Camelot & Vine
Page 28
“Are you married?” I had never asked such a forward question. I’d never cared before. It embarrassed me immediately, but I had to know before I flirted back.
He was undaunted. “Not anymore. She cheated. Rather put me off. You?”
“Single, so far.”
“Remarkable.” He grinned.
I grinned back.
What was it that made him so different from the king besides the clothes, the haircut and the shave? He was physically the same, but this man was not King Arthur. I liked him enough to know I wanted at least to be his friend. I wouldn’t lie to him—that much I’d learned—but I couldn’t bring myself to tell him how Lucy and I had gotten inside that fence. I lowered my eyes. He didn’t push it.
“Rested? Come on then, there’s more.” We stood. He didn’t seem to think it at all strange to take my hand to lead me. It made me self-conscious.
“There was a dig in the late ‘60s. Some archaeologists tore the place up. They found a massive gate over here.”
The southwest gate had indeed been impressive. Now it appeared as a depression in the berm, with a view out over the village. A path led down the hill where once the wider road had led to Guinevere’s childhood home. Trees overgrew the western slope, but where dense woods had once sheltered Myrddin’s compound, a plowed field lay open to the sky as if a deep, unknowable forest had never existed there. Myrddin might never have existed, either, to scold me or teach me or help me back across the Gap, or to wonder if his batteries had saved my life.
“The bulk of the dig happened up there.” Arthur released my hand to hike to the higher ground of the promontory. I remembered the rise as loftier. Arthur climbed to the plateau, folded his arms across his chest and watched my slow approach. An afternoon breeze lifted his hair from his temples. “Somewhere up here they found remnants of a great hall. I’m not sure exactly where, but it was toward this end of the hill. They didn’t dig everywhere.”
He was standing where King Arthur had stood beside his desk two days before. I shuffled through the grass in the hall where Agravain had leapt for Medraut’s throat, a battle had ignited and lives, once interwoven, had begun to unravel. Two days before, there had been a kitchen, a barracks, a barn and an imposing wall. Below, army camps had carpeted the plains. Two days before, my friends had lived there, and an Arthur I’d loved who didn’t love me. Two days before, I’d cowered in my little hut, right over there. I had crouched in the dark and made a fake Casey. I’d left her behind and run away, because I had to.
Arthur was talking.
“...essentially, though, it was their horsemanship that enabled them to resist the Saxons as long as they did.”
“Stirrups.”
“It’s possible. But there’s no proof they had them.”
“They had them.”
“What’s your source?”
“My...?”
“How do you know they had stirrups?”
My chin quivered. “I guess I don’t.” I blinked back a tear, but it was too late.
“Cassandra, I’m sorry.”
I tried unsuccessfully to stifle a sob. The wind was picking up. I should have brought a sweater.
Careful of my sling, Arthur put his arm around me. “It’s only stirrups.”
“Not exactly.” And just like that I was weeping in his arms.
I missed King Arthur and Guinevere. I missed Cai’s officiousness, Heulwen’s spicy food and the timber walls of Cadebir’s small world. I wished for idyllic days that never were, with King Arthur at Ynys Witrin. Even the smells of smoke and dung had become dear and I wanted them back.
But mostly I wept for time: time gone, time done that can’t be undone, time we can’t reach down through to touch those we’ve loved and lost.
Arthur produced a packet of tissues from his pocket, like a magician pulling a dove from his sleeve. I’d been on a month-long quest for tissues and there they were. I laughed through my tears. “Thank you.” Calming myself, I pulled one from the packet and turned away to blow my nose. The part of my body closest to Arthur was warm. When I caught my breath I said, “You must think I’m crazy.”
“I do, quite.”
I laughed again, which made me cry again.
The hint of glee had returned to curl his upper lip. I knew then what it was about him that was so fundamentally different from King Arthur. The king was melancholy. This Arthur was a happy man.
“Breakthrough?” he asked.
“Maybe.” I smiled, sniffling. When I could breathe evenly we walked again. “I don’t think any of this was your fault.”
“Perhaps. But even so, you might let me help.”
“Do I really need a lawyer?”
“Probably not.”
We’d found our way to the north side of the hill. Miles of farms and fields stretched away through what had once been misty marshes. In the distance, the sun was setting on a familiar shape.
“That’s Glastonbury Tor,” said Arthur. I’ll take you there when you’re feeling better. If you’re staying a while, that is.”
“The Tor,” I repeated to myself. Its contours had softened and the lake was gone, but with the exception of a small tower on its top, from this distance it was essentially the same.
It had happened. It didn’t matter if other people thought so. It had happened to me and I knew it. It was mine.
I had left nothing of value in Los Angeles. The only real friends I’d ever had, imaginary or not, were out of reach. On the northern ramparts of Cadbury Castle, I stood beside my new chance. “I’m staying.”
Arthur squeezed my hand, the one that wore Guinevere’s ring.
“You haven’t told me how you and Lucy got inside that fence.”
Myrddin had said, “If you should ever get a chance to start again, do begin with the truth next time.”
Arthur had already said he thought I was crazy.
“This ring,” I said, showing him my hand, “I think it belongs to your family. I promised someone I’d deliver it.”
The sun gilded the Tor, glinting off the little tower, and the ring.
“I’m listening,” said Arthur.
I breathed in the fresh, August air. “When I disappeared,” I said, “I found myself here.”
And I took it from there.
THE END
Acknowledgements
Maybe some people can create a book on their own, but I've had a good deal of help.
Colleen Dunn Bates, Tracy Connor, Donnie Dale, Gretchen Genz Davidson, Barbara Ellis, Margaret Finnegan, Reedy Gibbs and Susan Savitt Schwartz all read early drafts and offered valuable notes.
I wrote Camelot & Vine in California, but I had on-the-ground reconnaissance in England. Tom and Thicha Ellis checked out the approach to Cadbury Hill to make sure my description was correct. Karl Evans scouted Cadbury Hill itself, and even drew me a map.
Followers of my blog, Pasadena Daily Photo, inspire and encourage me every day. I’m also grateful for the support of my writers group: Janet Aird, Karin Bugge, Linda Dove, Margaret Finnegan, Paula Johnson, Karen E. Klein and Desirée Zamorano.
If not for Paula Johnson I'd still be calling the book Actress Meets King/has Adventure (Working Title). Paula came up with the title; she also designed my website.
Thanks go to Tim Weske and the crew at SwordPlayLA.com for demonstrating a real sword fight. My bits of Latin came from Greg Bell. My French was repaired by Katie Murphy and her cousin-in-law, Jacques-Arthur Weil. I owe more thanks than I can count to Barbara Ellis for steering me on history and lore, and for sorting out my British. (One says "trousers," not "pants." I knew that.)
The book was proofread by Margaret Finnegan, Barbara Ellis, and John Sandel. I can't thank them enough, nor can I imagine we missed anything.
I cannot overstate the value of Kate Wong. She designed the book, from its smart interior to its gorgeous cover. I'm blessed to have worked with her early in her career. She will soon be out of my league.
I have the best
husband ever (it's a proven fact). Thank you, John Sandel, for everything—and I do mean everything.
About the Author
Petrea Burchard is notorious as the first English voice of Ryoko, the sexy space pirate in the animé classic, Tenchi Muyo! Her acting career moved from Chicago to Hollywood via stage, television, film, and voice-over.
Petrea’s writing career began with her humor column about the actor's life, Act As If, at NowCasting.com. Her articles, essays and short fiction have appeared in print and online. Camelot & Vine is her first novel.
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