The Hour of Camelot

by Alan Fenton

  Touched by the warmth of Mordred’s words, Arthur reached out and gently patted his cheek. ‘You have left your parents and everything dear to you to join me, and I am grateful for that. From now on, let Camelot be your home.’

  Taking Gareth and Mordred by the arm Arthur guided them through the hall to meet first Guinevere, then Lancelot, and in turn every member of the Round Table. When the introductions were almost completed, the two brothers having been separated by the crowd, an overweight man with pale eyes, thinning hair and a double chin, thrust out a hand at Mordred.

  ‘Keir,’ he said, and when Mordred looked blank, explained: ‘Arthur’s brother – actually his adoptive brother.’ A grimace. ‘Brother. Adoptive brother. Same difference. Eh, Arthur?’

  Arthur murmured something indeterminate that might have indicated either agreement or disagreement.

  ‘My parents took Arthur in when he was two weeks old. Very good to him, weren’t they, Art? So we are no relation really – just good friends.’

  Mordred had heard the story of Keir and Arthur from Margot. Jealous of Arthur, Keir envied everything about him; his success, his fame, his friends, above all the love that Keir’s birth parents, Hector and Elizabeth, had lavished on their adopted son. As young men they had grown apart: Arthur first going to Oxford, then joining the army, and later embarking on a political career; Keir taking a succession of jobs in business, none of which lasted. Knowing he was out of work, Arthur had taken pity on him and offered him a post as an assistant controller in Camelot’s transport unit.

  ‘We need men like you,’ said Keir, conveying an almost possessive interest in the new arrival. ‘No doubt we shall be seeing a great deal of each other.’ Wandering off, he left behind a thoughtful Mordred. Two things were obvious; the first that Keir was a born loser, the second that he hated Arthur. Nothing could be more damaging to your self-esteem than being dependent on another man’s generosity, the more so when that man was the cuckoo in the nest, the usurper of your parents’ affections. The time would come when Keir might prove a useful ally.

  Arthur said goodbye. ‘I have work to do, Mord. I leave you among friends.’

  ‘Thank you, uncle, thank you for everything.’ As Arthur was about to leave, Mordred remembered he had something more to say. ‘Oh, I nearly forgot.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘My mother sends you her very special love.’

  Arthur could hardly conceal his discomfort. ‘She must have been sad to part with you and Gareth,’ was all he could think of to say.

  ‘She was, sir, indeed she was. Very sad. But happy for both of us, happy that we were leaving her to serve her beloved Arthur. She has a very soft spot for you, as I’m sure you know.’

  Was it Arthur’s imagination, or was there some disquieting innuendo in Mordred’s words? But then, observing his nephew’s steady and untroubled gaze, he thought he must have been mistaken, reflecting ruefully that sometimes a man’s conscience played strange tricks on him, causing him to doubt the sincerity of others.

  Both brothers made an excellent impression on Lancelot – Gareth for his boyish enthusiasm and engaging manner, Mordred for his modesty, even more so for his unreserved admiration for Camelot’s Chief of Staff.

  ‘It is an honour and a privilege to meet you, sir. I understand it was you who led the operation against those monstrous Sea Lords. The world is truly in your debt.’

  Lancelot’s gracious smile acknowledged the compliment. Clearly this young man was bright. He would make a point of looking out for him.

  Guinevere found Gareth barely less enchanting than he found her. Young as he was, he could not disguise his instant infatuation for the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Mordred she took to, though with less warmth, admiring his dark, saturnine looks, his intelligence and self-possession. Moreover she found his obvious interest in her flattering, if a shade intrusive, disturbing even. Why was that, she wondered. Was it the direct, uncompromising challenge of his stare? Or the fact that his eyes followed her round the hall long after she said goodbye to him?

  As the members of the Round Table streamed out of the Great Hall and back to work, Lancelot caught up with Guinevere. Torn between his fear of compromising her and his overwhelming desire to be with her, speak to her, touch her, make love to her again, Lancelot was barely able to control his nervous energy, powered as it was by uneasiness and frustration.

  Guinevere, too, was nervous, though for a different reason. Being ecstatically happy one moment and deeply troubled the next was not her notion of a happy life. Good sense told her she ought to end this dangerous affair now, or it would soon be too late; if it was not too late already.

  Lancelot fought to control himself, nodding to friends and colleagues as he passed them, feigning indifference to the woman at his side. Was this what life would be like from now on? Subterfuge and yet more subterfuge? But then what if it was, he could not help himself. ‘Tomorrow at the same place?’ he said softly, looking straight ahead, his lips barely moving as he formed the words. Dissembling was for him a new experience, a despised but indispensable companion he would have to learn to live with.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she whispered, longing to be in his arms again, and at the same time hating herself for being weak. It was all so demeaning to her pride and so damaging to her self-respect, both of which she had always valued. As they passed each other, a man walked quickly by, brushing against her and murmuring an apology. Turning, she saw that it was Mordred. He smiled and waved.

  For some reason she hesitated before waving back.

  Twenty Four

  NIWIS

  Above the entrance of a gleaming white spherical building, inscribed in letters so small that it could easily be missed, was a single, cryptic word – NIWIS. Everyone in Camelot knew its meaning: Nothing Is What It Seems.

  The entrance panel buzzed, the door clicked open, and there, waiting for Arthur and Agravaine, was a mountain of a man. Everything about Ian Tichgame was big; his eyes, his belly, his hands, his voice, his laugh, his heart, his brain. So naturally he was Tich to everyone. It was rumoured that he had once been a magician and illusionist, and that Merlin had recognised his potential when he saw his act in a working man’s club in Liverpool. What Merlin was doing there he had never explained, though nothing in his life ever happened by chance. It was Merlin and Tich who came up with the concept of NIWIS to explore the void between what was, and what appeared to be. At first Nothing Is What It Seems was simply an extension of the magician’s art. It was Merlin who showed Tich that it could be much more than that; the creation by illusion of another world, a world in which reality is unreal, and unreality real, a world in which truths are lies, and lies, truths. Tich called it ‘Disinformation’. Merlin preferred ‘Virtual Unreality’.

  Arthur greeted his friend warmly. ‘What’s on your mind, Tich?’

  ‘Something that doesn’t make sense. Two days ago Command Control launched a swarm of mini-satellites in low orbit over the Middle East. Some were tracked and destroyed, but a lot got through. Over a period of several hours maximum cover was achieved, and Techforce Ten has been processing a mass of data. The thing is, we’re getting some strange feedback from two countries – the Kingdom of the Euphrates and the Democratic Arab Republic. I can call up a brief background history if you like.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ said Arthur.

  Ian Tichgame worried his keyboard, and in seconds the text was on the monitor screen. Arthur studied it with interest.

  In the year 2012, despite continued unrest, the last American troops were withdrawn from Iraq. Less than a year later the country was torn apart by civil war – Sunni against Shiite, with the Kurds caught in the middle. The United States had been badly burned invading Iraq in 2003 and was reluctant to intervene again. Whilst the United Nations dithered, order was quickly and brutally restored by Sadiq el Shaeb (the People’s Friend), a man known to be close to the Islamist rulers of Iran. Under his leadership a group of the most powerful tribes
took over the country, renaming it the Kingdom of the Euphrates, commonly known as the KOE, murdering those who dared oppose them, and imposing on a country worn out by killing, a regime even more brutal than that of Sadiq’s great uncle, Saddam Hussein.

  In 2014 a popular uprising led by Ibn Khalid, an American educated Saudi, and a personal friend of the US President, overthrew the extreme Islamists who had ruled the Democratic Arab Republic (formerly Saudi Arabia) since the coup that toppled the Royal Saudi House in 2012. Needless to say, the western world, and especially the United States, were delighted that the oil rich country was “back in the fold”.

  Since 2014 the DAR and its anti-Western neighbour, the KOE, have co-existed uneasily. There have been exchanges of insults, and, from time to time, border clashes. Foreign policy experts agree that as long as it does not heat up, this state of “no war no peace” between these two Middle East powers is good for the west, preserving the balance of power in the Middle East and taking the heat off Israel. It is well known that the United States supplies the Democratic Arab Republic with arms, technology and money, and is the largest buyer of the crude oil produced in that country.

  By early August 2029, however, the mutual antagonism between the Democratic Arab Republic and the Kingdom of the Euphrates had become so acute that it threatened the stability of the whole region. Moreover the proliferation of nuclear weapons in the previous decade greatly increased the stakes in the Middle East. The missiles of both countries, mostly conventional, but some nuclear, were now targeting each other. The United Nations attempted to calm the situation, but its pleas were largely ignored. Moreover the USA’s attention was distracted by a major terrorist incident in Jakarta, Indonesia, where Islamist suicide bombers breached the defences of a heavily guarded US military installation inflicting massive damage and many casualties.

  ‘What exactly is bothering you?’ asked Arthur.

  Tich scratched his unshaven chin noisily with one massive finger. ‘Sadiq and Khalid have been at each other’s throat for years, we all know that, but recently things have been hotting up. In the last few days the world’s media has reported a surge of activity on the border between the two countries; troops, tanks and armoured cars on the move. Yesterday, missiles with conventional warheads were fired, and both sides claim to have inflicted significant damage to the other’s military installations, and a large number of casualties.’

  None of this of course was news to Arthur. Command Control had kept him informed on a daily basis. ‘I have spoken to the US President,’ he said. ‘He is putting huge pressure on both Sadiq and Khalid, threatening military action if they don’t stop throwing missiles around. He sounds optimistic.’

  ‘Now here’s the thing,’ said Tich. ‘When you consider the number of missiles launched by the DAR and the KOE, our surveillance shows surprisingly little damage, and no casualties.’ ‘Don’t you think this whole exercise is just sabre rattling,’ said Agravaine. ‘Sadiq and Khalid have played this game countless times. It’s a sideshow they put on to impress their friends and enemies. I don’t think either of them really wants

  war. They know how serious the consequences would be.’

  Tich’s big fingers thumped the keyboard; on screen now was a magnified satellite image of KOE tanks, armoured cars, artillery and missile launchers – most of them damaged, many totally destroyed. A pause, and similar images, this time in the DAR, appeared on screen.

  Agravaine was puzzled. ‘I thought you said our surveillance showed hardly any damage.’

  ‘That’s exactly the point,’ said Tich. ‘None of what you are looking at is real. All those tanks, armoured cars and missile launchers are dummies.’

  ‘It seems Sadiq and Khalid have learned a thing or two about the art of deception,’ said Arthur.

  ‘They certainly have,’ said Tich. ‘But who are they trying to deceive?’

  ‘The USA?’ suggested Agravaine. ‘Khalid is America’s friend,’ said Arthur.

  Tich shifted his big bulk left and right on his stool, releasing first one numb cheek, then the other, sighing with relief as the blood flowed slowly back to his buttocks. ‘What if Khalid is only pretending to be America’s friend?’

  Now it was Arthur’s turn to look puzzled. ‘Why would he do that?’

  Tich’s hands looped and spiralled as if he were conjuring ideas out of the air. ‘Let’s imagine that the KOE and the DAR are not enemies, but allies . . . and that together they have hatched a master plan to take over the Middle East. To do that they would need to deal a mortal blow to the west, above all to America. Obviously the success of the plan would depend on surprise. What better way to achieve that than to start a phoney war, a war that is pure theatre, an illusion intended to deceive the real enemy.’

  Arthur and Agravaine listened with growing astonishment. ‘I believe the United States is in great danger,’ said Tich.

  A small mole of concern burrowed deep just above the bridge of Arthur’s nose. ‘In danger of what?’

  ‘A first strike nuclear missile attack,’ said Tich.

  Twenty Five

  NIWIS

  The four double doors of the Great Hall clanged shut, and the Guardian robots announced in their strident voices:

  Doors shut and secured.

  When Tich had finished addressing its members, Arthur invited their comments. Lancelot was the first to speak. ‘Does anyone seriously believe that Sadiq and Khalid would dare attack the greatest power on earth?’

  ‘Sadiq is a psychopath, a power-hungry megalomaniac,’ said Leo Grant. ‘He wants to be the number one power in the Middle East. So far he has been frustrated in that ambition, largely by America. So yes, I do think it’s conceivable that he may have decided to take them on. And a man like that would not even consider the possibility of failure.’

  ‘What about Khalid?’ said Gawain. ‘They say he went to school with the President. I know for a fact that he’s a personal friend of many prominent men in the US administration. Why would he turn against America? Sorry, Tich, it doesn’t make sense.’

  ‘Let’s assume for a moment,’ said Tich, ‘that he isn’t the friend of the west he pretends to be, and that he and Sadiq are allies. Those two working together would be a formidable power in the Middle East, one that would present a serious challenge to the West. With the advantage of surprise, the DAR and the KOE could in theory launch a nuclear strike against the United States. With a bit of luck they could destroy many US missile sites and military installations.’

  Agravaine was not convinced. ‘They would never catch

  America by surprise in a million years. If Sadiq and Khalid tried to launch a missile attack, the Americans would know the second the missile motors started up. And even if, by some extraordinary mischance, they were taken by surprise, how many missiles would get through? Their anti-missile defence system is now fully functional. Besides, our surveillance confirms that the DAR and the KOE are not targeting the US. They are targeting each other, just as they have done for years.’ ‘They could re-target their missiles, couldn’t they?’ said Arthur.

  ‘If they did,’ said Gawain, ‘the Americans would pick it up immediately.’

  Tich looked thoughtful. ‘Immediately? I wonder. Remember, someone has just destroyed their horizon radar in Indonesia. We all assumed that the aim of the terrorists was to destabilise the Far East. Supposing it wasn’t? Supposing it was to make it more difficult for the Americans to get advance warning of a nuclear missile attack launched in the Middle East?’

  There was an ominous silence whilst the Round Table absorbed the implications of Tich’s question.

  ‘The Americans still have hundreds of spy satellites,’ Lancelot pointed out. ‘Surely they would spot any unusual activity in and around missile sites? Long before their missile motors started up, the KOE and the DAR would be challenged for an explanation. If they couldn’t give a satisfactory one damn quickly, the Americans would launch a pre-emptive strike. And that would be goodbye to the KOE
and the DAR. They would be radioactive ash in minutes.’

  Lancelot’s argument seemed unanswerable. Even Tich conceded grudgingly, ‘You could be right.’

  The Round Table adjourned without reaching any conclusion. Command Control and NIWIS remained on red alert, keeping the Middle East under close observation. Arthur decided to warn the US President, though he might have saved himself the trouble.

  ‘I’m sorry, Arthur, but this time you guys are chasing shadows. Khalid is a buddy of mine, and a great friend of the United States. I think you should know that only an hour ago I had a call from him asking for help. Sadiq is threatening the DAR with a nuclear attack. Khalid is worried. If the US doesn’t do something, he’ll be compelled to defend himself. He won’t stand idly by while his country is threatened with destruction by a maniac.’

  Two days later, in a diplomatic coup widely hailed as a triumph, the President brought Khalid and Sadiq to heel. A White House spokesman confirmed that in approximately forty-eight hours Ibn Khalid and Sadiq el Shaeb would fly to Washington, and from there to Camp David, for talks with the US President. It was generally acknowledged that the President’s prompt and decisive action had averted the danger of a Middle East, possibly even a global, nuclear conflict.

  When Command Control and NIWIS both reported a complete cessation of military activities in the DAR and the KOE, Gawain and Lancelot, backed by the majority of the Round Table, were convinced that the danger – if there had been any danger – had passed.

  Arthur, nevertheless, was uneasy. At times like this he felt in need of his friend’s wise counsel. He was sipping coffee in his kitchen, thinking not about the Middle East, but about the pink glow in Guinevere’s cheeks and the new sparkle of excitement in her lovely eyes, when there, without warning, was Merlin’s holographic head resting on a shelf between a tin of digestive biscuits and a bowl of sugar.