Dissembler daze and knights….
“Arthur” she cried out, as loudly as she possibly could. Well, she had to be loud as the corridors were so long. He could be anywhere – and he most probably was. “Oh where are you, my love? There are still so many, deeply noble duties to perform today – and your most treasured friend Merlyn is due to appear so soon”.
Guinevere was accustomed to these problems but nonetheless she had never really accepted her lot. She smiled wanly “My Camel lot, indeed!” Weary but resolute, she started off down the most likely route to search for her errant partner.
Way ahead of her and several times more cunning, in the meantime he had taken residence up at the very top of the most far distant towers. “That high and mighty Lancelot is due today – I can no longer abide him, so I think I’ll stay up here out of the way. Maybe I can get the wizard to turn him into a beetle or something – just keep him out of my way. Always bragging about rescuing damsels or ransacking enemy castles – nothing I couldn’t do in my sleep, but I have so many more vital tasks on my plate which he just does not realise the importance of. He has to grow up and discover that life has subtleties and nuances – it’s not all just charging around on rescue missions, however much fun they may be!”
Passing his soiled lance to Baldthing, his serf, Du Lac smiled as he went once more, in painstaking detail, over his recent duel. No, his opponent had been a very poor adversary and fully deserved his somewhat spectacular demise. Very spectacular, actually, he corrected himself, then burst out into fits of uproarious mirth. “Well, frankly, I AM unbeatable”.
“Now we head on to see whether Emperor Tedium has any news. Perhaps he’ll be eating his Holy Gruel, perhaps he’ll have been consumed by all those Welsh witches or maybe gone on a sabbatical with the Sorcerer.”
Luckily this latest conquest had been just a short owl’s flight from the centre of the kingdom. Soon he was at the gate.
There was a sudden flash of light. It was the most vivid white flash, a crescendo – and then it dissolved into every colour of the rainbow, with a few new ones thrown in for good measure. Everywhere, everything else looked pale and jaded – there was only one point one’s eyes could focus and, sure enough, it was in that direction that Baldthing’s master now cast a scornful glare.
“You always try to upstage everyone, don’t you, you, you, you useless conjurer. Why can’t you just come to the gate like normal people and heroes like myself have to?”
Merlyn devapourised on the top of the flight of stairs outside the turret top room where Arthur had taken refuge. He liked his holidays and took them very seriously. This time he’d chosen to visit Bretaigne in the 21st century. He smiled – he’d had quite an adventure – the people all hiding their faces behind masks had been rather scary – but it was great to come home to civilisation, again.
Casually he discharged a residual portal energy fragment which earthed in pleasingly flamboyant manner just outside the main gate and then knocked on Arthur’s door. As the room used to be his, it dutifully opened for him and he swept in boldly, where he found his former pupil gazing out of the window looking disconsolate.
“Merlyn, I am so glad to see you – you have arrived just in the nick of time – though I imagine you’ll tell me you’d already worked it out. But that tiresome night has come. Yes, and that tiresome knight has come, as well.” he added, somewhat confusingly. His manner perturbed the wizard but he simply replied “Ah, you know – I’ve seen it all before”. This was indeed true and added the deeply bittersweet element to this unique individual’s life patterns, but is a description that I needs must leave for another day!
“Come, let us WALK down to the Great Hall” the king said, suddenly and as if with new resolve. “Que sera, sera”. He smiled “My friend’s horseman Senor Sancho Panza is teaching me some Hispanic”. Already the sun was setting and shadows were stretching out over the keep. The crisp air was full of busy, evening sounds and, as they approached the inner doors, there were strong wafts of wonderful aromas carrying notice that today’s feast was almost ready.
At this point they were approached by a very dishevelled figure, wearing blackened and rather torn garments. His face, too, was blackened and his hair appeared singed. Arthur stared at this, then at Merlyn, whose eyes he caught. As one they both burst into laughter: “Lancelot – what HAS happened to you? A dragon, up in Eryri, maybe?” The recently stricken knight spluttered and looked daggers at Merlyn, but said nothing. Sullenly, he followed them into the castle, where the beautiful Guinivere was waiting by the table.
When I say “waiting” I mean that she had very recently stopped moving – she was not serving food! “My love, there you are – and you have found our two principle guests, so you were not just hiding somewhere. Oh, but noble Lance, you do not look good after your journey – and many conquests, I am sure. Come, let me take you to your chamber, that you can restore yourself”.
Baldthing followed slowly behind them as, at the same time, other figures started to filter into the room. At the far end a huge fire was burning, meat was roasting and sparks flying. Elsewhere lamps and candles also cut through the shadows. “Gawain, it’s good to see you – hmm, and Mordred, too”. Arthur greeted over a dozen such gallant defenders of his dreams and ideals, protectors of this beautiful and prosperous realm – that he ruled over so…..justly.
Lamorak and Palamedes approached, deep in conversation. “My liege, how good it is to be back with you in Camelot, at your splendid round table. Tonight we can put everything right once more!” The liege, although he smiled broadly, felt uneasy. “Indeed, at this table we are each of us equals, and can discuss how all these, our lands, lie. But it seems you suggest, perhaps, that some things are not now proper?”
Palamedes smiled as well, but did not answer. A bell rang and a loud voice bellowed out “Good knights of Fair Britaigne, pray drink a toast to our valliant leader and then be seated to enjoy this banquet”. The rumbustious gathering became suddenly galvanised. Almost as one they lifted vessels of mead or ale or wine and cried “Arthur” then pulled their heavy chairs up to the magnificent table. Five yards across, hewn from the strongest oak this circular bwrdd was the essence of the responsibility and accountability upon which the king and his advisor had built this nation.
“Where is Du Lac?” cried Mordred, “Surely he must be here with news for us of his, his exploits?”
“I am here” came a voice surging in confidence, springing from the shadows at the back of the hall. “And you, too, young Mordred – though I am not sure quite why. Come, everybody, let us feast – and talk!”
All was not well, it turned out, albeit the problems lay chiefly to the North and the East where, it seemed, invading armies were landing and creating havoc. Villages were being ransacked and whole communities slaughtered. But this was many leagues away and, nearer to Camelot, affairs were more parochial.
Guinevere had slipped in and placed herself at Arthur’s side. She looked unsettled – even worried. “What ails you, my love? Is it these tales of unrest?” She tore her eyes away and cried out “Behold everyone, we have minstrels with us today. When you’ve eaten your fill, let us all sing and dance to bring cheer into this dark, winter night”. Seeing his gaze still upon her she breathed “Oh, it is nothing, Sire, nothing to concern you”.
Merriment continued, logs burned on the fire and music filled the air. Storytelling ensued with all sat once more in a circle around the table. Everyone looked forward to Merlyn’s contributions as he drew from a vast compendium of myth and history and peppered their solemn telling with humour and odd touches of magic and chemistry. Especially chemistry – as Lancelot knew only too well!
Arthur looked for his noblest knight but could not see him. Then another crimson bubble exploded high up in the joists and a cloud of tweeting shadows flew three times round the room. Several of the knights lay slumped backward in their chairs or splain forward onto the table. Seconds later the same happened to the king himself and he fell into a deep, if fundamentally troubled sleep. Merlyn grimaced a sad smile – it was time to put an end to this.
Four hours later, as the weakest of dawns painstakingly cast a miserable light over the keep the wizard was quietly smoking his pipe and waiting to execute his plans. It was one of the perks of his holidays that he could bring back certain essentials such as this tobacco. He felt blessed – albeit also cursed – as he steeled himself for the morning.
“Never do that to me again” came the anticipated gruff command from Du Lac, striding out from the sleeping quarters.
“Because?” shrugged Merlyn, nonchalant.
The knight drew himself as tall as he could and started to bare down on the frail old man. He drew his sword as if to strike. At the very same moment a woman’s voice broke out “No, you cannot. Don’t!” Distracted he turned toward Guinevere as the sword grew suddenly heavy in his hands. It fell and Merlyn watched as it plunged deep into a rock beside him, leaving only the handle and a short section of the blade visible.
“You are just a bully Lancelot – you pick on weak opponents and they are easy targets upon which to build up a reputation of skill and gallantry. Arthur’s beautiful dream, his peaceful, united and industrious realm is being eaten up by invading forces – and you prance around just looking after yourself. You have no honour and will be useless to fight off the invading Norse warriors. Leave Bretagne – rehabilitate yourself by returning if and only if you can bring Arthur the Holy Grail”.
Du Lac tried to reclaim his sword, but to no avail. Crestfallen, he shouted out “Baldthing we are leaving. Now. Get my horse”. He looked up to address Guinevere, but she had vanished. Probably not Merlyn’s doings on this occasion!