.
“Bedivere,” he said. Ector chuckled.
Arthur stepped down into the water, and Lindos came with him, abandoning his filmy tunic at the side of the pool. He began to wash Arthur’s back, his touch gentle and thorough but with no hint of sensuality now. The king was grateful. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle being seduced where his father could see him.
Ector braced his arms against the walls of the bath and closed his eyes. “This heat feels so good on my bones,” he said. “I am getting too old for this.”
Brastias ducked under the surface and came back up, wiping the water from his face. “You only think that because we haven’t eaten yet. A belly full of meat and ale will make you young again.”
“I think my youth is something that will never be restored.” The knight turned to Griflet. “If you can, my boy, never be an old soldier. Settle down with a holding somewhere and become a gentleman farmer before you get to be my age.”
Griflet looked horrified at the suggestion. “That’s a terrible thought. I don’t want to retire. I want to be a knight!”
“You are a knight,” Arthur said. Again, his friend turned a resentful look toward him, but more specifically toward Lindos, who was now gently washing the young king’s chest.
“You’re not supposed to soak that wound,” his chamberlain reminded him grumpily. “The doctor said.”
“Of course.” Chastened, Arthur pulled away from Lindos’ ministrations and rapidly finished washing. When he was confident the worst of the grime and road stink had been cleaned away, he hopped out of the bath and hesitated.
Lindos left the water with him, his slender body glistening with droplets. Arthur could not stop looking at him. The Greek went to a waiting shelf and retrieved a folded robe made of soft carded wool, finely and exquisitely woven. He wrapped Arthur in the garment and said, “Will there be anything else, my lord?”
The look that Lindos gave him was a clear invitation, and he blushed in response. “No, thank you. Thank you very much.”
Lindos bowed to him. “I will return your armor and garments to you by the morning. There will be guards outside who can deliver you to your rooms, where appropriate clothing for this evening will be waiting.”
“Many thanks, Lindos.”
Griflet grunted something and vaulted out of the water, stalking toward the rack of robes. The servant glanced at him, then back at Arthur, and he smiled knowingly. He bowed deeply. “The honor and the pleasure were mine.”
“Not all of it,” Griflet grumbled.
Arthur watched as Lindos dressed and gathered up his belongings, carrying them out of sight through the gilded double doors.
“The place is very grand, isn’t it?” Brastias asked, saving him from the awkwardness of the moment.
He swallowed. “Yes. Very. I’m extremely impressed.”
“Gurgurest’s father was a very capable administrator, and a canny businessman besides. He made certain that his city got the best of everything,” Ector said. “I think he believed he was setting himself up to buy the High Kingship.”
“Didn’t work out so well for him, did it?” Brastias asked sardonically.
“Doesn’t seem to have, no.” Arthur turned to his friends. “I will see you all at supper.”
Griflet finished dressing and said, “You shouldn’t go alone. Wait for me.”
Arthur stopped and waited for his young chamberlain to catch up with him. Griflet’s jaw was set and tense, and he did not look at the king when he reached him, instead keeping his eyes straight ahead. Arthur sighed.
“I suppose we just go out…”
They went through the double doors that Lindos had gone through and found one of the palace guards waiting for them. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the guard stepped in front of them with a smart bow and salute. “Your Majesty,” he greeted. “I am to take you to your chambers.”
“Thank you.” He gestured to his companion. “Sir Griflet is my chamberlain. Will there be accommodations for him?”
The guard looked surprised and somewhat insulted by the question. “Of course. Follow me, if you would,
Your Majesty, and I will take you to your rooms.”
They were escorted up a wide set of stairs to the upper level of the palace, where spacious rooms looked out over the city below. The wooden screens had been taken down from the windows, allowing access for the summer breeze that stirred the curtains. The floor of Arthur’s room had been strewn with flower petals, which danced and shifted on the breeze like snowflakes. Griflet looked around Arthur and at the room beyond, and he snickered.
“Looks like they were expecting a princess,” he teased.
The guard seemed embarrassed. “We were told by our king that Y0ur Majesty was… delicate… in his sensibilities.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed. I thank him for the consideration, but my sensibilities are no more delicate than your lord’s.” He walked into the room. A suit of formal clothes had been laid out on the bed. “My thanks also for the clothing.”
“Of course, Your Majesty. His Majesty knows that you may not have thought to bring royal apparel on campaign.”
“I can hardly think of anyone who would,” Arthur said. “Bringing velvet when you might bring more rations for the troops is unforgivable.”
Griflet turned to the soldier. “And my rooms?”
“Through this door, sir.”
He led the knight into an adjoining chamber, less spacious than that given to Arthur, and lacking the flowers and sheer curtains on the window. He nodded. “It will do. Thank you.”
The guard bowed to them and left them alone.
Arthur scowled. “He’s making sport of me.”
“He is,” Griflet agreed. “But is he so far off the mark?”
The king was affronted. “Of course he is!”
“I don’t know. Would your Lindos have a different opinion?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Griflet’s face was dark. “Gurgurest sent you a catamite, and you used him, didn’t you?” Arthur stammered on his answer, and his friend pressed, “Didn’t you?”
The accusatory tone in Griflet’s voice irritated him. “What business is it of yours?”
“I am your chamberlain. Your well-being and everything that touches on your person is my business, by definition.” He frowned. “How did you know that person was safe? How did you know he wasn’t some assassin who was going to kill you?”
