Arthur; The legend and Myth Chapter 81

Part V

Illicit Love and Scandals

81.

Lancelot saw the barbarian charging then with the raised mallet held in this hand. He had to wait for the right timing before he crouched down to swing his sword onto his lower chest. The cut spilled the barbarian guts out on the field. He brought down his sword onto the back to end the agony.

"Auric dies!" Lancelot shouted out to the others who were on the same battlefield. His voice reached their ears and fighting came to stop. The enemies won’t risk death or being injured to a lost cause or when the leader is not more.

"We win again, Lancelot. Well done, my knights." Lancelot heard the praise his King, Arthur of Camelot. The King rejoiced for they have beaten yet another foe. Their defeated for was one named Auric who had tormented the villages for some time then. His death will be soon announced and then there will rejoice in their victory.

Lancelot smiled at the King but the later had his back turned to him. It was the opportune moment to do it but he hesitated. He turned away and approached his own servants. They rushed to him and showered him with more praises. He had been away from his own love that he hardly felt any longing for her. His bedding then was with the local wenches who would moan and screamed while he humped on their body. He knew then nothing except his own desire and the evil thought of his King who will go back to Lady Guinevere.

“She does not deserve him.” Lancelot then muttered to himself. “He should have been mine.”

Lancelot glanced back at the King whose back was still towards him. He wished he had done it. He could have done it earlier in the battle if not for the intervention of Auric. He killed one other King and not the one he desired. He had failed. And failures meant punishment. It may bring him relief. He then rode off from the battlefield to a place of his own seclusion. It was the chapel he sought then. He took the needed item from the saddle pouch, well concealed with the silken sash and hidden inside. He paced himself into the chapel and then removed his armour. And the he removed his tunic and knelt by the wall that was etched with the drawings of his God.

Lancelot held the item in his hands. The cat-o-nine' whip was well balanced in both my hands, His right hand held the short handle when he raised it up high above. He then brought it down in a swoop to the side of his my left waist. The whip end curled itself around his waist to the spine. The pain was excruciating but he did not stop there. He raised the whip and brought it down again.

‘Forgive me, Father.”

Lancelot learned flagellation from the friar that told him it was more rewarding to the mind and heart than humping some wenches in the tavern.

“Forgive me…” Lancelot raised the whip but a voice was heard.

"Stop!" The arms slacked and he slowly turned to see the person who dares to command him. It was a lady who stood there with the cloak covering her. "I am your Queen. Obey my order or face my wrath.”

"No, my Queen. I cannot. I am ashamed to face you. Please go and leave me to my punishment. It’s for my foul deed to think of killing the King." Lancelot slummed on his shoulders and his head lowered in shame.

"Lancelot, you did not kill him. Explain yourself of these foul thoughts. Was it because of...." The lady paused in her words.

"Yes, my Queen. Because he is yours and I cannot have you. I am destined to live my life at your side but never with you. Every time he retires to the chamber with you, I am left with a raging desire to kill him. In my mind then, he is ravaging you and not loving you. It should be who should love you." 

"Give me the lashes, Lancelot." The lady commanded him. She step forth to lash his back with it. He felt every stroke that cut into his flesh but it was not pain that coarse through it but pleasure of love and lust.

Lancelot then fell to his face but the lashes came endlessly and finally it stopped. He looked to the trickle of blood that was on his neck and then down it dripped onto the flooring to form a pool there.

It was his blood.

It glistened like some jam spreading of the bread and yet he wanted to taste it. It was the taste of blood as he had sampled many of it from his body but of something sweet. He felt her body aching to his on the back. She rubbed her body against the bloodied welts while kissing on his neck.

"Lay with me, Lancelot. Do it here on the flooring where your blood flows wide. Use that as our bedding and give me my desire. Do me, Lancelot. Show me your desire. I am your Queen and I command it."

It was always then that he woke up with his body covered with sweat. It was always the same dream. Not every night but most nights. He sat up and turned to leave the bedding.

“Is it over, my Lord? Leave me the coins when you do leave.” Lancelot the lady who had spent the last hour toiling with him in every act that will give him the release from the tension and then sleep will preside but never will the dream subsided. He stepped away from the bedding and approached the corner where he may wash his face. The cold water was his relief for with it he had not the need to dream.

He was awake for another day of attendance to his Queen.

But where is the King then.

And to whom he was attending with.

On the contrary then, the King was still in his acquired lands which had expanded in a narrow and downward sweep towards the Black Forest area. The King was an early riser just before dawn alongside his knights, when he rode to view the new landscape. The King was not that keen on the rolling hills or the forest but he was to see the locals trained for that to be known as the joust of the knights.

“Sire, you are early.” The man servant of the knight that resides near the forest greeted Arthur. “My master will be here soon and the training will then begin.”

Jousting was the game then of two riders who will clash with each other with the use of the double length extended spear design. The game was to dislodge the other rider from the horse. The encounter required both knights to ride upon each other from differing directions and then used the so named lance to dislodge the rider. It was popular then in the region and somehow caught Arthur’s interest.

“Surely, the battle must be balanced. Not all of us are good at the …lance.” Arthur reached for his sword. “A personal duel with the sword should be the final battle. Like us who survived on it.”

Sir Kay who was accompanying then laughed.

“Surely you mocked us who are adept at most weapons. In the arena, we fight with whatever was given and even with a scoop of sand we will contest. Let no one who calls himself a warrior or ….knight be shy of wielding yet another weapon. Learn it and be good at it.”

“Sir Kay is right. We are all warriors. Let it known to all that rides with me that they must learn how to joust too.” It was then the art of jousting soon become one with the legend of Arthur.

Back on the lands under Arthur’s influence, another figure was in a joust in the dream.  Meleagant tossed on the bedding and then when sleeps avoids him, he got out of the bedding. He walked to the far wall where his personal belongings are kept in the huge metal strapped case. He flipped the cover open and reached for the package in the deep recess of the case. He drew out the scarf form the wrapped pack. He felt the silky material and then smelled the scent on it.

“Guinevere” Meleagant muttered out. “Why?”

It was then his chamber door opened. He turned and saw it was the maid. She was new at the task and was surprised to see the young Lord there. He was to be sleeping and with her quiet approach was to leave the breakfast tray there.

“I am sorry, my Lord. I did not …”

“Leave now or feel my wrath.”  Meleagant replaced the package and then closed the case lid. He turned to his bedding and then saw the tray. He was to approach it when his father walked in. The father name was King Urien.

“Your shout could be heard down the hall.” King Urien looked at his son. “Why did you shouted at her?”

The younger Lord ignored his father and took up the tray. It was laden with a loaf of bread, the morning juice and the chunk of cheese. He used to like it but of late then he hated the spread. It was the healer’s listing to improve his moods. The father repeated the question but Meleagant had chosen to ignore it. He picked up the sword by the bedding and left the chamber.

Soon at the courtyard the young Lord was hard at work with his two trainers.

“Up with your left arm.” The trainer stepped back with his sword. The trainer was naked from waist up which was intimidating towards Meleagant who was dressed in the armour vest over the tunic. The young Lord dropped his hands to his side and then he flared out.

“Fight me like the barbarian you were.” Meleagant shouted. “I will not be patronize like a kid.”

That stirred the trainer who was before then, the roving barbarian in the northern land. The trainer swung his sword and was deflected by Meleagant then. The trainer came with more blows but the young Lord was able to counter but his luck ran out. He tripped on his back heeling and soon the trainer sword at his throat.

“Mention that one more time, my Lord and I may forget my gratitude to your father.” The trainer told Meleagant before he retreated away. An arrow was then embedded into his chest released from the far wall. The archer lowered the bow and then looked at the older man who had stepped out of the nearby doorway.

“Why did you have to do that?” King Urien asked his son. “Are you mad? Mad about her.”

“I will fight my own battles, father.” With that reply Meleagant walked off. He was not mad but it was madness that drove him to dream of her every other night.