“You’re shaking,” he said.
I did, I trembled. All those years, all that time waiting and it was perfect. I was lost and confused and happy and scared and perfect. I wanted to hold him to my heart forever.
For a week, we lived in that happy place somewhere between reality and fantasy. We made love constantly, with long nights spent curled up in our small bare cell. Merlin watched like an indulgent father when we walked around Avalon hands clasped tight, love in our eyes and on our lips. We healed both in body and soul, so much of our pasts vanishing under the onslaught of hope. We both knew it wouldn’t last, couldn’t last, but damn it felt so good.
I finally felt complete, utterly happy in Arthur’s embrace. It was as though my constant fight against the love I felt for him, took all my energy and now I’d surrendered, life felt so simple. Easy. Painless, for the first time.
Almost a fortnight from when I first woke after our tussle with Nimue, reality once more closed over our heads.
We sat on the top of the Tor. Our daily walks helping us both to regain strength and a way to test my healing ribs. We’d almost run up the steep sides today, slipping in the mud, my hand strapped to my belly so I wouldn’t be tempted to use it. Once we reached the top, Arthur won, we lay panting and staring up at the blue sky dotted with huge white clouds. My ribs hurt a great deal and I found it hard to breath. Arthur sat up, concern for me clear. I watched his face grow pale and his lips thin. His brows drew together and his jaw muscles jumped in anger. His eyes were focused on something a long distance from me, fortunately.
I levered myself upright and followed his gaze. A horseman raced toward Avalon, even at this distance I could see the clots of mud his horse’s hooves thrust into the air and the steam from the beast’s nose. I also saw the man’s surcoat. Blue and gold, glinting in the pale winter sunlight. Arthur’s colours. Camelot’s man. Our reprieve was over. England wanted her King back. He rose and I stood at his side. Once more his Champion, ready to defend him and his kingdom to my death if necessary.
If you enjoyed Lancelot and the Wolf, then take a peek at Lancelot and the Sword.
The second volume of The Knights Of Camelot
Available in the Autumn 2011
from Mirador Publishing.
CHAPTER ONE
“Well, there she is,” Arthur said as he leaned on the pommel of his saddle. “My curse.”
We finally crested the hills that peered down over Camelot. Rain started to spit from the sky and we were all cold and tired. We’d been riding hard since just before dawn and we’d missed lunch.
“That’s a fine way of talking about your home, Arthur,” Merlin snapped. They hadn’t managed a civilised conversation for some time.
“Do you blame me? I have a wife who hates me and might just be responsible for trying to kill me. I have enemies who I counted as friends. I have the possibility of war hanging over my head. And you want me to give up my one consolation,” he griped.
“He just asked you to be cautious with what we have between us, Arthur,” I said heavily. I’d grown weary of this conversation over the last ten days of travel. I ached all over, my hand hurt in the splints and bandages Merlin fashioned to hold it still and nightmares dogged my sleep.
“So, you too are ashamed of what we have?” he asked. We’d had this exchange at least once a day on the journey to Camelot. I closed my eyes and begged for patience. I think he actually feared his own shame and confusion over our love, rather than mine, but Arthur reflected our anxiety into the light.
“You know the answer to that. I am not ashamed, Arthur, but I am aware of other people’s opinions. You have a wife and crown to save,” I said quietly.
His eyes swivelled to take in the city swarming down toward the river and the sea. “I know, Wolf, but I don’t want it.”
There we had the final confession. Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot and England, wanted to throw his crown into the sea. When the messenger arrived in Avalon to say we had trouble brewing at home and Kay needed help, I actually watched Arthur close down before my eyes. When it had just been the two of us in the Abbey, we’d grown so close and we were so happy, we’d both forgotten the real world waited to close its jaws on us once more.
“They need you, Arthur,” I said gesturing to the city and meaning the people.
“I know but I need you,” he whispered.
“I will always be at your side, my King,” I said quietly, laying a hand on his bowed head.
He nodded and pushed Willow forward. Merlin clucked his shaggy mountain horse, Daisy, into a walk, and I gave Ash his head. If I were honest, I didn’t want to return to Camelot any more than Arthur did but that was not my decision. Where my King went I followed, always would.
As we rode into the city, during the busy afternoon rush in the markets and around the inns, Arthur kept his ears open. We walked a circuitous route and he maintained his anonymity. Merlin watched and listened just as hard. He’d not been in the city for more than five years. I rode behind them; hand on my sword, ready. I knew how restless and unhappy Camelot had grown over the months. Even having been in prison for almost a year and then banished didn’t make me ignorant of the problems we faced. The evidence of Arthur’s neglect lay everywhere.
The city guard were not guarding, they were chattering with whores. The women in question offered themselves on the streets, rather than quietly in the houses, which made ignoring them impossible. Litter, mud and shit covered the paved roads and we heard endless arguments about prices and guilds taking advantage of the power vacuum. There were more beggars, more obvious hunger, more poor. We found an area of the city which didn’t even have houses, just shacks thrown up against each other, streets too narrow to ride through. We witnessed crime, cutpurses, the illegal sale of narcotics, unlicensed alcohol, and theft. Merlin bought some of the drugs we found and almost choked on the foul smell.
“It’s fly agaric and poppy. It’ll kill in these doses if someone doesn’t know what they’re doing,” he groused.
“I had no idea it had become this bad,” Arthur said.
“I told you, if the king is sick the land is sick and Camelot is the first place to turn bad when the king is bad,” Merlin lectured for the hundredth time.
“It wasn’t exactly my fault,” Arthur snapped.
“You didn’t have to drink the poison, Arthur,” the old wizard snapped back.
“It seemed like a fine idea after I almost killed my,” he paused and bit back the word he wanted to use to describe me. “What do I do to fix it?” he asked instead.
“Rule, bring leadership back to Camelot. Stop the fey from poisoning our people, in mind and body. These people would welcome Stephen taking the throne from you if he promised them health, wealth and happiness. So, you need to give it to them but make them proud of it, make them work for it. Don’t just hand over money to the churches to care for them in their sickness. Make them proud to belong to Camelot by forcing them to invest in their city, in you. They are your greatest defence against Stephen and the fey. Use them, Arthur. Woo them. You know how to do it, you’ve just lost the common touch because you’ve been in pain for too long. Now, you are free of that pain, so help them help themselves.” Merlin’s grey eyes shone as he guided Arthur. I remembered watching almost exactly the same scene when Arthur had just gained the throne all those years before. Merlin had told him exactly the same thing to help him become the great king I loved.
“We need to start with the guard. We give them back their pride, give them something worthy of the uniform,” I said. “Give them a reason to police their city.”
Arthur nodded and I knew as we walked through the city to the great keep, he already had a list of orders a mile long to give us all. He’d always held to the law and maintained a tight rein on the detail of his government. I had the feeling any slack which may have occurred would be quickly gone.
The walls to the entrance of the keep could be clearly seen at the end of the road we rode up. Ar
thur stopped. We stopped. Merlin looked at him, “What is it?” the wizard asked in that voice I’d grown wary of over the years. It meant Arthur tapped into a part of himself connected to another world.
I watched as Camelot’s King, drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, “There’s something wrong in there,” he said quietly. He turned to me suddenly, “We go in there armed and we stake our claim to my city.” His blue eyes shone with an inner power.
I grinned, “Yes, Sire.” My right hand groused that fighting didn’t seem a sensible idea, I ignored it.
The three of us turned the horses and rode back to a nearby inn we’d all been drunk in at one time or another. I slipped off Ash and entered through a discreet door at the back. I spoke with the innkeeper. He came out, bowed briefly before Willow and Arthur and took us to a small set of private rooms he kept for his more illustrious patrons, when they were doing something they shouldn’t.
We piled into the rooms and I found myself alone with Arthur for a second. I looked around, “I should keep these rooms on retainer for us to enjoy privately,” I joked.
Arthur tried to scowl but gave up and laughed, “Think I’m becoming your whore?” he asked.
I frowned, considered and said, “More like mistress,” then Merlin walked in.
“You are quite correct, Arthur,” his presence dominated the room. No mean feat with two huge warriors there as well, “Camelot is sick and the sickness is at her core. We are going to have problems, my friend.”
Arthur, his moment of jovial silliness fleeing before the wizards unhappiness, said, “Tell me.”
“There have been countless arrests throughout the city. Men are being held without charge and decent women are avoiding the keep. Those that work in the keep but live in the city are scared. There is foulness in the stones.”
“I haven’t been gone that long,” Arthur complained. “How can things be as bad as that?”
“Your spirit has been gone from Camelot for a very long time,” Merlin stated.
Arthur glanced at me. “My spirit almost died in Camelot,” he spoke so quietly and with such emotion, my own heart ached in sympathy for the golden young man who had to become king.
“Well,” I said, trying to control Arthur’s anguish, “it doesn’t make much of a difference what kind of malaise is in Camelot’s walls, we have to stop it.” I grabbed my breastplate and began buckling it on. “If we are facing an enemy in Camelot, whether it can be defeated with a sword or with our spirits we need to put on a display of victory and that means looking shiny and fierce.”
To be honest I had no idea if I was right but I’d far rather face anything with a sword in my hand than complicated politics. Displays of strength I understand. In the end, Arthur helped me into the armour, the fingers of my right hand too damaged. I worried I’d never be able to function as a warrior properly, but Merlin seemed convinced I’d heal given time. Something of a luxury.
When Arthur finished dressing he turned to me, “What do I do about Guinevere?”
The question came from nowhere and I had nowhere to hide. My heart rate shot up. We’d not spoken of Guinevere for weeks. I’d shied away from thinking about her and the consequences of finally caving into Arthur’s desire. Correction, our desire, I couldn’t blame Arthur for this mess.
“I’m not certain I’m the person to ask,” I said carefully.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed, “I want your opinion not a tactful withdraw from the field,” his tone hardened.
“Arthur,” I tried to escape but the look in his eyes gave me no retreat. I puffed air out and stared at the beams in the ceiling looking for inspiration. “Alright, if you want my honest opinion here it is, don’t fight her. Find out what she wants. Find out why she is so angry. Talking, not screaming or fighting. One day at a time and give her space to be angry with you.” I grabbed Arthur’s steal shoulders, “You need to try to save your marriage, Arthur. You loved her once.”
His gaze dropped, “Now I love you,” he said quietly.
“We have something different,” I spoke to the top of his head, “but you still need a Queen, a wife and an heir.”
He nodded and silently turned away, burying whatever conflict he suffered under the armour of a king. Wearing my own armour made me feel invincible. When Merlin returned, in his formal black cloak rather than riding leathers, the three of us walked from the inn and I revelled in the feeling of being at home with my King at my side.
I’d buckled my sword onto my right hip, ensuring I’d have a clean draw with my left, but it made an untidy remount of Ash. He danced and pranced around the inn’s yard, the armour and Willow’s company making him think we were in for a fight. Arthur grinned at me, “I have the best at my side once more, Wolf.”
“I will always be at your side, Sire,” I smiled in return.
We clomped from the yard and into the streets of Camelot. All three of us had our heads bare, no great helm or coif. Each of us instantly recognisable. As one unit, we returned to the curtain wall of the castle and followed it around toward the main gate.
The sun sat low and squat in the western sky on the short winter day but people suddenly realised their sun rode the streets. Arthur sat, straight, strong, proud and the epitome of knighthood. Damn it felt good to be home.
News of Arthur’s appearance in the city spread more swiftly than fire, water, or air. People filled the streets in moments and the cheering started. With bare heads, we watched the people and they watched us. My name rushed from lip to lip as Arthur walked ahead, my coat of arms as familiar to the people as the king’s because we were so close and I won the tourneys making me instantly recognisable. Arthur smiled and waved to those he recognised of the traders and craftsmen. People adored him and he adored them back. A king is his people and the people are their king.
By the time we reached the keep’s outer walls, a surging living tide of humanity cried out our names. Except for Merlin. Mother’s invoked his name to scare their children but I felt their relief at his presence as much as my own. The old team were together, now all ills would be cured.
I only had to hope they were right. The welcoming committee at the gates made me think they might be proved wrong.
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