“That’s by your choice, my love.”
“I know, I know. I’m not blaming you. It’s just—”
“Dear,” Slutius said, rising to walk over to his side, “this all happened when you hit the age of fifty and lost that bet with your brother at your birthday party.”
“Don’t remind me,” he groaned.
The queen scratched the wall next to them. “I still can’t believe you had him killed.”
“I had no choice.”
“You could have refused to follow through on the bet,” she argued gently.
“And be seen as a man who doesn’t uphold his obligations?” He crossed his arms at that. “Never!”
“Then why kill him?”
“Because he could have forgiven me the debt instead of... well... what he did.”
“But to die over a name change?” Slutius chastised. “That seems rather petty, even for an emperor.”
Flaccidus sniffed and moved his hands to his hips. Nobody understood the plight of a man except for another man. Just as women always stated—rightfully—that childbirth is something a man could never comprehend, the same went for the challenges and competition of manhood.
“Do you have any idea how difficult it’s been to go from a manly name like Longus Dongus to a wimpy name like Flaccidus?” he said desperately.
“No, but I do know that it’s been ever since then that we’ve stopped having decent relations.”
“Precisely my point,” spat Flaccidus. “Brother or not, the man needed to die for doing that to me.”
“But he was so good in the sack,” she moaned as Flaccidus turned away.
He paused. “What was that?”
“Uh... You didn’t have to break his back,” Slutius replied hurriedly. “Horrible way to go.”
“I poisoned him,” said Flaccidus with a frown.
“Oh, that’s right. Sorry.”
Just as the emperor was about to question his wife further on the subject, there came a knock on the door. It was a rarity to be left alone for very long when running an empire.
“Enter,” he called out, returning to the bench and seating himself.
Two of his guards walked in and knelt reverently before him. They were his most trusted men.
Hemorrhoidoclese stood a full head over the emperor and was built like a tank. Were he not so valued as a guard, Flaccidus would have loved to see him fight in the open battles. Next to him stood Suppositorius. Where he wasn’t quite the physical specimen that Hemorrhoidoclese was, he was quick with the blade and firm of mind. When these two were around, Flaccidus felt safer... assuming there were no gods in the vicinity, of course.
“Yes?”
“Sorry to interrupt, my lord,” rumbled Hemorrhoidoclese, “but some emissaries from a distant land claim to have been invited to visit you.”
Flaccidus thought over his schedule. As far as he remembered, there were no planned visitations for at least another week.
“Who are they?” he asked.
“There are a couple of queens,” began Suppositorius, “a king—”
“It’s the other way around, Suppositorius,” corrected Hemorrhoidoclese.
“Huh?”
“There are two kings, a queen, and a bunch of soldiers.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right. Thanks, Hemorrhoidoclese.”
“You bet.”
Suppositorius turned back to Flaccidus, “Also, sire, there’s an old guy with a pointy hat and strange clothing.”
“Well, they’re all wearing weird clothes,” noted Hemorrhoidoclese.
“Especially the ‘kings,’” said Suppositorius with a grin.
Hemorrhoidoclese smiled. “Haha... Yeah.”
Flaccidus was not one who enjoyed being left in the dark. He cleared his throat expectantly.
“Sorry, sire,” said Suppositorius, coming back to attention.
“Why did you use air quotes when describing the kings?” asked Flaccidus after a moment.
“You see, sire,” said Hemorrhoidoclese, “it’s that they’re kind of dressed like, well—”
“Women,” finished Suppositorius.
Hemorrhoidoclese pointed at his fellow guard and said, “Right.”
“Oh?” said Flaccidus, finding that curious. “Well, send them in.”
YER GOIN'
Far outside the walls of Camelot, Ceallach stood at the edge of the camp where King Arthur of Scotland left him and the rest of the men a number of days before. It had been too long since his king had entered the English walls and Ceallach was finding himself on edge.
To that end, he had picked one of the men and told him to go into town and see what he could learn about their king’s whereabouts.
“Are ye sure yer not wantin’ to go yerself?” said a worried-looking soldier by the name of Doonan.
The two men stood side by side, staring out at Camelot. It looked majestic as the morning sun shone upon its walls. No better than their own castle back home, of course, but Ceallach had to admit that the banners hanging down the sides of the parapets were a nice touch.
He glanced at Doonan. The man had reddish hair and a scraggly beard that would mark almost all the men at camp, but Doonan was one of the smallest in the entire Scottish Army. Ceallach knew better than to judge the fighting prowess of a person by size alone. He’d lost many a scuffle while clinging to that prejudice, in fact. But when it came to Doonan, one couldn’t help but think the man was better suited to life outside the military.
Ceallach sighed and looked around at the others in camp. Any one of them would be better suited for the task at hand, but Doonan was what you might call “expendable.”
“Ye’ll be fine,” answered Ceallach. “What can they do?”
Doonan gulped. “String me up by me nethers.”
“Aye, true. Not likely, though. Our king says he’s become friends with the English.”
“Then maybe they’re just after bein’ in a party?” Doonan said hopefully. “Wouldn’t want to bother him in that case, yeah?”
“Nay,” Ceallach replied, staring off at Camelot. “The king said he’d be back. He’s not after bein’ back.”
“Then maybe they’ve strung him up by his nethers,” Doonan whispered.
“Hope not, but that’s what you’ll need to go find out.”
“Calle, it’s just—”
“Doonan,” Ceallach said, turning on the smaller man and giving him a look that spelled doom, “yer goin’ and I dinnae wanna here another word on it.”
“All right, all right,” Doonan said, backing away. “No point in gettin’ yer kilt in a bunch.” Then, as if trying to find solid footing again, he sternly said, “Just know this, Ceallach: I’m not layin’ down me sword for no man.”
“Ah, that reminds me,” Ceallach said, pointing at Doonan’s weapon, “leave yer sword behind.”
Doonan’s eyebrows jumped. “Didn’t ye just hear what I said?”
“Ye still have yer axe,” said Ceallach. “Now get on with ye!”
THE AUDIENCE
Arthur was impressed with the palace. The grounds were immaculately kept, the buildings were enormous and beautifully designed, especially all the columns and craftsmanship, and the use of marble was inspired. There were sculptures of people he couldn’t have known, but they were made with such care he assumed they were either gods or past rulers.
Everyone else in his party seemed to be just as taken aback by the wonders they were seeing. Even Sir Gaheris appeared awed by the sights.
“Okay,” Arthur said, bringing their attention back to the problem at hand, “when we go in there, let me do the talking.”
“Why you?” asked Arty.
“Because I’m the king, that’s why.”
Arty puffed out his chest. “So am I.”
“Yes, I know,” conceded Arthur, “but none of your men are here, which means that I’m in a better position to claim kingship than you are.”
“What the shet kind of logic is that?
A king is a king no matter how many subjects he’s after havin’!”
Arthur took a deep breath. “Let me put it this way: Who remains king when one kingdom falls to another kingdom?”
“The one who wins, ye daft Englishman!”
“And how many soldiers do you currently have to stand against mine?”
“Oh.” Arty pursed his lips and looked at his feet. “Well, when ye put it that way.”
“Harsh,” noted Merlin.
The doors opened and a large guard waved them in.
“You may enter.”
As if the outer area wasn’t amazing enough, Arthur’s jaw nearly dropped at the designs contained in this room. He knew it was the room of their emperor, but it was far superior to what Arthur had in his own day. He made a mental note to have a word or two with his designers if they ever got back safely.
In front of them sat an older man who was wearing a white outfit and a thin gold crown. He didn’t exactly look kingly, especially with his thinning hair, rounded stomach, and hairy arms, but seeing that the guards were giving him proper respect, Arthur knew the man was indeed their ruler.
“Who is in charge here?” the emperor said.
Merlin spoke up first. “I thought you were.”
“Merlin,” hissed Arthur.
“Merlin is in charge?” the emperor said.
“No,” replied the wizard, “you are in charge. It’s your kingdom, right?”
Flaccidus stuck his tongue in his teeth and then made a popping sound with his lips. He cracked his neck from side to side as if trying to relax himself.
“I repeat,” he said with a glare. “Who is in charge here?”
“Maybe he wants to play that ‘Guess his name’ game?” suggested Galahad.
“Ah, yes,” agreed Merlin. “Good thinking, Galahad.” The wizard cleared his throat and winked at the emperor, saying in a grandiose voice, “Emperor Flaccid Dong is in charge.”
“Merlin, quiet,” Arthur hissed again.
“It’s not Emperor Flaccid Dong, you geriatric peasant,” the emperor said hotly. “It’s Emperor Flaccidus.”
“Oh, that’s right,” Merlin said, deflated. “My apologies.”
“Now, what I want to know is who in your group is in charge of your group?”
Arthur stepped forward. “That would be me. I am Arthur, King of Camelot.”
“You’re the king of the camels?” said Flaccidus while scrunching up his face.
“No, I’m the king of Camelot.”
“Right, I heard you the first time.” Flaccidus tilted his head to the side. “So there are a lot of camels in your kingdom, yes?”
“No, it’s just the name of the place.” Arthur was beginning to wonder how simple these people truly were. “There are no camels. Lots of horses, but no camels.”
“Then why not call it Horsealot?” asked the emperor.
“It has nothing to do with the animals,” Arthur said, fighting to keep his cool.
“Obviously a stupid kingdom,” Flaccidus said flippantly.
Arthur felt the slap of that insult. “Excuse me?”
“Good thing there weren’t a lot of ducks in their kingdom,” joked the large guard.
“Well played, Guard Hemorrhoidoclese,” said Flaccidus with a chuckle.
“What about those small, stubborn horses?” the smaller guard asked his companion.
Hemorrhoidoclese looked about thoughtfully and then snapped his fingers. “You mean the ass, Suppositorius?”
“Haha!” cried Flaccidus. “Assalot!”
“Ah! Good one.” Hemorrhoidoclese laughed and then said, “How about the rooster... You know, cock?”
“One of my favorites,” said Slutius from behind the emperor.
“Haha...” Flaccidus started and then quickly looked at the queen. “What?”
“Hmmm?” she replied innocently. “Just love how they wake us up in the morning.”
“There’s the dik-dik,” noted Suppositorius.
“Never heard of it,” said the larger guard.
“It’s a form of antelope.”
“Dik-dikalot,” Flaccidus said while laughing almost uncontrollably.
“Wouldn’t mind visiting there,” said Slutius with a dreamy sigh.
Flaccidus’s laughter ceased instantly as he frowned at Slutius. She glanced away, looking uncomfortable.
“Enough of this,” Flaccidus stated while returning his study to Arthur. “So you’re a king, eh?”
“Yes.”
“More of a queen—” started Suppositorius.
“Silence,” Flaccidus said, quieting his guard. Then the emperor said over his shoulder, “Do kings have more power than emperors?”
“I don’t believe so,” replied Slutius. “Certainly not in your palace, anyway.”
Flaccidus nodded at this. “So King Arthur, is it?”
“It is,” Arthur replied proudly.
The emperor plucked a grape from the vine that was in the bowl next to him and popped it into his mouth. He chewed for a few moments as if thinking about what to say next.
“I’ve been told that I invited you to my palace.”
“Right, about that—”
“Yet I don’t recall inviting anyone to my palace by the name of Arthur.”
“Yes, well, you see—”
“And yet you claim that I did.”
“That’s because—”
Flaccidus slammed his hands on the bench. “Explain yourself, man!”
“I’ve been trying to,” Arthur replied angrily.
“No,” countered Flaccidus, “you’ve been talking over me, and that’s rude. When someone is speaking you should remain silent, dutifully listening along the way, and then speak when it is your turn.”
Arthur softened. “My apologies. You are absolutely correct. In fact, I have actually had this very conversation with a couple of my own men a number of times.”
“Accepted,” Flaccidus said with a slow blink. “Now, explain why you lied to my guards.”
“Because there was no other way to gain an audience with you,” explained Arthur.
Flaccidus stuck another grape in his mouth. “And why do you require an audience?”
“Because we’ve traveled back in ti—”
“We’re lost,” Merlin interrupted, smacking Arthur on the arm.
“Ouch. What did you strike me for?” Arthur rubbed his bicep. “That hurt, you know?”
Merlin whispered, “You can’t tell him we came back in time, you imbecile.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.”
Flaccidus stood up and approached them, studying their outfits. Arthur wasn’t used to being placed under scrutiny as such, but he remained stoic, as did the others.
“Why are you all dressed so curiously?” Flaccidus asked, staring at the pointy hat on Merlin’s head.
“Costume party,” Guinevere said quickly. “We went to a costume party.”
Flaccidus spun back to Slutius. “There was a costume party?”
“First I’ve heard of it,” she answered.
“Guard Suppositorius, did you hear of a costume party?”
“No, my emperor.”
“Nor did I, my liege,” Hemorrhoidoclese answered before being asked.
“I see.” He spun back to Guinevere. “Who threw this party?”
“You wouldn’t know her.”
“Try me.”
“Okay,” she said and then paused for a moment. “Uh, it was... Uh... Allison Smith. Yes, that’s it. Allison Smith threw the party.”
“Strange name,” said Flaccidus as he walked away from them while rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“What are you doing?” whispered Merlin as he leaned in front of Arthur to speak to Guinevere.
“Hopefully getting us out of trouble,” Guinevere replied.
“But you shouldn’t use her name.”
“How can it hurt?”
Merlin opened his mouth a couple of times before saying, “Valid point.�
�
“Guards,” Flaccidus commanded a moment later, “I want this Allison Smith found and brought to me immediately.”
“Of course, sire,” said Hemorrhoidoclese, snapping his fingers at a few other soldiers who ran out of the room as if on a mission.
“Now, Arthur,” Flaccidus said, “who are all these people with you?”
“This is my queen, Guinevere,” Arthur replied. “That is Merlin, our uh... Court Jester.”
“What?” said Merlin.
“This is King Arthur from Scotland.”
“Wait,” Flaccidus said, holding up a hand. “There are two kings with the same name?”
“I was as surprised as you,” Arthur replied.
Flaccidus shrugged. “Okay, go on.”
“The rest of these men are my knights. This is Sirs Kay, Bors De Ganis, Galahad, and Gaheris.”
Flaccidus turned his gaze on the knights. To their credit, they remained firmly at attention while being inspected. This was most surprising of Gaheris, but Arthur assumed he was more relaxed since that visit to the boulder.
“You called these men ‘nights.’ Why is that? Do they only run about in the dark? Maybe they’re on different shifts? Do you also have a group you call Dayts?” He looked outside. “No, that can’t be it... It’s still light out there.”
“It’s because...” Arthur trailed off. “Actually, I don’t know. They’re essentially elite soldiers, but I don’t know where the term originated. Merlin?”
“Not a clue.”
“Galahad?”
“I’ve never thought to look it up, to be honest, sire.”
“Gaheris?”
“What?” said the gruff knight.
“You said your father was a history teacher, right?” asked Arthur.
“Yes, my lord.”
“Well, do you have any idea where the term ‘knight’ originated?”
Gaheris looked uncomfortable, but said, “Depends on who you ask. My old dad never made clear, but he said that the accepted etymology comes from the Old English ‘cnight.’ That means ‘boy’ or ‘servant.’ But he’d also claimed there were other scholars who attributed it to the cognate of the Germanic ‘knecht,’ which is ‘servant’ or ‘bondsman.’”
Bors gave Kay a surprised stare and said, “Is this honestly the same man who soils himself in public?”
Comedic Arthurian Bundle: The Adventures of Queen Arthur Page 23