A Knight on the Town

by Hermione Moon

  “Do you have a map of the world?” he asks. “I’d like to learn where all these countries are.”

  “Yes, of course. I’ll get you one after dinner.” I cut up my steak. It’s cooked medium, how I like it. I hope Arthur likes his. He’s certainly not complaining as he tucks in. “This must be so daunting for you,” I say. “I think I’d be terrified.”

  “I’m excited.” He leans back and has a mouthful of wine. “So many new things to learn.”

  “Can you…” I hesitate, realizing that what I was about to say might sound insulting.

  He raises his eyebrows. “Can I what?”

  “Um… I was going to ask if you can read. Modern English, I mean—the language we’re speaking.”

  He tips his head from side to side. “I picked a lot up from the TV. Hopefully you can help with some of the more difficult words.”

  “Of course.”

  He meets my gaze and holds it for a moment. “This must be very strange for you,” he says softly. “Having a man in your house, when you’ve lived alone for so long.”

  I drop my gaze and push a green bean around my plate. “It is a bit odd. Nice, though.”

  “I’m sure you must be wondering what’s going to happen now.”

  “No,” I say brightly. “I wasn’t thinking about it at all.”

  He smiles. “I owe you my life, Gwen. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. I think we should say right now, at the beginning, that you can ask me anything, and that we should talk about everything.”

  I look back up at him, so pleased he understands. “I’m not very good at this, that’s all.”

  “Me neither.”

  I give him a wry look. “Oh, I bet you’ve romanced more than your fair share of ladies.”

  He gives a short laugh. “Does it help if I say you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved?”

  His words take my breath away. I look at Merlin, who’s finished his dinner and is now sitting watching us. Then I look back at Arthur. “You mean Guinevere, your wife.”

  “Well, you’re one and the same to me. I’ve watched you grow from a young girl into a woman. You’re gentle and kind, you have a good sense of humour, and a big heart. How could I stand there and watch you day in, day out, and not fall in love with you?”

  His eyes are sincere—he means every word he’s saying.

  “You’re talking like I’m a saint,” I say, my voice a squeak. “I’m not.”

  He chuckles. “No, I know. You’re grumpy in the mornings before you have your coffee. You lack self-confidence in your personal life and in your witchcraft. You’re a bit OCD.”

  “I’m not!” I pout. “Well, only a little.”

  “You’re also beautiful. You had red hair before, but now it has gold highlights in it. It’s much prettier.”

  Illogically, it pleases me that he prefers my hair to hers. Even though, apparently, we’re one and the same person.

  I sigh and push away my plate. I suppose there’s no sense in skirting around the issues we have to discuss. He’s right—we should talk about everything up front. That way we don’t have to worry that one of us is thinking something they’d rather not say.

  “You’re here now,” I begin. “Alive, and presumably here to stay. So what do you want to do with your life?”

  “I thought I might get a job,” he says.

  My eyebrows rise. “A job?”

  “Your economy is a monetary one. I need to earn a living and pay my way.” He cuts another piece of steak. “I’m good with my hands; I can handle wood and metal.”

  “Uncle Max manages a building company,” I say. “I suppose he might be able to find you work.”

  “He did seem keen to help.”

  “You don’t want to travel?” I ask. “To explore this strange new world? To meet new people and have new experiences?”

  “Yes,” he says. “With you. But first, we need to get to know each other again, don’t we?”

  I feel a swell of joy, and nod happily. “Yes, I suppose.”

  “As I said, if you’d rather I stay somewhere else, I can do that, if you’re uncomfortable with me staying here. I don’t want you to feel awkward telling other people that you’re living with a man.”

  “I don’t care what other people think,” I tell him. It’s a half-truth. I’m trying to be brave.

  He swirls his wine around his glass, his eyes on mine. “Good.” He likes me being bold. Oh… this man is going to lead me astray, I can feel it.

  “But… I need to go slowly,” I say. My face heats a little. How do I explain what’s on my mind? “I… um… don’t know what you’re expecting, but I need time before… you know… we… advance our… relationship…” I stop, feeling as if my tongue is tripping over itself. My cheeks are now burning.

  Arthur stares at me. I half expect him to make fun of me, but instead, he frowns. “I might come from the sixth century, but I’m not an animal.”

  Oh dear, I’ve insulted him. His expression softens at my obvious alarm, and he reaches out a hand on the table, palm up. I look at it, then shyly slide my hand into his.

  He closes his fingers around mine. “I know you don’t remember me. We’ll take as much time as you need. I just want to be with you, be around you.”

  I look at his hand, big and strong, and watch as he strokes the back of my fingers with his thumb. “Thank you for understanding,” I whisper.

  He squeezes my fingers, then releases my hand. “Now, I need to finish this steak. It’s amazing.”

  I laugh and rise to take my plate over to the sink. “I’m glad you like it. What do you want for dessert?”

  “Dessert?”

  Of course, he would never have tasted sugar; it wasn’t used in England until the eleventh century, when it was discovered as a result of the Crusades. He would have had fruit—apples and plums, cherries and berries, but no real desserts as such.

  I go over to the fridge, take out a packet, and bring it back. Arthur eyes it as he eats the last mouthful of mashed potato.

  “Chocolate,” he says.

  “Mmm.” I begin breaking the bar up into squares. He pushes the plate away, and I open the packet and offer it to him. He takes a piece and examines it, then pops it in his mouth and sucks.

  His eyes meet mine, and we both smile.

  “I often wondered what all the fuss was about,” he says. “Now I know.”

  “Best thing ever invented,” I tell him, eating a piece myself. “But this is just a snack. I’ll get you a proper dessert.”

  I take a chocolate pudding out of the freezer, heat it up, and serve it to him with several scoops of ice cream and chocolate sauce. He eats the lot, scraping the dish afterward until there’s hardly anything left on it.

  “I’d lick it,” he says, “but I have a feeling that’s not done in polite society.”

  I chuckle and place the bowl in the dishwasher. “Not really, no.” I close the dishwasher door and switch it on. “Come on, let’s go into the living room and I’ll get you that map.”

  I switch on the two lamps in the living room, casting the room in a warm glow. The light warms the crystal ball, turning it into a small sun, and I study it for a moment, wondering whether the picture of the woman in white is going to reappear. It doesn’t, though. I glance over my shoulder to see Arthur and Merlin watching me, and give them both an uneasy smile before I retrieve the world map that’s rolled up next to the bookcase. After unrolling it, I stick it to the coffee table with a few pieces of Blu-Tack. Arthur sits on the sofa and stares at it, and I sit next to him. Merlin jumps up and puts his front paws on the table so he can see.

  “We’re here.” I tap a finger on the south-west of England, and then point on the map to each place I mention. “This is Europe, and Asia, and Africa. And here, across the Atlantic, is America.”

  “It’s so big.” His eyes are wide. “I never knew.”

  “It took a long time for people to map it all. New Zealand was probably the last
piece of land to be found.” I show him Australia and the two islands of New Zealand, drifting in the Pacific, and Antarctica, right at the bottom.

  “It’s amazing.” He pores over the map for a long time, asking me to read out the names of some of the places, repeating them after me, and I realize he’s learning about the formation of words and letters too, teaching himself how to read.

  After this, I show him the bookcases with all the books that Mum and I have collected over the years on a wide variety of topics.

  “Tomorrow, I’ll show you my iPad,” I tease. “It can hold several thousand books.”

  “Several thousand?”

  “I know. Goddess bless the modern world.”

  He chuckles, running his fingers over the shelf of books. “It’s hard to know where to start.”

  “I have an idea.” I extract a slender volume from the bottom shelf, feeling a touch of mischief. I turn it over and show him the title. The Tales of King Arthur. His eyebrows rise. “I thought maybe you should know the legend you’ve become,” I tell him softly.

  Without saying anything, he takes the book from my hand and goes over to the sofa. I sit beside him, watching as he opens the front cover and studies the drawing on the first page. It’s of a handsome knight on a white horse, wearing medieval-style plate armour, the colourful pennant hanging from his lance flying in the breeze.

  He turns the page. “Will you read it to me?”

  I rest a finger under the words and read him the story.

  It begins with Uther Pendragon, who asked Merlin to disguise him as his enemy, Gorlois, so he could sleep with his wife, the lady Igraine. As a price, Merlin asked him for his firstborn child, and when Arthur was born, he came to take him away. The tale continues with the story of how Arthur became king by drawing Excalibur from the stone, and goes on to describe the Knights of the Round Table, the legend of the Holy Grail, and his death on the Isle of Avalon.

  When I’m done, Arthur takes the book and reads through it again, studying the pictures. I can’t tell what he’s thinking, and for a moment I wonder whether I’ve upset him.

  “This isn’t me,” he says eventually, his fingers lingering on the drawing of him in plate armour.

  “I know.”

  “We didn’t have plate armour, only leather and some chain mail. But there are elements of us here.” He turns to the page where the king marries Guinevere. “She has red hair.” He looks up at me. His eyes are very blue.

  I’m still not sure I believe that I was the Guinevere from this picture. It seems incredible, too strange to be true. And yet I do feel that my heart knows him.

  “I’m no legendary hero,” he says.

  I give a little shrug. “You might not be a medieval knight. But you’re still a hero, to me, anyway. My knight in shining armour.”

  He looks back at the picture. “I don’t want you to be disappointed in me.”

  “Arthur, you could never disappoint me.”

  “Excalibur isn’t real. The sword was just a sword.”

  “I know.”

  “I wish I could have been a king for you. But I’m just a man.”

  He’s not being coy; his eyes are wistful, his gaze distant. He’s sad that the legend is so far from the truth.

  “The story is just icing on the cake,” I tell him, only then realizing he doesn’t know what icing is. “It’s like a set of fancy clothes. Beneath them, the man is still the same. Yes, this book tells a fantastical story. But the scholars in this country know the amazing job you did, keeping the Saxons away for so long. I’ve always been fascinated by you.”

  His gaze comes back to me, and I blush.

  “What would you like to do now?” I ask him. “Watch TV?”

  He shakes his head. “Tell me stuff.”

  “Stuff?”

  “Anything you like. I like listening to you talk.”

  So I pour us another glass of wine, then curl up on the settee beside him. I start with history, picking out major events of the last millennia, trying to give him a flavour of the things that have changed. He stops me often to clarify people and places and to describe developments in technology. He doesn’t seem frightened by any of it; he’s like a sponge and soaks up everything I say.

  The moon rises in the sky and moves across the window as the night grows long. We don’t touch. But I’m acutely conscious of him there. And when, sometime later while I’m telling him about the Industrial Revolution, he rests his hand on the sofa cushion, palm up, I don’t hesitate to slide mine into it.

  Chapter Three

  We talk until I can’t keep my eyes open any longer, and I declare I have to go to sleep before I fall over. Mum’s old room still contains her bed, although I’ve mostly cleared out her clothes and the rest of her things, so after letting Merlin out for the last time, we go upstairs, and I show Arthur the room.

  He lies on top of the bed and tucks his arms under his head. “It’s the best bed I’ve ever had. The pillows are so soft! And this blanket… it’s all padded.”

  “It’s called a duvet.”

  “I love it.”

  I chuckle. “Goodnight. I hope you sleep well.”

  “Goodnight, Gwen.” He doesn’t move, just sends me a smile. “Thank you for everything you’ve done for me today.”

  “You’re welcome.” I hesitate, wanting to tell him how wonderful it is that he’s here, but I can’t think how to phrase it.

  His smile widens a little. “Sleep tight,” he says.

  I nod and go out. I shut the door behind me and go into my own room, leaving Merlin in the hallway between our two rooms, keeping guard. I get into bed and pull the duvet up to my nose, conscious of Arthur the other side of the wall. He’s here; he’s really here. I want to lie there and think about him, but I’m worn out by the events of the day, and it’s not long before I fall asleep.

  I still wake up as usual around six thirty and go out of the room to discover Arthur’s room already empty. The bed has been made, guy style, and Merlin’s missing too. Downstairs, I can hear Arthur humming, and the distinct sound of milk being steamed in the coffee machine.

  Smiling, I take a shower and get ready, then go downstairs. They’re in the kitchen, Merlin lying under the table at Arthur’s feet. Arthur’s wearing a pair of black trousers and a dark grey sweater. He’s drinking a latte and reading, although he looks up and smiles as I go in and pushes a mug of coffee across to me. “I’ve watched you and Cooper make these enough times,” he announces. “I thought I’d give it a try.”

  I pick up the mug and sip it. It’s perfect. “What do you think?”

  “It’s amazing. I love coffee.”

  I laugh. “I knew you would. Did you sleep at all?”

  “I’ve slept long enough.”

  “I suppose so.” I gesture at the book on the table. “What are you reading?”

  He shows me the cover. It’s Bill Bryson’s A Short History of Nearly Everything.

  “Starting small?” I say, amused.

  “There’s so much to learn. It’s difficult to know where to start. I’m reading about the solar system at the moment. It’s fascinating. Men have been to the moon!”

  “It is wonderful, I know.”

  While I drink my coffee, I make us some toast, and we sit and eat it while he tells me some more about the things he’s learned. I love his childlike fascination with science and the world around him. It’s refreshing when so many people are dismissive of every marvellous thing they see.

  As he finishes the last mouthful of coffee, he looks down at Merlin and studies him for a moment. I have a feeling they’re having a conversation.

  After a few moments, Arthur gives a little nod and turns his attention back to me. “Can we go out this morning? Around the town?”

  “I’m supposed to work,” I reply. “But Tuesdays are usually quiet. Let me see what I can do.” I take out my mobile and ring Delia. Arthur watches me, puzzled and fascinated by the phone.

  “You want a
day off?” She sounds most amused. “I can’t remember the last time you said that.”

  “An old friend turned up on my doorstep last night,” I tell her, watching him as I speak. He sips his coffee, his eyes twinkling. “I’d like to spend some time with him.”

  “Him? Gwen!”

  I laugh. “Don’t get excited. I haven’t seen him for a while, that’s all.”

  “Of course, take as long as you need. Melissa’s not got much on; she can help out.”

  Melissa is Delia’s sister, and she often works in the café if I need some extra staff.

  “Are you sure she’ll be all right with the short notice?” I ask.

  “She’ll be fine. She’s bored silly at the moment. Go on, enjoy yourself.”

  “Thanks, Delia. Speak to you tomorrow.”

  I turn off my mobile. “All good,” I tell him. “I’m free for the day.”

  “You spoke to Delia through that little black box?”

  “Yes. You can talk to anyone you like, if you know the number of their phone.”

  He nods in wonder. He’s finished his coffee, and stands to lean against the counter, his hands in his pockets. “You look like a modern-day man standing like that,” I tell him.

  “I love pockets,” he declares, taking out the pound coin I gave him earlier when I was telling him about the current monarch, and turning it over in his fingers. “You can put things in them! Great idea, and so simple. I don’t know why we didn’t invent them.”

  I grin, go out into the hallway, and take my coat from the hook. “How do the shoes fit?”

  “They’re odd.” He looks down at the trainers Max gave him.

  “Too tight?”

  “No, it’s just strange having my feet so enclosed. The leather is very rigid. They’re comfortable though.”

  “Here.” I pass him the black jacket that Max included in the bag, and Arthur pulls it on. He surveys the zip suspiciously. I show him how to do it up, and he pulls the tag up and down with surprise, fascinated by the mechanism.

  “Amazing,” he says.

  “You’re very easily pleased.” I open the door and let Merlin go first, then follow him out. “Come on. Let’s stretch our legs.”