by J A Cummings
“Arthur,” Merlin objected. “Don’t be foolish.”
“Quiet,” the king ordered. The druid fell silent, surprised that he had been the recipient of a command. Arthur walked from his bench to where Kay sat, stopping when he was only a foot or so from his brother’s knee. “Hit me, Kay. Do it. Show me how angry you are.”
The young knight lurched to his feet, his face a mask of rage and frustration. His fists were balled at his sides. “You’re mad,” he accused.
“Quite possibly.” He lifted his chin, realizing that he was now the taller of the two. “Do it, Kay. This is your only chance. Punish me for starting a battle where our father died. Punish me for having sex with Lionors.”
His brother roared and let fly with his fists, catching Arthur on the chin and then in the eye. The king staggered backward, then regained his footing. Kay came after him again, this time pummeling Arthur in the stomach, hitting him again and again. The king did nothing to defend himself. Merlin rushed to separate them.
“What are you two idiots doing? Stop it! Stop this now!” He shoved Kay back and steadied Arthur with a hand on his shoulder.
The king looked at his foster brother, his eye swelling and painful, his body complaining vociferously about the treatment it had received. Kay was breathing heavily, but the dead look in his eyes had been replaced by fire, and Arthur believed that was a good trade. He watched Kay struggle to bring himself back under control.
“Do you really hate me?” Arthur asked. “Or do you hate the circumstances that you find yourself in?”
Kay stared at him, his eyes nearly bulging. He trembled, and Arthur saw his brother’s eyes begin to pool with unshed tears. “I hate the circumstances,” he said miserably, and repeated, “I hate the circumstances.”
The king nodded. “So do I.”
The knight sagged and began to weep, and Arthur took him in his arms, holding him tightly. He rubbed Kay’s back as his brother cried, comforting him to the best of his ability. Merlin made eye contact with Arthur and raised an eyebrow, and the king nodded to him. With a sigh of disgust, the druid left the room, leaving the two brothers alone.
Arthur guided Kay to sit on the bench, and he sat beside him, his arm around his shoulders. Kay leaned into his brother’s side, his head down as he wiped at his eyes.
“I can’t stop thinking,” the knight whispered. “I keep seeing Father’s body, the way it was when we finally got him home. And I keep thinking about Lionors. I love her. God help me, I still love her, but I can’t - I just can’t - raise another man’s child, especially not my own brother’s. It’s... unnatural.”
Arthur sighed. “I don’t understand why you say that, but I’m not going to argue with you. If you don’t want the child, he’ll know, and that’s no way for a child to grow up.”
Kay nodded. “And I’d always resent her. I’d always think about that blasted ritual… you’re both going to Hell for that. You realize that, don’t you?”
The king shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not. It’s not for me to say. God, if He is real, decides. It’s just as likely that we’ll go to Annwn or to the Summerlands, or maybe someplace else altogether. Who knows? I don’t think anyone living really knows what happens next.” He took a deep breath. “I want to believe that good people, no matter what their faiths might be, will be allowed into paradise, whatever form paradise takes. I want to believe that we will see each other again.”’
Kay pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “So do I, but I just don’t know.”
They sat in silence, leaning against one another. The knight looked into Arthur’s face, at the swollen eye and the split lip.
“Jesus, look at what I did to you!”
Arthur touched his lip and smiled ruefully. “If I’d known how hard you were going to hit me, I might have taken a different approach.”
Kay chuckled briefly, then asked, “Are you in a lot of pain?”
“Not yet.” The king winked. “Ask me tomorrow when all of the swelling and bruising sets in. Then I’ll be able to tell you.”
Kay put his head in his hands. “I can’t believe you let me beat on you.”
“Just like the old days, eh?”
They looked at one another, and both of them laughed. Kay embraced Arthur warmly, and the younger man went willingly into his brother’s arms. “I never thought it would be possible, but I’ve missed you, you little worm.”
“I’ve missed you, too.” He pulled back. “Come with me when we leave. Don’t stay here all alone. You’re my seneschal - I need you with me.”
“Even though I said I hated you?”
He shrugged. “People say a lot of things while they’re upset.”
“But it was treason.”
Arthur chuckled. “No, it wasn’t. And I make the rules now, apparently, so that’s where it will stand. Unless you have some sort of weird ambition to be executed…”
Kay wrinkled his nose as if he’d smelled something foul. “I’d rather avoid that.”
“And I’d rather avoid seeing it happen to you.”
“Then we’re agreed.”
Arthur patted his brother’s knee. “Let’s try to get this place looking more festive, shall we? Let’s celebrate the Holly King.”
“Celebrate the birth of Our Savior Jesus Christ, you mean,” Kay said archly.
The king smiled impishly, or at least as impishly as his fat lip and black eye would allow. “One of those. Maybe both. In both cases, it’s worth a celebration with good food and drink.”
“Again, we agree.” He held his hand out to Arthur, and the king accepted it, clasping Kay by the wrist. Their eyes met, and Kay finally smiled as if he meant it.
“Welcome home, Arthur,” he said. “It’s good to have you here.”
The rest of the Yule season was as happy as it could be, considering one third of their little family was no longer there to celebrate. They drank to the repose of Sir Ector’s spirit at their Christmas feast, when Merlin, Ewain and Mairwen joined them at the table. They toasted his memory again on New Year’s Day, and Arthur attended Mass in the chapel every time the priest came from the village to offer it. Arthur made a full confession to the priest and was absolved with the admonition to sin no more. He accepted the speech about sins of the flesh and listened patiently to the priest’s screed against pride and wrath, knowing full well that as soon as he was back with his army and it was fighting season again, his wrath would by necessity be given full rein. The priest knew it, too, but they both allowed the little pantomime to proceed.
Kay, Arthur and Merlin trained with their weapons during the day, and they hired a dodgy bard from the village to entertain them a few nights a week. Sometimes they went into the village themselves, taking their meals in the tiny tavern there and offering the tenants of Caer Gai their New Year’s gifts. The people were excited to have the High King in their midst, and before long, he was holding impromptu court sessions once a week, hearing arguments and deciding disputes. The people seemed happy with his decisions, and everything ran smoothly.
A week before Imbolc, Merlin pulled Arthur aside. “It’s time to go to Ceredigion for the birth of your child. He is coming soon, and you will want to be there.”
“Without doubt,” the king agreed. “Hopefully the weather will be fair for the trip.”
Arthur went to where his brother sat in the kitchen, sitting at the table and working on a ledger of the household finances. Kay looked up when he came in.
“Just enough income to support the expenses,” he said, “but as usual, not much left over.”
“Are the taxes too high?” the king asked, frowning.
“For us? A little. These lands aren’t the most productive, although we have plenty of game and fish. The things that can be sold don’t seem to come from Caer Gai.”
The king sat at the table, too, and said cautiously, “I need to go to Ceredigion. The baby will be born soon, and I want to be there.” Kay’s face fell, darkening as he looked away. Ar
thur sighed. “Do you want to come and meet your niece or nephew?”
His brother frowned. “You know how I feel about that child, and about the mother.” He shook his head. “No. I can’t go to Ceredigion with you. Not now, probably not ever.”
Arthur nodded, saddened but not surprised. “Will you join us in Viroconium for Easter, then? Sir Bedivere has asked to host us for the holiday.”
Kay took a deep breath and sat back. He looked at Arthur with a thousand unspoken words in his eyes. Finally, he said, “Yes, I’ll meet you there in time for Holy Week.”
The king smiled and rose, going to his brother’s side to embrace him. “I never intended -” he began.
“I know. But it happened anyway.”
“You know she wasn’t planning on this, either.”
“I know,” he said again. His mouth turned down at the corners, and he said, “That doesn’t make it better, though.”
Arthur parted from him sadly.
Merlin met him in the courtyard, and all of the king’s baggage had already been packed magically. He should not have been surprised. Kay followed him, and as Arthur mounted his horse, his brother said, “I wish you a safe trip, and I wish health for the mother and child.”
He knew how difficult it had been for Kay to say those words, and he smiled gratefully. “Thank you.” He took up his reins. “I’ll see you in Viroconium.”
The druid and the king rode away, and as they passed through the gate, Arthur took one last look behind him. Kay stood alone in the courtyard, his expression desolate. It made Arthur ache to see him so sad, especially when there was nothing he could do to help ease his pain.
The trip to Ceredigion was pleasant enough despite the winter’s chill. The snow that was on the ground was not enough to impede their progress, and the wheels of carts and hooves of horses that had traveled that path before them had cleared the way. They arrived at the king’s castle on a sunny afternoon, and Merlin announced them at the gate.
“I am Merlin of Ynys Môn, and I am with High King Arthur Pendragon.”
The gate guard’s eyes grew as large as saucers, and he opened the way for them immediately, bowing deeply as Arthur rode past. “Thank you,” the king said, and the man straightened and gaped after them.
They went to the keep, bypassing the little village within the castle walls. They were followed by whispers and stares as they passed, and Merlin smiled. Arthur was growing more accustomed to such reactions, but it still made him uncomfortable. He nodded to the people as he went by them, acknowledging them as much as he could without stopping. A runner raced ahead of them, bearing news of their impending arrival to the royal family.
A groom took their horses, and Arthur and Merlin walked into the great hall. The room was filled with courtiers and hangers-on, all gawking at the young king as he came into view. At the far end of the hall, seated in the king’s chair, Lionors waited with a smile on her face. She was great with child, and Arthur felt a thrill of excitement and apprehension when he saw her.
Lionors rose with some difficulty and attempted to curtsey to him. “Your Majesty,” she greeted. “I am very pleased to see you. Welcome to Ceredigion.”
“Thank you,” he said, smiling. “I’m very happy to be here. Please, sit back down. I don’t want you to tire yourself.”
The princess gratefully retook her seat. “I trust all is well with you, my lord?”
“It is, yes. And with you?” He felt awkward having this stilted conversation in the view of so many strangers.
“My father is ill, so I have been seeing to the affairs of the kingdom in his absence.” She put her hand on her swollen belly, rubbing it. “I wonder, Your Majesty, if you would be willing to help take on some of that burden while you’re here? I will soon be indisposed.”
He nodded. “It would be my honor.”
“The honor is ours. It’s not every kingdom that can say they’ve been administered by the High King himself.” She suddenly grinned. “Your child is kicking. Would you like to feel it?”
“Yes!” he exclaimed, thrilled. He joined her on the dais and she took his hand, pressing it to her abdomen, where the baby was moving. He could feel the child shifting beneath her flesh, and he shook his head in amazement. Lionors smiled at him. Without thinking, Arthur leaned down and kissed the spot above his squirming child, then whispered, “Hello, there, little one. I can’t wait to meet you.”
Lionors squeezed his hand, looking up into his eyes. She whispered, “I’m so glad you’ll be here to see him when he’s born.”
“So am I.”
He kissed her forehead, and she smiled. “Still so sweet,” she said. “I hope he has your disposition.”
“He would be better served if he had yours,” he responded.
She struggled to stand, and he gave her his hand to help her. When she was on her feet, she declared, “Court is now closed until His Majesty chooses to reconvene.”
The room erupted in murmurs as the courtiers and spectators began to talk to one another while they filed out of the hall. Lionors stepped down from the dais and walked to Merlin, who greeted her with a smile and a kiss on the cheek.
“You look well,” Merlin told her.
“I feel well, all things considered.”
“What is ailing your father?”
“Old age.”
The druid nodded. “The affliction for which there is no cure. I understand.”
“How could you understand?” she teased. “You’re ageless.”
“Perhaps, but I have seen many friends grow old during my life.” He took her hands. “I assume you have a midwife?”
“I do, and she is very accomplished. I have no fear.” She hesitated, “Well, some fear, but not about her.”
“This is your first child. It’s normal to be afraid,” Merlin reassured her.
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Arthur asked.
“Take over court while I’m abed after the birth. Other than that, I can think of nothing that I need.”
She led them out of the great hall and into the solar, where they sat on comfortable padded seats and enjoyed the sunlight streaming in through the windows. Arthur looked around at the comfortable surroundings. The room smelled of lavender, the aroma coming from a dish of crushed blossoms that sat on a small table. Lionors folded her hands over her abdomen and sat back.
“So… you’ve come from Caer Gai. How is Sir Kay?”
Arthur sighed. “He’s as stiff-necked as ever, but he’s finally adapting to the loss of our father. It took him some time. He had a great deal of anger about many things.”
She rubbed the spot where the baby was pushing against her. “Like this thing?”
He admitted, “Yes.”
She closed her eyes for a moment, her head leaning against the back of her chair. “I suppose it was too much to hope that he’d have a change of heart.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“I thought as much. Well, there’s no help for it. He is what he is, and he will never be what I had hoped he would be. I understand, I think, but I’m just very, very disappointed.”
“As am I.” He watched her, seeing how tired she looked. “I hope that the birth goes smoothly, and that you and the baby are in good health at the end of it.”
She opened her eyes and smiled at him. “Thank you, Arthur. That’s very kind.”
Merlin asked, “Have you decided whether you will claim this child, Your Majesty?”
Arthur was startled by the question. “Of course I will, if Lionors will allow it. Why would I not claim my own child?”
“Because he’s a bastard.”
“He was conceived in the holiness of a sacred rite,” the king argued. “There’s no taint upon him, or upon his mother.”
“I was hoping you would claim him,” she admitted, “but I didn’t want to ask, just in case you surprised me by saying no. I want my child to know his sire.”
“And I want to know my child,” he said. “I
don’t know anything about being a father, but I promise that I will love him… or her.”
She smiled and rubbed her abdomen again. “I’m convinced that it’s a boy.”
“I would be thrilled with either.”
“I think you would,” she said, sounding both gratified and surprised. “Many men want only sons.”
“Foolish and short-sighted,” Arthur said. “Girls are just as precious.”
“I agree.” She looked at Merlin, then back at the king. “I hope that you’ll be staying for a while.”
“I’m going to be here until Eastertide,” he answered. “Then I’ll be going to Viroconium and then back to the army to continue where I left off.”
Lionors looked saddened by his words. “More fighting?”
“King Lot is still in rebellion, and the Saxons are still on our soil. I have much to do.”
“I wish you great success, and I hope you come back healthy and victorious.”
He smiled. “Thank you. May the gods hear and agree.”
Morgana sat and looked at Ganile, who was mostly recovered from the wounds that Murduus had inflicted upon her. Her body had healed, but her spirit was still shattered, leaving her weak and diminished. Ganile slept most of the time, too filled with sorrow and pain to bear the waking hours. Morgana had never seen her this way, and it troubled her deeply.
Merlin was to blame for her erstwhile lover’s fall into frailty, and she would see him pay for his interference. She was certain that whatever he had done had been on behalf, and possibly at the behest, of Arthur, the bastard who claimed to be High King. She hated them both, especially when she contemplated her father’s superior claim to that throne through his completely native British blood. She would never allow the whelp of a Roman thief to sit upon the throne unopposed.
She considered what to do about Merlin. She knew that he was more powerful than she was, and that he would always be so, unless she found some miraculous way to destroy him. There had to be a failing, a chink in his armor, something that she could exploit to bring him down.
She knew what he was. He was a cambion, an unholy creature that was half human and half demon. That made him dangerous, and very hard if not impossible to kill. The best she could hope for would be to either imprison him or send him back to the dark underworld from which he’d come. Still staring at Ganile, she began planning her revenge.