“My king,” Lancelot said when Arthur entered his tent. “You look distraught, and I hear we’re marching immediately. What can I do for you?”
“I have a special mission for you, Lancelot,” Arthur said sadly, “and you cannot fail me.”
“Never, my lord,” Lancelot said. “Not while I breathe.”
“I know,” Arthur said with a rueful smile, “and it pains me to put you in such jeopardy, old friend. But I must lead my armies against Mordred, and I need you to rescue Guinevere.”
* * *
It was the fourth day that Merrell Anthony lay in his bed at home in a cold sweat while his mind was caught in the body of a 6th century druid. For most of the time, he couldn’t focus on where he was, or what he was doing. In the few moments of mental clarity he could snatch from his delirium, he realized he’d been drugged, but he also knew he was under some deep-seated compulsion. It was something from his childhood. His mother had imposed some kind of psycho-sexual conditioning on him, and despite all the intervening years of study and mental discipline, he’d not been able to detect it. It had lain there in his mind like a trap.
As the day wore on he started to realize that he was losing his grip on his own mind, and that if things continued like this, he would lose his ability to resist.
He decided to take a desperate gamble. He had enough presence of mind to remember that the woman in Adwen’s cottage claimed to be his mother. Or, rather, a 6th century woman that his mother had possessed. She possessed some of Merlin’s skills, but he never thought her capable of this.
It was time to turn the tables. He had to play her own conditioning against her, and hope that he had enough strength to force her out of that woman’s body.
* * *
“We are here, my lord,” Gawain said, pointing to a spot on the rough map he’d spread on a camp table. “The Saxons are spread out along this line. Our best chance is to send our cavalry around this side to attack them when they cross here,” he pointed, “and then assemble the infantry on this high ground.”
Arthur looked at the map with a scowl.
“Yes, Gawain,” the king replied, “that is the right plan, given the terrain. But where will that leave Guinevere? If we follow your plan, she will always be surrounded by the Saxons, and Lancelot won’t have a prayer of breaking through to find her. Let alone escape.”
“No. I have to give Lancelot some chance of breaking through and finding her. If we give them a chance to assemble their armies properly, and especially if they think we are boxed in, they may leave their back unguarded. Then Lancelot can slip into camp and retrieve her.”
The captains grumbled at this. The story of her infidelity had spread through the camp, and the idea that their cuckolded king would put them all at risk to save her made them lose heart. Arthur could sense it, and he doubted his own counsels. He couldn’t betray Guinevere. She had done him no ill. It was the sorceress who had led her astray. And Lancelot was already committed, tracking the Saxons and looking for a chance to strike.
But was it right to risk his army and his future to save two people, no matter how beloved?
And then there was Mordred. Merlin had always warned that this shadowy figure would be his greatest challenge. They never knew who he was, or where he would come from. And he never expected him to arise from within Camelot. And now Arthur was set with a riddle he couldn’t solve without sacrificing his wife and his best friend, or his army and all his hopes of empire.
“Where is Merlin!” Arthur shouted in dismay. “This is all coming to a head, and my wizard is nowhere to be found. Has Galahad come back yet?”
Two days earlier he had sent Galahad to Adwen’s cottage to see if Merlin could be found, and if so to bring him to the king.
“Not yet, my lord,” Gawain said. “If he’d ridden all night and all day, he would only just now be returning – on a dead horse.”
Arthur turned to his captains.
“Brothers, it’s time that I tell you plainly what’s at stake in this battle,” he said. “You have heard about the treachery of Guinevere and Meurig. But you don’t know the whole story. Merlin has warned me for years of a man called Mordred. He has foreseen that the path to Rome is not clear until I defeat Mordred and his Saxon host. But we never knew who this Mordred was.
“As you know, he has finally arisen – and he is one of our very own …. No, he is my very own. My own brother. My foster son. A man more dear to me than my own life. He has betrayed me, and he seeks to destroy me and my kingdom, and everything we have fought to achieve. And he has taken Guinevere.”
“We know all that,” one of the captains said angrily. “Pardon me, my lord, but … we’ve heard the tales.”
“What you don’t know,” Arthur said, “is that a secret power lies behind the schemes of the enemy. We have an enemy more dangerous than Meurig, or Mordred, as he wants us to call him now. Not even Merlin knew of this enemy until a few weeks ago.”
The knights of his inner circle looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and fear. The old trust was gone. Only their loyalty kept them.
“There is a sorceress,” Arthur continued, “with powers like unto Merlin’s. I believe she is behind this betrayal. She has the ability to enter men’s minds and force them to do her bidding. And she has corrupted both Meurig and Guinevere.”
None of the captains would dare to dispute Arthur publicly, but it was clear they weren’t comfortable with his words. His story sounded too much like a convenient excuse to rescue himself from the disgrace that his wife had taken off with another man.
“I see,” Arthur said sadly, reading their faces. “I can hardly blame your doubt. But I will not risk Guinevere or Lancelot until I know this for sure. And,” he paused, and looked at the faces of his captains, then lowered his voice. “I will not risk you either, my friends. You are far too dear to me.”
They all stood in silence for a moment. Many of the knights wanted to reassure Arthur, but they didn’t know what to say.
“We will follow the plan I have outlined,” Arthur eventually said, “but I will challenge Mordred to single combat.”
A groan of dismay erupted from the captains. Arthur was a dread warrior, but he was getting on in years, and they all knew that Meurig had beaten him many times in sparring practices. His chances against Meurig were slim in any event, but weary as he was from their fast pace, and grief-stricken over the treachery in his own house, his chances would be slim.
“My lord,” Gawain said, “let me make the challenge.”
Arthur smiled. He expected nothing less from Gawain.
“Mordred would not accept,” Arthur explained. “If he believes he has the advantage in pitched battle, he would only accept a challenge from me. This is the way it must be, my friends. So draw up the best defensive strategy you can, given the plan we have discussed. And let us all pray that Merlin is able to join us before we draw swords.”
* * *
The Saxons had the high ground at Camlann, and Arthur’s forces were fenced in on two sides by thick forest, and on the third by a river. It was an awful position, and it was only because of decades of loyalty and discipline, and trust in Arthur, that his captains were willing to walk into such an obvious trap.
They’d seen worse odds before, but they’d never faced any enemy with such a sense of gloom.
Arthur was past his prime. The swelling Saxon ranks had rallied under a new captain, and the fact that he kept Guinevere as his own filled them with confidence. In addition to all that, the day was dark and threatening. The men were restless and downtrodden.
“Meurig,” Arthur called across the field. “Parlay. I wish to speak with you.”
Surrounded by five of his knights, Arthur rode out to the center of the field. Meurig let the king wait a few minutes, then rode out to meet him with five leaders of the Saxons.
The Saxon captains were far better equipped than any of Arthur’s men had expected. They wore scale armor, and held long spears with
tips that looked cold and deadly in the scant light. One of them had put Guinevere’s tunic on the end of his spear, and held it aloft for all to see.
“Meurig,” Arthur said with sadness when they drew close enough to speak. “What do you seek?”
“My name is Mordred, Arthur,” he said, and there was an odd change to the voice the king knew so well. It was higher than usual, and his manner was strange. His movements were cat-like, but he had also developed a twitch that make his head jerk to the side from time to time. If Arthur had any doubt that the sorceress was behind this, he doubted no longer.
“Come out of him,” Arthur said in a loud voice. “In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, I command you to come out of him.”
A silence settled over the company for a moment, and all were still, then Mordred laughed hysterically.
“What are you on about, old man?” he asked. “I rode out here because I thought you wanted to surrender, or pray for terms. I didn’t expect theatrics.”
Arthur looked at him coldly for a moment, then he said, “I challenge you to single combat, Meurig. The winner takes the field, and the loser’s army can lay down their arms and go to their homes.”
Mordred laughed again. “Why do you go on with this Meurig business? And why should I take such a ridiculous offer? We have the better position, and we have you outnumbered.”
“You know full well that I am my captains have prevailed under far worse conditions,” Arthur said. “But discuss it with your captains and let me have your answer in an hour.”
“No need,” Mordred said with contempt. “Someone will kill you today, and I want it to be me. I accept your challenge. I will meet you on this very spot in one hour. Prepare to die, Arthur.”
Mordred laughed like a mad man, and he and his men turned and rode back up the hill to their lines.
“That is not the Meurig that I know,” Gawain said. “Something indeed has happened to him.”
“Truly,” Tristan agreed. “And if he has the strength of Meurig, and the power of a sorceress behind him …. Take a care, Arthur.”
“I will take more than a care,” he said. “I’ll take his head.” But he said it without any conviction, and suddenly his knights all wondered if Arthur could bring himself to take the life of his foster son, even despite his treachery.
* * *
It took more than an hour for the captains to agree on the rules and to mark the area for combat. Two from each army would stand at the corners of the square, and the battle would end with the death of the combatants, or when both captains from one side agreed to call and end to it.
Arthur and Mordred would be allowed a shield, a sword and a dagger, and no other weapons. There was some confusion when Arthur appeared with his great sword, with his shield on his back, but Mordred didn’t object.
Arthur crossed himself and knelt in prayer before the fight. Mordred and the Saxon commanders mocked him.
“Remember to pray for your lovely queen, Arthur,” Mordred called out. “She’ll share my bed again tonight, and she might even shed a tear on your behalf. Although she says she prefers me.”
Arthur and his knights tried to ignore the jeers, but when the king arose from his prayers, he looked pale.
The combat began without any other ceremony. Arthur charged immediately, and with the first blow of his great sword he cut Mordred’s shield in two. But as the smaller, younger and faster fighter, Mordred quickly spun through the blow and aimed a slashing shot at Arthur’s thigh. Arthur’s armor deflected the worst of it, but blood started to trickle down his leg, and he lost some of his mobility.
Mordred’s movements were erratic, as if he was trying to decide between two strategies, but Arthur’s captains became worried when Arthur repeatedly avoided openings for kill shots and aimed instead to wound. Mordred noticed this and started adjusting his strategy, exposing himself dangerously, only to slip in and prick at Arthur’s defenses.
Arthur was the larger and stronger of the two, but Mordred was much faster. He slipped under the worst of Arthur’s blows, and even when he was unable to land a blow himself, he succeeded in wearing Arthur down. The exertion was clearly taking a larger toll on the older man.
After only a few minutes, both men were bloodied and panting heavily, but Arthur looked pale and worn.
* * *
“There it is, Merlin,” Galahad said as they rode over the last crest that kept them from the site of the battle. They could hear the shouts of the armies for the last half mile, but the rolling hills hid the field from their view until now.
“What can you see,” Merlin said, weakly. He was slumped over, barely able to stay in the saddle behind Galahad. The knight had stopped a few miles back to tie the wizard to himself to keep him from falling.
When Galahad found Merlin in the farmer’s cottage, the wizard was so weak he could hardly stand. A dead woman lay at his feet. Galahad picked up the wizard like a sack of grain and rode for a day with Merlin, only semi-conscious, strapped in front of him. They rode through the night, and Merlin slowly recovered his wits. By the next morning he was able to sit upright, but after the wizard almost fell for the third time, Galahad insisted that he be tied into the saddle.
As the day drew on, Merlin improved mile by mile, but he was still weak.
“Arthur is in single combat with Meurig,” Galahad said.
“The fool,” Merlin muttered. “Hurry, Galahad. I must get close to Meurig before it’s too late.”
* * *
When Arthur no longer had the strength to wield his great sword, he tossed it aside and fought with shield and dagger. Both combatants were bloodied, but neither had taken a mortal wound yet. When Meurig heard the captains propose a halt to the combat he fell into a rage and seemed to draw new strength, mounting a savage attack that almost knocked Arthur to his knees.
After a seemingly endless string of blows against Arthur’s shield arm, Mordred’s strength finally failed. Arthur was about to counter-attack, but he was weary and almost tripped. The captains from both sides stepped in and called for a break. Arthur nodded his agreement and turned to step out of the ring, but Mordred turned about, shrieked in rage, lunged past Gawain and drove his dagger deep into Arthur’s side.
At that moment, several things happened. Gawain called out “treachery,” and Arthur’s cavalry immediately rode forward. The Saxons saw the king’s cavalry approach and came screaming down the hill. Unseen by all, Merlin appeared just a few feet away from Arthur.
The wizard held out his staff towards Mordred, and with his other hand he made a twisting motion. He called out in some barbaric language, and Mordred stiffened as if he’d been struck by a hard blow.
With his remaining strength, Arthur turned and drove his dagger deep into Mordred’s chest. The two of them fell to the ground in a bloody heap.
The four captains were confused, but only for a moment. The tide of the battle threatened to overrun them, and they came to a silent agreement to keep the battle from intruding on the combat area.
Merlin quickly ran to Arthur’s side.
Arthur rolled off of Meurig, whose blood was spouting from his chest with each beat of his heart. He was trying to say something. Arthur leaned in close and put his ear close to Meurig’s mouth.
“Forgive me, my lord. I was ….” But that was all he could say. The blood stopped spurting from his chest and his eyes went blank.
Arthur wept silent tears. It wasn’t his beloved Meurig who had betrayed him, but the sorceress, controlling his mind and his body.
“Merlin,” Arthur said when he saw the druid. “I have failed.”
“No, my king,” Merlin said, kneeling at his side. “I am the one who has failed. It was my own weaknesses that brought us to this.”
“What is to be will be, Merlin,” Arthur said quietly. “Don’t blame yourself. God can write straight with crooked lines, and He can bring something good out of this calamity.”
Merlin smiled and clung
to Arthur’s hand.
“I fear there is little time left,” Arthur said, “and there is much to do. Call Gawain to me.”
Gawain heard the king and knelt at Arthur’s side while the other captains – even the Saxon captains – kept the raging battle from intruding.
“Any word from Lancelot?” he asked.
“I don’t know, my lord,” he said. “I have not been back to the camp. Shall I send someone?”
“No need,” Arthur said, and nodded his head peacefully. “He has never failed me. I’m sure he has taken Guinevere somewhere safe. Tell her that I pardon her with all my heart, and that I’m sorry to have failed her. See that they are happy together, the two of them.”
Merlin's Last Days Page 9
