Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur

by John P. Logsdon

  The chubby guard leaned over. “What did he say?”

  “I think he said he’s the king of a lot of camels.”

  “No,” said Arthur, furrowing his brow. “I said the King of Camelot.”

  “Is that where all the camels come from?” asked the heavy one.

  “I...” Arthur began, but then blinked a few times. “What?”

  Arty, the king of Scotland, who was wearing a leopard-skin outfit that was barely covered by the jacket he’d had on, pushed through and said, “Let me try, yeah?” He then turned to the guards. “Listen, ye couple of daft peons. I dinnae know what it is ye do in yer army of sorts, but we’re after bein’ a couple of kings, yeah?”

  “You two are a couple, then?” asked the portly guard.

  “What?”

  “They are both wearing women’s clothes,” noted the thin one. Then he glanced back quickly. “Not that I’m judging you.”

  “Oh, no,” agreed the portly one vehemently. “Definitely no judging going on over here. No sirree.”

  “Ah, that,” Arty said as his eyes darted around. “Uh... We were at a costume party is all.”

  “Sure, sure,” the thin guard said with a quick nod.

  The fat one squinted. “Anyway, were you summoned by the emperor or something?”

  “I dinnae think so,” answered Arty.

  “Yes!” Merlin yelped. “Yes, we were summoned by the emperor. Exactly that.”

  The portly guard reacted suspiciously to Merlin’s outburst. He lowered his sword slightly, tapping a nearby rock with it. He gave a sideways glance to his partner before setting his eyes back on Merlin.

  “What’s his name, then?”

  “Sorry?”

  “The Emperor of Rome,” replied the fat one. “What’s his name?”

  “Uh... Well, it’s been a while since we got the invitation.” Merlin swallowed and began chewing his lip. “Let’s see...” He snapped his fingers. “Ah yes, Bulbus Headus.”

  “No.”

  “Flatulate?” offered Merlin.

  “That’s his brother,” replied the fat one.

  “Was his brother,” corrected the thin one.

  “Oh yes, true.”

  “Isn’t it close enough that we know his brother’s name?” asked Merlin.

  The fat one shook his head. “Sure isn’t.”

  “Pardon me,” said Galahad, raising his hand. He wore his standard garb, which consisted of plate armor, chainmail, and a crimson tabard that housed the drawing of a lion. It was the exact same garb worn by all of the knights in their party. “What year is it?”

  “You don’t know what year it is?” said the thin one confusedly.

  “We’re from a different land than you,” explained Galahad. “Our calendars aren’t likely the same.”

  “Oh, that makes sense, I guess. Fine, it’s what we call 72AD.” The thin one looked up. “No idea what the AD stands for, though. Sorry.”

  Galahad nodded firmly and declared, “Vespasian is your emperor.”

  “Nope.”

  “No?” Galahad replied, shocked. “But I was just reading a periodical on Roman history not two weeks ago—”

  “You were?” interrupted Arthur.

  “Yes, sire. I thought certain—”

  “Vitellius?” announced Sir Gaheris, having come back from his mission on the other side of the boulder.

  “Nope.”

  “Titus?” said Gaheris, scratching his head.

  “Not even close.”

  “Too early for him yet, Sir Gaheris,” stated Galahad, “but I’m impressed you know any of these names.”

  “My father was a history teacher.”

  Galahad gawked at that. “And he taught you?”

  “I learned what I learned.”

  The thin guard waved his sword around menacingly. “What are you two going on about?”

  “Yeah,” agreed the portly one. “I’m about to stick my sword in one of you.”

  “Always sounds funny when you say that, Buttus Facius,” the thin guard said with a giggle.

  “Grow up, Thumpus Rumpus,” retaliated Buttus Facius.

  “Your names are Thumpus Rumpus and Buttus Facius?” said Bors de Ganis more loudly than he probably should have.

  “Yeah, so?” said Thumpus.

  “What of it?” agreed Buttus.

  “Nothing,” Bors replied, obviously refocusing on the swords in front of him. “Just clarifying, is all.”

  Just as Arthur was about to speak up again, Merlin reached over and grabbed his arm. The old man took a step forward until the points of the swords were touching his chest. Arthur was no wizard—or scientist, as the case may be—but he knew that pointy blades were quite adept at piercing flesh.

  “You know,” said Merlin as he clasped his hands behind his back studiously, “I’m starting to wonder why you’re asking us for your emperor’s name.”

  “For proof that you were invited,” said Buttus.

  “Could be,” Merlin allowed, “or maybe it has something to do with the fact that you don’t know his name yourselves and you’re hoping we’ll jog your memories.”

  “It’s a conspiracy,” Galahad said, obviously catching on to the ruse.

  “That’s not true,” said Thumpus.

  “Yeah, we know his name,” agreed Buttus.

  Merlin scoffed. “Sure you do.”

  “We do!”

  “Most assuredly,” Buttus again backed up his partner.

  “Uh-huh.” By now, Merlin was looking at his fingernails.

  “Your lack of faith in our word is trying on my nerves,” Thumpus said, his eye twitching.

  Buttus grew dark. “And mine as well.”

  Merlin spun away dramatically, allowing his purple robe to float upward. He took two steps before spinning back and pointing at the guard known as Thumpus Rumpus.

  “Prove it, then,” demanded Merlin. “What’s his name?”

  “It’s Emperor Flaccidus!”

  “Technically,” amended Buttus, “it used to be Emperor Longus Dongus, but he’s gotten a bit older.”

  Thumpus calmed slightly. “True. And that bet he lost...” He trailed off and then set his stare back on Merlin. “So, there you go, we have proved to you that we do indeed know our emperor’s name. What have you to say to that?”

  “My apologies,” Merlin answered with a bow. On his way back up he added, “Arthur?”

  Without missing a beat, Arthur said, “We’d like to speak with Emperor Flaccidus immediately!”

  “So you do know his name,” Thumpus Rumpus said with a satisfied grin.

  “All right, then,” Buttus Facius said, replacing his sword in its scabbard, “follow us.”

  JUPITER

  The inside of the spaceship looked precisely like you’d expect the inside of a spaceship to look. It was covered in metallic tones, clean lines, video panels, and stations littered with flashing lights, blue buttons, and black knobs. What you wouldn’t have expected was the nice living area with a large couch, shag carpeting, and a wide-screen television.

  Jupiter and his current wife, Leto, were seated on said couch, watching their favorite show, CSI: Alpha Centauri.

  Jupiter was a large man with stark gray hair that was styled in such a way to make him appear to always be running. His skin was tanned, which made little sense being that he was rarely ever out in direct sunlight, and his muscles bulged nearly as much as his belly. He had been getting old, after all.

  Leto was far younger than Jupiter and she was a real beauty. Long, dark hair, emerald-green eyes, perky coconuts, and her skin was flawless. She looked as gorgeous now as she had the day Jupiter met her on their first date from a match on an intergalactic dating site.

  The TV show was just about to the point where the big chase was going to happen. Jupiter loved this part of the show. It made his heart race. Plus, he always liked to guess who the culprit was, and so far he was right nearly eighty percent of the time.

  “Yo
, Dad,” Apollo called from one of the terminals in his slightly feminine voice, “looks like something is going on here.”

  It happened every time.

  “Your mother and I are watching a movie, Apollo.”

  “But—”

  “There’s fifteen minutes left, Apollo,” Jupiter said more tightly.

  “Yes, but—”

  “Damn it,” Jupiter yelled, pausing the video and throwing the remote across the room. “Why do you always do this, boy? You’ve never got anything to say until I’m right in the middle of something. If I’m watching TV, you interrupt me right before the best part; if I’m on the phone with one of my cousins, you’re constantly nagging me to the point where I have to hang up; and let’s not even get into what you do during the Olympics!”

  “Sorry, Dad,” Apollo replied sheepishly. “Just thought you’d want to know about this. It’s, well, unexpected.”

  Apollo glared at the boy, unable to keep his eye from twitching. One look at Apollo told you that he came from the loins of Jupiter. Same hair, though darker; same build, though without the belly; same eyes, though without the crow’s feet; and same ability to allure the ladies, though Apollo preferred the gents.

  “Calm yourself, Zeus,” Leto said, patting her husband’s arm lovingly.

  “You know you shouldn’t use that name, Leto.” Jupiter pushed off the couch and went to retrieve the remote, hoping he hadn’t broken it again. “Seriously, how many times do I have to ask you to call me Jupiter?”

  “What difference does it make?”

  “We’re all about the Romans right now, so we have to stick with the program. When we refocus on the Greeks, you can go back to calling me Zeus.”

  Sure enough, the remote was broken. That was the third one this month. Fortunately he kept a supply of them in the drawer under the television.

  “It’s all such a pain,” complained Leto. “We’re the gods, right? Why should we have to change our names to suit them?”

  Jupiter dug out a new controller and started putting batteries into it.

  “It’s easier for us to gain acceptance that way. Just roll with it, okay?”

  “If you say so.”

  “Okay, son,” Jupiter said, after snapping the back on the remote, “what’s so damned important this time?”

  “Forget it,” replied Apollo while crossing his arms.

  “Oh no, I’m not forgetting it.” Jupiter took to wagging his finger. “You interrupted me with something spaceship-shattering in your estimation, so what is it?”

  Apollo rolled his eyes and uncrossed his arms. “Fine. It looks like King Arthur from England, King Arthur from Scotland, Guinevere, Merlin, and a number of the Knights of the Round Table have just appeared near one of the walls by Emperor Flaccidus’s royal palace.”

  “What?” said Jupiter, dropping the remote.

  Athena, who was sitting in a nearby chair reading a Yogsdon and Lung novel, sat up and said, “Is Lance-A-Lot with them?”

  “No,” Apollo replied sadly.

  Athena frowned and stuck her head back into her reading.

  Jupiter had always considered Athena to be his most beautiful daughter. Dark hair, emerald eyes, and that same tanned tone that Jupiter was ingrained with. But she had a sinister streak that made up for that beauty. Of course, most of the gods did.

  “Why do you ask that?” said Jupiter and he reached in for another remote.

  “No reason,” answered Athena.

  “No reason, indeed,” Leto said with a knowing smirk.

  “Sounds to me like there’s a reason.” Jupiter quickly moved to put the remote in a safe place. “What are you two ladies talking about?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing, dear,” Leto said. “She’s obviously heard tales from that other daughter of yours.”

  “Are you referring to Aphrodite again?” said Jupiter with a raised eyebrow. “Whenever you say other daughter like that you’re always talking about her.”

  “If we’re keeping with the Greek naming convention, yes.”

  “If I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a million times: She’s not mine!”

  Leto sniffed. “So you say.”

  “Okay, here we go again,” said Jupiter, who was now pacing in front of the television. “When Cronus castrated Uranus and dumped the parts in the sea, Venus—or Aphrodite, in this case—arose from the sea foam on a giant scallop and walked to the shore in Cyprus.”

  “Riiiiiight,” said Leto with a load of sarcasm lacing her voice, “and, if I recall correctly, Athena here came from your forehead.”

  “Hey,” said Athena, “don’t drag me into this.”

  “That’s exactly what happened with Athena,” said Jupiter, feeling his ire rising. “I told you already that it all started when I was going to bang Metis, but I felt bad about—”

  “Getting caught,” Leto interrupted.

  Jupiter paused. “What? No! I felt that it was wrong. But it was kind of late by then and so I had to swallow her.”

  “Shouldn’t that have been the other way around?” said Apollo.

  Athena thought to throw her book at him, but deemed it far too valuable. Instead, she merely said, “Gross.”

  “Honestly, Zeus,” Leto said, standing up and heading for the kitchen.

  “It’s Jupiter,” Jupiter corrected, hot on her heels. “Anyway, as I’ve told you many times, it turned out that Metis was already preggers.”

  “And how do you suppose that happened?” Leto said over her shoulder.

  “Uh...” Jupiter cursed to himself, but pressed on. “Well, anyway, I swallowed her up, you know? Then my stomach starts to hurt and I got the meanest headache you can imagine. Boy, let me tell you, that was one nasty motherf—”

  “Forget about it, Zeus,” Leto said, pushing past him and back to the main room while carrying a glass of wine.

  “Again, it’s Jupiter.” He waited for her to sit back down. “Anyway, the next thing I know, she just popped out of my forehead. It was pretty surreal.”

  Leto took a sip of the wine and swirled the remainder in the glass. “I’m never going to buy these silly stories, Jupiter.”

  “It’s Jupiter!” He blinked a couple of times. “Oh, you said that. Sorry. Anyway, it’s true, I tell you. It’s all true.”

  “Sure it is, dear.”

  “It is, and if you think normal childbirth is painful, try having a full-grown adult—who is wielding an axe, by the way—leap out of your forehead.”

  Leto took another sip after saying, “Ridiculous.”

  “It truly was,” Jupiter replied, accepting her meaning as he’d preferred.

  Everything got quiet for a few moments. This was a rarity on the ship, and it usually followed one of these little spats. Jupiter was well aware that he was going to be in the proverbial doghouse yet again, which would have been avoided if only he’d be allowed to watch one of his damned shows in peace.

  “What’s going on?” said Pluto as he walked into the room.

  Jupiter held back a groan. It was bad enough having to live on this tiny ship with Athena and Apollo, but at least they were his children... sort of. Pluto, however, was his brother. In fact, if the two men stood side by side, you’d have a hell of a time telling them apart, aside from the fact that Pluto kept his hair longer and tinted brown. Jupiter grunted. It wasn’t that Pluto was a bad guy or anything, at least assuming you were a fellow god, but he had become a bit of a mooch over the last year. The deal was that he was going to stay on the ship for a couple of weeks while he searched for a ship of his own, but weeks turned into months, and now he was just another irritant who consumed a lot of food, fought for the remote, and played loud music in the middle of the normal sleep cycle.

  “I was just explaining how Aphrodite is not my daughter,” answered Jupiter.

  “Ah, the old ‘giant clam’ story, eh?” Pluto said, opening a beer.

  “Scallop,” corrected Jupiter.

  “What?”

  “It was
a giant scallop, not a clam.”

  Pluto looked at him. “What’s the difference?”

  “Mostly how they swim,” Jupiter answered with a shrug.

  “Oh yeah, that’s right.” He laughed to himself. “That story is a classic. Almost as good as the one about Athena here coming from your brain.”

  “It was my forehead, and—”

  “Don’t go there, Pluto,” warned Leto. “It’s not worth the effort.”

  “I’ll take your word for it,” said Pluto as he lumbered over toward Apollo’s station. “Well, what’s on the video screen that’s so interesting?”

  “It looks like—” started Apollo.

  “King Arthur and some of his cohorts have arrived in Rome,” answered Jupiter, interrupting his son.

  “No shit?” said Pluto. “How did they go back in time?”

  “Not a clue,” said Jupiter, “but I think I shall send Apollo and Athena to go and find out. “

  “Really?” Apollo said excitedly.

  “I see no other way to peacefully watch the end of this show.”

  “Sweet.”

  Athena bolted up and ran down the hall, saying, “I’ll go get dressed!”

  JUST NOT THE SAME

  Emperor Flaccidus was lying on the comfortable lounge bench with his head propped upon the lap of his wife, Queen Slutius. She was feeding him grapes as he gazed up at her olive skin, large brown eyes, and fluffy lips. Seeing her beauty, though, only depressed him further.

  “You seem unhappy again, my love,” she said in a voice that the birds of the Tiber river swooned over. “Is it something you’d like to discuss?”

  “Same problem as ever, I’m afraid,” he said, glancing away as another grape touched his lips.

  “Ah.”

  He rolled up to a seated position, looking at his age-weathered hands. He knew he wasn’t the man he once was, but he had assumed there were at least another five or ten years of vigor remaining in his blood.

  “We never have relations anymore,” he said irritably.

  “I do.”

  Flaccidus glanced at her sharply. “What?”

  “Uh...” she said with a cough. “Sure we do.”

  “Oh, right.” Flaccidus stood and walked to one of the windows. “Well, not as often as we once did. We do it once a month, if I’m lucky.”