Arthur II Book III Chapter 12

 

12.

 
Arthur stood up from the bedding of the unknown chamber and walked to the washbasin to clean himself. He felt the cold cloth wet from the colder water wiped away the dirt and sweat off his body.

“Aye, I had.” Arthur sighed. He had betrayed the trust of the faithfulness of his love, the Queen with the sleepover that night. He turned to look at the two ladies on the bedding which he had no recollection of knowing even their names. It was all in his memory but he chose not to recall them.

“Damn!” Arthur cursed at himself. He turned to his clothes and got dressed. He looked at the window and saw that it was still dark outside but he felt the need to get out. He left the chamber and walked to the hall. It was the home of the local Chief that he took refuge in. There he saw the sleeping forms of the guests without a chamber to rest or too drunk to find one. He saw the table with the leftover spread of food and drinks. He grabbed a goblet to pour himself a drink of mead. The drink washed down his thirst but not his guilt.

“It’s not every day I get to see the King and a much lesser one that held pain in the heart.” Arthur turned to look at the one who spoke. It was the old crone seated by herself at the corner. The old crone was toothless and walked with a long cane to support her limping left leg.

“Be away, witch!” Arthur cursed at the old crone.

“Witch I am not thought I wished I was for then my leg would have walked and not trailed behind when I do.” The old crone replied. “What is my pain compared to yours? Remorse hurts deep, Sire.”

“Be away. I am not here to hear your counseling.” Arthur grew agitated at the lady.

“You should have counsel yourself before them wenches have their legs open for you.” The old crone laughed. “Men are so gullible when it comes to their lust. Be it the lust of the flesh or in battle, the lust for glory.”

“I will hear no more any words from you.” Arthur turned his back on the old crone.

“Do we all look alike from the rear? Man or woman while we plunged away.” The old crone continued. “I am here to tell you of your fallings in you, Sire. You may be the King but inside of you, remain the emptiness of the soul. You have a lover which may not be yours and land which may not be yours to hold on forever.”

“Silence, old crone.” Arthur turned once more towards her. “I will hear no more.”

“Denial, Sire? Do the ones next to you not tell you the truth or mere words of comfort that you want to hear? I am being truthful for I have seen many. You are not my first King but probably my last.”

Arthur could not bear it anymore and approached the lady. He glared at her.

“Strike me, my King. I am just a subject of your rule.” The old crone cowered downwards. “Do end my life but go back to your castle. Your realm needs you. Your Queen may conflict.”

Arthur raised his right arm to strike at the old crone when he heard his name called.

“My King, Arthur, is you well?” It was Belvedere who had asked. Arthur turned to the other.

“Get my horse ready. I will ride back to Camelot now.” Arthur told Belvedere. “And I will bring the old crone with me.” 

“Who, Arthur You were talking to a chair?” Arthur turned to look and saw it was indeed an empty chair he was facing.

So was Percival then.

“My uncle Fisher King … was he not there?” Percival looked at Adriane.

“The man is mad. Take him down and he will hang by the neck.” Gornement called his men. Cwi ever the disciple of Gornement charged at Percival with the drawn sword. Percival retreated while drawing out his sword. He blocks Cwi’ sword and then retreated further. He was fighting against four warriors besides Cwi.

“Stay back. He is mine.” Cwi told the others. “Gornement may have been your mentor on the sword but he taught me more.”

Cwi pressed on his attack with the two of them moving along the side of the wall at the Hall. Cwi was attacking while Percival found his mode was to defend. He was up against a stronger foe. Cwi flicked his arm with the sword and unarmed Percival of his.

“The butcher lost his sword.” Cwi roared. “Shall I cleave him now?”

It was then Percival felt the loss of his sword and wished he had another. He looked to Adriane.

“Give me a weapon!” The weapon appeared before him in his hands. He held a lance with a pointed sharp end that was the full height of his and it was calling to him. Percival swung the lance at Cwi who was not it. Cwi fell backward on his back and Percival had the lance held over his head with both hands.

“Give me back my estate.” Percival stabbed the lance into Cwi. He felt the lance plunged in deep into the chest but no blood spurted out. It flowed into the lance. He pulled the lance out and then glared at Gornement and Fisher King.

“We yield,” Gornement called but the vengeance in Percival remained angry. He charged at the two and stabbed with the lance at Fisher King. The elderly man went down on his knees and then the face.

“You are spared, Gornement. You may leave.” Gornement and the others fled but remained were the witches. All nine of them including Adriane was cowering on the walls sticking to it like bats in the cave.

“We seek your mercy, Percie.” The witches pleaded with him.

“Adriane, you lure me here to get me killed. You were once my friend …. No …. you were once like my mother.” Percival looked at the witch on the far corner. “Why?”

“I had to. It was us who harbor the resentment of your mother to leave us and be with your mother. She knew of us playing with you. She knew that one day you will lose that innocence and we will be gone. She betrayed us all but deep in me, I do love you like ….. my own.” Adriane looked at Percival. “I could not harm you. I had to help you. I gave you what your fathers when he tossed it to the knoll where we resided. He had enough of the battles but she, your mother was attracted to your father. She sought him and found union with him. He then built his estate over the knoll which you stand on it, and we guarded the lance. It was prophecied that only an Efawg may draw it.”

Adriane flew down and pierced herself on the spear. Percival pulled hard at it but she held onto it with her hands.

“I have done you wrong, Percie. Let me feed it.”

“No….” Percival saw Adriane slipped into the void of emptiness.

“Spare us, Percival. We were misled by ….” The other eight witches pleaded to him.

Percival lowered the lance and then sat down next to it. The witches climbed down and sat before him.

“Percival…” Adrine spoke but Percival held up his right hand to halt her.

“Keep the knoll safe. Keep the lance safe.” Percival told the witches. “I will return one day for it…… when I will seek the Grail. It shall sit beside the case where her ashes remained. And my father too.”

Keeping the castle safe was what Lamorak doing then, but dreaded the moment he completes the daily patrols. He found solace with Molly at the tavern with her talks and smile. He will sit there with the goblet of mead and looked at the lady patronizing the others.

“If you keep on staring at me, I may trip on my legs and be shown what I don’t show in public.” Molly leaned over to whisper to him. Lamorak laughed at the joke and asked her of Galahad.

“Galahad? I wondered if I do remember that name. He has not been in here for days.” Molly replied while she dipped the goblets into the washtub.

“I heard Gawain had ridden off after the brawl with Gaheris at the stables. I do wonder why these young gallant men; Galahad excluded even want to fight over a lady. We have more of them here than the number of chambers at Camelot.”

“Aye, the young ones are wild and they want to sow their seeds before they are to tend to the harvest,” Lamorak said.

“And how do you fare with yours?  Was he a  dashing man like yourself?” Molly leaned forward to ask with a sight of ample bosom; well-rounded and probably may cushion a good night's sleep.

“Nay, I have been a Legionnaire most of my life. I am not the steadfast one for the family.”  Lamorak recalled his younger days when he helped with his father at the butcher stand. He was also at the hut with the father for Lamont his brother was weak and fell ill most times.

“Lamont suffered from the possession. He needs to be bled to remove the spirits.” Such was the treatment for those who had seizures or chills. Lamont suffered in silence without the love of his dead mother, and he remained frail at his age.

“Father, I will do the task while you rest.” Then at a tender age, Lamorak learned the art of wielding the cutting blade to skin the catch. He knew the thickness of the hide and do not cut the excess fats from it. He had learned to cut the meat by its tendons and knew where the innards that held the nutrients.

“Hey, boy? Is your father home?” Lamorak looked up from the carcass of the deer that he was skinning the hide. He saw a Roman Legionnaire mounted on the horse with three standing legionnaires at the rear. The sun reflected off the mounted Roman’s helmet into his eyes. He shielded it then.

“I ask you a question, boy.”

“I heard you. I am Lamorak. I am Estrucian.” Lamorak looked at the Roman.

“You speak bold, Estrucian. I liked that.” It was then Lamorak’s father appeared. He has Romans for customers and was courteous to them.

“We need a butcher. Would you be with my Legion? I need men. Fit men.”

“I cannot, Centurion. I run a trade here and have two sons to feed. The younger is unwell.”

“Well, I require a butcher…” The Roman leaned back on the saddle.

“I will go.” Lamorak looked at his father.

“Are you drunk, Sir?’ Molly had interrupted his thoughts.

“I am sorry. Was I sleeping?” Lamorak laughed. “I do wonder if I ever knew what it will like to have a family.”