Scilly Seasons

by Chris Tookey

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” said Wyrd.

  “Oh all right,” said Artorus.

  “You’ll begin fighting again on my say-so,” continued King Otto. “Ready? Set? Fight!”

  Over the next couple of minutes, Wyrd fought as he had never fought before. One legacy of having been bullied by Artorus throughout his childhood was that Wyrd knew all of the prince’s favourite moves and had – however unconsciously – learned to evade most of them. Every now and again, the prince landed a kick or a punch, but Wyrd never allowed him to get close enough to inflict massive damage on him.

  Since both men were level on points, the rules of the third round were simple. One submission or a knockout would decide the contest.

  After three minutes, King Otto rang a bell, and each man was allowed to return to his corner. Wyrd was surprised to find Princess Melisande waiting in his.

  “What are you doing here?” he asked. “Shouldn’t you be in your brother’s corner?”

  “He doesn’t need my help,” said Melisande. “You do.”

  “That’s true,” gasped Wyrd. “He’s starting to wear me down. My legs feel like lead.”

  “You do realise he wants to kill you,” said Melisande.

  “Yes, I did rather get that impression,” acknowledged Wyrd.

  “I don’t want that to happen,” breathed the princess.

  “Me neither. Any hints on how to beat him?” asked Wyrd.

  “Do you want to know how I used to beat him?” asked Melisande.

  “You managed to beat him?”

  “When we were children, of course,” said Melisande, leaning forward to whisper in his ear.

  Suddenly, the bell went; and Wyrd found Artorus running at him. This time, Wyrd knew exactly what to do. He sidestepped the charge, grabbed the prince from behind and started to tickle him under his arms. Artorus fell to the floor, convulsed in helpless laughter and tried to shake him off.

  “No!” cried the prince. “Don’t do that! Please! No! Ha! Haaaa! Haaaaaaa! All right. All right! I give in! I submit!”

  As the bell rang for the end of the contest and King Otto announced Uther the winner, Prince Artorus glared at his conqueror.

  “You’ll regret this,” he snarled.

  “I probably will,” replied Wyrd, accepting the cheers of the crowd, “but victory feels pretty good at the moment.”

  “Make the most of it,” growled Artorus.

  “Oh, I intend to,” replied Wyrd. “By the way, I gather Morgana is expecting your first child. May I be the first to offer my congratulations?”

  28

  Proposals

  In which Wyrd’s love life becomes even more terribly confused

  The following day, Wyrd was practising with his broadsword when he noticed that he was being watched. He turned, with sweat glistening on his bare torso.

  “Bravo!” said Princess Beatrice.

  “Thank you,” said Wyrd, surprised.

  Wyrd was surprised principally because this was the first time he had heard a civil word come out of Princess Beatrice’s mouth. Princess Beatrice had blossomed over the last year. She was unrecognisable as the gawky, awkward and – frankly – ugly child that had threatened to ruin her elder sister’s game of hide and seek. Now she was the same height that Melisande had been when she had first come to Wyrd’s room. Beatrice was darker than her sister but equally as striking. There was every chance, Wyrd thought, that one day she would be as beautiful as her mother, the Queen.

  Beatrice was accompanied by her elder sister. Melisande was studying Wyrd with an even more appreciative eye than usual.

  “Beatrice,” said Melisande sweetly, “haven’t you got toys to play with? I have some things to discuss with Sir Uther.”

  “I bet you have,” said Beatrice, sticking her tongue out at her and running off. Before she did so, Beatrice gave Wyrd a huge smile.

  “Sisters!” said Melisande.

  “Thank you for the tip about your brother,” said Wyrd, once Beatrice had departed. “I had no idea he was so ticklish.”

  “That’s all right,” said Melisande. “I had hoped you might have thanked me last night.”

  “Sorry,” replied Wyrd, “but there was no time to see you on your own.”

  “Perhaps we should do something about that,” said Melisande. “I was only just saying to Beatrice that I don’t see nearly enough of you.”

  She came closer to Wyrd, bent down to take the end of his sword and lifted it.

  “My!” she said. “That is so heavy!”

  “It’s almost too heavy for me,” said Wyrd. “That’s why I need to practise.”

  “You look all right to me,” said the princess.

  She let go of the sword and sighed.

  “I wish I was allowed to fight,” she said. “You have no idea how boring it is to be a princess. There’s nothing to do!”

  “I’ve seen you sewing,” said Wyrd, “you play the lute and you dance.”

  “Yes, but there’s no one to dance with,” said the princess. “Just a lot of clod-hopping knights with two left feet.”

  “Artorus can dance.”

  “Oh, Artie can do everything because he’s been brought up to do it. But I don’t want to dance with my own brother! The only thing you knights ever seem able to do is fight, get drunk and…”

  Her voice trailed off.

  “Well, you know,” she said, with a wicked smile. “Not that Father would allow me to do anything like that.”

  One hand drifted down to where Wyrd was fairly sure her chastity belt was situated.

  “Not until I’m married, at any rate.”

  “Has your father anyone in mind?” inquired Wyrd, stiffly – perhaps a shade too stiffly.

  Melisande looked at him.

  “Would you mind if he had?” she asked, softly.

  Wyrd couldn’t think of a reply.

  “Do you ever think back to when we…?”

  Wyrd blushed.

  “You were such a gentleman,” she said, “not that I appreciated it at the time. And you were…”

  She fluttered her eyelashes demurely, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear.

  “You were so good with your hands.”

  “That’s because you wouldn’t let me go any further,” murmured Wyrd.

  “But I would now,” Melisande whispered back.

  “What about…?” asked Wyrd, pointing to her hips.

  “Oh, that,” she said casually. “That’s because Daddy wants me to save myself. You know, for the right man.”

  “Isn’t that a bit late?”

  “Oh, you mean Bodger. Don’t worry about him. I’m still a virgin, technically.”

  Wyrd wasn’t sure what she meant by this and certainly didn’t feel it his place to inquire further. He wrinkled his brow.

  “So, what are you saying?”

  “What do you think I’m saying?”

  “You can’t be saying you want us to get… married.”

  “Would that be so bad?”

  “Well… no. I mean,” Wyrd thought wildly. “Your father would never…”

  “Daddy’s quite fond of you, you know.”

  “I don’t think he’s that fond of me.”

  “Think about it for a moment,” said the princess. “Daddy knows he’s not long for this world. Then Artie will succeed him. But he’s such a hothead, so keen on becoming a hero that he isn’t going to die of old age. And if he dies before having any children, the throne of Atlantis will pass to me!”

  “And you really would have me to be your king?”

  “Well, consort at any rate,” said the princess. “We’d have to work out the exact title. And in the meantime, you and I could spend our time making mad, passionate love.”

  Wyrd thought a
bout the idea, and it certainly didn’t sound too bad, especially with Melisande’s body pressed so tightly against his.

  “It sounds wonderful. But your mother… She wouldn’t like it.”

  “I know. She’s such a snob. She’s always wanted me to marry some prince. But right now there aren’t too many princes on the horizon,” said the princess.

  She went up on tiptoe and nibbled Wyrd’s ear.

  “So, you will just have to do.”

  ***

  As Wyrd had suspected, King Otto was unimpressed when Melisande told him her plan.

  “Damn foolishness,” said the King.

  “Daddy,” said the princess, “you can’t keep me locked up in a chastity belt forever.”

  “Don’t see why not,” said the King.

  “Anyway, you like Uther.”

  “I like my dog,” replied the King, with a glance at Wyrd, “but that doesn’t mean I want you to marry him.”

  “Uther isn’t a dog,” said Melisande, squeezing Wyrd’s hand. “I know he isn’t a prince, but he is quite princely.”

  King Otto thought for a moment.

  “Are you saying you want me to murder your brother and put Uther in his place?”

  “Of course not,” said Melisande. “Well, not if you don’t want to.”

  King Otto considered the matter and whispered into Melisande’s ear. Since the King was rather deaf and had a tendency to shout, Wyrd could hear every word.

  “It’s tempting,” he whispered loudly. “Artie’s a pompous young fool. And a coward. And he thinks of no one but himself.”

  “But, Daddy,” said Melisande, “that’s not the point at issue. The point is that Uther here wants to marry me. Which I think is very sweet.”

  “But you could marry a prince,” said King Otto.

  “When am I going to meet a prince?” asked Melisande, bitterly. “Stuck out here, in the middle, or rather the edge, of nowhere.”

  “Good point,” replied the King. “But I still don’t think your mother will be pleased.”

  “Why should I care what my mother thinks?” asked Melisande, defiantly.

  “She can be quite bad-tempered, you know,” replied the King, “especially if she doesn’t get her own way.”

  “You’ll just have to convince her, Daddy,” said Melisande beguilingly.

  “Will I?’ asked the King, doubtfully.

  “Anyway, why don’t you ask Uther what he wants?” inquired Melisande.

  “Are you sure you want to marry her?” asked King Otto, addressing Wyrd directly for the first time. He took him aside, under the misapprehension that the princess wouldn’t hear everything he said. “I’m sure she’d be good in the sack, like her mother used to be, but take it from me – there’s more to married life than that.”

  “I know I could make your daughter happy,” said Wyrd, with more certainty in his voice than he felt.

  “I doubt that,” said the King, who was nothing if not realistic about his children. “And I daresay you could do a lot better if you were to travel the world, Uther. But if you don’t mind staying in Atlantis and putting up with my daughter, I’m not going to stop you.”

  “So, that’s settled,” said Melisande, who didn’t bother to pretend that she hadn’t been listening. “When can we tell everyone?”

  “Ah,” said King Otto. “That’s a good point. There’s a feast tonight, but it’s almost full moon and I’m not feeling… at my best, if you follow my meaning.”

  “Of course,” said Wyrd.

  “Tomorrow night, it’s full moon itself, of course, so that’s out of the question. Let’s see how I feel the morning after.”

  “And then will you… you know?” the princess pointed to her hips.

  “I’ll see if I can find the key.”

  “Oh, thank you, Daddy!” The princess threw her arms round him and kissed him.

  “All right, all right,” said King Otto, nervously, as though he was still wondering how his wife would react. “Let’s just keep it between the three of us for the next day or two.”

  ***

  It was after that evening’s feast that Queen Elinor plucked Wyrd by the sleeve. She led him behind one of the tapestries and smiled. Wyrd suspected she might have had a little too much to drink.

  “Uther,” she said, “I’ve been keeping an eye on you for some time.”

  She smiled again.

  “Thank you, my lady. I hope I haven’t done anything to displease you.”

  “No,” she said. “Quite the contrary, in fact.”

  “That’s good,” said Wyrd.

  The Queen looked at him with her most feline expression.

  “Uther,” she said, “are you ambitious?”

  “My lady?”

  “How high have you set your sights?”

  “I don’t really know, my lady,” said Wyrd.

  “Perhaps it’s time you did,” said the Queen, running one finger up and down his chest. “I want you to wait until everyone else has gone to bed tonight. Then come to me.”

  Wyrd was confused. He had never known the Queen to take an interest in him before. She had barely addressed a word to him in all the years since he had been at the castle.

  And now… Wyrd felt the stirrings of desire as Queen Elinor walked away. What was she – double his age, or even more? Yet she was still a highly attractive woman, not as big-bosomed as her daughter, but lithe and sinuous, like a cat. And the way she had looked at him just now was like a cat contemplating a very tempting pot of cream.

  Surely the Queen was not trying to seduce him? She was, after all, still married to King Otto. Of course, Wyrd knew of her liaison with Osprey. But Wyrd thought the King and Queen must have come to some arrangement about such matters. Queen Elinor was to have her Osprey, while King Otto had his food-tasters.

  But perhaps Osprey was no longer fulfilling the Queen’s needs. Perhaps she desired a younger man. Of course, Wyrd couldn’t possibly comply, as he was about to marry her daughter. But a royal command was a royal command.

  Wyrd washed himself for the first time that month and presented himself at Queen Elinor’s bedchamber later that night. His insides felt as nervous as a loft full of pigeons.

  He knocked. After a few moments the Queen opened the door herself. She was wearing a long, silver nightdress of some shiny material that Wyrd thought must be silk. Wyrd noticed as she walked away that she was not wearing anything underneath.

  “Would you care for a drink?” asked the Queen, pouring him one without waiting for a reply.

  Wyrd accepted the goblet, even though he wasn’t sure what it contained.

  “You must know,” said Elinor, taking a more delicate chalice of her own and sipping from it, “that you are quite a favourite of the King.”

  “My lady,” said Wyrd, non-committally, waiting to see which way the conversation would turn.

  “And Osprey tells me that your academic studies continue satisfactorily, though he says your combat skills are very far below those of Prince Artorus’s.”

  “My lady.”

  “Still,” the Queen said, flirtatiously flashing him a glance from below her long, dark eyelashes, “I am sure that you are man enough to be able to wield a weapon.”

  Wyrd felt dry-mouthed and swallowed some of the delicious liquid. He hadn’t tasted anything like it before.

  “Tell me,” said the Queen, “do you favour the broadsword or the rapier?”

  “Either, my lady.”

  “My son prefers the rapier,” said the Queen. “But I do so admire a man strong enough to wield a broadsword. You should have seen King Otto in his prime. Magnificent!”

  “I’m sure he was, my lady.”

  “I have heard about your handiness with a spear,” she said. “The whole castle talks of you with the werewolv
es.”

  “Oh that!” said Wyrd, modestly. “It was probably beginner’s luck.”

  “You will be aware, of course,” said the Queen, her countenance suddenly grave, “that my husband is unwell after… that unfortunate event.”

  “Yes, my lady.”

  “He will not last forever. He has not many full moons left before the curse that is upon him will change him so that he is no longer man but… well…”

  Her voice tapered off. She sat on her bed, supporting herself on one arm while she drank with the other.

  “I understand, my lady.”

  “I feel quite tearful thinking about it,” she said.

  “Do not torment yourself.”

  “But I do torment myself,” she said with a brave smile. “I know you think of me as your Queen, but underneath all the finery I am still a poor, weak woman.”

  “Not weak, surely!” said Wyrd, gallantly.

  “There is no need to flatter me,” said Queen Elinor, in a small, martyred voice that suggested she was often called upon to stand in for Sisyphus. “Oh! You are such a good boy! Come, sit beside me!”

  She tapped the bed. Wyrd went across and gingerly sat beside her.

  “Uther,” she replied, “do you understand why you are here?”

  “I – I am not exactly sure, my lady.”

  “You’re a dear, sweet boy,” she said, laying a hand upon his knee.

  “What am I saying?” she said, caressing the inside of his thigh. “You are a man, Uther. And – can you appreciate this, I wonder? – I need a man.”

  Wyrd didn’t know quite what to say, but the Queen seemed happy to do all the talking anyway.

  “A real man,” she breathed, “whom I can trust to be discreet.”

  Wyrd could feel the effects of whatever it was in the flagon. He felt warm and happy, certain of what was required. His mind and body were in perfect accord, willing to agree to whatever this beautiful woman required of him. Queen Elinor put her hands on each side of his head. With her eyes closed, she drew his head towards him and kissed him softly on the lips. He remembered how Melisande had kissed him all those years previously, and parted his lips slightly to let the Queen’s tongue into his mouth. But the tongue never came. Indeed, she withdrew slightly.