Morgana's Handmaid and the Creature of the Dungeon

by Purple Hazel

  I have often wondered, if this had occurred only fifteen or twenty years earlier, would I have continued to participate, once I knew I could get in free with Alguin at night? I’m not really sure, but I tend to doubt it. Activities like that were better suited for lovely little unicorns like Ywedelle and women of her ilk who could engage and detach from carnal relations so effortlessly. I was never quite like that.

  Besides, by that age and with what I already had waiting at home, I quit going after only a few visits. The moist, steamy air was too hard on Alguin’s lungs anyway; and frankly I preferred my peaceful country life. Pushing forty at the time, I had no real appetite for such things as Roman style orgies and drunken revelry.

  By way of comparison, Mordred’s typical day would begin around midmorning back at the palace where he’d commonly be found sleeping off his hangover from the night before. He’d take his breakfast in his room, screaming at servants to bring him some form of relief for his aching head, vomiting up his consumption from the night before, and kicking naked girls or young men out of his bed in literally all directions as he stirred awake. By the afternoon, he’d be fully recovered.

  But you see he was merely an immature boy given way too much authority at too young of an age. If anyone argued with him, or made an observation that questioned his judgment, he’d have the errant servant dragged off to the dungeon. Of course there’d be no torture this time I’m proud to say. Alguin, now relieved of duty from manning and stoking the furnace every night, would pose as Vile and take them into his dark sanctuary for a short while until the guards had gone back up to the castle; then simply spirit them out the tunnels of the cavern to freedom.

  No, Alguin would have nothing to do with tormenting a servant who’d simply had the courage to point out to the silly fool that he was being a jackass. Because that’s all he really was you see: Morgana’s spoiled little boy, nearly fully grown now, given reign over a kingdom that had once been a magical place we were all so very proud of. The grateful servant, after being led to freedom by “Vile,” would then disappear from the castle to return to their home village and drop out of sight until they were forgotten; just like I had once done. Mordred never asked about what happened to them. In a day or two he’d usually forgotten about them anyway, or for that matter gotten too drunk to care.

  In the great hall Mordred would entertain guests and begin imbibing come evening time. Later that night however, he’d begin boasting to his guests that it was time to go see his private play palace down the road, to disrobe and enjoy the delights available there. He turned that lovely edifice into his own private playground, and with no boundaries to his immorality, insanity naturally began to erode the young man’s mind.

  He’d give bizarre orders to servants that were nearly if not completely impossible to fulfill. Of course they’d eventually learn to agree enthusiastically; then hope the drunken oaf would forget about it later. Usually it worked. But then his unchecked absurdity as Lord of the manor led him to making wild demands on not just his own servants!

  Moving into the third year of Arthur’s absence, Mordred began sending messengers to the convent where Gwynevere now resided, and despite his mother’s urgings not to do so, Mordred shockingly demanded that Queen Gwynevere marry him, due to the fact that her husband was likely never to return; By default Mordred was now her sovereign, or so he claimed. That’s when folks could finally see that it was going too far. Indeed, Alguin had read the young man correctly.

  “Now everyone sees the prince for who he truly is,” observed Alguin. “A spoiled boy who’s been coddled and given everything he’s ever desired without having to earn it. Yes, they thought they saw a young man who sincerely wanted to please and impress with his generosity and creativity. Not anymore.”

  Alguin never believed in such hogwash, not for a moment. What Alguin saw was a young man who’d simply never been told “no,” and who’d never been compelled to embrace social morality. As he once told me, “Mordred is a young man who never believed that the rules of society applied to him.”

  From that moment on, Mordred’s popularity plummeted; as the kingdom found out about his demand and people were appalled at his audacity. Gwynevere of course refused, and the church stood up for her, protecting her right to remain as a nun and continue her penance to God. Not even the brash Mordred could defy the church. However, the damage was done, and the good people of the kingdom began turning against him, staying away from the palace and shunning the bathhouse—even vandalizing it on occasion. People left Camelot, servants abandoned their posts, and many folks simply went back to their home villages or moved on to other cities.

  Anyone still going to the bathhouse was now considered by the citizens of Camelot to be of low moral standards, regardless of what time of day they attended. In fact, in the last year of Arthur’s absence, the enormous bathhouse was all but empty after sunrise.

  Only Mordred and the last of his entourage were ever in attendance. Palace guards no longer went there with him. The perverted fiend merely brought along his original loyal bodyguard of handsome young men and the last of his lovely courtesans from among Gwynevere’s and Morgana’s handmaids who still loved the wild parties far too much to finally come to their senses. Silly girls.

  Chapter 14

  Return of Arthur

  During this period when Mordred ran the kingdom in the king’s absence, Arthur was campaigning in Gaul, and eventually faced the Roman Emperor Lucius and his allies. We later found out what happened to Arthur; from the day he set foot on the other side of the Channel, to his eventual final battle with Lucius. But for the better part of three long years we hardly heard a word. Most of what we found out was year-old news by the time it got back to Camelot. The public of course was never told a thing. Only Alguin heard about it and kept me informed each morning when he returned home from the dungeon.

  Arthur had sailed to Normandy to try and meet up with his cousin Hole. King Hoel was the King of Cournaille. This region of neighboring Brittany was ruled by nobles closely related to the families of Cornwall, and even spoke the same language. But upon arrival, Arthur was beset by an already very daunting challenge that would have to be dealt with before he could continue his campaign.

  There in Normandy, Arthur and his arriving army encountered a fierce giant who’d been terrorizing the people in the area, raiding villages from the island of Mont St Michel. Norway seemed to be where he’d come from, and no one was sure how he had made his way to this corner of the world; but his almost weekly raids began right around the time when Arthur was mustering his army for the campaign against Rome.

  Local villagers were by then quite terrified at night that the fiend might return to kill and devour anyone standing against him. The giant’s name was never spoken, nor did anyone seem to have named him at all; yet he hunted both peasant and noble alike. Arthur soon heard the gruesome story of his unspeakably horrible acts.

  Immediately upon arrival, Arthur was told the giant had recently abducted the Duchess of Brittany, and returned with her to his encampment on top of Mont. St Michel. The giant’s practice, you see, had been to raid into towns nearby, butcher all who stood against him, return to his camp with the dead and - I’m sad to say - dine upon their limbs and flesh. The women of the villages suffered worse, for the giant was said to have ravaged them ferociously - brutalizing them repeatedly. His violence toward women seemed to be devoid of any desire for gratification, or for that matter reason. It was horrifying; and the belief was that he’d taken the duchess back to his island lair to do much the same with her.

  “It was a provocation, clearly meant to lure Arthur into action,” Alguin observed. He chillingly described the monster to me one day.

  “The giant hath made himself a coat out of the beards of nobles or kings who’d done battle with him,” said Alguin. “Some fifteen of these men had perished at the business end of the giant’s great club which he could swing with such force as to split a man’s skull. The giant stood as
tall as a knight’s warhorse, probably seven feet in height,” he added, “so with his enormous build and long club, warriors could never get close enough to do damage.” Spears thrown would merely be blocked away, and wielding a shield against his blows was all but fruitless, as the giant could strike a man’s war shield and batter it asunder.

  Many among our sovereign’s war council realized that in abducting the duchess, the giant was drawing King Arthur into personal combat, compelling Arthur to fight him alone, lest he appear to be cowardly. Alguin believed it had been designed that way, right from the start.

  “Naturally it would have been more sensible to bring a squad of knights with him,” he observed. “But Arthur knew it was his task. Win and his men would be inspired to follow him into Europe to face Lucius. Avoid combat with the giant, and Arthur would lose face.”

  As Alguin explained it to me, “If he faced the giant and slew him personally, Arthur could more easily recruit additional allies for the campaign. Fail and the campaign would likely die right along with him.” So he had little choice.

  Arthur commanded his two knights Kay and Bedevere to accompany him to the island and had them remain with his horse while he ascended the hilltop to face the beast. Arriving there, we heard that Arthur then discovered a rather grisly sight, which only confirmed everything he’d heard. Body parts, graves, and terrified women kept as prisoners—enslaved to serve the giant’s bidding until he decided to dispose of them. It was a disgraceful scene.

  “Indeed the giant was, when Arthur came into his camp, feasting upon the severed leg of a man as well!” Alguin told me with a look of disgust. “Enraged, Arthur challenged the gluttonous fiend to a battle—and no doubt took full advantage of the fact that the monster had been stuffing himself with flesh and wine all afternoon.”

  Nevertheless, the giant very quickly picked up his club and swung clumsily at Arthur. Arthur anticipated this and ducked. The giant only narrowly missed and knocked off Arthur’s crown. The deadly duel had begun!

  “Off balance,” Alguin told me, “the drunken fool repositioned himself to try for another swing at Arthur, who quickly lunged forward with his sword.” The giant was wearing no breeches under his coat of human hair, so Arthur saw an opportunity to slice across his abdomen and disembowel the heathen. This move fell short of its target unfortunately, but succeeded in slicing off the giant’s scrotum, and the massive penis of the savage fell to the ground with a thud.

  Realizing this was a death blow and meanwhile bleeding like a stuck pig, the inebriated behemoth became desperate and surged forward to embrace Arthur. He tried to squeeze the life out of him! Instead they both lost balance and rolled down the hillside toward the ocean, toppling over crags and stones and bumps in the earth.

  Arthur’s ribs were cracked but he eventually managed to grab his dagger as they rolled into the surf on the beach below. “With his dagger in hand,” Alguin reported, “Arthur was able to plunge it into the heathen’s throat and thankfully end the devil’s life.” Arthur had miraculously survived! And in the aftermath, this defeat of the previously undefeatable giant made Arthur a legend with local villagers. Recruiting additional allies from the region thus became quite easy. Arthur was now a legitimate hero to the people of Gaul.

  “The first real challenge to Arthur and his campaign had been both met and overcome,” stated Alguin proudly. “And with that he turned his attention to the march on Rome.” Meanwhile Arthur learned that Lucius had been doing some recruiting of his own.

  The Roman Emperor had sent out word to his vassal kingdoms that he was forming an army to attack Britain. Many heeded the Emperor’s call for troops. His recruits included Jinetes from Spain and even Saracen militia from the east. He found knights from the northern part of Italy, and of course plenty of peasant archers, crossbowmen, Genoese militia, and Venetian merchant cavalry who rode along just for the chance to plunder our homeland if the allied army defeated Arthur and eventually made it across the Channel.

  Lucius hired mercenary cataphracts from the old Byzantine Empire as well. These heavy cavalry were armored from head to toe, and even their horses were covered in mail to protect them in close combat. Pikemen from the Swiss Alps joined the march, too, along with German feudal knights who were cloaked in chain mail and armed with swords and shields. Lucius felt he had a superior army and could handle open combat with most anything our brave king could throw at him.

  “All these things Arthur heard about long before he engaged his nemesis in combat,” Alguin told me, “and his strategy was still very simple despite the reported threat. You see, he brought with him hundreds of Longbowmen, men at arms, Scottish noble cavalrymen, Scots Highlander axe men, and nearly a thousand knights to the battle. But after defeating the giant, Arthur also gained new alliances with local Normans who then joined in with the march south to meet Lucius.”

  These Normans had once been Viking raiders who’d merely settled in the area and assimilated into local culture. They were medium infantry who often rode to battle on horseback and then dismounted to fight on foot, following traditional Norse battle tactics. They carried round shields and wore wooden helmets riveted together with iron plating. They used long spears that could be wielded one-handed while they held their shield in defense against counter thrusts from the enemy.

  “At first, Emperor Lucius sent word to his allies to meet him in Bourgignon,” Alguin informed me, “right at the eastern edge of Gaul, looking to draw Arthur into a field battle. He marched up through the Alps in the spring, recruiting and conscripting troops along the way as he went. There was little opposition, and besides Lucius could typically offer the lords and nobles of the invaded territories the chance to lower their swords and join him as allies.”

  Many did. Additionally, during the march Lucius plundered town after town so he’d have the gold he needed to pay those mercenaries he’d hired. When they arrived in Bourgignon, Lucius’s army was nearly twice the size of Arthur’s.

  If the impetuous Emperor was confident of victory he had every right to feel that way! To be sure, his army was enormous and he possessed some of the most skilled troops in all of Europe. Lucius sincerely believed he had not underestimated his foe, and boldly sought to overwhelm our king’s forces with sheer numbers. However, Arthur was indeed a very tenacious opponent after all, as the emperor soon found out.

  Arriving in the area, Arthur used the lessons he’d learned in all those years fighting and besieging castles back in England. Throughout his adult life, Arthur had been in command of stubborn, determined knights as well as loyal, highly skilled warriors. In open field battles, he’d defeated the best, most fearless and terrifying of opponents. This would be Arthur’s shining moment to prove to the whole of Europe his true prowess. Therefore, he carefully chose his ground, so that his entire force could easily see enemy troop movements.

  Arthur positioned himself and his army on a small rise with a good command of the valley below, and immediately set his men to work chopping down trees to set up a barrier of wooden pikes. Then he waited for Lucius to appear and face him. By midday, Lucius’s massive army had arrived and arrayed itself in traditional formation with bristling spear points gleaming in the afternoon sun - cavalry on the flanks, and heavy infantry in the center. Our men braced for a bloody battle.

  Our King meanwhile arranged his forces with his longbowmen behind a line of pikes planted into the ground. These pikes were about eight feet long, shaved off with axes so they came to a point; then shoved several feet into the ground pointed outward toward the enemy. Arthur had chosen his ground well, giving his archers a clear view of the approaching Romans and their allies. Arthur could survey the enemy army and easily make out the tactics they were employing.

  “It then became quite obvious what our opponent was preparing to throw at us,” boasted Alguin.

  Surely, the Spanish Jinetes must have thought they could easily approach and harass Arthur’s flanks, like they were accustomed to doing back in Spain against Musl
im forces. This would have been their tactic. But what the Roman commander didn’t fully appreciate was the deadly accuracy and range of our mostly Welsh archers. The longbow was a deadly weapon that could literally stand on the ground right next to its owner and in some cases tower over his head.

  For long range shots the Welsh would plant the base of the bow in the earth, notch an arrow, and kneel. They could then pull the string back as far as their arms allowed them to. The projectile was nearly twice the size of a regular arrow, and when loosed, it could travel a full one hundred yards, or more, with murderous velocity.

  At first Lucius sent his mercenary Jinetes to harass Arthur’s flanks, but they never got near enough to use their javelins. Longbows decimated their ranks before they even got close, and once many of their comrades had fallen, the demoralized survivors melted away. Now Lucius knew he had to employ something heavier against our forces. Using mercenary cataphracts, the Roman Emperor then tried a direct cavalry charge.

  “In traditional battle tactics,” Alguin would explain to me later, “a massed cavalry charge should have been plenty to disperse a line of archers before they got off but a few volleys of arrows.”

  Yet, still not appreciating the effectiveness of our longbowmen, hundreds of metal-clad warriors galloped toward our brave Welshmen. Our arrows could pierce plate armor quite easily at well over one hundred yards due to the slope of the hill Arthur’s forces occupied. Thus, with only one or two volleys, nearly one quarter of the cataphracts were felled, horses screaming and men thrown from their saddles. It must have been horrific! Those who even made it to our lines were slaughtered mercilessly at the pike line. “It was said to be bloody carnage,” Alguin told me.