To facilitate his escape Arthur kept a few of his horses in the basement level of the castle during the nighttime so that, if necessary, his ride outside of the city would be relatively quick and painless.
After descending a wide and dark stairway, lit only by a few torches, he found himself at the lowest level of the castle. There, on the far wall were the stalls for his horses—horses ordinarily tended to by Mordred when Arthur wasn’t around to take care of them.
Here, in these stables, was Arthur’s favorite horse—a horse that he often rode into battle. This beautiful horse had been with Arthur since his early days as king and was always by his side. Arthur smiled as he ran his hands down her forehead and through her hair. She was a strong horse, the blackest of the blackest with not a dot of white on her entire body. “Hello Llamrai,” said Arthur. “I call upon you once again. It will be a difficult task and outside it is now dark. But will you ride with me?” Arthur smiled as he watched her head buck up and down. “They look healthy.”
Mordred smiled and nodded. “Of course they are Arthur; you should know that while you were with Guinevere on her deathbed I made sure that these horses were taken care of like kings.”
Arthur checked to make sure he had his sword, pulled his horse from her stall, and lifted himself up onto her back. Mordred moved to the end of the room where he pulled open the dark wooden door that led into the underground tunnel. “Well this is where we part,” said Arthur who pulled his hood up over his head.
“Indeed, it is,” said Mordred as he returned and handed him a bright torch. “May you ride hard and fast.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank you for all of your help. Until we meet again!”
Arthur suddenly took off into the darkness of the tunnel, looking back only once as Mordred gradually disappeared in the distance. The dark tunnel was short, barely high enough for him to not hit his head. To make it more difficult it was only a few feet wide and the roof was covered with old rotten floorboards, the ground lined with moist, but firm dirt. Llamrai was riding fast now, going down through the dark tunnel. After a few minutes of riding Arthur assumed that they reached the tunnel’s lowest depth because the tunnel flattened and Llamrai could ride less cautiously. Now they were completely underneath the city. Several minutes passed until Arthur dismounted the horse, walked up a large ramp, and reached a steel double-door. Arthur found that there was some kind of lock on the door. The lock, like nearly all of the old gadgets around the castle, was magical in a way Arthur had yet to fully understand. The steel lock was a part of the door itself, and could only be used, conveniently enough, by another object he found while wandering in the castle—a large gold key.
The key itself was about six inches long. On one end of the key it was shaped like a dragon, having been elegantly and craftily made, and, on the other, it had nothing but a flat, square steel surface which, when pressed into a small hole in the door, would magically open it. Arthur kept this key hidden just in case anyone else found out about the tunnel leading outside the city, but he was sure, even if they did find this key, it wouldn’t mean anything.
Arthur used the torch to guide him towards the hole in the surface of the door. Once he found it he pressed the key into it and suddenly the door flipped up and open, revealing the stars of a dark, but beautiful night sky. Arthur walked back and mounted Llamrai. She then dashed forward outside of the tunnel and into the open grass. She pranced around happily for a few moments, clearly glad to get fresh air again. Arthur looked back at the tunnel door, which, as it had done every time previously, magically shut itself. He then sighed and stared out into the distant plain lit only by moonlight.
Chapter 5: Merlin’s Counsel
Arthur knew that it would be at least a two-hour ride south-west to Merlin’s home and although he was tired, he knew the urgency of the situation. Because of this he found a surge of energy flow through him like never before; and so, it seemed, did Llamrai. She was riding hard through the prairie, giving Arthur no inclination to sleep.
Arthur’s thoughts often drifted to Alice, hoping that she would be okay without him another day. Times would be harder for her now above all times, after the loss of her mother. Then he thought about this witch, as she was so called. She was nearly as mysterious to him as Merlin was to Mordred. Indeed, although Arthur trusted Mordred, and all his knights for that matter, he had told nobody the name or location of his mysterious friend. The reason for this was two-fold. One was because Merlin himself swore Arthur to secrecy. Arthur didn’t know why, but Merlin was especially secretive about his identity and location. And two, Arthur didn’t want to cause people in the kingdom to lose belief in him as their king. After all, what kind of king would flee his home city to get advice from a crazy old hermit? He suspected there weren’t too many.
After about an hour of riding, Llamrai slowed down. She had reached the marshland, which was especially difficult to navigate now in the darkness considering the fact that the only light they had to guide them was the firelight from Arthur’s torch. Regardless of this fact, Arthur continued guiding her carefully through the marshland southwest until they entered the southern forest. Once they were in the forest Arthur knew that they were almost there. It would only be another few minutes and they would find, as they both had found before, Merlin’s small hut backed up against the edge of a massive black rock mountain.
Sure enough, in a few minutes they could see through the forest the lights of a small dwelling that Arthur knew to be the home of Merlin, and as they emerged from the forest they could see it even more clearly. The hut was small, no larger than an average one-room house. It was greenish-grey, round, and had a small chimney coming up with smoke currently winding its way up the chute into the open air. The smoke rising from the hut, the torches lining his house, and the light from his small window-like opening all told Arthur that Merlin was still awake, even at this late hour. And for that he was grateful. There was nothing like the guilt of having to wake up an old hermit in the middle of the night for advice.
Merlin’s grounds were very unique and even had a unique smell. The entire perimeter smelled older, making it seem to Arthur as if he had just stepped back in time to the beginning of time. Arthur stopped and dismounted Llamrai several feet before reaching the house, tied her up to a tree, and gave her a pat on the head.
“You stay here,” said Arthur softly. “You have earned a nice rest.”
Arthur looked around for a moment and then moved towards the hut. Scattered all around the hut were statues—statues of people, of animals, of just about anything you could think of. Some of the statues were big, while some were small. Some were covered with moss, while others seemed completely new. He figured that Merlin didn’t have much to do in his spare time and so he made statues. Indeed, Merlin had no doubt mastered the craft. The statues Merlin made were statues that Arthur himself wouldn’t mind someday having in his castle.
Arthur stopped when he reached the ring around Merlin’s hut, a ten-foot wide moat-like ring of gunky swamp water that surrounded his hut. The moat didn’t go all the way around his hut because a portion of his hut was positioned entirely against a broad, tall, black rock cliff, but it extended all the way to the cliff, making it difficult for anyone to go to his front door without getting wet, flying, or somehow growing feet sticky enough to climb a vertical rock cliff. Arthur knew that Merlin was a man of tricks, and the moat trick was especially hilarious. Although the water looked harmless, only a few inches deep at the most, it was actually over eight-feet deep. The moment an intruder would try to cross the moat was the moment that the intruder would find himself falling, sinking down into the water that, only a moment ago, he thought was no deeper than their ankles. And, if that person happened to be a warrior wearing some kind of armor, the intruder would then have to shed all of their armor just to get out of the moat. It was pretty ingenious and was not meant to kill, although a few animals were found dead on the water because they couldn’t swim. If this happened Merlin fi
gured he had snagged his next meal and so he would joyfully return to his hut with the dead animal in hand.
But Arthur would never get caught in that trap. He knew a secret way to his hut through the moat by stepping on what looked like lily pads, but really were tall green stones made to look like lily pads. Sometimes animals like frogs would sit on them thinking that they, in fact, were lily pads. It certainly was a brilliant trick.
Arthur carefully crossed the moat, making sure to step on the stones that looked like lily pads and not fall down into the water. Once across, he was only a few feet from Merlin’s door. He stopped and moved towards the front window (which really was just a round two-foot hole in the wall). From the window he could see Merlin at work, cooking something with the fireplace ablaze.
Arthur went back to the door, although it was difficult to call it a door at all. Instead it seemed to Arthur like a very short and old piece of tree bark that Merlin must have found lying around on the forest floor and decided to integrate into his already homemade, natural-looking landscape.
Once at the door Arthur gave it a good knock. He could tell the old man was surprised to have a visitor at such a late hour because he could hear a sound like the crashing of pots and pans coming from inside the house. “Oh dear…coming,” boomed a voice. “Wait just a moment!” Arthur stood at the door for a few more seconds, hearing the frantic shuffling of feet and the moving around of objects. Then he finally heard a voice near the door ask, “Who is it?”
Arthur chuckled a little. “I think you know who it is.” He waited a few moments and the door creaked opened, revealing the beaming face of a bearded, white man. Arthur smiled. He was amazed at, although clearly old, how well Merlin preserved his age. Every time he returned to visit him he didn’t seem to age a day, almost as if he were somehow magically preserved. Arthur figured that this was impossible though and didn’t ever bring it up.
Merlin was dressed as he always knew him to dress—in his old, raggedy grey robe that looked like he had not changed for several weeks. The jovial old man held his old, long, bent black cane firmly in his right hand and looked up at Arthur. He immediately smiled and began poking him leisurely with his cane. “Hey!” replied Arthur.
“It can’t be!” boomed Merlin. “My eyes do not deceive me! It is King Arthur himself! Why, I haven’t seen you for a long time! I thought you died. No not really. But come in. Please come in!” The old man extended his cane back towards the inside of his home, motioning for him to enter. Arthur laughed. Merlin looked like a young child just having discovered candy. There was an old skip in his step, like he were entertaining God himself. This made Arthur feel better and reminded him of why he so loved Merlin.
As Arthur entered his home he looked around for a moment. He noticed that nearly everything was the same as when he last visited several years ago. There was hardly any furniture in the room, except an old wooden stool where Merlin would sit to work on his next sculpture. The sculpture he was currently working on was placed in the center of the room where the roof was the highest, and indeed he often needed the stool just to reach up to the top of it.
As usual there was a statue in the center of the room, around which were laid several of Merlin’s carving tools. The statue was not entirely complete, but Arthur could immediately tell it was of a beautiful woman. However, Arthur was so preoccupied with the rest of the hut that he didn’t examine the statue too closely.
Arthur noticed the same small brick fireplace on the northern side of the room, the home-made wooden table against the wall in his little kitchen, and the hallway that led to Merlin’s bedroom. On the wall he had no pictures, nothing, just an empty wall. “Why don’t you ever have any pictures? I am sure you could paint a picture just as you carve sculptures,” said Arthur, as he watched Merlin wander back away towards the table.
Merlin acted like he disregarded Arthur’s question. “Yah know, I don’t have much to feed you, but don’t see if I can find something…” Arthur watched Merlin frantically open his cupboards and pull out dishes, utensils, and spices, eventually placing them on the table. Merlin grunted and then let out a crazy laugh. “Look! I have some mushrooms and squirrel meat that I got this morning…yeah, I could give you that…just one second. I will start cooking the meat. Sorry, but you see I wasn’t expecting any visitors at such a late hour.”
“You never expect any visitors,” corrected Arthur.
“Yes, I suppose your right,” replied Merlin. “My statues are my visitors I guess. Every few months I get a new statue. Oh, and to answer your question, I much prefer sculpting to painting because painting is only skin deep and I hate anything that is only skin-deep, so superficial. You know the great thing about doing sculptures, besides keeping an old hermit like myself busy?” Merlin looked up at Arthur, smiled and placed the pan with meat onto the wood in the fireplace.
“No, what?”
“They help to show that no matter what a person is like on the outside, or no matter how they were born or treated throughout their life, as long as there is enough ‘rock’ to work with you can make a beautiful work of art out of them.”
“Very inspiring,” replied Arthur, although he said it in a tone that might have sounded smug and insincere. “I am sorry Merlin, it’s just that I am tired from my journey…much has happened these last few days.” Arthur stood only a few feet in front of Merlin’s latest statue and took a few moments to truly examine it. The face and figure suddenly seemed so familiar to him but he couldn’t tell why.
“Who is this?” Arthur asked as he ran his fingers along the face of the statue.
“Huh, interesting you have come now,” said Merlin as he walked over by the statue. “This is my latest creation. It is actually a sculpture of Guinevere I believe…”
“Guinevere…” replied Arthur mystically, again bringing the painful thought of her death back into his mind. Looking back up at the statue he realized that it indeed was Guinevere…to the tee. Every aspect of her form was encapsulated in this statue. “It is her. You are amazing! You have captured everything about her! I don’t know why I didn’t recognize it before.” Arthur ran his hands along the statue’s face again, feeling his own heart leap within him, in his heart wishing to hold her again.
“You didn’t recognize it because you didn’t want to recognize it,” said Merlin. “People see the things they want to see.”
“You haven’t heard have you?”
“Heard what?” replied Merlin, seemingly distracted in making his meal preparations.
“Merlin, she’s dead,” said Arthur. “Guinevere is dead.”
“Dead, oh, phooey,” said Merlin, slamming a plate on the table. “Then it is true…”
“What is true?”
“I had a suspicion. You see, whenever I start carving a statue I get a distinct image of someone in my mind. Then I start carving and the image forms itself more and more distinctly in my mind until, before you know it, I have carved a real person in stone. Sometimes I don’t recognize the person, but this time I recognized the person as Guinevere because I had seen her before. But sometimes a name eventually comes in my mind and I think of that person. I try to envision what their life is like because mine is so lonely. You see, the joy in lonely people like me is best found in living vicariously through other people. I always thought it odd that I had that ability. I suppose now it is because the person I start carving has just died. Then my mind is filled with their own memories, their own self. Sometimes it must happen even before they die because I started this one several months ago. If you mind me asking when did she pass?”
“Just yesterday,” answered Arthur, trying not to think about it. His eyes focused again back up towards the statue, back into Guinevere’s stone eyes.
“I am sorry, let’s just go outside...” mumbled Merlin as he strolled towards the door, opened it, and gazed outside.
“No, let’s stay,” said Arthur. “I can handle it. I have important matters to discuss with you and need to make
sure our conversation is completely private.”
“Well, it will be perfectly private in here. There is a reason I hide out here you know.”
“Yes, I know,” mumbled Arthur. He felt like he was a child that just disobeyed a rule that he had heard for the hundredth time but still didn’t quite understand what it meant. “Because you and the world are very different. You would corrupt the world and the world would corrupt you.”
Merlin smiled and motioned for Arthur to sit at the small rectangular wooden table. “You know me too well. Well now, come and eat. You must be hungry. I have some mushrooms and squirrel meat on a plate for you.”
Arthur smiled with sincerity as he gazed down at the plate shoved in front of him. Although he didn’t really like squirrel meat or mushrooms he had to admit he was hungry and would eat what was given to him. “Thank you…”
“Yes, of course, now what were you needing to tell me?” asked Merlin, looking rather eager to hear what Arthur had to say. Suddenly he realized he might have spoken too soon. Arthur was eagerly chomping down on his meat and mushrooms and didn’t have a chance to speak. “It’s okay, you can eat your food first. But I know that something more trifling brings you here than simply meeting an old friend.”
The Poison Rose: A King Arthur Tale Page 5
