The Call of Destiny (The Return of Arthur Book 1)

by Unknown

  ‘But I’ve seen the sword a thousand times,’ protested Bill.

  ‘No you haven’t, Bill. What you see – what everyone sees – is a hilt and a few inches of sword sticking out of an anvil. So naturally you think there’s a sword inside the anvil. It may look as though there is, but there isn’t. The whole sculpture is one solid piece of bronze. I thought everyone knew that; the sword is an illusion. Just like the story of King Arthur, if you ask me.’ Standing up politely he leaned over his desk and extended his hand in turn to Elizabeth, Hector, Keir and Arthur. ‘Sorry you’ve been troubled, madam, sir, young lads. Bill here was only doing his duty. I hope there’s no hard feelings.’

  Hector stirred himself out of his trance. ‘None at all.’ ‘Amazing how gullible people are,’ said the boss, shaking his

  head incredulously, ‘even in this day and age. You wouldn’t think we were living in the twenty-first century, would you? There’s still a lot convinced King Arthur really lived. Not that I’m complaining. Where would the tourist industry be without him?’

  No one in the Hughes family ever mentioned the disturbing events of that day again, as if not acknowledging them would mean they never happened. Hector was the sole exception. He gave a full account to Merlin, who showed no surprise at all. ‘Tell me, Hector,’ he said, with a mischievous gleam in his eye, ‘do you have a logical explanation this time?’

  Hector shook his head ruefully. ‘I wish I had, but I haven’t. I should have believed you five years ago when Arthur saved my life. I should have known when the clouds parted for that tiny baby. I’ve been a fool.’

  ‘Indeed you have not. It isn’t easy for any of us to accept the things we do not understand.’

  ‘What does it all mean?’

  ‘It means,’ said Merlin happily, ‘that the prophecy is fulfilled.’

  Hector never doubted Merlin again. He was immensely proud and a little in awe of Arthur, but from that day on he had lost his peace of mind, fearing what the future might have in store for his beloved adopted son.

  Nineteen

  2010

  Summer was surrendering to autumn, and already the air was heavy with the smell of fallen leaves and damp grass. Back at Glastonbury after the summer vacation, Arthur was spending the weekend with Merlin at his cottage. Arthur had never spoken of that day at Tintagel Castle and the extraordinary affair of the Sword in the Stone, and Merlin had carefully avoided the subject. What Arthur needed, he believed, was love and nurturing, not challenging. The boy already had more than enough to cope with.

  Supper was cleared away. A fire burned in the grate, the logs cracking from time to time, throwing up showers of sparks. Arthur and Merlin played Scrabble. From time to time the magus muttered fiercely to himself and scribbled formulae on scraps of paper, returning to the game as if nothing had happened. Virgil perched on Merlin’s shoulder, eyes shuttered, hoo-hoo’ing softly whenever his master fondled him. Seeing that Merlin’s attention was distracted from the game, Arthur lay on the floor and gazed into the fire. For some reason he sensed sadness in the air. He scratched Robbie’s tummy, stroking the dog’s ears and kissing him on the nose, and Robbie made grateful noises in the back of his throat. Encircling his muzzle was a ring of white. When had he grown old? Arthur wondered. The brown eyes were shadowed with blue cataracts, the lithe body padded with plumpness, the glossy coat dry and patchy. When had all this happened? Why hadn’t he noticed it before? How old would Robbie be? Ten? Twelve? More? He wasn’t sure and had never thought to ask. What did age matter anyway? All he remembered was that Merlin had said something about taking Robbie over from a friend who died.

  ‘We humans are never ready,’ said Merlin, without looking up, ‘but animals are. They seem to know when the end is near. What’s more they know there is nothing they can do about it, so they just accept it. Very sensible of them.’

  ‘Robbie is fine,’ insisted Arthur vehemently. ‘He’ll live another ten years, won’t you, Robbie?’ The black Labrador had become an inseparable part of his life. He went to bed feeling wretched and lay awake for a long time. Dreams disturbed his sleep. He could not remember what dreams exactly except that Robbie was in all of them. Opening his eyes the next morning, he was delighted and a little relieved to see the old dog standing by his bed looking up at him, his tail wagging so furiously that it wagged his stout body with it. If anything he seemed younger and more active than he had the night before. What was wrong with Merlin? All that talk of death. Was the magus feeling the passing years?

  While Arthur washed and pulled on his clothes, Robbie grabbed his shoes and disappeared under the bed with them. Briefly he reappeared to help himself to a sock, and made off with that too, all the time growling ferociously. Arthur grinned happily, and when finally he recovered his shoes and socks, made his way downstairs, Robbie trotting behind him, nudging the back of his ankles with his nose as if to hurry him up.

  Once outside the cottage the Labrador ran off. Merlin was nowhere to be seen. He was an early riser, and often took a walk before breakfast, so Arthur put on a windcheater and went to look for him. He strode across the fields, the wind behind him, nudging him playfully in the back. Occasionally he looked round, disturbed by the uneasy feeling that he was being followed. In the distance, carried on the wind, Arthur could hear Robbie barking. He turned. There was nothing to be seen but the corn swaying, and in the lower meadow a drift of smoke. He walked towards it, slowly at first, then faster and faster. Fear gripped his stomach as he caught the scent of burning wood.

  With his long white robes and shoulder-length hair, Merlin might have been an Old Testament prophet, or a philosopher in ancient Greece. On his shoulder was Virgil, unperturbed by the flames. Arthur gazed into the fire as he had the night before in the kitchen, except that these flames were Robbie’s funeral pyre.

  ‘When?’

  Merlin put his arm round Arthur. ‘Last night. About an hour after you went to bed.’

  ‘But that’s impossible! I saw him this morning. I couldn’t have imagined it, he was playing with me. He ran off with my shoes and socks like he always does when I stay with you. You remember that, Merlin, don’t you?’

  ‘I remember,’ said Merlin, squeezing Arthur’s shoulder.

  Arthur looked down at his shoes. No tooth marks. He pulled up his trouser leg, left and right. No holes in his socks, no marks of any kind.

  ‘He was there,’ he repeated stubbornly, ‘I know he was.’ ‘He died around midnight.’

  ‘But I saw him, Merlin.’

  ‘I’m sure you did. Robbie loved you. He wanted you to remember the many happy hours you spent together, not just the last few sad ones. That was his gift to you. That was his way of saying good-bye.’

  The grief welled up inside Arthur and sprang from his eyes. ‘But I don’t want him to be dead, Merlin. Please don’t let Robbie be dead. You can bring him back, I know you can.’

  Merlin bowed his head and Arthur turned away to hide his tears.

  ‘There is nothing wrong in showing your grief,’ said Merlin gently. ‘Quite the contrary, in fact.’

  Arthur’s body heaved with sobs as Merlin held him. After a while Arthur was calm. ‘Are you sure?’ He nodded at the flames. ‘Are you sure that’s Robbie in there?’

  ‘Only flesh and blood and bone.’

  ‘What else is there?’ said Arthur bitterly. ‘I’ll never see him again.’ ‘The fire will burn all day,’ said Merlin. ‘What the wind doesn’t take we shall keep. One day you will return Robbie’s ashes to his master.’

  Arthur was tempted to ask who, if not Merlin, was Robbie’s master but the moment passed, the question was not asked, and Merlin offered no explanation.

  It was Arthur’s first experience of death. It made him think about things he had never wanted to think about before. He thought about Hector and Elizabeth, and how important they were in his life. The day would come when he would lose them too; flesh and blood and bone.

  Then he had another thought, every bit
as disturbing. The parents he had never met . . . what if they were to die without his even knowing them?

  ‘My parents . . . ’ he began hesitantly.

  ‘You mean Hector and Elizabeth?’ said Merlin.

  Arthur shook his head. ‘The others.’ He did not know quite what to call them, nor even how to think of them. His real parents? No, real was not the right word. How could they be real when they had played no part in his life? His natural parents? No, not natural either. What was natural about parents who abandoned you?

  ‘Why did they give me away for adoption?’

  ‘That is a question you must put to them. I can tell you how to contact them but you must decide if that is what you want to do.’

  It was a question Arthur had asked himself a hundred times. During the weeks that followed not a day passed when he did not think about the parents he had never met. Did he want to meet them? Yes. Was he afraid to meet them? Yes. Would it change his life? Probably. How would they react to him? How would he react to them? Did it matter? Did any of it matter? Yes, of course it did. Whatever the consequences, he had to meet them, if only to know why they had given him away. Even if it meant hurting the two people he loved most in the world? Yes. Enough. He was thinking too much, doing too little. He reached a decision. He would ask Merlin for their phone number. He would call.

  Igraine was sipping coffee and wondering what to do with her afternoon; Margot and Morgan were married, Elaine had left home, Uther was storming around being a politician. She had lots of friends, though none very close, for she was not the sort of woman who cared to share her secrets. Being on her own was what she had become accustomed to; it was a condition she neither liked nor disliked. As with most things in her life she had learned to accept it. When the phone rang she happened to be sitting next to it. ‘Hello?’

  There was no response. Someone was there though, she could hear him breathing. A man. Her first thought was that it must be one of those phone calls, a stalker perhaps or a sexual pervert. Her voice a little unsteady, she asked timidly, ‘Who is it?’ Still there was no reply. ‘If you don’t answer, I’ll put the phone down.’ Again that unnerving silence.

  Suddenly she was not afraid any more. She knew. How she knew she could not tell. She just knew. Her heart pounded against her ribs, her hands trembled, the handset slipped from her grasp. For a few dazed moments she stared blankly out at the gardens. Something white, a newspaper or a plastic bag, rose on a gust of wind and drifted by the window like a spirit from the past.

  Dropping on hands and knees she searched frantically for the phone. ‘Oh God, let him still be there!’ Retrieving the phone from under her chair, she whispered into the mouthpiece. ‘Is it you?’ There was a click. The hum of the dialling tone filled her ear.

  ‘Arthur,’ she murmured. Laying the handset back in its cradle, she clasped it to her bosom, swaying from side to side, as if she were rocking a baby to sleep.

  Twenty

  2013

  The commemoration ball, known to Oxford under- graduates as the Commem, is held every May, towards

  the end of the academic year. By tradition it commemorates the University’s many founders and benefactors, though it is fair to say that at this point in their lives the thoughts of most undergraduates are focused not on their elders and betters but on their end of year exam results, their degrees and job prospects. For one brief night, though, the Commem offers them the chance to forget such weighty matters and relax.

  Arthur was eighteen, and this was his first year at college. Being a handsome and charismatic young man, he was popular with the opposite sex, his mop of blond hair and cornflower blue eyes causing many a heart to skip a beat. Until now, however, there had been no special girl in his life; passing fancies, yes, but not true love; that was a state he had never experienced. Not that he had consciously shunned it, it was simply that he was more inclined to fun than to serious entanglements. And so, like many of his friends, when the evening of the Commem. Ball arrived, he was footloose and fancy free.

  The gardens and quadrangles of the college were crowded with undergraduates, staff and guests, men in dinner jackets, ladies in evening dresses. As the sun sank below the spires and towers of Oxford the shadows lengthened on the lawns, and the evening air was heavy with the sweet scents of spring. A more romantic setting could hardly be imagined. Lennox Lotte could not recall when he was last at a dance of any sort. Being clumsy on his feet, he had never much cared for dancing. It never occurred to him to ask why Margot wanted to come to the Commem. Ball. She did, and that was good enough for him. She was a gorgeous girl, a marvellous wife, and an excellent mother to Gawain, Agravaine and Gaheris, their three sons. He would do anything for her, anything at all. As luck would have it, the master of the college had been a close friend of his late father, so it had been easy enough to arrange an invitation.

  Whatever happened he was determined to enjoy himself, as much for Margot’s sake as for his own. However, shortly after walking though the college gates and meeting the master, he and Margot were separated. There was some jostling, nothing serious, just some high-spirits in the quad, and the next moment she was gone. Lennox was nervous, Margot would certainly feel out of place amongst all these youngsters. Who did she know? Not a soul. He located the master again. ‘Where c-could she have g-got to?’ he enquired anxiously. ‘Not to worry, Lennox,’ said the master reassuringly, ‘she’s bound to turn up soon. Such crowds, you know. Try the gardens,’ he suggested helpfully.

  There were several hundred people in the gardens, none of them Margot. He looked around the college but could not find her. She was not in the library nor in the Junior Common Room nor in the dining hall where the dancing would begin at eight o’clock, and he could only hope that sooner or later she would come looking for him there. If there was one thing she loved, it was dancing. That thought lifted his spirits. She would be in the hall, of course she would, ready to dance her heart out when the Ball began. Helping himself to another glass of champagne, he wandered disconsolately about the college gardens, killing time till the dance started.

  At ten minutes to eight he hurried across the lower quadrangle to the dining hall. Outside the heavy oak doors a crowd of people had formed a queue, waiting to get in. Looking around, Margot was nowhere to be seen. When the doors opened, he rushed in and positioned himself close to the entrance, so that he would not miss her when she arrived. But to his growing consternation, she did not.

  The Master and the President of the Junior Common Room briefly welcomed the guests, the band struck up and the dance was under way. Outside Lennox roamed the quadrangle with a heavy heart. Still no Margot. What a bore. Where could she be? He would give her a piece of his mind when she turned up. What did she think she was doing walking out on him like this? It was inconsiderate – no, more than that, it was irresponsible. He did not know a single, solitary soul. Not that he wanted to, surrounded as he was by kids. Surely undergraduates had never looked as young as this before, most certainly not in his day. The whole thing was a dreadful mistake. Why on earth had she been so keen to come? It was beyond him.

  The pushing and shoving that followed the arrival of Lennox and Margot had not been accidental. The instant she walked through the porter’s lodge into the upper quadrangle, Margot had attracted attention. It was not surprising, as she had taken particular care with her make-up and choice of dress and had never looked more alluring. All about her, voices were hushed and heads turned in her direction. Surrounded by several undergraduates, she and Lennox, by a deft and entirely deliberate manoeuvre, were separated.

  The next moment Margot was in the centre of a group of young men, one of whom, with his dark hair, flashing eyes and roguish grin, was particularly good-looking. He bowed theatrically. ‘May I be of assistance?’

  ‘I’m looking for my husband.’

  ‘I’m sure he won’t mind if I borrow you for a while,’ said the handsome young man, demonstrating his bravado for the amusement of his cronies. �
�Allow me to show you round the college.’ With exaggerated courtesy he offered her his arm.

  ‘No really, I ought to find him. He was here a moment ago.

  Have you seen him?’

  ‘Over there!’ responded the young men in unison, each pointing in a different direction, and amusing themselves enormously in the process.

  Despite her obvious reluctance, the handsome student, who now held her firmly by the arm, began to propel Margot in the direction of the college gardens. His persistence was beginning to scare her, and it showed on her face.

  As he was leaving the quadrangle with a reluctant Margot in tow, a young man blocked their path. ‘Where are you off to, Edward?’ he asked.

  A fanciful wave of the hand. ‘I’m taking this lovely lady to wonderland.’

  ‘And where might that be?’

  A sly grin. ‘I’ll let you know when we’ve found it.’

  Though the young man spoke quietly, there was a hint of warning in his voice. ‘I don’t think she wants to go there.’

  Edward stood his ground defiantly. ‘Who are you to say what she wants?’

  ‘Why don’t you ask her?’

  ‘Why don’t you get lost?’ For a moment it looked as though he was going to start a fight.

  ‘Let her go,’ said Arthur quietly. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because she’s our guest, and you’re a gentleman.’

  For a moment longer Edward stood his ground, then nodded and released Margot’s arm. ‘See you around, Arthur,’ he said, and moved back to his friends.

  So swiftly had Arthur reacted to Margot’s predicament that he had not really looked at her. The instant he did he was smitten. Black hair framed the oval face, delicate features and glowing skin of a Pre-Raphaelite beauty; never had he seen anyone so lovely. A little smile of gratitude lifted the corners of her mouth, and in her luminous brown eyes was an expression so tender that the blood sang in his veins. ‘That was very gallant of you. Thank you.’