Arthur Rex: Volume One

by J A Cummings

  Uriens glared and warned, “Your sentimentality will be your undoing.”

  “Perhaps. I would think you would welcome that sentimentality, since it could save your life. Unless you would rather hang?”

  The King of Rheged hesitated, then looked away.

  Arthur nodded. “I thought not.” He stood and spoke to the page boy. “Accolon, please leave us.” He held out his hand for the dagger, and the Gaulish boy relinquished the weapon to him. The High King kept his silence until the boy was out of the tent.

  “What are you going to do with that?” Constantine demanded. His jaw was firm but his voice shook.

  “That depends upon the three of you.” He walked closer, momentarily uncertain about this course of action he had chosen, but hoping that he could trust in the goodness of men’s hearts. He said a quick prayer, not certain which deity was the recipient of his appeal, but asking for help just the same. He hoped that this choice would not prove to be unwise. “I need strong kings who will work with me, not against me. We live in perilous times, and there are many enemies who want to invade Britannia. We have resources that others are willing to kill to obtain, from tin, silver and gold to the fish in our streams and the game in the forests. Our soil is rich and fertile, and people in other lands have no such luxuries, I’m told. We are a lucky, green and beautiful island, and we must defend our people against those who would steal what we have.”

  Lot looked back at him, sour through and through. “If you have a point, make it soon.”

  “My point is that if I can trust you to support me instead of betraying me, I would like to return you to your kingdoms and to your people. I ask only that you swear allegiance to me as your High King, and you can go home to your wives and children. Your people depend upon you, and if I were to remove you, I would have no one with your knowledge and experience to put in your places. Your kingdoms are prosperous and your people well cared for, which speaks well of you all. I wish you to continue your kingship, but under me.”

  Uriens spat at him. “I will never accept you as my overlord.”

  Arthur looked him in the eye. “Why?”

  “Because my wife and Lot’s wife have better claim to that throne than you have. They’re true Britons, and the legitimate daughters of Queen Igraine,” Uriens argued. “The royal blood of Britannia runs through their veins, not through yours.”

  The High King shook his head with a smile. “Queen Igraine is my mother, too. Does that not mean that I have as much of the royal blood of Britannia as my sisters? And as for the High Kingship, that title has belonged to my paternal line since Uther Pendragon’s grandfather was emperor of Britannia. You are named for him, Constantine, so you can’t say you know nothing about him.” He turned back to Uriens and Lot. “The fact remains that your wives are the daughters of the queen, yes, but they are not the daughters of the late king. I am the only person who has the honor of claiming them both as my parents.”

  “You are a bastard,” the bound Uriens continued to disagree. “You have no right to inherit anything. Not name, not title, not throne. Nothing.”

  “I was born after my parents were wed. The Church says that babies are legitimized when their parents marry.” He thought of Loholt, his own bastard son, and thought of the challenges that he would face in his life due to the errors of his parents. He felt his expression going pensive, and he switched his thoughts back to the present and forced his visage to be stern again.

  “You’re a fine one to quote canon law,” Constantine complained. “You’re barely Christian, participating in pagan ceremonies as you do.”

  “I was baptized a Christian, Constantine, and what I do to include both of the faiths of my people is my concern and between me and God,” he replied. His voice sounded tired even to his own ears. “I am no bastard, King Uriens, and my inheritance of this title and this throne were honest and true. The sword in the stone proved my right.”

  Lot snorted. “A wizard’s trick.”

  “The Archbishop blessed the stone, which would have driven all magic from it. Is that not true? God’s power overcomes the power of any magician.” He took a deep breath. “And the goddesses and gods themselves devised the test of the sword in the stone long ago, and it’s part of our stories. The test was valid, even if you don’t see it as such.” The Norse-born King of Lothian looked thoughtful, and Arthur added information he had learned from Merlin. “There are stories of Odin putting a sword into the heart of the World Tree, and only the chosen hero can remove it.” Lot looked up at Arthur reluctantly, and the High King looked into his eyes. “It is much the same.”

  “Odin is a fantasy,” Constantine snapped.

  “He’s no more fantasy than any other god or goddess,” Lot said, shaking his head. “Do not insult my god.”

  Arthur sighed, exasperated. “This is not the time for religious squabbling. We must learn to live together as one people, pagan and Christian alike, if we are to defend our land from the Saxons and the Danes and the others who seek to invade us.”

  Lot took a breath, then asked, “If we swear our loyalty to you, you will return us to our positions? To our kingdoms, and our thrones?”

  “I will,” Arthur nodded. “I only ask that the duty you owed to Uther Pendragon be maintained and given to me.”

  Uriens strained to glare at Lot, but their positions around the tent pole prevented him from making eye contact. “You’re not seriously considering -”

  “And our sons,” Lot interrupted. “Would they be returned to us?”

  Arthur looked at them, studying their proud faces. He made a rapid decision. “No. I will keep them in my court, at the center of the kingdom, and give them an education and the chance to earn honors of their own.”

  “Keep them as hostages, you mean,” Uriens grumbled.

  “That is one way to put it, yes.”

  Lot’s shoulders sagged, and Arthur knew he had defeated him. “You won’t harm him?”

  “No. I would never harm my nephews.” He tried to smile, but his face was sore and he was tired, so he ended up grimacing instead. “Will you swear your oath to me, King Lot? Can we be brothers instead of adversaries?”

  The King of Lothian considered his situation long and hard, then slowly nodded. “Yes. I will give you my oath.”

  Arthur went to him and cut the ropes holding him prisoner. He stepped back and helped Lot get to his feet. “Do you need a healer?” he asked.

  “I would not send one away,” Lot admitted. He took a deep breath, then knelt with some difficulty before Arthur while the other two prisoners looked on in disgust. “I swear my life and my homage to you, Arthur Pendragon, High King of Britannia.”

  The king helped Lot to his feet again and embraced him like a brother. After a moment, Lot put his arms around Arthur, too. When they parted, the young king called, “Sir Kay, please send in a healer.”

  There was something like a grunt of acknowledgment just outside the tent, and then Arthur turned to Uriens and Constantine.

  “If you both swear to me as you have just seen King Lot do, then we can be done with this foolishness and you can go free.”

  “I suppose you’re going to be holding my son hostage, too?” Uriens asked.

  “Yes. Owain will be staying with me.”

  The King of Rheged spat at him again. “You can keep him. Stupid, and more trouble than he’s worth.”

  Arthur glared at him. “Keep your spittle to yourself, Uriens. I grow weary of you.”

  Constantine said, “I will swear my loyalty to you, King Arthur. I already swore it in the keep when you killed Gurgurest.”

  The High King looked at him with narrowed eyes. He distrusted everything his cousin said now. “You swore your loyalty once before, and it was a lie. Why should I trust you now?”

  “Because you need me. I am your only foothold in Armorica now that Ban and Bors have both died fighting for your cause. We are being overrun by the Franks under King Claudas, and if you don’t return me to Arm
orica in command of my forces, then all of the province will fall.” He looked into the High King’s face and said urgently, “I and I alone can keep control of Armorica for you and for the Britons.”

  Arthur wanted to believe him, but he knew that it would be foolish to put too much stock into Constantine’s words. His cousin’s behavior thus far had been ignoble, and he doubted that things would improve very much once he was returned to power. He was still contemplating his answer when Brastias returned.

  “Sir Brastias.” He turned to his quietly waiting knight. He thought for a moment, then said, “Have you ever been to Armorica?”

  “I have, sir,” the knight replied.

  “Did you like it?”

  “I found it a fair and pleasant country.” He looked at Constantine, and he frowned. “A word, sire?”

  Arthur went with him outside the tent. Brastias whispered, “The commons are still overwhelmed with their respect for Constantine, and they will take it badly - perhaps even as a sort of campaign of murder on your part - if you do away with him. He has many supporters.”

  “I had thought of this,” the High King nodded. “I had also thought that he may be useful in times to come, even if I can’t see a use for his lying self now. What’s your opinion of the King of Rheged?”

  Brastias smiled without humor. “I don’t see anyone weeping for the loss of Uriens, to be honest. He’s a brute and a pig, and his own men hate him.”

  “He’s a vile person.” Arthur sighed. “Thank you for your counsel. I know what I must do.” He straightened his shoulders, feeling more tired with every passing minute, and went back inside. The prisoners looked up at him expectantly. “Constantine,” he said, “I will accept your vow of loyalty on the condition that you return to Armorica and do not come back to Logres or any other part of Britannia without my permission.”

  His cousin looked relieved. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You will have no cause for regret.”

  “I hope not. If the Franks cause you too much trouble, you can call upon me as your liege lord, and I will come to your rescue.” He cut his cousin free and stepped back, crossing his arms. “Now… give me your oath again.”

  Constantine knelt before him and bowed his head. “My king, I swear my fealty and my life to your service. I acknowledge you as my lord and I will obey your commands.”

  “I accept you as my vassal,” Arthur said. “Go now and return to your men.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.”

  The Armorican left the tent with all possible speed. Lot looked at Uriens, who was still bound to the tent pole. He advised, “I would accept his offer. You are alone now.”

  Sir Kay came through the open flap with a female druid, her white hair plaited into one long braid that hung over her shoulder. The woman carried a bag of herbs and medicinal supplies with her. Kay said, “This is Olwen. She will see to King Lot and to you.”

  “Thank you, but I have no need of your services, my lady,” Arthur said. “Please see to King Lot.”

  “As you wish,” she nodded. She took Lot aside and began to tend to his many hurts.

  The High King looked back at Uriens. “You have a decision to make, and I recommend that you make it quickly.”

  The King of Rheged scowled and fumed, his dark eyes flashing with disdain. He warred with himself, muttering under his breath, until he finally said, “I will swear my loyalty.”

  Relief flooded the young king, and he nodded. “I’m glad that you made that choice.” He bent and cut Uriens free.

  The king bowed before Arthur. “I accept you as High King and I pledge my loyalty and obedience.”

  “I accept your oath.” He suspected he should have been requiring specific wording from them, just as he knew that he had accepted three different interpretations of the vow. He was too tired to care. “You may go back to your men.”

  Uriens cast one last resentful look at Lot before he left. Arthur sat once more on the cot, and Kay went to him.

  “Let me help you out of that armor,” Kay said. “Let’s have those wounds looked at.”

  His fatigue broke over him like waves upon a rock. He had never felt so weary. He told his brother, “Thank you, but I’m not wounded. Are you hurt?”

  “I’m fine,” Kay said.

  “How is your ankle?”

  “It gave me no trouble,” he assured.

  Across the tent, receiving the ministrations of the druidess, King Lot was in poor condition. His tunic was stained with blood, and the color in his face was sallow. Arthur shook his head.

  “We do such damage,” he lamented. “This fighting will be the end of us all.”

  “War is the duty of a man,” Kay told him, guiding him to lie upon his cot. “It always has been and always will be.”

  “What about peace?” Arthur asked. “Can there never be peace?”

  “Perhaps someday, but most likely not until Christ returns.” Kay sat beside him. “You need to get some rest. You can hardly stay awake, worm.”

  The old insult was spoken with affection, and it warmed the young king with its comfortable familiarity. Arthur closed his eyes, too weary to do otherwise, and he fell into a deep sleep.

  Merlin crept through the halls of Din Eidyn, melding with the shadows as he went. His enchantments concealed him from mortal eyes. He could sense Ganile in the castle, and he was making his way toward her. He had business with the Saxon enchantress.

  The room he found her in was a sumptuous one, a room meant for a royal lady. Ganile was alone, lying listlessly in the bed, her face pale and her blue eyes dull. He dismissed his concealments and stood before her. She focused on him and her face twisted with hatred.

  “You bastard,” she cursed, struggling to sit up. “You did this to me.”

  “Yes, I did. And I can undo it, too, for a price.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What price?”

  “You will owe me a favor, and when I call upon you, you will provide me what I ask.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you want this little piece of your soul back, don’t you?” He held out his hand, and a tiny spot of light glowed in his palm, hovering just above his skin. Her eyes widened and she reached out for it, but he closed his hand and pulled it away before she could get too close. He smiled. “I would imagine that your demon lord is very unhappy with you, which is why you’re faring so very poorly.”

  “He is furious.”

  “He should be. You’re cheating him.”

  “You cheated him.”

  He laughed. “Semantics, my dear.”

  She sagged back into the bed. “What could I do for you, anyway? You’re far more powerful than I am. There’s nothing I can do that you can’t.”

  “I will tell you when the time comes. Rest assured, you will be useful to me in the future, if you agree.”

  Ganile took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. “I agree.”

  “Excellent.”

  He took the glowing piece of soul onto his tongue, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to Ganile’s mouth. She fought against him at first, but he was able to open her lips and return the shard of her spirit with a push. She gasped as the tiny piece of her soul snapped back into place, making her whole again.

  Satisfied with himself, Merlin straightened. “I have your word, and I will hold you to it. Do not forget what you have promised me.”

  He cast his traveling magic and left her before she could reply.

  Vivienne dismissed the image in her scrying mirror and sat back, deep in thought. She had heard King Arthur’s wish for peace. It was a noble sentiment, if naive, but she realized that it was also a tool that she could use. If the young king yearned hard enough for peace, perhaps he would be willing to go to extraordinary lengths to secure it. She could use that desire to prod him into doing the things she wanted him to do.

  He seemed biddable enough, and simple in his view of the world. His youth gave her an advantage. He lacked the experience to understand w
hen he was being manipulated so he would be more easily used. Merlin was a master manipulator, but there was no one who could pull a string the way she could.

  If Arthur wanted peace, then she would give him peace, but on her own terms.

  She cast her scrying spell once more, and the image of Arthur filled her mirror. He was sleeping, his bright blue eyes closed. He was a comely young man, which she appreciated, and there was something about him that called to her. He was her destiny, she knew, because he and only he could achieve the goals that she could not achieve on her own. Only a mortal man could besiege Caer Sidi and steal the cauldron that she wanted - no, needed - to possess. Only a mortal man could obtain the cup of Christ. She meant to have them both, and the power that they provided. Once she had the Cauldron of Annwn and the Holy Grail in her hands, she would have the power of deities both Christian and pagan. There would be nothing to stop her then.

  She looked into the sleeping king’s young face and smiled to herself. He would be the best tool she had ever used.

  News of Lot’s capitulation struck Din Eidyn like a thunderclap. Morgause didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry. On one hand, her son had been named heir to the High King, which made her proud. On the other, her husband had shown weakness that she never thought he had. It was disconcerting.

  With Morgana in tow, she gathered up her children and journeyed south to Eburacum, where Lot was recuperating after his hard fight with Pendragon. She was uncertain what she would say when she saw him, whether her pleasure over Gawain’s elevation or her disappointment in Lot’s failure would win out. She hoped that she would maintain control when she saw him again.