Welcome to Camelot

by Cleaver, Tony

  Tom nodded as Ceri cried out to her daughter to return. A few minutes passed before Gwen, smiling happily, and Morgan the wolfhound, came back across the footbridge to meet the three waiting for them.

  “It’s all very different now, Mother, but there is a feeling about this place that resonates with me. Thank you so much, Merlyn, for bringing us here. I love it all…and Morgan has just showed me where thee and he live!”

  “Gwen, come and say hello to Tom Hughes. He is the assistant manager here who interviewed you before offering you work in the hotel. Do you remember?”

  “Oh…” The Lady Gwendolyn knew nothing of interviews and offers and what work in a hotel meant. But she understood that she was in some way beholden to this older man who her mother addressed as if he was some sort of authority. Even Merlyn was silent in his presence. She curtseyed down in front of him.

  “I’m honoured to meet you, sire,” she said, bobbing low and averting her eyes.

  Ceri apologised for her daughter and whispered that clearly Gwen did not remember him as yet. However, her memory would come back in due course, she assured him.

  The Lady Gwendolyn rose and hovered demurely, respectfully at a distance, smiling sweetly at this unknown individual to whom she had just been introduced.

  Tom Hughes expressed his genuine concern that Gwen had still not fully recovered from her fall. He silently hoped that she did get better soon with no lasting ill-effects and the Hotel Group would not be sued. At the same time as all these concerns crowded his mind, he was nonetheless impressed by what saw. The rather forward, flirtatious and overconfident young woman he had met, and had since wondered if she was really appropriate for the post he had offered her, now showed what a well-mannered and courteous lady she could be. A beautiful, unclouded, innocent face looked at him. And such a ladylike bearing! He was thinking that with a full recovery she could be a real asset to an enterprise seeking to cultivate an Arthurian atmosphere in a modern-day Camelot.

  “Gwen,” he addressed her directly, “we would like you to come back to Camelot as soon as you are able. In just over a week’s time we will have a staff briefing on the spirit of Camelot that we are committed to promote in the hotel – we have an outside expert invited to come and speak to us – and following that there is the grand opening to which all the nation’s major media will be attending. If you are feeling better by then, those are two important dates for which we would love to have you with us…Of course,” here he paused to look at Gwen’s mother, “this all depends on how well you recover.” Then he turned to Dai Mervyn. “And, Dai, of course you know about all this. I’ll leave it with you and Gwen’s mother to see if our young receptionist here is up to it. You’ll need to be at the briefing in any case.”

  “Aye,” said Dai Mervyn, non-committedly.

  The Lady Gwendolyn curtsied once more. “Nothing, sire, would give me greater pleasure than to recapture the spirit of Camelot. That is why I am here and what I am looking for today: ‘tis an ideal that means everything to me.”

  Tom Hughes saw the simple sincerity in her eyes. She really means it, he thought. Where did this miracle come from? Not at all like so many too-clever-by-half people her age who seem to know it all and can’t be trusted even to welcome my own grandmother.

  “Well, I’m delighted to hear you say that, Gwen. With that attitude, I think that the sooner you can come back to us, the better!” He smiled broadly, thanked Ceri Griffiths and Dai Mervyn and said his goodbyes. Tom Hughes turned and made his way back up the meadow, away from the stream and off to the hotel, only pausing for a moment to look back and wave to Gwen.

  “Well, if he is your employer,” said Ceri to both Dai and Gwen, “he doesn’t seem a bad sort.”

  “Not so bad,” echoed the old groundsman. “He’s cheerful enough now. We’ll see how he turns out when the hotel is open and the pressure is on. I’ve seen plenty young fellas like him in my time – coming in with lots of ideas and schemes before they hit a brick wall.”

  Ceri nodded. She understood. But the idea of promoting Camelot in the hotel she hoped would work out – it seemed like something that would help Gwen readjust; would help her bring together her imaginary world with that of today.

  Dai left mother and daughter alone for a moment while he took Morgan into his cottage; then he returned and led them back across the grounds to go around to the side of the hotel and to find his beaten-up old Land Rover.

  As he guided mother and daughter back up to the hotel, he sighed. These last couple of days, coming to know this young lady who was living in the past, who seemed to think he was out of Camelot himself, this had all been an intensely emotional journey – one that was totally unexpected and a journey that he never thought he would ever take again. Chaperoning Gwen out of hospital and now over the grounds where he had once walked his own daughter – decades ago when she too was young and impressionable – was like walking in a dream. It was a dream he had treasured and, indeed, wallowed in for years and years…and now here he was taking part in it. Was that wrong? To want your dreams to come true? Who is to say what is right and what is best? If living in the past made you happy, why not? Was he a stupid old fool for wanting to roll back the years and revisit a time gone by? He looked at Gwen, the girl who said she came from Camelot, and wondered.

  Dai Mervyn walked on, over land he had worked and loved and got to know for over half a century; land that had seen the passage of civilisations grow and decline and grow again over millennia; land where dreams had come alive and where thousands of ghosts still walked, including that of his daughter. But he eventually arrived back at the car park, back at his Land Rover where he escorted his guests into the rear of his motor, got into the front and started it up. The noise of twenty-first-century machinery bursting into life shook him out of his reverie.

  “Gwen, anytime you want to come back and see me, that’s fine, OK? But for now: I’m taking you and your mother home.”

  Chapter 6

  STORM CLOUDS

  It was late summer, the days were still long and Camelot had been baking in a heat wave for a fortnight. There was not the slightest breath of wind and the air inside the castle, even behind insulating stone walls that were eight foot thick, had grown warm, heavy and humid. Over to the west, storm clouds were building up and a break in the weather was coming soon but for the time being Gwen Price was finding it difficult to sleep during the short, oppressive nights.

  It had been a week since Gwen had woken up in the past, in unknown company, alone and shipwrecked in time, and she was now fed up with it. This farce had gone on long enough. She missed her friends – kindred spirits with whom she could share her thoughts and moan about all the creature comforts that did not exist here. Cold water, primitive toilets, awful clothes, no lights and thus having to go to bed at sunset and wake at sunrise – it was all far too uncomfortable to endure. Paula would be sure to understand. Where was her iPhone; her tablet computer; her music; her fashionable clothes? Gwen even missed her mother and the home she provided for her. This Kate was a sort of substitute – equally moralising! – but she was too immature and, unlike her mother, had no real idea of who Gwen was.

  Gwen was an independent spirit who was accustomed to being in control of her life and of the people who she chose to be with. But here in Camelot none of that was possible. It drove her crazy at first. Now it was beginning to drive her into depression. She was moody, bad-tempered and increasingly resentful of the role she was being asked to play. She was not at all like the person everyone mistook her for…but she hardly dared to revert to her normal self for any sustained period of time for fear of being branded a witch. What a primitive, superstitious and savage society to be stuck in! And what a stupid and unliberated set of women she had to mix with too. She had had her fill of accompanying the queen in visiting the poor and handing out food parcels and other goodies; of watching the knights in combat practice and applauding their exploits; of sitting around with other ladies-in-waiting and
joining in their tiny-minded chatter. She hated Camelot and wanted to go home.

  Goody-goody Kate was beginning to irritate her. She was an uncomplaining, unwavering helper, maid and servant who, after her initial outburst had never again uttered a word of criticism, but her silence and fearful expressions at times were eloquent indications of her disapproval and lack of sympathy whenever Gwen could hold back the outbursts of frustration no longer. Why was it so bloody disagreeable living here? Going to the toilet was disgusting. Thank God that it was Kate’s job to carry the water and wash away Gwen’s toilet whenever she had to squat down in that smelly little room that served for the purpose. Ugh! A revolting way to have to carry on. Someone really ought to design a better way to answer the call of nature in a castle than to put up with such a primitive facilities. And why couldn’t Kate see that?

  Talking of which, that smelly little room still wasn’t clean enough. It was late, getting dark and in the humid air the stink from that hole was unsupportable. She shouted for Kate.

  “Kate! For goodness sake please bring a lot more water and flush this awful toilet out. I can’t sleep with that stink. It’s a wonder you didn’t notice yourself!”

  Kate appeared, spluttering and sneezing. “Yes, my lady…”

  “Oh, bloody hell, don’t sneeze all over me! What’s the matter with you?”

  “I’m very sorry, my lady. I don’t know what the matter is…my head is aching, I feel very tired, I can’t stop sneezing, my nose is running…”

  “No wonder you can’t smell the stink in there. Go on – off you go and get some water and sluice that place out again. Quick, before I throw up and give you more to do…”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  Kate curtsied and disappeared, stumbling away and looking in a dreadful state.

  She’s probably going down with a cold or the flu, thought Gwen. That’s all I need now! She closed the oaken door to her bedchamber and walked over to peer out of the slit window before going to bed. The twilight sky was still clear enough to see what sort of weather was in store for the morrow: clouds loomed heavily in the west, so there was a good chance of a storm to break the torrid heat. A flickering of lightning over the mountains far in the distance gave Gwen hope.

  She changed out of her long robes and into her nightwear, still with all sorts of issues coursing through her mind. It was too hot to sleep, the stupid bed was lumpy and uncomfortable and clearly people here didn’t know what a proper spring mattress was. There was simply so much people had to learn here about how to live properly that Gwen didn’t know where to start. Well, at least the queen’s teeth were looking better. She didn’t have such a yellow and off-putting smile now. Gwen was pleased that her suggestion to Merlyn to make up some form of toothpaste had been a success. Maybe she ought to tell him next about spring mattresses?

  Lightning suddenly flashed around her bedchamber. No thunder yet, so Gwen waited: the storm must still be some way off. A distant rumble came moments later, like the passage of lots of heavy lorries. Not that any fools here would know what they were, she thought. What was it? How many seconds did you have to count between lightning flash and thunder clap to work out the distance? Gwen vaguely knew it was about sound travelling slower than light but had forgotten what the time relation was. She was never an attentive student in school. Not like that Gareth Jones – too clever by half, he was.

  Gwen lay there listening to see if she could hear Kate returning with buckets of water for the toilet. Yes – there she was, coughing and sneezing outside her door. She’d told Kate some time ago to leave at least one full bucket there over night, just in case Gwen woke up and wanted to pee. She had better remember!

  Another flash of lightning…and moments later a Crump! of thunder. The storm was rapidly coming closer, though no rain as yet. There was a clattering outside Gwen’s door. It sounded like Kate had quickly finished her work, dropped the buckets and scuttled away. Gwen wondered if she was frightened of thunder and lightning. Some people were. And the silly girl was young after all.

  The air abruptly became oppressively hot and humid – uncomfortably so. Gwen began to feel the dust in the air and the hair on her head come alive. Frightening – she knew straight away that the air was becoming electrified – so at least she had some idea of what was going on. The electric storm was right on top of them. Then from outside somewhere she could hear a lot of shouting and people running about. Since there was no possibility of sleep, and there was still no rain, Gwen took the decision to leave her room and go out and see what was happening. She did not get far. There were guards, those originally detailed to be on look-out on the battlements above, leaping and tripping down the spiral stairs and running for cover as fast as they could. Some were shouting in fear. Light all around was flashing blue and purple and the air seemed to be alive. Gwen was sure she heard a sort of buzzing. She had to admit it was eerie; she’d never seen lightning effects like these before – no bolts from the blue, no thunderous crashes – just a silent flickering and flashing and it was most unsettling.

  Then: KABOOM! There came the most almighty crash and everything around seemed to explode. A tremendous lightning strike illuminated everything – the castle’s passageways and interior, various terrified faces of men who had attempted to take cover, the darkest recesses of the spiral stairs, and metal studs in some of the doors twinkling like torches – the strike dazzled and lit up everywhere like an immense strobe light. Time stopped. There seemed to be a shimmering of multiple strikes but it could only have been all within a split-second.

  And then the castle moved. Great stone blocks somewhere came crashing down. Now Gwen was frightened. Pitch blackness resumed as soon as the lightning had discharged its enormous electric load and in the total darkness she could hear part of the castle was collapsing. Screams, not shouts of alarm, came in waves through the thick air. There was someone crying, sobbing uncontrollably. And still Gwen could hear the crash of falling masonry. She ran for the safety of her room. That is, she hoped her room was safe but really it was only the familiarity of her quarters that attracted her. If this place was going to fall apart who was to tell which corners of the castle were going to be safer than others?

  Gwen realised that now the rain was falling in torrents. In her room it was still watertight, so the stone above her must be undamaged, she realised with a leap of relief. Outside in the passageways and spiral stairs, however, water was cascading down so the rain was getting in somewhere above. Bang! More thunder and lightning – though this time there was no deep, rumbling sound of stone blocks tumbling away from a castle wall or tower. Gwen prayed that there would be no further direct hits. Meanwhile, the relentless noise of the rain obliterated the sound of whatever screams, cries and personal calamities were transpiring elsewhere. Crash! Another heart-shaking clap of thunder, though this time the sound seemed to have occurred after the lightning flash. Gwen got into bed and pulled the blankets over her head. Now it wasn’t so oppressively hot and humid. Colder air was blowing and, despite the fearful thunder and lightning, Gwen could sense the release of energy in the atmosphere. If the storm kept moving, if no more direct lightning strikes occurred, she would be safe.

  Thunder continued to roll every few seconds, but every few seconds it became more distant, more dislocated from the flash that accompanied it. Gwen’s room was secure. She looked around it: reassuringly dim, dark and dry. That was all she needed to know. The air was colder and fresher and the rain could fall all night outside so far as she was concerned. This time, she would sleep.

  * * *

  Early the next morning, there came a thundering on the door that could not be ignored: “Castle inspection, by order of the king! Any damage here?”

  Roused from strange dreams of her mother, searching in a thunderstorm, Gwen staggered to the door and opened it. “No, no everything is OK in here,” she said sleepily to the herald waiting outside. She went back in but instead of returning to bed, she thought better of it. If the castl
e walls and/or towers had been breached by the storm, she wanted to see where and how much damage was involved.

  Gwen called for Kate to help her get ready for going out, but there was no reply. She waited a few moments, almost finished dressing herself alone, then called out again. Still no answer. Sod it! Gwen finished getting herself ready on her own and prepared to leave. Kate could jolly well stay in bed and stew there for a while, for all Gwen cared.

  The rain had long since finished but the spiral staircase leading up from her level was still damp and slippery from the thunderstorm. When Gwen reached to the top of the keep she met a number of people already there, blocking the exit from the staircase, who were surveying the damage that had occurred during the night.

  A knight called back to her. “Careful, my lady! Don’t push! There is much stonework now missing here!”

  One or two faces Gwen recognised from last night: they were a couple of the guards who had cowered downstairs away from the lightning and who had now returned to their station, or what remained of it. One corner of the battlements and a section of one side on this top floor had disappeared, as had part of the stone floor. A long castle room below was open to the sky. It was fortunately not a residential quarter but a guard room, which now had part of one wall missing plus had gained a number of stone blocks that had fallen in from above. All across the top of the keep, concentrated around the area that was missing, there was evidence of scorched stone – blackened by the intense heat of the lightning blast. Over the side, peering carefully, a large amount of similarly blackened stonework could be seen lying jumbled around in the courtyard below. A couple of thatch-roofed market stalls had been demolished by this avalanche of stone but fortunately, since the damage had all occurred in the dead of night, it seemed there were no serious injuries down there.

  Gwen had joined a company that included a number of guardsmen, plus two knights and their respective squires. There were no women apart from herself. The general conversation that took place amongst them was disturbed by the arrival of Merlyn, who had clambered up from below behind Gwen and, like the rest of them, had come to assess the extent of the damage.