Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)

by Donna Hosie

  At least in my time I was allowed to be a teenager. We wanted to grow up. Here, people had no choice.

  “Lady Natasha,” called a voice. To my surprise, it was Tristram.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled. “I was miles away.”

  “We thought you would wish to know that your lady companion has been sighted,” he said.

  My heart surged – they had found Eve. Then it plummeted again as I realised they were talking about Slurpy. From the dark furrowed looks on the five knights’ brows, it was also clear she was still with the one they called Mordred.

  “Is she safe?” My question was for Arthur’s sake, not mine.

  “She and Sir Mordred are also tracking the road to Camelot,” replied Gareth. “They have been joined by others.”

  “An army?” asked Bedivere.

  “Of sorts,” replied Tristram.

  “Sir Mordred is now leading the druids of Gore,” said Gareth.

  “It was to be expected,” sighed Bedivere.

  “Who, or what, are the druids of Gore?” I asked.

  “The druids of Gore have long dealt in the dark arts of this land,” replied Bedivere. “There are many like them, using sorcery and witchcraft for their own purposes, but they have other weapons too.”

  “Such as?”

  “These are not tales that should be told to a lady,” interrupted an ashen-faced David.

  “If this Mordred has Arthur’s girlfriend, then you had better believe I need to be told,” I snapped back.

  “Fire at her fingertips,” mumbled Tristram, walking away. I wasn’t sure whether this was simply another comment about Slurpy, or something new. Tristram did not elaborate, not at first.

  “The druids of Gore have the malevolent sight,” explained Bedivere, taking my arm. “It is said they have visions of things not yet come to pass. They can forge weaponry and armour that is stronger than anything these lands have seen in war, and their knowledge of medicine and tools is unsurpassed. They are few in number, but they are dangerous.”

  “I thought druids were peaceful people.”

  “Most are,” said Talan, “but the druids of Gore are a man apart from anything that walks these blessed lands. They are cursed. It is said they can see and travel through time itself.”

  An unsettled giddy feeling swept over me. Had my brother’s girlfriend found more like us, like the new court physician, Robert of Dawes? With our original way back blocked, I couldn’t understand why the thought of others here from my time upset me so much. They may know of another route back. Then again, they may be more dangerous. My world was also filled with evil. The news was constantly filled with it.

  “You look pale, Natasha,” said Bedivere softly. “You should take some food before we set saddle once more.”

  I shook my head, registering for the first time that Bedivere had stopped calling me Lady Natasha.

  Stop being so paranoid.

  “Tell me more about Mordred and the druids of Gore?”

  Gareth looked over his shoulder towards Tristram, who was crouched down at the edge of the river; he was filling his leather-skinned water bottle. His eyes were fixed on the water, but his ears were still listening because he took up the story.

  “Sir Mordred was Arthur’s greatest foe,” said Tristram. “Many of us tried to warn Arthur before the battle of Camlann that Mordred was a traitor to the Round Table, but Arthur, who saw the good in all hearts, would not take heed. Mordred betrayed Arthur, and smote him with the mortal stroke.”

  “Is Mordred now riding to Camelot to hurt Arthur again?”

  “We believe so.”

  “Then we have to ride on.”

  “We will reach Camelot and Arthur before Mordred and the druids of Gore,” said Bedivere, stroking my hair. “Yet Solsbury Hill must be our next stop, and this is why we have split from the travelling court of Caerleon. We have received news that Sir Gareth’s brother, the noble Sir Agravaine, is being cared for there by the Maidens of the White Cloth. We must heed another knight’s call, especially when that knight is kin. You of all people will understand that.”

  Bedivere was looking at me with such a gentle, soft look that I understood completely why the other four followed him. Why knights like Ronan would look for him above all others.

  “Wait,” interrupted Tristram, just as Talan and David mounted their horses, and I was about to jump up onto mine. “We have not told Lady Natasha about her companion. If we are to go forth with her at our side, then she must hear of the new evil that has arisen.”

  How could this land get more evil? Someone – and I still didn’t know who – had gutted my baby rabbit and stolen its eyes; a band of barbarians had apparently kidnapped my brother; I had been attacked by pus-filled dwarves on wolves; and my friend had been ripped apart by a white dragon in front of my eyes. This world was dripping in evil. Every particle of air was contaminated with it.

  Tristram walked towards me. Worry lines were creased into his pale pink skin. How many winters had he seen? I had never bothered to find out. If David had seen fifteen and Bedivere nineteen, then Tristram was almost certainly the same age as me, which would explain why I found him so annoying. I never did like the boys in my school year very much. They were far too stupid and full of themselves.

  “Your companion, the one you call Lady Samantha,” started Tristram, “has gone through a rebirthing ceremony with Sir Mordred and the druids of Gore.”

  I knew he meant Slurpy, but I don’t think I had ever referred to her as a lady before.

  “What does that mean, rebirthing?” I replied, imagining it to be some kind of religious event like a baptism, or that service where baby boys have their bits snipped.

  “Your companion has embraced the dark arts,” continued Tristram. “She will have made a vow to use them against the court of Camelot for her own use.”

  “What!” I exclaimed. “Look, Sammy is an idiot, I’ll agree with anyone who thinks that, but you really are giving her way too much credit. The only dark art she knows is how to trick a boy with brains into going out with her.”

  “Rebirthing is the stripping away of customs and traditions,” continued Tristram, but I interrupted him with a raise of my hand.

  “Stop, Tristram. Just stop. Look, you have real enemies out there,” I said in a mildly irritated voice. “This king Balvidore for one, and even Mordred and his druids perhaps, but you have to trust me when I say Sammy isn’t dangerous. She’s a fool, and I wish Arthur didn’t love her so much, love her at all, especially as he hasn’t known her for very long, but you have to stop giving her so much attention. She’s a moron, and I can and will handle her.”

  “It is you who does not understand, Lady Natasha,” snapped Tristram, his own anger now rising. “I do not care for your language and strange words that fall from your tongue, but Sir Bedivere believes you are true. So listen to my words. Your companion, the one you have called Sammy, is no longer travelling by that name. As Arthur has come to the land of Logres once more, so has one of his greatest enemies. Morgana has been reborn, and now she is in the companionship of Mordred and the druids of Gore, our quest to restore Arthur to the throne will be more perilous than ever.”

  My mind raced through my own private history files. Morgana: the Queen of Gore, according to the legends and myths. An evil sorceress who tried to destroy Arthur.

  I looked at Bedivere and the others. This was a joke, right? A snort leapt from my nose, causing a fresh bubble of blood to leak over my top lip. Then I started laughing. My diaphragm ached as my shoulders heaved with ever louder gasps. It had been days since I had laughed, and the muscles in my stomach were too tense to let go properly.

  They were not seriously telling me that the ridiculous idiot had decided to call herself Morgana? This was precious. Slurpy had finally realised she wasn’t tripping out on magic mushrooms and had come to understand where she was. I was just amazed she knew enough myths of the past to change her name to that of a legendary witch.

&nb
sp; In fact Slurpy grew a little in my estimation. She had displayed wit and brains in one go. I often forgot she had a hyphenated surname because I concentrated my nastiness on the two initials of SS: Slurpy Sammy, or to be more exact, Samantha Scholes. Yet there was another surname added in there. Whether the Morgan came from her mother or father, I didn’t know. I didn’t care.

  Samantha Scholes-Morgan. Slurpy Sammy with the hyphenated surname was still one of the un-dead, but now she no longer wanted to share her name with cute rabbits or hamsters. Instead, she was telling this ancient world she was a queen with magical powers.

  Morgana. It was like an episode of Countdown. I’ll take an A and add it to my name please.

  My laughter had offended Tristram. He jumped onto the back of his horse and kicked it so hard it reared. Dust flew into the air as Tristram, Talan and David galloped away.

  I was still trying to smother my laughter as Bedivere helped me mount my horse. I didn’t expect any of the knights to share or even understand my sense of ridiculousness at the game Sammy - sorry, Morgana - was playing, but they would get it in time.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Arthur’s Letter

  A night under the stars. If this had been the movies, then this would be the mushy romantic scene. Reality was a little different. The temperature dropped as soon as the sun set, but that didn’t put off the bugs and insects that arrived en masse to eat us alive.

  And Natasha “Tartare” Roth was the main course.

  Tristram and David combined to get a fire going, while Bedivere and Talan provided supper: three rabbits, which were skinned and roasted on sharpened sticks.

  Needless to say, my appetite had not returned, and even if it had, thoughts of my own baby rabbit were at the surface. I rolled over and showed my back to the knights as they pulled at the shrivelled grey flesh with their fingers and teeth. Even the moon disapproved. The crescent was high in the black sky, down turned like an unhappy mouth. Twinkling above it were two bright stars. It looked like a face.

  The sky was watching us, and it wasn’t pleased.

  Talan started to sing. The chorus was unmistakable: “Hey Jude”. He had remembered. It seemed like a fitting lament to things that are lost.

  I took the watch with Gareth while the others slept. Finally a chance to bond over missing brothers, but while Gareth worshipped his, all I could think about was Arthur’s faults.

  His main lameness was with girls. Arthur was a total sucker for long dark hair and even longer legs. It was how that witch, Slurpy Morgana, had snatched him up within a week of our arrival in the middle of nowhere. Tiny denim shorts that barely covered her arse, and long, midnight black hair.

  Why hadn’t I just tried to find Arthur on my own? If she now got to him first, then my efforts and sacrifices would mean nothing. I would be the little sister, coming along for the ride with the grown-ups.

  I didn’t need an inner voice to tell me what I really felt towards Slurpy was just jealousy. I was in danger of losing my brother to a gazelle in hot pants, and it made me seethe at how pathetic some of the opposite sex could be. Bedivere was different, I was sure of it, but then I started to wonder about how many girlfriends he had had before me, and that just made my jealousy worse.

  I was in quite a bad mood by the time Gareth started snoring.

  Unable to sleep, I also took the next watch, this time with Bedivere. He wrapped his cloak around me, and played with my diamond stud earrings as we huddled and kissed in front of the fire. I swivelled around onto his lap and wrapped my legs around his body. We moulded together perfectly. Bedivere liked stroking my skin, especially on my neck and on the inside of my forearms. He said it was smooth and reminded him of his horse. I decided to take that as a compliment. I got a little annoyed when I realised he was kissing me with his eyes open, but then we were supposed to be keeping watch. My ears were primed for the swish of an arrow or the howl of a wolf, yet nothing more exciting than a weathered-looking fox came towards our camp.

  The next morning the six of us galloped onwards to the monastery of Solsbury Hill. Gareth took the lead, excited at the thought of being reunited with his brother, Agravaine.

  An enormous stone building, at least four storeys high, eventually loomed up on the horizon. It was set on a hill, surrounded by trees. As we reached the stone steps which led up to the entrance, two women, veiled and dressed in long white gowns, came out to greet us.

  I watched the other knights, not wishing to draw attention to myself. Bedivere took the lead once more. He jumped down from his horse and bowed deeply to the two women. I liked it when he took charge. It made me feel important because he was now mine.

  “You are most welcome here, Sir Bedivere,” said one of the women in a slow voice. “We have been praying for your safe arrival.”

  Deep male voices were singing beyond the open doorway. I looked towards Talan and smiled at the expression on his face. He would love my time with its constant supply of music. I should have packed my iPod. He would have gone nuts for it.

  Because of course everyone packs for a romp through a mythical medieval land, don’t they?

  Go away, I thought to my inner voice.

  Next time you should bring your brother’s old DS. You could all play Dragon Quest together.

  “Leave me alone,” I hissed through gritted teeth. Tristram was the only one who heard me. By the look on his face, I was doing little to remove his opinion that I was a crazy witch.

  “Sir Bedivere,” cried another voice, quickly dragging me back a thousand years from the 21st Century. A thin man, dressed entirely in black, came running down the steps.

  I glanced over to Bedivere, and was shocked by the sudden look of horror that had frozen his face. His mouth was open and the colour had drained from his skin. Even his eyes had muted to the colour of green glass bottles. He didn’t look fearless and capable of anything anymore. He looked like he was going to pass out.

  The man continued to run towards Bedivere, and my instincts screamed at me to do something, especially as no one else was. I jumped from the horse and pulled out my dagger. Gareth reacted just as quickly, but instead of protecting Bedivere from the man in black, Gareth placed himself between me and the stranger.

  “Brother,” cried the man, and he threw his arms around a shocked and immobile Bedivere. Slowly, Bedivere’s arms raised and he reluctantly returned the hug.

  “Sir Archibald,” stammered Bedivere, pulling away. “I was not told you would be passing this way. Are you alone?”

  Archibald grinned, displaying a set of crooked, grey teeth.

  “I am not alone, brother,” he replied. “Lady Fleur rests here also.”

  It was like someone had opened a plug to Bedivere’s heart and drained his entire body of blood. My own jealousy, which I had barricaded behind an imaginary door, gatecrashed back through. Who the hell was Lady Fleur, and why had her name had such an effect on Bedivere?

  Gareth now had my arm in a vice-like grip. He turned to Archibald as well.

  “Sir Archibald, my name is Sir Gareth of Orkney. I am seeking my brother, Sir Agravaine. I was told to look for him amongst the Maidens of the White Cloth.”

  Archibald did not have time to answer. One of the veiled women had interrupted the exchange.

  “Sir Gareth,” she replied, “your brother is indeed being cared for in the monastery, but it is not Sir Agravaine that lies within its walls. It is Sir Gawain.”

  “Sir Gawain,” gasped Tristram, Talan and David at the same time. Gareth’s sword fell to the ground with a clatter; I hadn’t realised he had drawn it.

  “We were told Sir Gawain was held captive by the barbarian, Balvidore,” said Bedivere urgently. “A prisoner in the dungeons of Camelot.”

  “Sir Gawain escaped.”

  I rushed forward, only to be pulled back like a spring as Gareth’s grip remained.

  “Is Arthur with him?” I cried. “Did my brother escape with Gawain?”

  “Is this fair maiden th
e Lady Natasha?” asked Archibald. His eyes had narrowed, cutting out all colour with the exception of his inky black pupils.

  “It is.”

  “Miriam, take the lady to the Golden Chamber,” ordered Archibald. “I’m sure she requires resting after such an arduous journey.”

  “But my brother,” cried both Gareth and I.

  “I will take you to Sir Gawain,” said Archibald to Gareth, “but Arthur is not here,” he added, looking at me with a strange expression on his sunken features. “To our knowledge, he is still being held prisoner at the whim of the Saxons.”

  “Then I want to speak to Gawain as well,” I demanded, shaking my arm up and down in an attempt to release it from Gareth’s grip, but he was like a puppy with a shoe and wouldn’t let go.

  “You may accompany Sir Gareth - if he permits it,” said Archibald eventually.

  “I favour her company,” replied Gareth, and he smiled at me.

  Thank you, I mouthed, and he nodded. I would have gone with him regardless of the man in black. I was sick of people telling me what I could and couldn’t do, and Archibald really needed to know that wearing black merely showed up his dandruff.

  “Then Sir Bedivere, if you and your knights would care to join me, I will ensure your every need is attended to,” said Archibald, clapping his hands three times. “Miriam, if you could interrupt Lady Fleur from her tapestry, I am certain Sir Bedivere is eager to be reacquainted with his betrothed.”

  I registered the exchange on Tristram and Talan’s faces before I understood the words Archibald had spoken.

  “Betrothed?”

  “Natasha…”

  “Betrothed?”

  “This is not how it…”

  “BETROTHED?” I screamed. “Are you telling me that you’re engaged?”

  Not even Gareth could keep me from launching myself at Bedivere, who was taken by surprise as I fell on top of him. My fists pummelled his chest and face as we sprawled into the dirt.

  “You disgusting, two-timing piece of crap,” I yelled, as Gareth, Talan and David lunged forward and attempted to pull me off their friend. Two had my arms and one went for my legs. Big mistake. I kicked and writhed until my boot connected with something solid. It might have been David’s head, or it could have been his ribs. Either way, he collapsed onto the dirt.