Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  “Then it’s a good thing I’m not asking you.” He brushed the powder away and tested the ink for smearing. The words stayed clearly written in his precise, careful hand. Satisfied, he rolled the vellum and tucked it into a scroll case.

  When he stood to find his messenger, Owain rose, too. Gawain hesitated, annoyed, but decided that it would do no harm to let his cousin tag along with him. He left their room and went to find the herald. Owain walked silently behind him, saying nothing but remaining watchful. He was the strangest boy that Gawain had ever met.

  The herald looked up from the documents that he was putting in order. “Your Highnesses,” he said. “How can I be of assistance?”

  Gawain held up the scroll case. “I have a letter that needs to go to Din Eidyn under a flag of truce.”

  The man looked amused. “And what is in this letter?”

  “That business is my own.”

  “Of course, Your Highness.” He took the case. “This is a dangerous assignment, and the courier will require something special to make the journey, especially in the cold weather. Winter is coming, you know.”

  Gawain pursed his lips again and added a scowl. “I am well aware of the passage of seasons, herald.”

  “Of course, sir. My apologies.” He bowed, and Gawain suspected that he was being mocked. His anger burned. “Have you anything to offer to the courier to encourage him on his way?”

  “King Lot will reward him,” he said.

  “Are you so certain?”

  Owain spoke up. “Tell him I won’t shoot him as he rides if he rides quickly and does the duty he’s been charged to do.”

  The herald laughed loudly. “You? Shoot a courier?”

  The strange boy fixed him with a steady look, his dark eyes unreadable and almost blank. “I’ve done it before.”

  Nothing in his tone said that he was joking, and Gawain, who had heard the tale already, knew that he was serious. The herald looked disconcerted, and Gawain’s estimation of his young cousin rose by a notch or two. The herald cleared his throat. “I see. I will find a messenger for you, Your Highness.”

  “Now.”

  He realized that he was being overly imperious, but at that moment, he didn’t really care. The herald looked at him in annoyance, then bowed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

  Gawain gestured to Owain and led him out of the room, heading toward the armory. “You shoot, you said?”

  “Yes, and very well, too.”

  “Let’s get bows and go to the archery range. I want to see how good you really are.”

  Owain smiled. “Good enough.”

  He couldn’t help but ask, “I can’t believe you really shot a courier.”

  The younger boy nodded. “I did. Right in the back as he was riding away with orders to have King Arthur assassinated.”

  Gawain chuckled. “Hmm. Honorable and dishonorable at the same time.”

  Owain shrugged. “I did what I had to do.”

  “I suppose expediency covers over a lot of sins.”

  “I suppose it does.”

  They reached the armory, and to their surprise, Prince Constantine and Lord Esclabor were there, conferring over a sword with a curved blade. They looked up when the boys came into the room.

  “Excuse us,” Gawain said, backpedaling immediately.

  “No need to leave,” Esclabor said, smiling. His dark skin gleamed in the light from the windows, and his hair, black and thickly curling, was held at the nape of his neck in a golden clip with inset jewels that shimmered as he moved. “Please, come in. I haven’t had much chance to make your acquaintances, Your Highnesses.”

  Prince Constantine looked less pleased by the interruption, but he said simply, “Hello, boys.”

  “Sir,” Owain said, nodding politely.

  “We were going to get some bows and go to the archery range,” Gawain told the men, not really looking for approval or permission.

  “By all means,” Constantine said. “Help yourselves to Gurgurest’s weaponry. I’m sure that he won’t mind.”

  Esclabor’s slave, Alexios, was hovering in the corner, watching. Everything about the Greek man set Gawain’s teeth on edge. He tried to ignore him, but like Owain’s, Alexios’ stare had a weight all its own, and he could feel it resting on him as he stepped up to the rack that held the bows. He selected an appropriate bow, then handed another to Owain. The younger boy picked up two quivers of arrows.

  Gawain bowed to Prince Constantine and Lord Esclabor. “Good day, sirs.”

  Esclabor smiled. “Good day, Prince Gawain and Prince Owain.”

  They left the armory as quickly as they could, leaving the strange men behind. As they left the room, Gawain heard Esclabor say, “They will both be pretty men when they are of age. They are pretty boys now.”

  Prince Constantine replied. “Yes, but I suspect the High King would disapprove.”

  “Perhaps he would approve more if you asked him to join you,” Alexios suggested. The three men laughed.

  Gawain and Owain looked at each other, and without discussing it, they both sped up their steps. Neither of them needed to ask what the men were talking about.

  Brastias and Garwen named their son Sagramore, and the child was christened within a week of his birth. Arthur was honored to be selected as little Sagramore’s godfather, although he was quite certain that a better choice could have been made. When he held the little baby in his arms, his mind turned to Lionors and the babe she would deliver in the spring. Seeing an infant and holding one for the first time in his life made the reality of his impending fatherhood seem almost staggeringly real.

  He spent as much time as he could with Guinevere, getting to know her mind as well as he had come to know her body. She spent most nights in his room, and although it should have been a scandal, she didn’t care who knew. Her lack of pretense was refreshing to him, and he admired her forthright nature.

  His friendship with Griflet had taken a hard blow. His erstwhile lover barely spoke to him now, and while he still discharged his duties as chamberlain, he was distant and formal, almost cold. The rupture in their affair had come so suddenly that Arthur still had difficulty understanding it.

  When Sagramore was ten days old, Merlin rousted Arthur from his weapons practice. “Come with me,” he told the king, and Arthur obeyed, leaving Brastias and Griflet to continue without him.

  The druid led him to the great hall, where a trestle table had been erected and was strewn with maps. A pair of benches flanked the table, and Merlin sat on one while motioning for Arthur to take the other. He did as he was asked.

  “What is it?” Arthur asked, concerned.

  “I want to show you something.” He spread out the maps before the king. “You see before you Britannia, showing all of the minor kingdoms in your realm. You need to know which of them are on your side and which of them oppose you.”

  The drawing showed Britannia broken up into a dozen or more separate oddly-shaped pieces. He had learned enough geography to be able to identify most of the kingdoms shown there.

  “So many different kingdoms,” he mused. “Will they ever come together as one?”

  “Yes, in time, and you are the man to do it.” Merlin leaned on his elbows. “Rheged and Elmet are currently without their kings, since we have them in custody in the dungeons at Eburacum. What do you propose that we do about them?”

  Arthur thought for a long moment, then said, “I want to speak to them.”

  The druid nodded. “I thought you might. What do you want to say?”

  “I want to give them a chance to swear their loyalty to me, in return for their freedom.”

  Merlin smiled. “And what will you do if they refuse?”

  “I will take their kingdoms and pass them to someone who will be loyal.”

  “Ah! So you will hand-pick your vassal kings. There is wisdom in that. The local population probably won’t be very happy with that choice, but then… what’s the opinion of some peasants?”


  Arthur scowled. “Everyone’s opinion matters. I would think that the common folk would be grateful for a king who won’t lead them into civil war.”

  “How will you determine the right men for the thrones?”

  The High King considered. “I will ask your opinion, and the opinions of any advisors for the former king who still have integrity. I will ask the opinions of my inner circle of friends. Last, I will speak to common people - the people who work in the castles and fortresses, the ones who hear more than they let on. Then, when I have all of that information in one place, I’ll make my choices.”

  “A measured approach,” the druid said, nodding, his attitude seeming to indicate that he would do it differently. “It suits you, I suppose.”

  “What would you do?” Arthur asked.

  “I would appoint men of my choosing, those that I knew were loyal to me, and keep troops in each kingdom to quell dissent until the under classes knew better than to complain.” He smiled. “But I fear that’s too draconian a measure for you.”

  The young king was appalled. “It most certainly is! What you’re talking about is an abuse of power. Kings are meant to serve their people, not force their wills upon them.”

  “Isn’t that what laws are? Kings forcing their wills upon their subjects?” Merlin challenged.

  “No. Not if the laws are just. Laws are a way of making everyone as equal as possible. All laws apply to all men, no exceptions.”

  “Even to you?”

  “Especially to me.”

  “Hmm.” Merlin seemed amused, and Arthur was becoming annoyed. He turned back to the maps.

  “All of Cambria is loyal, I think, although I don’t know who rules the Perilous Forest.” He hesitated, thinking of Griflet’s intentions about the murderous knight there. “Have you heard anything about a knight in the Perilous Forest defending some fountain or stream?”

  The druid shrugged. “Maybe I have, maybe I haven’t. There are so many stories, and so many knights doing foolish things in the name of honor.” He gestured toward the maps. “Go on.”

  Arthur sighed. “Marcus Cunomorus rules in Cornwall. His loyalty is uncertain, but I know he has his hands full with the Irish who raid him constantly.” He leaned his chin upon his hand. “Estrangore is loyal. Cambenic is strange and neutral. Listenoise is in rebellion, along with Lothian, Rheged, and the Distant Isles… I think.”

  Merlin shook his head. “The Distant Isles have not declared themselves.”

  “Maybe I should send an emissary.”

  “Perhaps.”

  Arthur continued, “Cameliard and Sorestan are loyal, as far as I know. Then there are Strathclyde, Selice and Arroy, all of whom are fighting alongside Lot. That leaves the Saxons in Ceint and Essex.” He pushed the map toward his companion. “Basically, everyone north of the River Tweed and east of Londinium wants my death.”

  “Mostly true. There are pockets of loyalty in the north.”

  “Where?”

  “Dal Riada, for one, which is controlled by Manawydan and Fergus Mor Mac Eirc. That is the faery foothold in humanity’s world.” He pointed to the spot on the map where the faeries’ kingdom of islands and peninsulas bumped up against the Distant Isles. “This is where your marriage to Guinevere will aid you.”

  “This is the alliance you wanted to establish?”

  “Partially.” Merlin brought one foot up onto the bench and wrapped his arms around his knee. “I wanted you to be allied with the Seelie Court. When you marry her, you will be.”

  The king frowned. “There was a message you found in my room some time ago. You said it was from the Unseelie Court. What did they want?”

  Merlin looked uncomfortable, but he answered, “They wanted to parley with you.”

  “I should have gone.”

  “I went for you. It was a trap. They wanted to murder you. Instead, they attempted it with me. They obviously failed.”

  Arthur’s mouth fell open. “You never told me!”

  The druid waved his hand dismissively. “So many other things were happening. It wasn’t worth mentioning.” He smirked. “Thank you for your concern.”

  “I can’t lose you.”

  Arthur’s voice was intense and thick with emotions that even he could not have parsed and identified. Merlin stared at him, then looked away. “You won’t.”

  Lot sat on his throne, staring down at the courier from Eburacum. The man was dirty from the road and fatigue was etched into his face as he knelt before the king. Morgause, who was sitting beside him in a throne of her own, had the letter from Gawain in her hand. She knew that her husband could not read, so she opened and read it for him.

  “He sends a list of the forces that are with Pendragon and their numbers. He begs you to forgive him and understand why he has gone to the enemy’s camp.” She looked at her husband. “Apparently he is not as loyal to Pendragon as you thought.”

  Bruis, standing beside the courier, said, “He’s spying for you, Lothar.”

  “So it seems.” Lot addressed the kneeling man. “When you saw the prince, what was his manner? Was he healthy? Injured?”

  “I did not see him, but I have heard that he is quite well, Your Majesty.”

  In the gallery, seated beside a battered-looking blonde woman, Morgana said, “He’s not spying. He’s trying to make you give up by telling you that you’re outnumbered.”

  Lot cast an angry look at his sister-in-law. He was tired of this strange woman who haunted his court. “You don’t know Gawain, Queen Morgana.”

  “Apparently, neither do you,” she retorted.

  Morgause spoke up. “Peace, sister.” Morgana fell into sullen silence.

  “Take a message back to Prince Gawain,” Lot said. “Tell him that I will never surrender to Pendragon, and that the numbers he has sent me are less than the numbers I can muster against this so-called High King.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And tell him that if he returns to Din Eidyn, all will be forgiven.”

  Morgause raised an eyebrow at her husband’s unusual magnanimity. Lot glanced at her almost guiltily, then turned away again.

  The courier nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Lot considered for a moment, then said, “And take a message to Gurgurest of Eburacum. Tell him that I am going to come for him after I’m done with Pendragon, for the crime of holding my son prisoner.”

  Morgana snorted, and both Bruis and Morgause glared at her. She stared back, undeterred.

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The king moved his hand as if he was brushing away a fly. “Go now.”

  Relieved, the courier stood and hurried out of the hall, heading back home.

  Snow dusted the hill of Mons Badonicus, and Yule was fast approaching. Leodegrance prepared to return to Cameliard to spend the winter, and Arthur escorted Guinevere to the palfrey that would take her away. Her hand was in his, and even through the soft kid leather glove she wore, he could feel the warmth and omnipresent tingle of her touch. They stopped beside the horse, and she turned to face him.

  “Come to Cameliard when you can. Have Merlin bring you.”

  “I will,” he promised. He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly, and when he pulled away, she was smiling. “I’ll miss you.”

  Guinevere winked at him. “I know.”

  He gave her a boost into the saddle, and she settled into place. The king and his guards were already mounted and waiting, and Arthur knew that he was delaying them, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He took her hand and kissed it, then stepped back. At a signal from the chief of Leodegrance’s guards, the royal entourage began to file out of Brastias’s estate, and she looked over her shoulder at him as she rode away.

  “Be safe,” he bade her.

  “I will if you will.”

  He watched until they were hidden by the trees, and then, with a heavy heart, he went back into the hall.

  Griflet was sitting with his sister by the great hearth, holding
his nephew while Garwen sewed. He looked up when Arthur joined them, and he offered a wan smile, the first smile he had bestowed upon him in weeks.

  “Are they away?” he asked.

  “Yes. I hope they have a safe journey.” He sighed and sat on another bench near the fire. “Who knows what brigands are on the roads these days?”

  “That’s why they travel with guards.” Griflet bounced little Sagramore on his knee, and the baby gurgled happily. “Speaking of travel, are we still going to Caer Gai for Yule?”

  “I’d like to,” Arthur nodded. “It would be good to see Sir Kay again.”

  Garwen did not look up from her sewing, but she said, “I hope he’s happier at Yule than he was the last time you saw him.”

  The king looked down at the fire in the hearth. “Things were very bad for him when we parted ways. I would hope that he’s feeling better now, at least a little.”

  “It would be hard for him to feel worse,” Griflet said. “Father dead, lady abandoning him… he had a very hard week.”

  Sagramore began to fuss, so Garwen put her sewing aside and took him from his uncle. She stood and said, “If you’ll excuse me, I believe my son is hungry.”

  Both Griflet and Arthur stood as the lady of the house went to nurse the child, leaving the two of them alone. They had not been alone in a room together since Griflet had ended their affair, and silence hung between them. They both sat down again.

  “If we go to Caer Gai, will you come with us?” Arthur asked.

  “I will, at least part of the way. With your permission, Your Majesty, I’d like to go to Viroconium to see my uncle for the holiday.”

  “Of course you have my permission.” He looked away. “It feels strange that you even have to ask.”

  Griflet shrugged. “You’re the king, and I’m part of your retinue. I come and go at your pleasure.”

  Awkward silence hovered in the room again, and finally Arthur said softly, “I want to tell you something, and you don’t have to respond. I just want to say it, because I’m not certain I ever made it clear. I never allowed myself to feel for you as deeply as you deserve. I was afraid to fall in love with you, because I was afraid to lose you. I tried not to feel the things for you that I felt for Amren, because the risk was just too great for me to bear.”