Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  The baby was born in the cold days immediately after Imbolc. Arthur paced and waited outside Lionors’ chamber as he had seen Brastias pace outside Garwen’s. Merlin waited with him, calm and content. Arthur envied him his composure. When the baby’s cries split the night air, Arthur nearly jumped out of his skin, thrilled and surprised. After what seemed like an eternity, the midwife emerged from the room, a tiny bundle in her arms.

  “Your Majesty,” she said, smiling. “This is your son. His mother named him Loholt.”

  Arthur took the child into his embrace, holding him and looking into his tiny face. He was a fine, strong boy, blessed with a mass of dark hair and sapphire-blue eyes. His little hand was free of the swaddling, and Arthur took it gently, his fingertip touching the baby’s palm. Loholt closed his hand around his father’s finger, holding it. He shifted in Arthur’s arms and began to cry.

  “Oh,” Arthur said, looking at the midwife. “Oh… what do I do now?”

  She laughed. “Comfort him.”

  He held the baby closer, putting him against his chest. The baby clung to him, and after a few more wails, his cries subsided. Arthur kissed his head and looked up at Merlin with tears in his eyes. “He’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  Merlin came forward, his face shining with the softest expression the king had ever seen him wear. He touched the child’s hand and nodded to himself. “He will be a good man,” he told Arthur. “You will never have a moment of shame from him.”

  “Of course not,” Arthur said, cuddling the infant close. “He’s too wonderful to ever shame me or anyone else.” He looked at the midwife. “How is Lionors?”

  “Resting now, and weary, but well. It was easy, as births go.” She nodded toward the baby. “She’s already nursed him. That’s how well she’s doing.”

  Arthur was overwhelmed. He had never felt any love as powerful as the love he felt for the tiny being in his arms. He had a son. He had never felt prouder. His heart felt too big for his chest, swollen with all the things he was feeling. He kissed Loholt again, then rested his cheek against his little head.

  “He’s perfect. He’s amazing. He’s…” He broke into a besotted grin even as tears stood, shining, in his eyes. “He’s my son.”

  Merlin nodded. “Yes. Congratulations, Arthur.”

  He held Loholt until the midwife insisted on taking the baby away, returning him to the waiting arms of his mother. Arthur reluctantly relinquished him. He turned back to Merlin, and he spontaneously embraced the druid, who wrapped his arms around him after the barest of hesitations. Merlin patted his back and pulled away.

  A sad thought occurred to Arthur, and he felt tears sting his eyes anew. “I have to leave him here, don’t I? Even after the battles are won, he has to stay here.”

  Merlin nodded. “I’m sorry, Arthur. It will be for the best if he lives in Ceredigion and not with you.”

  “Why?”

  “First of all, Lionors has no wish to leave this place, and when King Portu dies, she will inherit the throne. Second, how do you think Guinevere will like having your bastard son roaming around her home once the two of you are wed?”

  The king frowned. “I think she would welcome him.”

  “Do you want to take that chance? Vengeful wives have ended more than one bastard child over the years.”

  He lifted his chin. “She would never do that. She’s not wicked.”

  Merlin chuckled. “Are you so sure?”

  “Yes.”

  Arthur was annoyed by the druid’s words, and he didn’t try to conceal it. Wisely, Merlin retreated from that topic of conversation. “Well, I’m sure you know her well by now. I will trust your estimation of her.” He crossed his arms. “The third reason is that you have no castle yet. Your kingdom is still insecure. You have wars ahead of you, and that is no environment for a baby. Let him stay here in safety with the warm love of his mother. You will see him frequently - I’ll ensure that - but he must stay here. As the son of the king, even an illegitimate one, he is more precious than rubies and must be protected. This is the best place for that until you get your kingdom and your capital established.”

  The king turned away, frustrated but knowing that Merlin was right. He nodded in resignation. “Of course. I wasn’t thinking. I was just… feeling.”

  “And your feelings do you credit,” he said, putting a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “Your love for your son is great, as it should be. You must do what is right for him, though, not what is best for you.”

  The king straightened, banishing his sadness at the impending parting from his child. “I know. But I also know that I won’t have to do it yet. I have weeks still to spend with him, and that is what I’m going to do.”

  Merlin clapped him on the shoulder and led him down the hallway. “This calls for a celebration, and I happen to know that Ceredigian mead is the best in all of Cambria. I’ll pour the first one.”

  Eburacum was stirring with the first breath of spring, and Sir Gawain rode with his cousin Owain, letting the wind blow away the stale air from the villa. The farther they could be from Constantine and his friend Esclabor, the happier they were. The slave Alexios was just as disturbing, perhaps even more so; there was no telling what a man like that might do.

  “I wish we had gone with Arthur,” Owain said when they stopped to let their horses rest.

  Gawain nodded. “So do I, in all honesty.”

  “Will you fight in this season’s battles?”

  “Of course. And you’ll still be my squire, won’t you?”

  The boy stood a little taller. “Yes, I will.”

  “Good. Then we’ll be all right, I think. We’ll keep each other alive.”

  Owain looked at him with his dark, mystery-keeping eyes. “Do you fear death?”

  Gawain shrugged one shoulder, evincing a calm that he did not feel. “I might fear the mechanism of death, but not death itself. Most ways of dying are very painful, and I’d rather not experience those.”

  Owain nodded. “I understand.” He patted his horse’s flank. “I don’t fear death, either. I think it will be fascinating.”

  “Fascinating?” Gawain frowned. “Damn, but you’re a strange one.”

  “I have many siblings who have died,” the boy explained. “It would be nice to think that I might meet them someday. I might meet my grandfather. My mother told me a great deal about him.”

  “Who was your grandfather?”

  He looked proud as he answered, “Duke Gorlois of Cornwall.”

  “Ah. The one who was killed by Uther Pendragon so he could take his wife.”

  Owain scowled. “Yes. That one.”

  “What makes him special?”

  “Well,” he said, hesitating, “my mother said that his was the true line of the kings of Britannia. He was a Briton through-and-through, not a Roman half-breed like Uther. The Pendragons aren’t from Britannia, you know.”

  “I know.”

  Owain was surprised. “You know?”

  Gawain laughed at him. “You’re not the only one who had Gorlois’s daughter for a mother!”

  “Then why did you ask me about who my grandfather was?”

  “Because everyone has two, idiot. You could have been talking about King Uriens’ father for all I knew. I wanted you to clarify.”

  Owain pouted. “My father’s father isn’t important.”

  “Wasn’t he King of Rheged before Uriens?”

  “No. The kingdom was taken from the rightful house and given to my father by King Uther.” He scowled. “My father’s father was probably some fat, ugly mercenary.”

  They mounted up again, and Gawain reluctantly turned Gringolet back toward the city. It would be time for the midday meal soon, and sword work and book work for him and for Owain. King Gurgurest had granted them the use of the tutor who had taught him in his childhood, and they were both compelled by Prince Constantine to take advantage of the offer. Gawain already knew most of the things that the old tuto
r tried to tell him, but he held back to allow Owain to catch up in his learning. His tutelage in literature and history had been woefully inadequate, making Gawain wonder not for the first time exactly what was wrong with Uriens. He believed that the King of Rheged wanted his son to fail. It was the only explanation for his actions, both the things he had heard and the things he had seen himself.

  “You’re quiet.”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Well, stop it,” Owain commanded. “It makes the corner of your mouth turn down.”

  Gawain smirked. “Sorry.”

  “You should be. You’re handsome when you aren’t frowning.” His cousin nudged his horse to speed up. “You’ll never find a wife if you go around scowling all the time.”

  The older boy laughed. “I don’t want a wife. I want to lie with lots and lots of women, but I don’t want a wife. Once you get married, all of your fun is over. At least that’s what my father said. You have to be faithful to your wife, but if you have only lovers, you can have as many as you want.”

  Owain looked at him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. “You’ll be a king someday.”

  “Well, yes, presumably…”

  “Then you can have whoever you want, and as many as you want, married or not. My father practically has a different wench for every hour of the day. It’s a miracle he can walk sometimes.”

  Gawain thought of Uriens’ face and shuddered. “Those poor women.”

  Owain laughed. “I totally agree.”

  Their ride and their freedom ended in the courtyard of the villa, where Gawain refused to hand Gringolet off to the grooms. Owain, mimicking his older cousin, did the same with his own horse, and the two of them personally saw to the comfort of their mounts before they went inside. Prince Constantine was waiting for them with King Gurgurest when they walked into the hall, and the two men looked so annoyed that the boys stopped in their tracks.

  “What is it?” Gawain asked.

  King Gurgurest answered, his voice dripping with sarcasm, displaying a scrap of parchment. “Sir Gawain, your father has sent word that he is marching on Eburacum to free you. He is leading his men down from Din Eidyn at the first snow melt.”

  Constantine added, “Lot is healthy again, and he has an army of Danes on his side, newly landed on these shores.”

  Gawain remembered his suggestion to his father, and how he had given Lot the idea of seducing their Danish cousins to join the fight to establish Lot as High King. His stomach tightened and his heart sank. “Who is leading the Danes?”

  “We don’t know, but our sources say it might be a woman.”

  Owain snorted. “A woman?”

  Gawain shot him a disdainful look. “Don’t underestimate the women of the north.”

  King Gurgurest consulted the slip of parchment in his hand. “There is also a man named Garwylwd who leads one column.” He looked at Gawain. “What do you know of him?”

  Gawain crossed his arms and looked down, disturbed by his father’s choice of friends. “Gwrgi Garwylwd is his name. He’s a Cambrian, from Powys. He was exiled from his own land because of his crimes. He and his band call themselves the Dogs’ Heads.”

  “What crimes?” Constantine asked. “The usual? Rapine? Pillage?”

  “Yes, and kidnapping… and worse.”

  Gurgurest frowned. “How much worse?”

  “After every battle he fights, he takes one prisoner. That prisoner is roasted to death and eaten by Garwylwd and his men.”

  Constantine looked horrified, and Gurgurest’s frown turned into a complete glower. He crumpled the parchment. “So now I know what I must do.”

  The Armorican prince nodded. “Yes.” He turned to the boys. “We are not going to allow this city to be attacked and ravaged by a pack of northern barbarians. Therefore, we are sending you both to Lot with our blessings.”

  The boys looked at one another. “Back to Din Eidyn?” Gawain asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Both of us?”

  Gurgurest looked at Owain, then said, “Yes.”

  “Does King Arthur know?”

  Constantine waved a dismissive hand. “I don’t even know where he is. He’s vanished.”

  “Caer Gai,” Owain said.

  “What?”

  “Caer Gai. He went to his childhood home for Christmas, and he’s going to Viroconium for Easter. He’s in one of those two places.”

  Constantine challenged, “How do you know?”

  Owain crossed his arms and scowled. “I listen.”

  Gurgurest chuckled. “I had no idea King Arthur said anything worth listening to.”

  “It was probably Merlin,” Constantine said. “He’s the one who does the thinking for him.”

  Gawain took a step forward. “Your words are treasonous and show great disrespect for the man who fought and nearly died to keep this city free. I didn’t see you risking your lives and limbs upon the field, King Gurgurest and Prince Constantine. Your men, yes. You? Never.”

  The king turned to face him, enraged. “Watch your mouth boy.”

  “I am the sworn knight of King Arthur, and I owe my loyalty to him. You stand accused of treason and cowardice. How do you answer?”

  Constantine pulled back his hand to strike the prince from Lothian, but when he tried it, Gawain caught his wrist in a punishing grasp. He squeezed so hard that he could feel the Armorican’s bones grinding beneath his grip. He smiled broadly, his blue eyes blazing with the reminder that he was half Norse. “Never attempt to strike me again. If your only defense is violence, then you stand convicted.”

  King Gurgurest shouted, “Release him this instant!”

  Gawain held him a moment longer, staring into Constantine’s eyes, enjoying the look of startlement on the older prince’s face. He had not expected Gawain’s strength. His opponents never did. “Apologize.”

  “To you?”

  “In this, I represent the King, for I am his sister’s son and closer to him than you.”

  “I am his heir!”

  “For now.” He released him with a shove. “I suspect he only named you to bribe you into supporting him in Londinium. Times change, and your fortunes can change with them.”

  Constantine stepped away from him, his eyes squinting in his rage. “I will send you back to Lot, and I will send you in chains if you touch me again.”

  Gawain settled his stance, ready to fight. “You may try.”

  “I will send a rider to Viroconium with this news,” Gurgurest said. “Arthur will receive it within three days, and then we will see what answer he decides to send. Are you satisfied?”

  Gawain nodded. “Yes. Thank you, my lord.” He relaxed and beckoned to Owain to follow him. “I am not going to Din Eidyn unless it is at the side of my king. Come, Owain. We have things to do.”

  He led his cousin out of the room without asking to be dismissed, a breach of royal protocol that he committed deliberately. If Gurgurest or Constantine objected, they could try to correct him, but they would learn to their sorrow that he was not so easy to manage.

  Aethelflaed, shieldmaiden and leaders of the forces from Denmark, frowned in consternation as she stood in the great hall at Din Eidyn. She demanded of King Lot, “Why did you tell them we were coming? Now they will have time to prepare.”

  He smiled. “I know Constantine, and I especially know Gurgurest. Their idea of preparing is to dither and piss themselves. They’re terrified, and they’ll be even more afraid by the time we arrive. They’ll make mistakes and we’ll win handily.”

  “They’ll be desperate and determined,” she disagreed. “They will fight all the harder.”

  “No. You don’t know them the way I do. I’ve dealt with them for years - they are nothing but cowards.”

  She crossed her arms beneath her full breasts, lifting them slightly, a sight that Lot did not fail to note. He was married, and he was faithful to his wife, but he was still alive. “They’re going to summon Pendragon and his army. They
will be waiting for us.”

  He laughed. “What is this? Is the famous shieldmaiden suddenly afraid of a little battle? Whatever happened to your fighting spirit? Don’t you want to see Valhalla?”

  “I am not afraid. I am simply pointing out that the nature of this war has changed, thanks to you and your stupid letter.” Aethelflaed scowled. “This is why it’s dangerous for people to learn too much reading and writing. It makes them do stupid things.”

  They were talking after he had dismissed his courtiers. In the back of the room, still sitting in the gallery, Morgana and Ganile listened to their exchange. Lot glanced at them, then asked, “Is this fascinating to you? Anything you’d care to add?”

  Morgana tossed her head with a laugh but didn’t answer. Ganile, though, said, “Aethelflaed, how many ships do you have at your disposal?”

  The shieldmaiden looked confused. “I have the ten I brought with me to Lothian, and five more on the way.”

  “I know how you can prevent Pendragon from coming to Eburacum’s rescue.”

  Aethelflaed raised one eyebrow. “Oh?”

  “Send your new ships around Britannia to Cornwall and Lyonesse. Have them attack in the southwest. It will distract Pendragon and keep him and his forces busy while we march on Eburacum.”

  Lot was impressed. “It’s a good plan.”

  “I have no way of getting a message to my ships.”

  “I can do that.” Ganile stood. She was steady on her feet, an improvement over the condition she was in when she first arrived in Din Eidyn. “Will you have me send the word?”

  Aethelflaed considered, then nodded. “Yes. Use your magic. The diversion will be helpful.”

  Lot scratched at the scar on his face. “I agree that the plan is sound, but it’s disappointing. I want to meet Pendragon on the field again.”

  “Why? So he can defeat you again?” Morgana mocked. “You did such a fine job last time.”