Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  “I underestimated him last time,” Lot said, his tone harsh. “I will not do that again.”

  Morgana rose to stand beside Ganile. “With your permission, Your Majesty?”

  “Please leave,” he nodded.

  She smirked and took Ganile’s hand, leading her out of the room.

  “Why is she here?” Aethelflaed asked. “She should be back in Rheged with her husband.”

  “Her husband is in a dungeon in Eburacum. Besides, my wife wants her here, so here she stays.”

  The shieldmaiden laughed at him. “Morgause must be an incredible lover if you’re so willing to do whatever she says. Does she hold your balls for you until you need them, or has she let you keep them attached?”

  “Very funny.” His tone clearly said that he didn’t find it funny in the least.

  The Danish warrior asked, “Are you so certain that your son is really a hostage? That he hasn’t switched sides?”

  “Gawain would never betray me,” he said confidently. “He is bewitched, or compelled by some other means.”

  “If you say so. I think he’s made his choice, and you lost.”

  “I don’t care what you think.” He stood and brushed past her. “This will work. You’ll see.”

  Merlin took himself to Vivienne’s tower, standing on the perimeter outside the colonnade until she took notice of him. She was not alone. A member of the Unseelie court, a combination of house fly and human, was buzzing a report in her ear. She nodded, listening, and then sent the creature away with a vial. It took wing and flew out the side of the tower opposite where Merlin was standing, and she turned to face her son.

  “Come in, darling.”

  He crossed into her room, passing the magical barrier that kept out the wind and the rain. He kissed her in greeting, and she gestured for him to sit down with her at her writing desk. Merlin did as she requested, feeling strangely disquieted.

  “The High King has a son,” he told her.

  “Ah! His bastard has been born. And what did the mother name the child?”

  “Loholt.”

  Vivienne tapped her fingertip against the desk. “And is the child healthy?”

  “Very. And the image of his father.”

  “So, like Uther, Arthur is a stud who marks his get.” She chuckled. “That will be useful in the future.”

  Merlin felt uneasy. “How so?”

  She turned to him and took his hands in hers. “Have you relinquished all of your feelings for this boy king?”

  “As many as I could,” he admitted truthfully. “But I have relinquished enough to master those that remain.”

  “Good. For what I am about to tell you would cause you sorrow if you loved him still.”

  He eyed her warily. “What?”

  “There is a plot that will turn against him, and he will be injured. He will be humiliated, in fact. And you must let it happen.”

  Merlin’s mouth dropped open. “But… I thought I was to protect him.”

  “You are, but you are also to make certain that he learns the lessons that he must learn in order to be useful to us.” She raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning me?”

  “No, mother.”

  His answer was spoken almost reflexively. Like angels, demons lacked the luxury of free will that humanity could enjoy. By virtue of their nature, demons were compelled to obey the commands of any demon with more power. Among the demons of his ilk, the incubi and succubi, that automatic obedience extended to their mothers. Even if Vivienne ordered him to maim or kill himself, he would obey, because he had no other choice. He felt like she was asking him to make that kind of choice now.

  “Good.”

  “How will I know when I must step aside?”

  “You will know. I will send you a missive when the time comes for you to leave him unprotected.”

  He bowed his head. “Thank you, mother.”

  She smiled. “Everything is proceeding exactly as it must be. Things are well, my boy.”

  Merlin wished he felt as satisfied.

  Morgana and Ganile went to Morgause’s day room. The queen looked up with a smile when they came in, putting aside the book that she had been reading. “Hello, ladies,” she greeted.

  Gareth looked up and cooed at them. Ganile smiled, charmed, while Morgana looked at him in barely veiled horror.

  “We need to send messages to ships on the sea,” Morgana told her sister. “Can you do that?”

  “Not without knowing where the ships are, or a person on board.” She shook her head. “It’s too difficult.”

  “Scry for it,” Morgana said, exasperated.

  “You scry for it,” Morgause retorted. “Why do we need to send messages so far, anyway? That’s serious magic, and tiring to do.”

  Ganile sighed. “There was a time when I could send magical messages without strain. Those days are gone.” She sat down. “The reason why is that I need to convey orders from King Lot to the sailors on Aethelflaed’s approaching ships.”

  Morgause sighed. “Well… if it’s for Lot, then I will.”

  Morgana scowled. “Why does he have such a hold on you? It’s distasteful.”

  “It’s called love, sister. Someday you’ll understand.”

  “I hope I never do.”

  Morgause went to a chest in the corner of the room and pulled out her scrying glass. She sat down again, the glass balancing across her knees, and she began to whisper the words of the spell that would show her what she sought. Gareth stood and watched, transfixed. Images flashed across the surface of the glass, showing rushing water and white-crested waves on an endless sea. Five longships came into view, and Morgause nodded.

  “Are these the ships?”

  Ganile came to have a look. “Yes.”

  The Queen of Lothian concentrated, describing a circle in the air with one outstretched fingertip. A portal blossomed before her, just a pinprick at first, then growing steadily until it was the height of a fox and just as wide. On the other side was the deck of the longship, littered with men and the materiel of war. Four identical portals, each one leading to a different longship, glimmered into life.

  “There are your portals,” Morgause told the Saxon sorceress. “Now what orders?’

  Ganile conjured a set of parchments and inscribed Lot’s orders onto them with one finger. Her touch left a trail like black ink behind, the Norse runes forming rapidly and marching across the parchments as if they were alive. She whispered magical commands, and the messages rolled up of their own accord. Another set of conjurations brought strings to tie them shut and wax to seal them, and then she held them up on the flat of her palm.

  It was clear that she was running out of energy, and that this much casting had depleted her reserves to a nearly critical level. Her eyes fluttered and began to roll back in her head. Morgana caught her before she fell, and Morgause finished the job by sending the scrolls through the tiny portals to the long boats on the other side. As soon as the scrolls were delivered, the portals snapped shut. Morgause returned her mirror to its chest.

  Morgana helped Ganile lie upon the furs that carpeted the stone floor, watching as the Saxon sorceress lay unconscious. After she was certain that Ganile would survive, she left her on the floor and sat beside Morgause. “I’ve come up with a brilliant idea,” she said. “It will work because you had me healed. Thank you for that.”

  “An idea about what?” her sister asked, suspicious.

  “An idea about how to bring Arthur Pendragon to his knees.”

  “Lot and his armies will do that.”

  Morgana shook her head. “No. They won’t. That isn’t their destiny.”

  Morgause laughed. “And since when do you have the gift of prophecy, sister?”

  “Since it was granted to me by my master.”

  Morgause was chilled by the look in her little sister’s eyes. It was either zealous certainty or madness, and possibly both. She said, “So what is their fate? Am I to be a widow?”


  “Eventually, yes, but not right away.”

  She sighed. “That’s something, I suppose. What is this great idea of yours?”

  “I mean to fight fire with fire,” she said. “Or more precisely, bastard with bastard.”

  Their conversation was interrupted when Ganile moaned from her uncomfortable bed on the stone floor. They both watched her to be certain she would stay asleep, then Morgause turned to her sister. “Tell me this plan of yours.”

  “It will require your assistance,” she told her, “and maybe Ganile’s, too. I need two spells. One will make a man helpless to do anything but what I want him to do - unable to speak unless I will it, unable to see, unable to hear… but still able to function as a man, if you understand me. Second, I need something that will make a woman conceive a son, no matter what. Can you do these spells? I can’t do them alone. Even with my master’s help, they both require rituals and the power of many women.”

  Morgause stared at her sister in horror. “You mean to have Arthur’s child.”

  “Yes. A child I will rear to hate him and to desire nothing but his downfall.”

  “That’s incest.”

  “Yes, it is. And when word leaks out to the wide world, think of the shame that will fall on Arthur’s head.”

  “And yours.”

  “I don’t care about that.”

  Morgause shook her head. “You would do this?”

  “I would, if you would help me. Can I count on you?”

  The Queen of Lothian considered, tapping her toe slightly as she thought. At last she said, “Yes. I will help you. But I will be the one to raise the child.”

  “Will you raise him to hate his sire with the fire of a burning sun?”

  “Will Arthur be responsible for my husband’s death?”

  “Yes.”

  Morgause nodded, her jaw set. “Then I will. The child will never hear the name of Arthur Pendragon without knowing him as a loathed enemy.”

  The arrangement suited Morgana nicely. “Then I agree.”

  “Then wake up Ganile, and I will call on Sybile in Norgalis. If I can think of other practitioners of the craft that we can trust, I will call them, too. You will have your spells.” She smiled at Morgana. “And then we will see that Arthur has a son.”

  The rider from Eburacum reached Viroconium on the same day that Arthur and Merlin arrived. He intercepted them just outside the gate to the city with its inscribed stones.

  “Master Merlin,” the rider greeted. “I have a message for the High King.”

  Arthur said, “Then deliver it to me.”

  The rider looked surprised, but only for a moment. He cleared his throat and said, “King Lot has announced that he is marching on Eburacum with the stated intention of rescuing his son, Prince Gawain, from captivity. He leaves Din Eidyn at the first snow melt, and he has been joined by an army of Danes. King Gurgurest urges you to respond, or he will take measures.”

  “That sounds like an ultimatum,” Merlin rumbled. “How dare he issue orders, even implied ones, to his king?”

  Arthur held up his hand to quiet the furious druid’s objections. “What measures?”

  “He means to send Prince Gawain and Prince Owain to Din Eidyn before the snow melts, in chains if he must.”

  “A coward’s gambit,” Merlin spat.

  “He is protecting his people,” the king said. He could tell that his words annoyed his companion almost beyond the telling of it, and for some reason, in that moment he found Merlin’s ill humor amusing. He stifled the urge to grin. “Tell him that my army and I will come to his aid. Tell him that if he sends the princes away, I will be …” He selected his words carefully but still sounded foolish. “I will be cross.”

  Merlin snorted. The rider bowed his head. “Yes, Your Majesty. God be with you.”

  “And with you.”

  The messenger turned around and headed back the way he’d come. Arthur said, “We will have to muster the army before fighting season has begun. We will march on Din Eidyn.”

  “A direct attack?” the druid asked, raising an eyebrow. “That’s bold.”

  “Audaces fortuna iuvat,” he answered, smiling. “Fortune favors the bold, my friend.”

  “I understood the Latin. You didn’t need to repeat it.”

  They rode forward through the town gates. Arthur observed, “You’re in a surly mood today. What’s the matter?”

  The druid shot a resentful, sidelong glance at his king. “I’m hungry.”

  “Then we’ll stop and eat. You should have said something.”

  “I will eat after I deposit you at Bedivere’s estate.” He nudged his tired mount in the ribs, and it reluctantly increased its pace.

  “You’re being very strange.”

  “It’s my natural state.”

  They rode through the town and back out through the eastern gate, which opened up at the feet of Bedivere’s land. His fortress home stood at the top of the familiar hill, which was still adorned with earthworks and now with flags displaying the knight’s heraldry. Bedivere’s gates were open, and there were no guards in evidence as they approached. Cambria had been quiet since the death of Pryderi, with no new warlords rising to try to subdue the land to their own ends. The peace in the country was reflected in the serene footing of the estate. It was a welcome sight.

  They rode into the bailey, where they were greeted by a soldier with a lazy eye. “My lords,” he said. “Who are you, and what brings you here to the estate of Sir Bedivere Bedrydant?”

  “I am Arthur Pendragon, and this is Merlin. We are here to see Sir Bedivere and to stay through the Easter holiday.”

  The soldier straightened abruptly at the sound of his king’s name. He bowed. “My liege,” he said. “I apologize. I did not recognize you.”

  “Well, you’ve never seen me before, so that’s not surprising.” He smiled to soften the words. “May we proceed?”

  “Yes, my lords.” He bowed again.

  They rode to the keep, where they relinquished their mounts to Bedivere’s grooms. Arthur smiled at Merlin, who was scowling. “Don’t look so angry,” he said. “I’m sure there’s food here.”

  “There is,” the druid nodded, “but nothing I can use.”

  Bedivere and Kay emerged from the keep almost as soon as they dismounted, and Kay clasped Arthur in his arms. “Brother,” he said, his voice warm. “How are you?”

  “Extremely well.” He returned the embrace, then stepped back. He wanted to tell him about his child, but he resisted the temptation, knowing that Kay would be unhappy with the news. He settled for a smile instead.

  Kay clapped him on the shoulder, then stepped aside to greet Merlin and allow Bedivere to embrace the young king. With his mouth next to Arthur’s ear, Bedivere whispered, “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy.” He beamed. “His name is Loholt.”

  Bedivere squeezed his shoulder with a happy smile. “Congratulations. Hale and hearty?”

  “Yes, and with a powerful set of lungs for screaming,” he chuckled.

  “That’s a good thing, believe it or not.” Bedivere nodded to Merlin. “Welcome, both of you. Come in. We’ve been missing you.”

  They walked into the great hall together. It was the same as it always had been, with benches and trestle tables pushed against the walls. There was a new tapestry that hung above the main hearth, showing dogs hunting a stag. Before that hearth sat Griflet, his back to the door, bending over some task. Arthur’s heart caught when he saw him, and it was all he could do not to run to Griflet and embrace him. He had missed him.

  Merlin told Bedivere and Kay, “We were met at the gate by a messenger from Eburacum. Lot has declared his intention to march on them and ‘rescue’ his son. He’s also got a force of Danes fighting with him.”

  Griflet looked up from where he was sitting, trying to polish a scuff out of his helmet. “That doesn’t sound promising. Where is the messenger now?”

  “I gave him my response and he alr
eady left to take it back,” Arthur answered. He smiled warmly toward Griflet, who returned the affectionate expression, much to the king’s surprised delight. Merlin cleared his throat, and Griflet looked away abruptly. Arthur glanced at the druid. “Merlin says he’s hungry. Is there any food available?”

  Bedivere turned to a young page who was loitering near the hearth. “Go and check the kitchen.” The boy scampered off to obey, and he turned back to Arthur. “That’s a young lad named Accolon. He’s here from Gaul. Very eager.”

  “Gaul is a long way away,” Merlin said, surprised. “I didn’t realize you still had ties there.”

  “Of course. My father’s family still has some roots there, and I inherited land from my father in Cenabum. This lad is the son of one of my knights tenant.”

  Arthur nodded. “Well, I’m sure he’ll learn a great many lessons at your side, pleasant and otherwise.”

  He realized as soon as he said it that his tone was laced with heavy meanings, and his thoughts were full of Amren. The knight clearly recognized the tone and guessed at the source, and he looked away, his fair cheeks coloring in either shame or anger.

  “I’m sorry,” Arthur said. “That was unfair.”

  “Not at all, Your Majesty,” Bedivere said. “The worst part is that it is completely true, and I must admit to it. I swear to you, Accolon will not have the experiences that my son had.”

  “Good.” He took a deep breath and looked around. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here. I feel a hundred years older.”

  Kay snorted. “And you don’t look a day over a hundred and twelve.”

  Arthur laughed.

  Griflet crossed his arms. “So what was your response?”

  “To the rider?”

  The young knight sighed. “Yes, to the rider. Idiot.”

  Arthur smiled at the insult. He had missed Griflet badly. “I told him that we would go to Eburacum and meet Lot there, and that Gurgurest is not to send the princes to Din Eidyn.” He turned to Bedivere. “I would like to gather our forces here, use Viroconium as our mustering place before we march on Lothian.”