Welcome to Camelot

by Cleaver, Tony

  That was a thought. She’d better raid her mother’s purse before leaving. Gwen didn’t have more than a few pence to take with her that morning. Her head was still spinning from lack of sleep and a preoccupation with her finger but she focused well enough to lift a couple of banknotes while her mother was upstairs. She shouted goodbye and left the house, walking quickly to catch the bus on the corner. It was ten minutes’ walk to the hotel the other end but this time she would not be late.

  Half an hour into the briefing on the booking-in system at the Camelot Hotel and Gwen was losing it. Her two colleagues were all attentive, full of questions and clearly following all the instructions of their supervisor, but Gwen was now feeling distinctly dizzy and her hand was hurting more than ever. She took a step back from the others at the desk and tried to clear her head.

  “Erm..excuse me for a minute..,” she began. She shook her hand and whimpered in pain. “It hurts,” she managed to say. Then her breathe came in short rapid gasps, she started to panic, and suddenly it all went black.

  Chapter 2

  THE LADY GWENDOLYN

  This time, the hallucinations did not stop. There were knights in armour charging around on horseback; her mother searching desperately for something in the kitchen; monstrous hounds leaping up with slavering jaws; a shower cubicle, overflowing with bubbly shampoo; the doors of the King Offa swinging open and shut, and all the time the old, grey eyes of Dai Mervyn twinkling mischievously at her.

  Gwen moaned and tossed over in bed. What bed? Whose bed? Where was she? Her brain wasn’t working properly. It was all dreams still.

  There was a girl’s voice calling out somewhere but she didn’t recognise it. Gwen opened her eyes and gazed around the room but maybe she hadn’t opened them at all, since there was nothing there except hallucination. Her head spun. What room was this? Darkness descended and a thundering took over her brain as if horses were still galloping around inside. Consciousness was coming and going in waves.

  The girl’s voice sounded once more: “Lady Gwendolyn! My lady!” Whoever it was seemed to be far away and very worried. Gwen wondered who it might be and what she was worried about. Suddenly her brain cleared and her eyes flickered open. The room was dark but streaked with a bright band of light that issued from a long, slit window by her bedside. The air was cold but Gwen could feel warm blankets covering her. Where on earth was she?

  She sat up at once and a young girl in strange clothes sitting close by jumped back in surprise.

  “My lady! Awake at last!”

  Gwen looked about her. “What…where…am I?” she stammered. She didn’t recognise anything: not the bed, not the room, nor this strange girl. The last she remembered was standing at the reception desk of the hotel. She supposed she must have fainted and been brought here. But where was here? Gwen looked down at her hand. Her finger was still scratched, swollen and painful…but what was this? What bedclothes was she wearing? Someone must have undressed her and changed her into this long nightdress. Even her underwear had been removed! Outrageous!

  “What the bloody hell’s been going on!” she demanded loudly and indignantly of anyone in earshot.

  The girl at the bedside looked startled at this outburst and was even more alarmed as Gwen swung her legs round and made to stand up. Rising to her feet, Gwen felt incredibly dizzy and she would have liked to have pushed this girl aside – who had quickly recovered and rushed to attend to her – but in the end she was glad for the support. Gwen staggered to the window.

  It was a long, narrow stone casement, the sort that bowmen would stand guard at in castles like Raglan that Gwen had once visited. There was no glass. And the walls were so thick! Gwen looked around. This was a castle! There could be no mistake – she was standing at the window of a bedroom in a real, live castle! She looked out, angling her head one way, then the other to see as much as she could from the vertical slit. The opening in the massive wall was wide on the inside but offered only the narrowest access from without. It was designed, of course, for archers inside to have a relatively wide field of fire yet to be almost impossible to hit from an outside source.

  Gwen had to hold herself up, shaking against the cold stone walls. The girl by her side looked pleadingly up at her, as if she wanted her to return to bed. But Gwen was determined to look out.

  Bright sunshine flooded the landscape outside, in contrast to the relative gloom where Gwen was standing, blocking the light from the one limited window into the bedchamber where she had just awoken. She had to move away for a moment and return her eyes to the dark interior to help her spinning vision. What was that outside she had glimpsed? Long strips of land being tended by scores of peasants? Surely not? She turned and looked out again.

  I get it, thought Gwen. She must have been brought to this working museum where people dress up like in times gone by and re-enact what it must have been like in Ancient Britain, or something. But she still didn’t understand what she was doing here.

  Gwen found herself talking out loud: “It’s bloody lifelike, I’ll give ‘em that. Perhaps the hotel has hired all these people for a dress rehearsal before the media come. Christ, they must have pots of money to do all this! Whaddya think, little girl?”

  “My lady…my lady…art thou well?” The little girl had a strange way of talking but she was clearly distressed. “Thou hast been delirious these last few days…and still are, methinks…”

  Gwen snorted at the silly girl and returned her gaze outside. Her attention was caught by a movement some distance away where the strip fields stretched down to an extensive, greenwood forest in the distance. A large hound seemed to be running to and fro, seemingly searching out some scent or other. After a pause, when it vanished from view into the woods, it then reappeared to start galloping towards a tall, slow-moving figure dressed in black or grey. These two came together and made their way across the fields towards the wall some distance below where Gwen was standing, looking out: an elderly man, as it turned out, and a large, lively Celtic wolfhound that the man seemed to pay no heed to as it leapt and gambolled about him.

  Gwen trembled like a feather in the wind and staggered back in a daze. Hadn’t she seen precisely this before somehow? Wasn’t this deja vu? The young girl attending her managed to get Gwen to lie back down again on the bed. It wasn’t difficult. Her consciousness was coming and going again.

  Moments later a dark, hooded shape loomed up from the interior.

  “How fares the lady, my loyal Kate?” It seemed to be a voice vaguely familiar.

  “She awoke, sire, and stood awhile…but is yet delirious and still suffers convulsions, I fear,” the girl responded.

  “Leave us, Kate. Thou hast done thy duty and must rest thyself now.”

  “Aye, sire”

  Gwen had a notion that this newcomer had come to sit beside her as the young girl withdrew from earshot. This wasn’t good enough. Damn it all – she had to make an effort to come round now. She’d never let any strange men within a hundred yards of her at any time in her past and there was no way anyone was going to do so now while she was still hung-over. She propped herself up on an elbow and turned a face towards her visitor.

  “Have I been drinking,” she asked, “or am I stoned on drugs?”

  The man laughed. His hooded face was difficult to make out in the dark shadows. “Neither, my lady. Thou hast been in fever these last three days.”

  The voice was familiar but the message shook Gwen rigid.

  “Three days? That can’t be. I gotta get out of here…” She sat bolt upright and fought down the queasiness. “Who brought me here? Does my mother know? What’s going on? And put the bloody light on, can’t you. I’m not staying in this dingy hole any longer.”

  “My my! Such a tirade! And which of these questions should I answer first?”

  “None! First of all, you tell me who the hell you are and what you’re doing hanging around my bedside, you…you weirdo…”

  “My dear Lady Gwendolyn, tho
u hast awoken with such spirit. Methinks your character is much influenced by your fever.”

  “Shut that, old man. Just show me your face and tell me who you are.”

  The man stood and turned to one side. There was a metallic scraping sound, a spark and a candle flamed into life. The man put back his hood and Gwen could easily now see his features as he bent over to place the lighted candle on a small bedside table.

  “Good God! Mr Mervyn!”

  He looked at her quizzically. “Merlyn, milady, at thy service. It seems thou hast not lost complete command of your faculties”

  Gwen ignored that response. “But what are you doing here? What am I doing here? Is this some sort of re-enactment of ancient times? And who took my clothes off!” Her sense of outrage came back to her. She swung her legs round to fiercely interrogate her visitor – though this time she did not risk attempting to stand.

  The man called Merlyn sat down in front of her with a wry smile. “Again, such a torrent of questions. Do not be in such a hurry, my fair lady. Thou hast lost only three days and have the rest of thy life still to live.”

  God, this is so irritating, thought Gwen. Old Dai Mervyn still lives in another age where time moves as slowly as he does!

  “Well, would you mind making some attempt to tell me what has been happening to me whilst I’ve been out cold?” she asked, pointedly. “If it’s not too much bother, like”

  Another wry smile. “Thou hast a sharp tongue after thy long sleep, my lady. Take care whom thee cuts with that! Since thou art so insistent, let me inform thee that after thy collapse, thy faithful maid Kate and others of her station carried thee here, undressed and made thee ready to receive me. As the court physician I came straight-way to give thee medicine to reduce the fever and convulsions that had most noxiously consumed thee. And here thou art now – almost recovered, though I dare say there hast been some wondrous transformation in thy spirit and vocabulary…”

  Gwen tried to puzzle out what on earth he was talking about.

  “Look, can you knock off the attempt at old-fashioned language? All these thees and thous! You don’t have to resort to re-enactment talk now. And how far am I from where I blacked out in reception? Is this room at the top of the spiral staircase I saw? I never knew there were such remains of a castle left standing in the hotel…”

  “Thy mind is racing again, my lady. Slow down! ‘Tis fair strange thy manner of speaking and clearly the fever has not left thee, so take care. Indeed – thee ‘blacked out’, as thou says, in the hall below and from thence were carried up the staircase yonder to thy bedchamber here. I suggest thou rest a while longer now until thy illness has receded further and thy memory returns.”

  “Sod that, Dai Mervyn! I gotta get dressed and get out of here. Where’s the loo? I have to go first…”

  Merlyn rolled his eyes at his recalcitrant patient and, holding one hand on Gwen’s shoulder to delay her from standing, he called out for the maid.

  “Kate! Kate! Come hither. Thy mistress needs thee!”

  Poor Kate rushed in within the minute, clearly concerned. She could not have been far away.

  Gwen struggled to rise from the bed, her head still complaining, her voice more agitated still.

  “Where’s the toilet, Kate? Dai Mervyn, leggo of me!”

  Gwen was fighting the strange storms in her head as well as the man and girl in this room that were trying to prevent her from standing up and then keeling over. She understood that they were trying to help her but they did not understand that she badly needed to exert some sort of control over her life. She was not going to be prevented from rising and trying to shake off this awful headache and the hallucinations that went with it.

  But first things first: “Kate! The toilet!”

  The young girl finally got the message. She helped Gwen stagger out of the bedchamber and the older man let her go.

  In a few minutes, Gwen was back. “God, it’s bloody primitive out there! Sitting over a hole in the stone floor is taking re-enactment a bit too far! Now where’s my clothes?”

  Gwen did appear to understand that this Kate of hers was a tireless worker. She dove into a large chest at the back of the bedchamber and re-emerged with long robes. Dai Mervyn retreated from the room to allow Gwen some privacy, but more problems kept coming.

  “No, Kate, I don’t want to go join everyone else in all this museum garb. I want the clothes I had on last, before I blacked out. And my bra and knickers. Where are they?”

  Kate did not appear to understand.

  “My lady – these are all the things thou used last. I undressed thee myself amidst thy swoon! But Lo! Here art other clothes if thou desires a different set..?”

  Gwen stumbled over to the chest of clothes and rummaged inside, even though bending over made her head spin more than ever. Damn everything, there was nothing but these rough garments that looked, bright colours notwithstanding, as if they had been copied from history books or lifted off a film set. No underwear, no hotel uniform, not even jeans and a tee shirt. Gwen complained loudly.

  There was no heating in the cold, dark air of the bedchamber and Kate was clearly anxious to help her, so in the end Gwen gave up cursing and resisting and was glad to draw on robes that covered her from neck to foot. Next she was offered leather sandals. Surprise, surprise, they fitted her perfectly and anyway Gwen reckoned they would be a whole lot easier to wear on these rough stone floors than the high heels she had had on last.

  It was time to get outside. She didn’t know which way to go, which way was where and the interior of this part of the castle or hotel or whatever it was had no indications, no little green notices showing escape routes in case of fire or other emergencies. An opening to a circular staircase beckoned. Gwen suddenly got it into her head that she should go up into the fresh air and have a good look around from some vantage point or other. Yes, that would be best. Kate was by her side again, holding onto her hand in case she might stagger, and Dai Mervyn had also reappeared. Curious that Gwen should feel his presence so reassuring in some way. She guessed that that was because the old man clearly felt at ease in these surroundings that were so strange and unsettling to her.

  A stone stairway led up and round and up, up again to where sunlight flooded in. Gwen’s fever still had a hold on her but she struggled upwards towards the light and a fresh breeze feeling certain that once she got out into the open she would feel a whole lot better. The view would be invigorating, she was sure.

  “WHAT? Good…good God Almighty!” Gwen stopped in her tracks in astonishment. She had arrived at the top of the castle’s central keep, looking over the battlements…and the landscape that confronted her was totally, utterly unrecognisable. There were strip fields, and extensive forests, rolling away on all sides but not a sign of any roads, houses, distant towns, church spires and all the comforting sights of the Monmouthshire that she knew. Looking down she saw a courtyard below her, enclosed by a solid curtain wall of the castle, and much activity about the gatehouse as various people, children, horses, cattle and dogs were coming and going amongst market stalls and numerous thatched single-storey wooden and mud huts that clustered about inside and outside the castle. It was all very real. Not a film set, nor a living museum.

  “Where the Christ am I? What…what country is this?”

  “This is Camelot, my lady,” said Kate, simply. “Your home in Cymru; Cambria; Wales!” She tried different words to get through to her mistress who clearly was still suffering hallucinations and reverting to foreign gobbledegook. “Hast thou no memory?”

  Gwen looked round at Kate and Merlyn, her face looking desolate.

  “I want to go home…” She burst into tears and sunk to her knees as deep, uncomprehending blackness descended upon her.

  Eight more hours of sleep found Gwen stirring again and then slowly, cautiously, opening her eyes. Peeking out, she saw the same dark, dimly lit bedchamber as before with, again, someone sitting patiently beside her.

  Sh
e groaned: “Shit!”

  Only a tiny sound and she shut her eyes tight again, as if blocking out all that she had glimpsed in the hope that it would disappear. But it didn’t.

  “My lady?” The same girl’s voice.

  This was no good: she couldn’t hide away from whatever was out there. Gwen resolved to get a grip on herself and all that surrounded her. She opened her eyes again and then sat up. No dizziness. That at least was an improvement.

  “Hello, Kate. Is Dai Mervyn about?”

  Kate grimaced and nodded. “Merlyn!” she shouted.

  Gwen looked down at herself. Once again she was in bedclothes.

  “Kate – did you undress me again and put me to bed?”

  Kate nodded silently, half in fear of what would happen next with her unpredictable mistress.

  Gwen sighed. “Thank you. Good girl. You won’t need to do that again, I’m better now.” Gwen’s shoulder-length, black hair had been combed. She shook it, feeling altogether recovered. But she looked around her bedchamber as she had done before and felt a little frightened. This was all so weird!

  Merlyn entered.

  Gwen looked at him. “Are you Dai Mervyn or not?” she demanded to know.

  “I’ve had many names o’er the years, my lady. But Merlyn is what thou called me before and what I expect thee to call me again.” Merlyn looked at her. Her face was clear, her eyes had lost the glaze that was there a short while ago. The fever seemed to have abated but the spirited behaviour had not. “But from whence dost thy strange vocabulary come, my fair young lady?”

  “Seems to me that yours is the strange language, Merlyn, my man. Am I really in Camelot? Really, really?”