by Jacob Sannox
No, he decided, better that his knights had slept for a while in their own beds and could set out refreshed with whatever aid Merlin could offer them.
He joined the company at a solemn breakfast, eaten largely in silence. The men tucked into coffee, eggs, bacon and sausages, and it was only when the last of them had laid down his cutlery that any of them spoke.
‘This hunt will be nigh on impossible, sir,’ said Tristan. ‘Advanced with all zeal, we still have no idea where Branok may be hiding or how we can discover the same. And if any of us should find him, what stops him from holding us frozen as he did to Kay last night so that his ravens may peck us unceasing?’
Murmurs of agreement from around the table, and all looked to Arthur.
‘I have no more answers in this matter than do the rest of you, but a few facts are clear. Percival is dead and must be avenged, and Britain is under threat once more by…’ here he looked at Merlin, ‘one of our own. We have a duty to prevent whatever mischief he is planning and a duty to Percival.’
‘But how to go about it, sir?’ asked Kay.
‘Branok is ever watchful of the bloodline himself, so he will not have strayed far from London unless my reckoning is out. We must consider where we would strike if we were in his shoes, and see if we can open up some lines of enquiry which we can all pursue,’ said Arthur. ‘I can suggest nothing more than what we came up with at council the other night.’
‘If I might interject, I might have something to offer, you know,’ Merlin snapped, prompting disguised smiles around the room, except from Arthur.
‘It will do no good to hunt down the familiars while Branok yet lives. The ravens are not the first familiars he has conjured, and they will not be the last if any of them should fall. He will just summon more spirits to aid him. No, it is Branok himself that we must hunt to put a true end to these proceedings. The familiars must be prevented from carrying out their master’s plan, but it is the master who must be located and stopped,’ said Merlin. ‘I am our best chance of finding him.’
‘How so?’ asked Kay.
‘I am attuned to the boy,’ said Merlin. ‘I have known him since he was a child, some five hundred years ago, and I taught him much of what he knows. I sensed his arrival yesterday, and though I know not how close I must be to do so, that is something that can be put to the test.’
‘He will be,’ said Bors, almost lazily, ‘at the Tower.’ He slurped from his coffee and sighed contentedly when he had drained it.
‘Why do you say that?’ asked Arthur.
‘Beasts like their own holes,’ said Bors.
‘Is that all you can contribute?’ said Tristan, but Merlin looked thoughtful.
‘It’s like criminals. Do they ditch their old lives to start afresh? No! They sleep on friends’ sofas and get picked up in old haunts. Branok is not so very different. He’s spent what, 300 years in the Tower?’ said Bors.
‘Over 400,’ said Merlin.
‘Right, 400,’ nodded Bors, as though he had said so in the beginning. ‘It’s like a fellow released from prison after a long stretch. After twenty years a man can be at odds with the world outside, finding it strange and unfamiliar. How well did we first cope after our long slumber? We were not as fortunate as Branok, our old haunts were long gone. He will be at the Tower, I say, and if not there, then other places that we should be able to list.’
The others sat in silence after this outburst drew to a close, each of them having initially marvelled at Bors’s idiocy, before realising that he might just have a point.
‘Perhaps that is the place to begin,’ said Arthur.
‘Aye, perhaps,’ said Bors as he reached across to steal a slice of toast from Tristan’s plate.
After breakfast everyone set about packing whatever they would need on the road, while Arthur and Merlin worked on a list of Branok’s likely haunts. They decided on an order and made copies for each of the men, starting with the closest to London.
‘The list is not so long,’ said Merlin.
‘And yet more than any could search fully in a lifetime,’ said Arthur.
They pushed back their chairs and went in search of the knights. All were assembled in the lobby beside a line of suitcases, atop each of which lay a single long leather case.
‘How many guises you all have assumed,’ laughed Merlin. ‘When first I saw you all as a body, you were clad in armour with swords hanging from your belts, grim-faced and eager.’
‘And now?’ said Tristan, quietly.
Merlin, less acquainted with the tropes of the age, stuttered, but Arthur helped him out.
‘Well-groomed investment bankers,’ he smiled, and they returned it with affection, all save Tristan, who frowned and folded his arms across his chest.
‘No matter the trappings, you are still knights of Britain, and I know your hearts to be true,’ said Arthur. He took the pile of papers from Merlin and handed one to each of the men.
‘These are the areas where Branok may be haunting, if Bors is correct,’ said Arthur.
‘Which he is,’ said Bors.
‘By some miracle,’ said Tristan.
‘Quiet,’ said Kay before Bors could make his retort.
‘I will stay here for a few days and play the puppet master for our friends in parliament, in business and with the police. I will also ensure that the line of succession for our various businesses and charities is in place before I embark on what could well be our last task,’ said Arthur.
‘Tristan, Ector, Kay and Lucan, you will go to the London house to ready it for our arrival. Make sure all is secure and that there have been no intrusions there. Bors and Dagonet, you will escort Merlin to Wiltshire when we are done here. Scout out the area, drive around all of the nearby towns and villages. Spend a day or so searching out the woodland until Merlin is content, then do the same around where Branok was living when he was mentoring Charles. Once Merlin is happy, rendezvous with the rest in London. Bedivere can join us in London when his current work is done. Kay and Lucan will go to Edinburgh with Merlin if and when he is satisfied Branok is not in London. All clear?’
‘Understood,’ said Bors, and the others nodded assent. All except Tristan.
‘That leaves nobody to stay at your side, sir,’ said Tristan.
‘I require time to meditate and prepare,’ said Arthur. ‘Branok will not strike here again.’
Tristan began to reply, but Arthur held up his hand and the knight fell silent.
‘I will stay here, alone, and put my affairs in order. Now, you have your tasks. Be bold, but not foolhardy. And listen to Merlin until it no longer pays to listen,’ he smiled and rested a hand on the old wizard’s shoulder, but Merlin shrugged him off, harrumphing.
Eventually only one suitcase remained in the lobby, and two cars pulled out of the estate. Arthur listened to the sound of their engines fading and then returned to the quiet sanctum of his home, closing the thick oak door behind him. No sound, but for the ticking of a grandfather clock.
Arthur stared at the blood-stained hardwood floor of the lobby, lost in thought for a time.
He wandered the ground floor, room to room, taking it all in and perhaps saying goodbye in his own way. He eschewed the drawing-room and moved slowly up the stairs to move between the bedrooms, looking out over the woods from each of the windows, and closing the doors behind him. Finally he returned to the drawing-room and took a seat by the hearth, devoid of fire and warmth. Arthur listened to the ticking of the clock for a time then moved to his desk and began to call his friends, in high places and low, seeking what he could find.
Chapter Sixteen
Monday 5th of November 2019
Arthur woke on the morning of Bonfire Night, the 414th anniversary of the capture of Guy Fawkes, and found that he had slept far later than intended. The hours spent making fruitless calls and sending equally fruitless emails had taken its toll, it seemed.
He dressed and, passing his suitcase in the hall, made coffee then put
two slices of toast under the grill while his drink cooled. He slathered the bread with salty butter and sat alone at the small table in the kitchen while he ate, his peace disturbed only by the sound of crunching. The house had the still atmosphere that precedes some long journey into the unknown, and Arthur could feel the hairs standing up on the back of his neck.
He fetched his coat, boots and cane then walked across the snow to the kennels, releasing his hounds, Cynbel and Drust. As soon as the door was open, they burst from their warm lodgings, circled his feet and leapt up at him with their tails wagging. He tousled their furry heads, patting their sides and urging them on as he made for the main gate.
Arthur walked the very same path he had ridden out upon on the morning of the attack on his home. The snow crunched underfoot as he walked, and once they were away from the road, Arthur let the dogs roam farther ahead. He walked with his head down, watching his cane poke holes in the snow, thinking of Percival, and of the others they had lost as the centuries passed by.
He wiped a patch clear on a fallen log beside the path and sat, looking across the tree-lined field at the centre of the estate, in the middle of which grew an imposing oak tree. A light wind blew, and Arthur closed his eyes, leaning on his cane, trying to remember the clean air and vigour of his youth. He tried to conjure the images of his fallen knights and of Mordred, the son whom he had killed hundreds of years ago, but it was as difficult as trying to recall a dream; they remained just on the edge of his vision and slipped away into dark water.
He opened his eyes and saw the hounds circling a Rottweiler on the field, but before he realised what this meant, the lady spoke beside him.
‘Have I caught you napping?’ Caitlyn said, eyebrows raised in mock earnestness.
‘Just remembering,’ he said, finding he was excited and comforted by her presence. ‘Take a seat.’ He cleared a spot beside him. She perched on the log, nestling a thermal cup between her hands.
‘Coffee?’ he asked.
‘Hot chocolate. Don’t tell my nutritionist,’ she replied as she watched the dogs play.
‘So what were you remembering?’ asked Caitlyn.
Arthur smiled, but she persisted.
‘What? Is it a secret?’ she teased.
‘I was thinking back on younger days and of some people who fell behind on the journey,’ he said. ‘Lost friends and family.’
She nodded, her playful smile replaced with a slightly strained expression, which Arthur recognised as empathy.
‘Anyone in particular?’ she said, softer now, more cautious.
‘I lost a lifelong friend only yesterday afternoon,’ said Arthur, surprised to hear himself choking on the words. Caitlyn made no reply for a moment then shuffled closer and wrapped an arm around him and leaned her head on his shoulder.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said.
The two of them sat motionless, their breath hanging in the air before them. He caught the scent of her perfume, and he shuddered, but pleasantly. She felt the movement and looked up at him, and when she saw he did not look discomfited she leaned on him again.
‘Can I ask you a strange question?’ he said.
‘If I can hit you if I don’t like it,’ she said.
‘Do you enjoy your life?’ said Arthur, still leaning on his walking stick, one hand atop the other.
She paused, thinking before answering. He appreciated that.
‘For the most part. I have a lovely home, a supportive family, and my career is going well. But who doesn’t have frustrations and things that could be improved?’ she said.
He nodded and made no reply.
‘Do you?’ she asked, sitting upright and sipping her chocolate.
Arthur was not sure how to answer.
‘I’m not sure that the question has any meaning for me, in all truth,’ he said. ‘I had a life when I was young, but this new phase,’ he paused. ‘I have everything a man needs to survive, and yet I am forever shackled by the obligations and promises of my youth, although I am now ill-equipped to fulfil them. I suppose that doesn’t make any sense,’ he said, laughing without humour.
‘Were you a child star or something?’ she teased. ‘Are you Hayley Mills? Macauley Culkin, maybe?’
At this, Arthur laughed out loud.
‘You’re not entirely wrong actually,’ he said. ‘It’s not a bad analogy. I sometimes feel a little left behind. I don’t look so very old, but some aspects of life stop advancing, tastes and morals get frozen at certain points, and I can’t seem to move beyond them.’
‘I know what you mean. I haven’t listened to new music since 1998,’ said Caitlyn.
‘That’s exactly it,’ said Arthur, ‘but across the board. Music. Food. Manners. Clothing. They all seem foreign to me now.’
‘That’s just getting old,’ said Caitlyn, ‘and part of getting old is accepting that you like what you like and not being beholden to fads and fashions.’
‘What if what you like is considered outdated?’ said Arthur.
‘Unless you’re going to get arrested for it, I wouldn’t worry,’ she said, and Arthur thought of Agravain, sitting in his cell even as the two of them sat upon a log on this crisp autumn morning.
Arthur sighed.
‘You seem lonely,’ said Caitlyn.
‘I am,’ said Arthur. ‘I’ve been living to fight for a cause for so long that I can scarcely remember what I wanted from life.’
‘Well, what do you want?’ she asked softly. He felt her shuffle closer, the heat of her against his leg and arm.
‘Peace, I suppose, and the same opportunities as everyone else,’ he said.
‘Opportunities to do what?’ she asked.
To live out my days. To grow old and die, he thought. To rest.
‘To enjoy my home. To walk the woods. To spent my days following my passions or doing nothing at all,’ he said.
‘To retire? I hear you,’ she smiled. ‘I have to wait longer than you do, so you’ll get no sympathy from me, buddy.’ She elbowed him, grinning as she did so.
‘What’s stopping you?’ she asked.
‘I could walk away, but I feel a duty to carry on,’ he said, and he sighed, feeling as though he was finally unburdening himself, even if they were talking around the true topic.
‘I’m defined by what I do,’ said Arthur.
‘My father had the same problem after he left the army. He ended up joining the police. After he retired, he always felt at a loose end, as though he had been taken out of the game,’ said Caitlyn.
Arthur looked at her, this child of the age, who was knocking his problems back at him so simply. What could she understand of a man who had walked this island before the Romans left? Who had been presented with the Victoria Cross by Queen Victoria herself? Whose food had changed from roast dormouse to Pop-Tarts? How could she ever understand that a man who has lived through centuries leaves a little of himself in each? And yet Arthur suspected that perhaps she could.
‘He adjusted eventually,’ said Caitlyn. ‘All it takes is time. And keeping occupied.’
‘Perhaps,’ said Arthur. ‘I’ve been bending your ear, I’m sorry.’
‘It’s natural when you lose a friend, especially if it was unexpected?’ she said.
‘It was,’ said Arthur. ‘I didn’t see it coming at all. Not now, in this place, after all we’ve been through.’
She leaned against his shoulder again.
‘If you ever need to talk. Or you need help keeping occupied, I’m more than willing,’ said Caitlyn, sounding like a girl asking a boy to dance for the first time.
Arthur turned, hooking his knee up on the log so he could face her properly.
‘I’d like that,’ he said then, ‘though I have to deal with my friend’s estate before I can think of socialising again. I’m going away for a while.’
Caitlyn pointed right along the path.
‘I live down there in Hunter’s Cottage. Do you know it?’
‘Down the left fork, do
wn a steep path?’ said Arthur.
‘That’s the one,’ said Caitlyn. ‘Drop by and leave me a note if I’m not in? I can’t be doing with phones.’
They stayed a while longer, but Arthur grew ever more aware of the time and finally bade her farewell. He called for his hounds and, reluctantly, with much cajoling and not a little harshness added to Arthur’s calls, Cynbel and Drust came to heel.
He walked back to the house, but this time Arthur walked with his head held high and his back straight, renewed in purpose. This would be his final quest, however it ended.
That evening Arthur took a taxi to the nearest train station. He found himself a window seat so that he could watch the countryside go by and think during the brief trip south into London. The tide of commuters at Euston station set his head spinning, so he sought escape by jumping into a black cab, putting off the time when he would need to face Merlin and his knights again. He stepped down to the pavement on the Embankment and walked west along the Thames in the lamplight, the waters shimmering as they ran eastward beside him. Fireworks banged and sparkled in the distant skies as Arthur approached the Houses of Parliament. He looked up at Elizabeth Tower and listened as Big Ben tolled inside, as the clock struck 8pm, and explosions of colour went off behind the buildings, filling the air with magic.
A fluttering overhead drew his attention, and Arthur saw a raven perch upon the statue of Boudicca just ahead of him on the left. The bird looked at him and cocked its head.
Arthur clasped his lapels together and, suitcase in hand, he walked back the way he had come.
Chapter Seventeen
The Great Fire of London - 1666
‘Enough,’ said Arthur, his soot-stained face running with sweat, his breathing laboured in the oppressive heat. Smoke swirled all around and the flames licked at the night sky.
His knights broke away from tearing down a house to create a firebreak. Arthur threw down the beam he had been dragging and stormed away from the site of the destruction in such a way that all of his men knew full well that his temper had broken.
