Tales of the Once and Future King

by Anthony Marchetta

  “Maddie,” Lance said, looking at her pointedly, “I don’t think he needs to breathe. Remember?”

  She paled. It was one thing to be told the town was led by vampires, and another to feel the coldness of one’s skin. She felt sick to her stomach at the thought that she had just kissed a corpse.

  They found a large storage closet. Together Lance and Maddie hoisted Cesar inside and locked the door shut. “That should buy us some time.”

  In the distance, she heard Fox and his troupe launch into another story.

  CHAPTER 27

  King’s Ransom, by K.A. Masters

  Before Arthur assembled knights of virtue for his court and ruled the Round Table, he spent many years driving out the Saxon invaders from his lands and unifying his people. The Historia Brittonum lists battles lines he commanded as he fought in forests, mountains, at riverbanks and castles; it proudly declares that he prevailed as victor in all his wars and battles. Wearing his golden breastplate, with his trusty Excalibur in his hand, his lance Ron at his side, Arthur entered every battle with poise and bravery; his trust, however, lay not in his weapons but his shield, Prydwen, upon which the holy image of Saint Mary had been painted. It was indeed a miraculous piece of armor; originally from a painted wooden altar, it was all that remained from a chapel after a particularly unruly band of Saxons had razed the building to the ground. Reshaped into a shield boss, the image was Arthur’s pride and strength; it not only protected him from his enemy’s blows, but also provided him with courage whenever his faith began to falter. Although he varied his weaponry between Excalibur and Ron, he never entered battle without his Prydwen. And Prydwen was the cause of his greatest victory, when Arthur encountered Euric, the Mad King of Calydon.

  Not all of Arthur’s battles were bloody. As he surveyed the newest enemy’s battle line spread before him, he noticed that something was amiss. He ordered his Falcons, the sharp-sighted spies, to scan the enemy ranks and share what they had learned. Within an hour, they reported back to the king with sheepish embarrassment.

  “They are peasants, not enemy knights, my King,” the bravest Falcon dared to say. “None are truly prepared for battle.”

  “How so?” the king inquired.

  “Their weapons are fake. The men bear acorns in their slings, the knights bear swords entwined with saplings. The archers are mere women, twining their braids and oak branches into a crude form of a longbow.” He let out a slow, steady breath. “We cannot fight them.”

  “I agree-there is no honor cutting down unarmed peasants,” Arthur replied, “But what is their motive? Are they overcome by madness, like the mysterious Green Knight to our West? Are they Maenads, crazed in their worship of their pagan rites? Could you detect anything that might explain their purpose?”

  The Falcon shook his head. “They remain in battle line out of fear. It looks like there is none to direct them.”

  “A kingdom without a king?” Arthur whispered, perplexed. Then resolve struck. “I will go down to parley with them.”

  “But, milord...” half a dozen of his men protested, but Arthur silenced them. “It is clear that we cannot fight these men, at least until we realize their purpose. I will go—alone—and I will see what is amiss in this land.”

  Arthur trotted to the enemy’s front line carefully, waving a banner of peace in his hand. As he dismounted, an enemy knight approached him; dressed in green and grey, his banner proudly waved in the breeze, with a greenman crest stiffly embroidered upon it.

  Arthur hesitated, worried that the man’s symbol reflected a hatred of the Church, but then sighed in relief as the man smiled at the image on Prydwen and bowed in obeisance.

  “Benedictus qui venit in nomine Domini,” the green knight called.

  “Benediximus vobis de domo Domini,” Arthur returned, warily.

  “Welcome to our land, milord Arthur. I am Sir Michael, and I am here to escort you to our king.”

  “Well met, Sir Michael. But tell me... how did you know of my name?”

  “Very easily,” the knight explained. “There are two armies in our midst. One is the army of King Arthur, a man of honor and virtue, who fights to unite the land, whose soldiers respect the land and its churches. The other is the Saxon horde, ruled by whatever warlord has wrest power from his predecessor, who leaves ashes and slaughter in their path. Not even churches are safe from their clutches—as your shield boss can attest.” Again he bowed to the image of Saint Mary before him. “The simple fact that you are here, parleying with us instead of pillaging us, reveals your name and purpose. So welcome, milord Arthur, and please allow me to escort you to our king.”

  “Well then, lead on, Sir Michael,” Arthur prompted. Taking the reins of Arthur’s warhorse, the knight led his guest towards the fortress in the distance.

  “You are a fine escort,” Arthur began, “but why does your king send you here? Is he too ill to meet me on the field?”

  “I’m afraid our king has gone mad,” Michael spoke as they walked. “He doesn’t enjoy the sight of horses since it happened.”

  “What happened? Was it sickness that took his wits, or was he born mad?” Arthur inquired. “And where is his family, to support him in his infirmity?”

  “Alas, our King Euric was not born mad. He was beloved to all of us until recently. For many years, he ruled us with a gentle hand. But first he lost his lady wife to the Saxons-she was tending the ill in a local nunnery when it was overtaken.” Michael made a sign of the cross over his heart, with a look of longing onto the image engraved on Arthur’s shield.

  “My sympathies,” Arthur swore solemnly.

  “Alas, that was only the first of his woes. “Two winters ago, the forest took his ten-year old son.”

  “The forest?” he asked, eyeing the greenman emblem suspiciously.

  “Aye. It was an accident. The boy’s first hunt. They were pursuing a fox over a stream and the glitter of the ice spooked his horse. The poor mite was trampled.”

  “Alas!” Arthur whispered, undone. “No wonder Euric fears horses.”

  Sir Michael chuckled. “No, you misunderstand. Euric abhors them. He slew the beast for killing his son.”

  “And so he had to carry his son home? By himself?” Arthur asked.

  “No. The boy stayed in the forest.”

  “He did not receive a Christian burial?” the king inquired.

  “There was no body. Some say the stream took him. Some say it was the elves.”

  “Elves?” Arthur gasped, making the sign of the Cross over his heart.

  “Aye. That’s when the madness overtook our king. We thought he’d overcome his grief in time. But it’s been two years since the accident. And every night, Euric returns to the spot where his son was taken. Last year at this time, he went with all of the gold in our castle’s coffers, trying to ransom the boy. But how do you ransom a boy from the dead? Surely the elves are a myth! Surely he rages because of the injustice of the loss. Elves and greenmen and fairy wives and such. It’s just nonsense, right?”

  Arthur clutched the handle of Prydwen that weighed down his left hand, and squeezed the pommel of Excalibur in his right. Excalibur, fashioned in Avalon, was gifted to him by a woman of otherworldly beauty and grace. “I am not sure. I feel that there are all sorts of things that are beyond Man’s grasp.”

  “Milord, we need your guidance. Euric returns to the forest tonight.” Michael spoke in a pained voice. “Please, I beseech you—keep him from this dangerous vigil.”

  “Do you fear for his soul?” Arthur asked.

  “I do not know what I fear. Only I know what is to come is unholy and wrong. Arthur, he neglects his people. He has spent every scrap of gold in the kingdom for this year’s tribute. And he sends his peasants to battle with acorns. Arthur, you must help us!”

  “I vow it, I will.”

  Arthur approached the throne carefully, hoping that violence wouldn’t be necessary to subdue the mad king. But Euric sat upon the dais with one hand upo
n his knee and the other upon a wooden strongbox. There was no crown upon his temples; today he was a mere father mourning his son. His beard was unkempt and shaggy, and his cheeks revealed new channels from the tears that he had wept over the past two years. The image of ultimate grief, Euric nevertheless held clarity in his eyes and voice.

  “Greetings, King Arthur,” he spoke with a bow.

  “Greetings, King Euric,” Arthur repeated. “Your knight, Sir Michael, has brought me here to aid you. I hear you are keeping vigil tonight in the forest?”

  “Aye,” he replied, his fingers drumming upon the wooden strongbox meaningfully.

  “I have heard of your suffering. I am sorry for your loss.”

  Euric’s gaze fell to Arthur’s shield and he gasped, then groaned in pain. “Why did you bring him here, you dreadful wretch?!” he shouted to Sir Michael. “Why did you bring her image into this place?”

  “To remind you of what remains for you in this kingdom,” Sir Michael recounted. “She needs you still. We need you still.”

  Arthur’s eyes widened at Euric’s curses as he asked, “Have you rejected your Mother Church? In favor of your woodland rites?”

  “No,” Michael explained carefully. “The image of your Mary was modeled on Margarit, my sister and Euric’s wife. She was in the chapel when the Saxons...” Tears filled his eyes as he explained. “She was there when it burned. Your shield boss honors both her memory and our holy Mother’s. I recognized it when I first saw it; I had hoped it would jar Euric from his grief and madness, but...”

  “It has brought me nothing but pain,” Euric wept. “Margarit, I have failed our son,” he whispered, then spoke aloud. “You will join me in the forest tonight?”

  “No,” Sir Michael swore. “You should join me instead in a chapel. Together we can overcome this grief.”

  Arthur, however, gave a sad smile. “Aye, we’ll join you.”

  “Then refresh yourself with food and drink,” Euric replied, “It’ll be a long walk.”

  Euric knelt in the snow and wept. Arthur and Michael kept vigil nearby, watching the mad king carefully as he performed his mourning ritual. Michael was alarmed when Euric pulled off his regal clothing, stripping down to a hairshirt and woolen hose; Arthur, however, was more indulgent in the king’s grief.

  “Let him be, for now,” Arthur bid the knight. “There is still time to subdue him if he becomes violent.”

  For hours they merely watched while Euric wept, calling his son’s name into the darkness. Their feet grew numb from cold, but from Euric’s vigorous movements it appeared that he was not affected by the frost at all.

  Finally, Michael could bear it no longer. “Enough, Euric,” he called to his brother-in-law. “Let us return.”

  “Aye,” the sorrowful king whispered, crossing the stream and disappearing into the shadows of the woods.

  “Euric!” Michael screamed, alarmed; but seconds later, his call was returned.

  Euric approached them, bearing an elf child in his arms. As he neared, Michael gasped as he recognized the child’s features. “Prince Drys! My sweet nephew-an elf? It cannot be-it cannot be!”

  “Aye,” Euric replied. “The elves rescued him from death, cousin. He wouldn’t have been able to survive his injuries if they hadn’t made fey ichor flow through his veins.”

  “How can he rule when you are gone? With the allergy to metal that the elves have, he would be dead before he entered the castle gates!” Then his words struck him. “No!”

  “My child cannot rule. And neither can I. But you can.”

  “No!” Michael stammered.

  “Milord Arthur, can you please open the strongbox and present its contents?” Euric asked.

  Arthur nodded and opened the box. He handed the crown to Euric and fumbled to hand the leather bag to the elf child.

  “The gold will poison the prince,” Michael warned, still shocked to see his nephew still alive.

  “Seeds,” Arthur countered. “The bag contains seeds.”

  “Seeds that will blossom forth golden fruits in the spring. A king’s ransom,” Euric explained.

  “An elf king’s ransom.” Arthur nodded. “You wish to join your son among the elves?” he guessed.

  “Aye,” Euric beamed, and laughed as his son placed a crown of oak leaves from his own temples onto his father’s. “I’ll have no need of this.” He held up the golden crown in his hand.

  “I’ll not depose you, brother,” Michael vowed. “I’ve never been disloyal.”

  “Our people need someone whole to lead them—not me. You’ve done well these past two years, ruling in my stead, and I’m certain that you will continue to guide our people well as Castellan. But our crown belongs to Arthur. Let him protect our people, with his guidance and his faith.”

  The elf child’s eyes fell upon Prydwen and he yelped “Mother!” happily. With a smile full of love, he reached forwards to touch the icon on its cheek, then crossed himself.

  Arthur smiled in relief. “The elves are not heathen.”

  “No,” Euric explained. “They are different shape and skin as us, but they have the same heart and soul.”

  “Thank Christ,” Arthur sand.

  “And His Mother,” Euric countered. “Will you accept this crown, and rule in my stead, Arthur?”

  “Aye,” he knelt, as Euric placed the crown upon his head. Turning next to Michael, he asked, “And will you serve your king as Castellan?”

  “Aye,” he spluttered, and bowed before both kings.

  “I leave you both with a gift,” Euric vowed. “Arthur will guard our people, and Michael will manage our resources, but I will grant this land the protection of the elves. The crops will grow with elfin blessing, the forests will be free of bandits by elfin hands. As long as the forests of the elves are respected, the lands of Arthur shall be protected. Keep Cold Iron and dressed stone from our groves and all of the Children of Adam will be united under your banner, Arthur.”

  Arthur bowed in gratitude for the elf king Euric and watched as he turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Michael said, realizing the finality of their parley. “Will I never see you again, brother?”

  A sad smile haunted the elf king’s lips. “I will return. One day, when my people need me, I will step forth from these woods to protect my folk.” He gave a quick wink to Arthur and disappeared from the eyes of men.

  CHAPTER 28

  The guard wasn’t going to be unconscious forever; and that was if another guard didn’t stumble on him and raise the alarm before he woke. No matter which scenario came to pass, they probably had even less time than the duration of the King’s Men’s performances would give them.

  Navigating through the town was difficult. It was a labyrinthine mess of paths that were twisting, and the invaders didn’t seem to find upkeep important. Had Lance not been there, Maddie would have tripped a few times stepping onto a cracked or missing cobblestone. Maddie thought it was strange, like a mix between a frontier town and a medieval village.

  “When we get there, don’t stay too close to me,” Lance told her. “Give me ten minutes and if I don’t come out, go back to Fox’s group.”

  Maddie nodded. When they finally managed to find their way to the watchtower, they stopped at a distance to look at it.

  “No guards,” Lance said with relief, “I guess Fox’s shows are doing the trick.”

  The door was bolted shut, but no other security measures had been taken. After all, as far as they knew, no one thought they were guarding anything but an old watch tower.

  Lance grabbed his key, unlocked the door, and they both slipped inside; Maddie figured that with nobody else there, it was probably safer for her to be near Lance than otherwise. The tower was drafty, and Maddie almost gagged at the musty smell as soon as she stepped inside, rubbing her shoulders. Maddie placed a foot on the wooden, winding staircase, hearing it creak under her shoe.

  “Wait, get behind me,” Lance grabbed Maddie’s shoulder, “we d
on’t know if there are guards in here.”

  They walked up slowly, Lance keeping a hand on the gun he’d taken off the guard. Maddie kept a hand against the rough, cold stone of the tower wall, squinting a little. There was light that was filtering through the windows at the top of the tower, but until they got there, it was dark. At the top of the tower, there was one more door with a padlock.

  “Do you have the key?” Maddie asked, realizing that she hadn’t seen Lance take more than one off the guard. Lance backed up a few steps.

  “I have something that works just as well,” Lance answered casually. Suddenly, he yelled “Lady Isabella, move to the side now! We are breaking down the door.” And without a moment more of hesitation Lance took his gun and shot the lock off the door. Maddie flinched at the bang that reverberated around the small space.

  “... That works.”

  Lance grabbed the door frame. “Lady Isabella,” Lance said, “We’re coming in.”

  He swung the door open.

  CHAPTER 29

  The performance of “King’s Ransom” was a huge success. Fox was pleased to observe that a large number of guards had assembled for the performance, which would make Maddie and Lance’s job easier.

  Fox recognized the Count standing at the edge of the crowd. Brand had given him a description, though he might as well not have bothered. He had two guards standing on either side of him and a gash on one side of his face caused, Fox knew, by an arrow shot by Brand as he escaped the town. Count Dima Molnar was the leader of the invaders who had taken over the town. He was at least 6 foot 5, if not taller. A thick brown beard and mustache connected at each side of his face and his silky head of hair parted in the middle. Dima’s finery was so ostentatious it would have been comical on a less imposing man. He wore a purple cape with a high collar and a loose-fitting, long-sleeved dark blue shirt. Essentially, Count Dima Molnar looked like a man who would have been trying too hard if it somehow didn’t fit him perfectly.