by Unknown
Arthur shook his head in disbelief. ‘Why have you never mentioned this before?’
‘I was afraid of him. Now he’s dead, he can’t scare me any more.’
‘He can’t defend himself either.’
‘There was this gardener,’ said Margot, ignoring the comment. ‘His name was Martin. One day Uther fired him, no one knew why. The very next day he hired a young man. Tom, his name was. Martin was getting on but he was still a good gardener. Tom knew nothing about gardens.’
‘I don’t want to hear this, Margot.’
She went on taunting him. ‘Don’t you want to know what sort of man your father really was? He was your father, after all. You might be more like him than you know,’ she said with an insinuating smile.
‘Say what you have to say and let me go.’
‘I must have been ten or eleven. One day when I was walking in the garden, Tom dragged me into a shed and raped me. When I told Uther, he warned me not to say a word to anyone. If I did, he would back Tom, and everyone would know I was a liar. Mother would die of shame, and the family would be disgraced. What was I to do? I kept quiet. I stayed away from the garden. For a time nothing happened. Then Tom came looking for me. After that he raped me dozens of times. And every time he did, Uther watched.’
‘Dear God!’
‘Have I shocked you, darling?’ Arthur couldn’t look at her. ‘Do you believe me now?’
‘I – I suppose so.’
‘Do you really and truly?’ ‘Yes.’
Margot threw back her head and laughed delightedly. ‘Then you are even more naïve than I took you for!’
He shook his head in confusion. ‘Are you saying it was all lies?’
Margot thrust out her lips.’I do so hate that word. It’s so gross. Not lies, Arthur – fibs. Call it porkies, if you like. Uther always did.’
He was bewildered. ‘I’ll never understand you. Why put me through all this torment?’
Margot clapped her hands. ‘Did I do that? Darling heart, how wonderful! You’re jealous! So you do love me after all.’ Before he could stop her, she was standing on tiptoe, arms round his neck, whispering in his ear, ‘Take me, Arthur. I want you, I want you. Let’s do it now. I’ll sit astride you.’
He could only stare at her in horror.
‘Any way you want. Quickly, quickly.’ She seized his hand and tried to pull him to the sofa.
‘In the name of God, Margot,’ he cried, ‘I could never touch you again. Don’t you know that?’
She shrank from him as if he had struck her. Her eyes narrowed angrily. ‘It’s not about me at all, is it? It’s about that tart Guinevere. She’s got to you. What a fool you are! What a gullible fool! You have no idea what she’s like. She puts herself about all over town. Fucks anything that moves.’
Arthur shook his head incredulously.
‘You didn’t know?’ Margot was screeching now. ‘Don’t tell me you thought that mealy-mouthed bitch was for real? All that mincing and simpering? You’re not that naïve, surely?’
‘Good-bye, Margot.’
She reached out her arms to him. ‘Don’t go. Don’t leave me now.’
But he was gone.
Through the window she watched the car headlights sweep round the cobbled courtyard, down the avenue of plane trees and out into the main road. Long after the sound of the engine died away, she was still standing there.
In the darkened drawing room Igraine sat smoking a cigarette. The dim light from the night sky filtered through the net curtains. A few moments earlier, as Arthur’s car drove off, its headlights roving the façade of Brackett Hall, the room had lit up for a second or two, then plunged into darkness again. She had listened intently to the hum of the engine as it faded into the night. That sound, dying into silence, had left her feeling inexpressibly alone. If only he did not have to go; if only he could have stayed. If only things had been different. In her desperation she convinced herself that she would never see her son again, that he would be as dead to her as Elaine was now.
She switched on the table lamp by the sofa. This would never do. She could not sit in the dark forever. She would have to face the world, live her life, see people, make journeys. She had loved and hated a man. But then love and hate were Siamese twins, bound heart and heart, head and head, body and soul. One could not survive without the other.
What would her future be? It was ironic. When she was married there were so many things she dreamt of doing and never could, so many times she had longed to have her life back. Yet now that she had, she had not the least idea what to do with it.
Part Three
Destiny Fulfilled
One
2024
Uther’s death had left the New Millennium Party in disarray, partly because there was no obvious successor, partly because details of his corrupt dealings were inevitably leaked to the Press. The fallout affected all parties to some extent, though chiefly New Millennium who had been in power more than fourteen years. Four Years Too Long and Time For A Change were the buzz-phrases of the day. The last general election had been in 2020. Had he lived, Uther would no-doubt have called an election sometime in 2025, but any delay was now unthinkable. Both opposition and electorate demanded an immediate election which was duly called for the earliest possible date, September 2024.
Arthur spent the morning of the election with his aides and helpers at Party Headquarters. As the early results came in things were looking good, the polls forecasting a landslide victory for United Labour. Around mid-morning Arthur felt a slight prickling sensation in the palms of his hands, and as he scratched them, the prickling became progressively more intense. Quickly he excused himself and rushed down the corridor to his office.
Perched in Arthur’s ‘in’ tray, Virgil opened an enquiring eye as Arthur entered the room, hooh-hooed a soft greeting and went back to sleep. Merlin was standing by the window admiring the view. ‘The Palace of Westminster, Big Ben, Parliament Square, Westminster Bridge.’ The magus considered Arthur, a hint of mischief in his bright eyes. ‘You are going to miss this view. From Number 10 all you can see is Downing Street.’
Arthur sat at his desk and scratched Virgil’s chest. ‘I’m not there yet,’ he said.
Merlin took a seat facing him and beamed fondly. ‘Ever the cautious one.’
‘You think I’m making a mistake, don’t you?’
‘You must go where your conscience leads you,’ said Merlin quietly.
Arthur swivelled his chair and looked across at the soaring towers and turrets of the Palace of Westminster. ‘If we win the election, I shall be Prime Minister of the country where parliamentary democracy was born. I should dearly like to see a truly United Kingdom again. And then . . . ’, his eyes dreamed over, ‘a united world.’ He turned back to face his mentor. ‘Is that so impossible?’
‘Nothing is impossible if good men do what must be done,’ said Merlin, green orbs glowing.
A rueful smile from Arthur. ‘I know what you expect of me Merlin, but I still believe my way is the right way. I agree with you that the world is in mortal danger; what we don’t agree on is what to do about it. It is still my hope that all our problems can be solved by peaceful means.’
‘And if they can’t?’
‘If force has to be used,’ said Arthur, ‘then it must be used in the name of all the democratic countries of the world.’
For a long time the faint hum of traffic in Parliament Square disturbed the silence. ‘I doubt that will ever happen,’ said Merlin. ‘Ask yourself why, more than twenty years after the trauma of 9/11, the terrorists are still winning the war.’
‘In my opinion there are two explanations,’ said Arthur. ‘Firstly, instead of being united, the democracies are divided by self-interest.’
‘And you think you can persuade them to work together?’ ‘I really think I can,’ said Arthur confidently.
Merlin looked unconvinced. ‘Secondly?’
‘Secondly,’ continued Arthur, ‘poli
ticians make promises they know they can’t keep. Why? To impress the electorate and win votes. And with an eye on those same votes they pay terrorists to kill someone else in some other country, any country but in their own. Sometimes, in the short term, it works, sometimes it doesn’t; in the long-term it never does.’ Arthur swivelled his chair and looked down at the statues lining the square. ‘We are now paying a heavy price for the selfishness and shortsightedness of yesterday’s world leaders.’ He turned back to Merlin. ‘Unless things change, tomorrow’s world leaders will pay an even heavier price.’
‘That, I fear,’ said Merlin, ‘is a condition, like human nature, that no one can change – not even you.’
‘It has to change,’ said Arthur. ‘We cannot afford to fail.
Fortunately I shall not be working alone.’
The raised eyebrows of the magus asked the unspoken question.
‘If I do become Prime Minister,’ said Arthur, ‘I shall be far more supportive of the United Nations than my predecessors.’ Merlin looked deeply sceptical. ‘If the nations are divided,’ he said, ‘how can the organisation that represents them be united? The UN can only be as effective as the world allows it to be. In practice it is manipulated by hundreds of special interests, each with their own ideologies, religious beliefs and agendas.’
‘What alternative is there?’ asked Arthur.
Merlin reached out a hand. Virgil hopped onto it, and from there to Merlin’s shoulder. ‘I think you know the answer to that.’
‘Camelot?’
The magus gave the slightest of nods.
‘In a democratic world people ought not to take the law into their own hands,’ insisted Arthur.
‘If they don’t,’ said Merlin, ‘there will soon be no democratic world.’
‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Arthur. ‘I don’t know. I only know there ought to be a better way.’
Merlin bowed his head in defeat. He had tried and lost again. ‘I pray you find it,’ he said as he and Virgil faded.
By evening it was clear that United Labour had won the election by a huge majority – over a hundred and fifty seats. At the age of twenty-nine Arthur Pendragon had become the country’s youngest Prime Minister since William Pitt.
Barely two months after the election the world was shocked by horrific satellite pictures of thousands of men, women and children massacred in the eastern region of the Kingdom of the Euphrates, formerly Iraq. With its huge oil resources and geographically strategic location, the K.O.E. was again one of the foremost powers in the Middle East, its ruler, Sadiq el Shaeb, even more brutal and ruthless than Saddam Hussein.
In the days following the massacre, its full horror was exposed by the world’s media; exact figures were impossible to obtain but it was estimated that between fifty and a hundred thousand people had died, struck down by some kind of chemical or biological attack. Suspicion naturally fell on Sadiq as the tribes inhabiting the eastern regions of the country had never accepted him as their leader.
The United Nations deplored the massacre. There was almost unanimous condemnation by world leaders, and a general consensus that something ought to be done. Unfortunately no one could agree who was responsible, nor how they should be punished, nor who would punish them. Arthur talked by Satellink with Winslow Marsden, the President of the United States, arguing that the democracies would have to agree on joint action.
‘And get dragged into another quagmire?’ said Marsden. ‘No thank you, Arthur. Bar Israel, we don’t have a real friend left in the Middle East, now that most of the old feudal families have been overthrown by the Islamists. The mullahs might not like Sadiq, but if it comes to a showdown with the west they’ll support him. If we interfere, we’ll get our ass kicked, just like we did when we invaded Iraq in 2003.’
‘We have a moral obligation to help the oppressed,’ said Arthur, ‘whoever and wherever they are. We go to the aid of the sick and the starving, why not the victims of brutal dictators? If the democracies ignore mass murder, what kind of future is there for the world?’
Winslow Marsden was not overly impressed by appeals to his conscience. It was not that he didn’t have one, he liked to do the right thing whenever he could. It was just that doing the right thing meant doing what was best for his country. ‘Frankly, Arthur, I have more immediate concerns than the future of the world. My first duty is to protect the people of the United States of America. Face facts. We attacked Iraq in the nineties . . . half a million men and Christ knows how many tanks and aircraft. And what happened? He was still there at the end of it, and stronger than ever.
‘Ten years later we attacked him again. OK, he wasn’t as much of a threat as we thought, but at the time we were convinced we were doing the right thing. What happened? The Iraqis turned against us. We lost American lives, and we lost our moral standing in the world. Was it worth it? Was it hell! Two years after we pulled out, Iraq was run by another dictator. No, Arthur, we’ve learned our lesson, and by God we’ve learned it the hard way. There’s a limit to what even the greatest power on earth can do.’
Arthur was resolute. ‘We can’t let Sadiq get away with mass murder.’
‘What do you suggest we do?’
‘Take control of his airspace, fly in a small, high-tech military force, secure the eastern region and take Sadiq, dead or alive. Then we send in an international team to set up field hospitals, take care of the wounded and help get the area back on its feet. The vital thing is for the free world to take joint action.’
The President gave the suggestion some thought. Then he shook his head. ‘Sorry, Arthur, the American public would never go along with it. They’ve seen their boys come home in body bags once too often. I have an election to fight next year.’
‘We all have elections to fight,’ said Arthur. ‘We also have to fight for what we believe in.’
Winslow Marsden did not appreciate being told where his duty lay. ‘Look here, Arthur, I don’t like this situation any more than you do. It’s a mess but it isn’t our mess. Let’s leave it to the people of the K.O.E. to deal with.’
The President would not be swayed. Arthur had lost the argument, and he knew it. He spoke to more than twenty world leaders in Europe, Asia, North and South America and Africa, whose reaction was much like the President’s. Everyone was shocked by the massacre and no one could agree what to do about it. Again and again the same comment was made; fighting terrorism was one thing, invading another country was something else. Arthur vented his frustration on his cabinet. ‘What sort of future do our children have if we turn a blind eye to such a horrific crime?’
Thomas Winnington sighed. ‘It may seem short-sighted to you, Prime Minister, but the electorate is more concerned with taxes and jobs and pensions than they are with the K.O.E.’s problems.’
‘My father used to say things like that,’ said Arthur. ‘Since when did you become so cynical, Thomas? You were one of those who criticised Uther for his weak foreign policy, weren’t you?’
‘I was,’ conceded Winnington.
‘Then what has changed your mind?’
‘I can’t speak for the others,’ said Winnington, ‘but I was a backbencher then. Now that I’m a cabinet minister, I have to be a realist.’
Arthur struggled to control his impatience. ‘But don’t you see, Thomas, that’s exactly it. Being a realist means confronting men like Sadiq.’
‘With respect, Prime Minister,’ said Leo Grant, Chairman of the Party and Arthur’s greatest friend and supporter in the cabinet, ‘it is a first principle of international law that no one has the right to interfere in the internal affairs of another country. Even leaving aside such legal considerations, Thomas is right – we have to be realistic. If we launch a strike against Sadiq, we risk starting a war in the Middle East, perhaps even a world war. Is that what you want?’
Arthur was close to despair; if his own colleagues were against him, who would be for him? ‘For God’s sake, Leo, don’t you see? The greatest risk is do
ing nothing. If we do nothing we’ll be telling all the terrorists and terror states in the world that it’s alright to kidnap and hijack and bomb. Taking them on involves risks, of course it does, but ignoring them will make a third World War inevitable. And the next war will be a global war, more devastating than any war in history. There will be no borders, and no distinction between friends and enemies – only mass destruction and millions of deaths – billions perhaps. It will be Armageddon.’
There was a meaningful rustling and shifting of paper, and a number of knowing glances exchanged around the table. Even George Bedivere, his old friend and comrade, would not look Arthur in the eye as he summarised the cabinet’s view. ‘I think you are exaggerating the actual risk posed by terrorists, Prime Minister. Of course they make life difficult for us, but do they actually threaten the stability of the state? I don’t think so. At least they haven’t done so yet. Our job is to find practical solutions to practical problems.’
‘Then,’ said Arthur, ‘in the name of our suffering fellow men, women and children across the globe let’s do it.’
For a while no one spoke. Then Thomas Winnington said, to nods of approval, ‘We were not elected to put the world to rights.’
The following day the K.O.E. Foreign Minister gave the United Nations his country’s official explanation of the massacre: the warlike tribesmen in the East had long planned an attack on the peace-loving Kingdom of the Euphrates. In preparation for this attack they had stockpiled huge quantities of biological and chemical agents. A fire had broken out in their secret depot, releasing deadly poisons into the atmosphere. The rebels had been killed by their own weapons.
