Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon

by Purple Hazel

  Yet everything about his actions that day, no matter how brave and noble he intended them to be, would imply he truly was the queen’s lover. We all knew that, or at least assumed as much right from the start. For that matter no one, not even Arthur, doubted he was her lover by now. But no one really wanted to see our beautiful queen burned at the stake. I’m not even sure Morgana wanted that either, now that I think about it. However she surely needed to fear for her teenage son more than anything! He and his brothers were no match for an enraged Sir Lancelot, and the gallant knight was coming very soon.

  The sun had risen. It was time to commence. Therefore, believing no champion had yet appeared to defend the queen and seeing no signal from Arthur, the brash young Mordred went up to my lover Alguin and demanded he hand the boy a torch for lighting the pyre. Mordred then walked slowly over to it; and the people held their breath for several tense moments.

  However, before he made it over to light the giant stack of tree branches and dried wood that Alguin had built, we could suddenly hear horse hooves on the streets of the town! Lancelot had finally arrived! Somebody somewhere in the crowd—then several people as I recall it—shouted news of his arrival; since he had no squires or heralds with him to announce his approach. This mission you see, he had to perform alone.

  “’Tis Sir Lancelot! Lancelot approaches!” I heard a man shout from the far end of the town square. This elicited several gasps and women could be heard swooning with delight. “I see him!” a woman screamed. “He rides alone!” another one yelled. And from there the noises from that throng of people swelled with excited murmuring. Some even cheered. “Hooray for Lancelot! He hath come to champion the queen!”

  He wore no helmet, just full armor and a few side arms. This was the first time I’d seen him in ages! He looked so much older than all those years before, but only in the eyes really. Skin was drawn around his face revealing that he’d aged a bit, but his hair was still brown and curly, still flowing down the back of his neck with only a slight touch of gray showing. I got a good look at his face once again; but this time his expression was grim and determined, not the pleasant, dopey smile I’d commonly seen. I thought of how incredible this moment was going to be.

  Such a good-natured man Lancelot was. Yet he was embroiled in a controversy of his own misdoings, mainly the victim of misguided loyalty and the natural temptations of the flesh I’d say. For that I couldn’t blame either him or Gwynevere—not for being human and succumbing to their needs for intimacy. If I’d presumed to sit in judgment of their sins, I’d truly have been the worst hypocrite in that crowd, if not one of many that day.

  After all, what was so wicked about what they’d done? Neither one intended treason toward our king. True, bloody violence would have to occur that day to resolve the matter, but there was certainly no “justice” to be served. Not at all. No real crime had been committed in my mind, just two lonely people who’d made a mistake.

  Lancelot was truly the greatest of Arthur’s great knights. Older now, yet still quite skilled at his craft, no one doubted what would happen after he unhorsed and approached Mordred and his brothers. Seeing the men disarmed however, Lancelot stopped briefly to unhook and cast off any weapons, daggers, and swords. Oh, he’d defeat them easily. We all knew that. Yet virtually no one had ever seen Lancelot fight unarmed before. He was fantastic with a lance, brutal with a mace, and deadly with a sword. But would he be just as amazing with his bare hands, despite being outnumbered, four to one? We prepared ourselves to find out.

  Arthur should have stopped it you know? And yet I had to wonder how in the world he could have. For their part, Mordred and his brothers would have been much wiser simply to release Gwynevere and back away. The point had been made, don’t you see? In fact as they compressed into a group, hunched over slightly like they were preparing to grapple; I’m sure each one was hoping something would happen that would stop the catastrophe. Maybe one would speak up and urge the others to yield the field that day and proclaim the queen’s innocence. That would have resolved the matter immediately, don’t you see? But everyone had a role and a fate to fulfill that day. We could do nothing but watch the inevitable tragedy as it unfolded.

  What followed next was a shocking display of unhinged violence and carnage. In a rage that befitted a man deeply in love with his woman; a damsel who was now in distress, Lancelot defeated all four of them while accidentally killing the unarmed Gareth within just a few moments. Lancelot spun, kicked, jumped and seemed to fly through the air with not just skill, but also an almost uncanny anticipation of everyone’s next move.

  A kick to the chest felled Gaheris as well and he crumpled to the ground with a collapsed lung. Lancelot had no weapons, but his feet were protected by metal sabatons which came to a sharpened point. It was incredible watching Lancelot fight. He was so intense, eyes open wide with ferocity, seeing everything and outguessing them, almost before his opponents could think of what to do.

  His hair flew about. Blood spattered his face and breastplates from broken noses or gashed lips. Bones snapped from being twisted violently. It seemed like none of them could square a punch on him.

  When two would grab him, he’d turn one into a weapon against the other, hurling them around using their own body weight. They couldn’t kick him when he slid across the ground to worm out of a pin, nor could they get a good lock on his head or shoulders when they wrestled with him. He’d draw them in if they got close, and strike them with fists, elbows or feet. Even his knees turned into steel clubs due to his armored padding.

  Right from the start I tell you, the four young men were confused and befuddled at just how to try and assault him successfully. It seemed like anything they did—every move they attempted—either failed miserably or would be used against them.

  Seeing both Gaheris and Gareth felled, Mordred and Gawain finally yielded the field and went to the aid of their brothers. Gareth was already dead, and Gaheris soon expired as well, gasping in tremendous agony from his punctured lung. He could only gurgle and plead for help, but there was nothing the young men could do. Heartbroken and devastated at their losses, the two surviving brothers were forced to profess the queen’s innocence. The terrible scene ended with the crowd heaving a collective sigh of relief, as the two men carried away their dead brothers.

  Many in the crowd wept for the young men who’d died so honorably. There was no doubting their valor; and besides that everyone was quite relieved not to see that pyre of wood ignited! “Hail! All hail the brave Sir Lancelot!” they shouted. “Hoorah! He hath saved our queen! God be praised!”

  You see, though she’d been sinful, the townspeople still loved their Gwynevere, and as Arthur’s subjects they did not want to see his wife consumed in a fiery pillar of flames. Therefore when the two surviving warriors professed her innocence, the crowd gave out a subdued yet relieved cheer. At the conclusion of the fight, and with Mordred and Gawain still grieving over their dead brothers, Gwynevere was released from the pyre, unchained by Alguin and led to Arthur. We held our breath in anticipation of what she’d do next!

  “She is going to him now. The creature is leading her to the king,” said a woman next to me in a raised whisper; then a silence fell over the crowd. Murmuring would arise occasionally as she approached her husband, but then it would promptly be shushed by others. All eyes were upon him, upon our King that is, and as always Arthur delivered the dramatic moment we so desperately wanted to see. We needed to see him forgive her—you understand that, don’t you? We needed to see her exonerated for her crime, no matter how wicked the circumstances of her actions. But most of all, I personally—and I probably speak for others that day—needed Arthur to accept her. “Oh, I do hope he forgives her,” whispered a woman nearby. That’s how we all felt.

  No, she didn’t intend to leave him, nor run off and marry the fearsome warrior who now stood weeping in the town square. She had no intentions of abandoning Arthur. She only wanted love—something that he simply could n
ot provide. “Arthur loved Gwynevere, but he was married to Camelot…and to history,” as Alguin once eloquently put it years later. Therefore, when he embraced her like a wayward daughter, a daughter for whom he was compelled to forgive the unthinkable, most of us began to weep with relief and yet regretful sadness over what had transpired that awful morning.

  It was too much for the queen, too. Gwynevere could not bear the guilt in her heart any longer. Two young men had died needlessly, and she’d disgraced her lover Lancelot by putting him in the unenviable position of having to save her from execution. He had to come save her, you know? Had no choice, really. Yet by appearing there, battle-dressed and ready to fight for her, he only implicated himself.

  Gwynevere’s heart was now broken. She wept bitterly and pleaded for Arthur’s forgiveness, kneeling at his feet in bitter disgrace. It was awful to watch, and I doubt there was a dry eye in that whole crowd. We ached for her, especially us women, and for Arthur as well. I sobbed inconsolably that whole morning. Most of us did really—all those noble ladies who’d arrogantly judged her, only to see her humiliated in a manner unbefitting a queen—and also those women in the crowd just like me who continued to be tormented by our own misdeeds of the past.

  Meanwhile realizing the exposure of his sinfulness, and even though he’d succeeded in saving his queen, Lancelot wept like a child who’d been scolded by his mother. It was so unnecessary! What a waste! We all—all of us there in the crowd you see—shared in the kingdom’s shame that day. Two men were dead, our lovely queen and favorite knight had been dishonored, and our happy kingdom was irreparably damaged. ‘Twas the beginning of the fall of Camelot, some would say later. The end of an era. Their sins—Gwynevere’s and Lancelot’s—had to be washed away with blood and penance. That’s what the priests would say. Yet we would all have to share in that penance, it would seem.

  The result was that Gwynevere left the palace to join a convent in the east, thereby removing the last remaining obstacle to Mordred becoming sole heir to the throne. Only Morgana and Mordred could truly rejoice in this. He’d soon have his shining moment and big opportunity, too. Nothing could stop the inevitable. I could feel it coming that day when Lancelot stood weeping as Gwynevere knelt at Arthur’s feet. Mordred merely had to survive that terrible fight, and he’d done so. For now Lancelot and Gwynevere had been removed from his path to ultimately inherit the crown.

  In the aftermath of this scandal, Lancelot fled in exile to his original homeland in Gaul. Arthur and he did not speak again for several years. It was such a very unhappy time for the kingdom; and most people grieved for what they saw as a symbolic end to their once idyllic existence. They missed their queen and especially missed Lancelot.

  Arthur didn’t show it of course; but I bet he must have been quite heartbroken as well. Now both his best friend and his beautiful wife were gone completely from his world…

  And that’s why, when it came time for his departure to go fight the Romans and their allies, Arthur had no choice but to put Prince Mordred in charge of his kingdom as his rightful heir. When he left, he would stay gone nearly three long years, and leave behind all the sadness and despair that now gripped our land. We wondered for the longest time if he’d ever return!

  Alguin and I returned home as we tried to carry on with our everyday lives. I’m sure everyone else at least tried or thought they could as well. I only wanted peace and happiness at home as we grew older and enjoyed our remaining years together. Yet it made me feel so hollow inside. What happened at Camelot on that terrible day affected me just as much as everyone, emotionally that is. I prayed for Gwynevere, prayed for Arthur, and prayed that Morgana would handle the new power she’d gained in a responsible manner. I prayed for Lancelot to find peace, too. Yet I must say; I somehow felt guilty.

  Arthur had lost his once-happy marriage. Lancelot and Gwynevere lost even more. Two young men lost their lives. I simply couldn’t feel proud of myself for what I had achieved. I hadn’t done anything more noble or courageous. I had merely been human and pursued that which I desired based on my own natural instincts. That made me no different than these tragic people whose lives had been so devastated by acting upon those same urges.

  It made me break down and cry at times, and when Alguin would comfort me he’d assure me of how he completely understood my feelings. He shared my grief for those poor souls and the torment they must have been suffering. But to me life felt different.

  We were all interconnected don’t you see? Every level and every layer of society was part of the success or failure of Arthur’s reign. Alguin, me, everyone. In our own ways we contributed to or benefited from it. The peasants worked the fields and grew the crops. The smiths and craftsmen made the tools and weapons. The servants handled the menial chores so that nobles and kings could command, rule, dispense justice, and protect us. Our society wasn’t perfect. It just worked. But remove one vital piece of this, and the society around us might become unstable—quite unstable indeed.

  With the King’s departure, Arthur’s best and most loyal knights left right along with him. Only a bodyguard of men at arms—mostly young squires recently elevated to knighthood by Mordred himself—kept the castle secure. The guards by this time were little more than opportunistic males who came to the castle at Mordred’s request with promises of being able to enjoy a good time and get paid well while doing it. Handsome and tall usually, these new guards were recruited mainly for their looks; and the young ladies of the castle snatched them up as lovers quite readily I heard, during the almost nightly feasts and parties held by the prince after Arthur left. Maybe Mordred held an attraction to men, too, who knows? But he certainly didn’t choose guards who seemed like battle-hardened warriors either.

  Yet we were soon to learn even more about Mordred’s “vision” for an orderly kingdom! To be sure, things degenerated rather quickly. Morality, as we came to understand it, left right along with Arthur. Essentially there was no one left to enforce common decency and anything resembling proper decorum, once Arthur departed for Gaul. Morgana’s remaining handmaids even joined in with the regular debauchery! She no longer kept them on a tight leash. Alguin said she didn’t seem to care anymore. My how things had changed, and quickly too!

  After all, Morgana’s singular goal in life had nearly been fulfilled. Her son now sat on the throne! Meanwhile Arthur was away on campaign; from where he might very well never return.

  “The princess is taking to her new role as the Queen Mother quite comfortably,” Alguin pointed out to me one day. “About all her highness needs now is for Arthur to meet with a tragic end while away on campaign; then it will be only she and her son sitting atop the throne, with no one to dispute their claim.”

  But Mordred, for his part, wasn’t about to just sit around and wait on Arthur’s death in combat, if it ever came about that way. Oh, no, not for an instant. For all intents and purposes, the prince began acting like he was already king.

  To make things worse; now put in charge of Arthur’s kingdom, Mordred slowly degenerated into an immoral libertine who slept in each morning until way past dawn, and took to reveling throughout the night. “Truly,” commented Alguin, “even his own mother cannot control him, but then again she hast always been the doting type. Her glistening boy canst do no wrong in her eyes.”

  Yet despite what was going on inside the palace and the rumors floating around about immoral behavior among the guards, handmaids, and Mordred himself; I have to admit, the people really did take an initial liking to the young prince! From the outset the kingdom embraced the young heir to the throne, and in no time, there were some great improvements to castle life that appealed to most everyone.

  True the castle treasury was being depleted rapidly with his almost nightly feasts, which entertained the remaining nobility. However the surrounding town was also provided elaborate festivals for the commoners to enjoy. The brewery and winery were busy with new orders for ale and wine, and peasants were being hired from the countrys
ide for construction and civic improvements. Things began to look like the kingdom was prosperous again. Yes, it turned out to be quite easy for Mordred to seduce the people in those early days of his reign!

  What’s more Gwynevere’s former handmaids were now employed by Mordred himself; thereby removing the last remaining potential for opposition to the prince’s authority. Only Ywedelle went with Gwynevere to the convent—though I couldn’t imagine she stayed there every night, knowing Ywedelle—not if there was a strapping stable boy or a muscly farm hand about. The rest of her handmaids remained though, and as his “consorts” they gladly provided companionship to visiting nobles and their aspiring young squires. “Indeed, our Castle Camelot is becoming more and more like pagan Rome every day,” Alguin observed.

  Mordred didn’t stop there though. For months, no one was sent to the dungeon. Common criminals were simply executed or publicly disciplined by Mordred’s new guards in a sort of carnival-like atmosphere that was meant to show strength; but in Alguin’s eyes it steadily grew into a spectacle aimed more at entertaining the masses—as well as playing upon their base instincts. This became more and more obvious over time.

  What also began occurring was public punishment of women; and that’s when Alguin told me it first struck him that something “wasn’t quite right” with Mordred. It quickly became a slippery slope. Women merely accused of crimes like stealing, adultery, fornication, or public indecency—even arguing or fighting with each other in the presence of grown men—could be brought before a public tribunal held in the town square.

  The tribunals were a farce by the way. Most of the time the “cases” they tried were circumstances where someone simply had a score to settle, so they’d accuse a neighbor of some form of impropriety. The tribunal, made up of Mordred’s cronies and “leading citizens of the community” would hear testimony from virtually anyone in the crowd who came forward. These rather dubious members of the tribunal would then sit by and let the accused be mocked and defamed mercilessly by townspeople, even inviting suggestions for how the accused should be punished for their acts! It became so terribly perverse over time, I must say.