Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)

by Donna Hosie

  “So this is Lady Natasha,” said Percivale slowly, looking at me as if I were a horse to be bought at auction.

  “Natasha Amelia Roth, to be exact,” I replied.

  “Sir Bedivere claims you skewered a dwarf-rider,” said Percivale. “Is this true?”

  Just the sound of his name turned the tap on under my arms. Cool, calm, pretty and smart was in danger of becoming sweaty, flustered, blotchy and stupid.

  “I helped, I guess,” I mumbled.

  “And Sir Tristram has finally admitted that it was you that provided him with that fine plump lip.”

  More laughter around the court as Tristram scowled. His split lip seemed to magnify in size as I remembered the scuffle the day before at the side of the mysterious lake. I couldn’t resist smirking back, encouraged by laughter that wasn’t aimed at me for once.

  “Maidens of Caerleon do not behave in such a way,” said Percivale gravely, and immediately a hush descended. It suddenly occurred to me that while Bedivere was convinced I was not a witch, the same may not be said for the rest of the men bearing arms.

  “I am not a maiden of Caerleon,” I replied, hoping I sounded braver than I actually felt. “I come from a different place, a different land. My only reason for being here is to find my brother, Arthur.”

  Unintelligible, whispered mutters swept the hall.

  “Where is your lady companion?”

  “I don’t know,” I replied truthfully.

  Percivale quickly rose from his chair, as if challenged.

  “One of our horses is missing from the stables. A fine red mare that belongs to Lady Matilda. She will be sorely aggrieved to discover its loss.”

  I was sorely tempted to ask how, bearing in mind the Lady Matilda did nothing but sleep.

  “Your companion, the dark maiden called Lady Samantha, is believed to have stolen the horse,” continued Percivale. “It will be grievous indeed if this has come to pass.”

  “I don’t know where Slurpy…I mean Sammy is,” I replied anxiously, “but I do know she loves my brother, and if she did take the horse – NOT that I’m saying she did – but if she borrowed the horse, then she would only have done it to go in search of Arthur.” I looked around the maze of men and finally caught Bedivere’s eyes. It was impossible not to.

  “Isn’t that what you all want?” I cried, blushing furiously. “To find Arthur? He’s been in trouble for days, and yet you’re all still standing here? It seems to me that Sammy is the only one who actually had the guts to do something about it.”

  Things were desperate. I was defending Slurpy for a start.

  Outside a cloud passed in front of the sun, and the light around the dais darkened. En masse, every pair of superstitious eyes in the Great Hall turned to the blocked window like it was a sign. Percivale held out his hands, and with his long fingers twitching, beckoned people forward. For a terrifying moment, I wasn’t sure whether he was calling me, or motioning to his guards to relieve me of my head.

  Several men, including Bedivere, Tristram, Gareth, Talan, and a wobbly-looking David, approached the dais. I quickly counted at least twenty five heads now surrounding Percivale and Ronan. A discussion was taking place. It reminded me of the ghostly whispers that had surrounded Avalon Cottage and the wooded area behind the house. I couldn’t hear what the men were saying, but I knew I was being mentioned because faces would suddenly jerk towards me. Gareth and Talan looked impassive, almost bored; Tristram pouted; little Sir Ronan was licking his lips, and David was clearly about to throw up or die where he stood. Only Bedivere and, to my surprise, Percivale, appeared to display any obvious friendliness towards me.

  The men dispersed back into the crowd and Ronan climbed back into his seat like a child, knees first. It was difficult to not giggle. Percivale motioned to a guard, and a silver sword, studded with red jewels, was brought forward. Percivale clutched the sword to his chest, and I was instantly reminded of Bedivere’s oath.

  Something was about to happen. The tension in the room was palpable.

  “Noble knights of Caerleon,” announced Percivale loudly, and the weariness I had detected in him earlier just melted away. “The decision has been made. Ready the horses and prepare to ride. For tomorrow, we leave for battle. Tomorrow, we leave for Camelot –,” he looked straight at me, “– and Arthur.”

  “For Arthur,” cried the men as one, and every hair I possessed stood to attention. Legends would say someone was walking over my grave. With my sense of direction and luck, it was probably me.

  A crescendo of male voices, clanking silver, and the rush of feet on tiles then broke like a wave as the men jostled through the hall. I feared being crushed, but a strong arm appeared from nowhere and pushed me towards the dais and Percivale.

  “My instincts tell me that you should remain here at Caerleon, Lady Natasha,” said Percivale solemnly, as I approached.

  “Your instincts can tell you whatever,” I replied, “but I’m going to find Arthur, even if it means stealing a horse and following Slu…Sammy.”

  “What if we were to lock you in the tallest tower?” squeaked Ronan in a high-pitched voice.

  “Then I’ll tie my clothes together and make a rope.”

  Ronan gave a squeak and exclaimed, “I like this maiden, she has spirit.”

  Percivale stroked his beard with his fingers, thinking.

  “Sir Bedivere,” he called. “Do you still intend to protect the lady?”

  “I have sworn an oath,” replied a deep gruff voice behind me, and I realised it was Bedivere’s strong hands that had guided me through the crowd. Blood rushed to my head, and other parts that I hadn’t realised contained arteries.

  “Look,” I cried. “If you have me with you, then you stand a better chance of finding Arthur, don’t you? He’ll immediately recognise me, and my voice. He’ll trust me above anyone.”

  “I marvel at your bravery, Lady Natasha,” said Percivale. “You must come from a great and noble house.”

  I shrugged. “My house is called Avalon Cottage if you must know.”

  “The secret land of Avalon,” squeaked Ronan again. “Then Arthur has truly returned after all this time.”

  Percivale nodded once to Bedivere. Sir Ronan climbed down from his wooden throne, and he and Percivale swept from the hall without another word. Confused, I turned to Bedivere. We were now the only two left in the room.

  “Does this mean I’m coming with you?” I asked.

  Bedivere smiled, and my stomach was immediately infested with butterflies. He was at least six inches taller than me and so he had to look down. It made his face appear softer. I wanted to touch his lips, play with his hair, flick his earlobes…

  What the hell was wrong with me?

  “I think we need to get you more suitably attired for the journey,” he said. “It is a dangerous road to Camelot.”

  Arthur. I was finally getting closer to finding my brother. I whooped with delight and threw my arms around Bedivere’s neck. Before I realised what I was doing, my mouth had clamped down hard on his.

  Chapter Eleven

  Lady Slurpy-Titch

  My parents, Arthur and I had lived in New York before the transfer to nowhere. One evening, my parents went out to an official reception at the French embassy. Arthur and I were left home alone, and so he decided to have a party.

  I didn’t need to find pretend friends to invite because Arthur always had more than enough to go around. He could make friends with a statue. The texts and invites went viral, and within an hour, all of these rich kids turned up with more alcohol and pills than a Hollywood actress. The Government-loaned apartment was trashed, as was everyone inside it.

  I sucked three bottles of vodka and cranberry juice through a straw and developed a cold sweat. I was in my bedroom, watching the ceiling spin from my bed, when one of Arthur’s friends walked in.

  I can’t remember his name, but in light of what happened next, I’m pretty sure he has never asked me to be his friend on
Facebook.

  I can remember that he was smoking something sickly-sweet smelling because it clashed horribly with the aftershave he had showered in. It didn’t help my churning stomach. After talking to me about his car and horse power – none of which I understood or cared about in the slightest – he tried to kiss me with a tongue that was as long as a giraffe’s.

  I vomited on him. I may have actually been sick in his mouth.

  Even moving to the other side of the world did not remove the shame I felt at being the instigator of something so horrible.

  So why did I remember this now?

  Because I needed some kind of measure on my gross-o-meter when I realised I was doing an impression of Slurpy Sammy all over Bedivere.

  At least Bedivere didn’t vomit.

  At first he froze. Then he parted his own mouth a little before he froze again. It was like kissing a robot that was running out of batteries. Bedivere didn’t appear to know what to do.

  So he grabbed hold of my arms rather roughly and pushed me away. Then he bowed, and with a face drained of colour, he ran away.

  He ran away!

  My knees buckled as my brain caught up with my hormones. My inner voice abandoned me like Bedivere, only to be replaced by the voice of a screaming banshee.

  WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO?

  In a shamed daze, I staggered back down to the kitchens, where I found Eve; she was slicing bruised apples. I collapsed onto a wooden bench beside her and placed my head in my hands.

  “Kill me now, Eve,” I whispered. “Just kill me now.”

  “What has happened?” cried the cook, waddling towards me. “Did that filthy scullion Branor attempt to have his wicked way with ye’?”

  Bile was rising in my throat. I wanted the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

  “She’s been kissed,” crowed a voice. I looked up, and saw a toothless woman sitting on a three-legged stool next to the fire. She looked at least one hundred years old, with black shining eyes and crinkled, parchment thin skin, that reminded me of those treasure maps you make at school: a white piece of paper stained brown by tea leaves and then burnt at the edges.

  A violent thump made me jump as the table shuddered. Cook had slammed a large rectangular blade into the wood.

  “When I get my hands on that Branor,” she boomed, “my knife will go hunting for his manhood.”

  Words bubbled in my mouth; I think I actually drooled a little. I shook my head and my empty brain rattled. I didn’t know who Branor was, but I thought I should do my best to stop his impending castration.

  “It was me. I kissed Bedivere.”

  My head collapsed back into my arms as laughter rang through the kitchen.

  “Lady Natasha,” said Eve, in awe.

  “I knew it, I knew it,” crowed the old woman, clapping her clawed hands as she rocked to and fro.

  Cook simply slid a large piece of pie towards me.

  “Eat up, child,” she ordered, as a gleam spread across her podgy face. “Sir Bedivere is a fine knight, but you’ll need some more meat on your bones if you’re to win his heart.”

  “I don’t want to win his heart. I want mine cut out before it does something else really stupid.”

  Soulful singing interrupted my cries, as a voice from above started to descend the stone steps to the kitchen. Moments later, Talan appeared. Everyone, with the exception of the old woman and me, jumped to their feet and either bowed or curtsied. Clicking arthritic joints echoed around the dimly lit room.

  “Lady Natasha,” said Talan, grinning. “I’ve been sent to accompany you to the stables. We are to find a worthy mare for you and your maid for the journey to Camelot.”

  He started singing again. I distinctly heard him mention kissing, fair maidens, and wondrous lands abroad.

  “I don’t need a horse. I’ll walk – by myself.”

  My statement was met with another verse from Talan. This time Bedivere and my own name were mentioned, although Talan was cut short mid-sentence because he clearly couldn’t think of a word that rhymed with Natasha.

  Cook and the old woman were roaring with laughter. Even Eve was giggling, although she had the decency to muffle her sniggers with her fist. Then she broke into a coughing fit, and that was enough to distract cook from her amusement.

  I wasn’t the only one worried about Eve’s health.

  “M’lady,” said Talan smiling, “I am certainly more akin to assisting damsels in distress than carrying them, but you would be foolish to entertain the notion that I am beyond sweeping you over my shoulder and into the courtyard. Before the age of Logres’ enchanted sleep, I slayed evil knights, dragons and pestilent dwarves. My duty today is to prepare you for the quest, and I will fulfil that deed. Now do you yield, or do I carry?”

  I yielded. I had been embarrassed enough for one lifetime.

  Talan led me and Eve out into the courtyard and towards the stables. Percivale had ordered that Eve was to come with me on the journey to find Arthur, and as Slurpy had still not been found, I was very thankful for the company. As a replacement, Eve was way better than the original.

  Bedivere’s horse was gone, which of course gave Talan the perfect excuse for another song. It was quite amazing how many words Talan could arrange to rhyme with Bedivere. When that became boring, I taught him the words to “Hey Jude”, which he picked up with ease. It sounded gorgeous in his Irish voice.

  Eve was terrified of the horses and she refused to go anywhere near them. While I was certainly no equestrian, I had been riding since the age of seven. After trying out several, we eventually agreed that a dappled mare with white socks was the best choice. Talan had a little stable boy take it away to be made ready for departure.

  As the morning went on, Talan hung out with us and explained more about the castle of Caerleon.

  “For sure, Lady Matilda is trapped in a dreamless state. Sir Percivale is weary with worry. And did you know that Sir Ronan is her brother? Their father was Lord of Caerleon before Sir Percivale, and he pressed for the marriage to ensure the castle stayed in the family. Sir Ronan may not have the look of wildness, but he had disappeared long before Arthur was lost to Avalon, and the enchantment over Logres was born. Sir Ronan turning up was quite the shock, for he had been long presumed dead.”

  What a charming father, I thought to myself. Pimping out his daughter. No wonder she still slept all the time.

  “So how old are you, Talan?”

  “I have seen twenty winters, Lady Natasha. I have no kin left now, and I crossed the sea from my beloved Ireland to join the court of Camelot as soon as I was old enough to ride a horse and stay on it.”

  “Twenty winters? So you’re twenty years old. What a cute way of saying it. Well, I have seen seventeen winters.”

  “Seventeen? And you are not yet married to a noble knight of your land? Your father should not tarry any longer.”

  “Seventeen isn’t old,” I spluttered, “and my father doesn’t get a say, thank you very much.”

  “Why, seventeen is ancient,” replied the knight.

  Spinster. Witch. Lady Slurpy-Titch. Just how many insults would come my way in this place?

  Don’t forget freak?

  “How old are you, Eve?” I asked. She was sitting on the courtyard steps, quietly sewing away as her chest rattled. I was starting to wonder whether she was asthmatic.

  “I am not sure, m’lady. I believe I have seen fifteen winters, but I’m not well versed with numbers.”

  “Sir Bedivere has counted off nineteen winters, Lady Natasha,” said Talan with a sly grin, “and eight of those as a knight.”

  Which means Bedivere is far too old for me, I immediately thought, as well as being too tall, too green-eyed, and too hairy.

  You’re convincing no one you know. Slurp, slurp.

  After lunch, Eve and I went back to the room that I had slept in. She continued to alter clothes, and I spent an hour picking dirt out of my fingernails. Then I squeezed a couple of new spo
ts. The whereabouts of Arthur - and to my chagrin, Slurpy - played heavily on my mind. I missed Arthur’s drawling accent and his smirk-like smile. I replayed memories in my head like a projector, trying to keep his image with me as a prop. He had only been missing for two days according to my watch, but time and events in this fantastical land were eating up the space in my head. Thankfully, Eve was more than happy to hear stories from our childhood, especially Arthur’s great deeds, which usually involved scaling walls, running away from police, or kissing girls.

  And my brother had kissed a lot of girls.

  Tristram and Talan came to visit during the afternoon, and the items from Slurpy’s rucksack were handed back to me: the Jaffa cakes, the cans of Red Bull, her mobile telephone, cigarettes and the torch. The gum had gone.

  “These are strange objects to be sure, Lady Natasha,” said Talan.

  “What is their use?” asked Tristram, scowling slightly.

  “It isn’t witchcraft, if that’s what you’re thinking,” I replied. “Look.”

  I picked up the can of drink and snapped open the ring pull. The sudden release of gas made Talan, Tristram and Eve jump back. They only inched forward once they saw me drinking from it.

  I shuddered. It tasted vile because it was so warm. I held it out to them.

  “It should be cold, but you can see for yourself that it isn’t poisonous.”

  To my surprise it was Eve who ventured forward. She took a sip, then a gulp. She convulsed as bubbles got stuck in her nose. I couldn’t help laughing. She looked like a baby who had been fed lemons for the first time.

  “This is food where I come from,” I said, opening the box of Jaffa Cakes. I bit into one of the circular soft biscuits. They were looking a little squashed and crumbly, but still tasted delicious.