Welcome to Camelot

by Cleaver, Tony

  Gwen grinned at Kate and watched the retreating form of her knight and admirer. Of course Kate didn’t understand but Gwen’s friend Paula would never believe what had just happened. Gwen had to pinch herself at what she was doing. It did not seem so long ago that she’d said she’d never dress up like some character in a fairy tale, yet now here she was entering into it wholeheartedly…and beginning to love it. And better than acting in the hotel in some plastic Disney costume, this was real.

  * * *

  An excursion to Caerleon: this was to involve Sir Gareth, his squire Brangwyn and two yeomen bearing arms, all on horseback. The Queen Guinevere had insisted that her own carriage be used for Gwen and her maid and this was to be drawn by four horses and directed by two coachmen. The trip to Caerleon would take best part of a day, going slowly but on a known and well-travelled route. The party would have to camp out in royal tents on a hill above the river port whilst a boat was sent across the Channel to Bridgestow and back. Brangwyn and one or two others would go in this boat to undertake the trade, probably returning the next day, depending on the wind. Sir Gareth would not leave the ladies’ side.

  A great variety of people were involved in seaborne trade: some absolutely reliable, honourable and trustworthy; others were more like pirates with whom you had to watch your purse and your back. Gwen was made aware that there was no disciplined Royal Navy in these times; quite the opposite – those who sailed the seas formed no homogenous community; there were no rules; no supreme naval authority; no guarantees. Once aboard ship you were on your own and took your own chances – so the party would have to choose their boat and crew carefully.

  The next morning dawned with a buzz of activity in the courtyard. Four horses were being fed, cleaned, saddled up and prepared for their noble riders and another four were meanwhile being similarly groomed and then harnessed to the royal carriage. Horsemen and attendants were running everywhere. The carriage was being loaded with tents, equipment and provisions and an extra two packhorses were then added to follow behind since not all could be accommodated without them. Merlyn and Sir Gareth were standing nearby and were being kept informed of progress and messages were also being regularly sent up to the king and queen – the latter still poorly but having passed the worse of her sickness.

  At last the Lady Gwendolyn and her maid were sent for. All were ready to depart. A final flurry of loading the ladies’ belongings, the two fair maidens were helped aboard, whips were cracked and with a nice display of horses’ snorting and stamping the party drew out of Camelot and onto the well-marked carriageway that led south and towards the coast and river estuary. They were off!

  Gwen had never before ridden in a horse-drawn carriage. It was an exciting but bumpy ride. The muddy path across field and through forest they were following was well-rutted and suspension on the carriage was primitive, but the swaying around was not worse than a theme-park or fairground ride and, what with Sir Gareth and his men flanking either side, the coachmen up top calling out to their horses, and the scenery pitching up and down as it went careering past, the whole experience was entirely entertaining, if not exhilarating.

  The party made steady progress. It was mid-afternoon when Brangwyn and one of the yeomen rode on ahead to make preparations for the arrival of the royal carriage. The hilltop above Caerleon was first cleared to receive the encampment and Brangwyn visited a number of inns in the town to announce the imminent arrival of the party from Camelot, should tradespeople there wish to compete for their custom. Inevitably, word was passed from one to another around the settlement such that by the time the carriage arrived there was quite a crowd of onlookers waiting to see who was coming and to cheer this gallant knight and his fair lady who were accompanied by such fine attendants.

  The camp was a grand affair. Gwen had once been on a school camping trip many years ago to Snowdonia and hated it: small mountain tents, little gas stoves, uncomfortable sleeping bags and rain, rain, rain. This, on the other hand, was luxury. A large royal tent was erected big enough for Gwen to stand up in; every effort was made to make her bed comfortable; other smaller tents were set up in a ring outside and a big campfire was lit to roast an enormous evening meal. There was a train of visitors simply dying to meet the Lady Gwendolyn and offer her all sorts of trinkets, bracelets, sweetmeats, oils and perfumes. Gwen asked Sir Gareth how anything was to be paid for – he waved the question away. For most of the local people, he said, it was simply an honour to present her with something so that they could later claim to be suppliers to Camelot. For some of the more ostentatious items where some form of payment was due he said that whatever she desired was for him an honour to arrange.

  Gwen smiled and thanked every kind gesture of each individual who was granted an audience but she felt she could not take everything that was offered her. It was too much. But what a night it was – being feasted and feted by all and sundry. This went on for some hours until Gwen could take no more. She eventually made her excuses and retired to bed. Sir Gareth bade her goodnight and assured her that he and the others would take it in turns to watch over her while she slept. Gwen curtsied and offered her thanks – when she at last snuggled down upon sheepskins and feathers she could hear the men outside speaking in low voices as the campfire crackled and threw shadows against her tent wall. What an experience! She loved it all. She couldn’t help but marvel at being treated as if she were a princess…if only she could tell her mother and Paula all about it.

  * * *

  By the time Gwen was awake in the morning, Brangwyn and one of the yeomen had already set off for Bridgestow. High tide was at first light, the wind was in the west and they had chosen one out of three boats at the quayside in Caerleon which had offered to take them across the short stretch of tidal water that separated Wales from England. Gwen was sorry not to have seen them depart but she resolved to be at the quayside on their return. Sir Gareth had said that, thanks to their early departure, they should be able to conclude the business in Bridgestow and sail back before nightfall. Fortunately the weather was stable and there was little chance the wind would frustrate their plans.

  After busying about the campsite and putting things in order, with time on their hands, Gwen and Kate wanted to have a look further afield. With Sir Gareth taking the lead on his big, beautiful, grey charger they rode across the hilltop, visited some Roman ruins, waved to numerous smallholders working in their fields before entering Caerleon in order to take lunch at the largest of the local taverns down by the river.

  It was whilst they were finishing the last of their meal that Gwen heard some sort of commotion outside. A number of people were shouting and running and the noise seemed to be getting closer and closer.

  Sir Gareth rose from his seat. “Stay here, milady – I shall see what is the cause of such caterwauling.”

  With his hand on the hilt of his sword, Sir Gareth left the tavern. Gwen was not one to sit indoors like some docile kitten, however. She made for the door to peer outside and see what was going on. Kate came after and hung onto her skirts, not so much to hide from whatever trouble there might be outside but more to make sure that her mistress did not venture any further.

  A little man with a long pigtail was running up away from the quayside and a number of sailors were after him, hollering and throwing stones and clearly intent on doing him some harm. The little man had shrugged off the first assault by dodging and tripping up his first assailant but another, more muscular individual had caught him and, just as Gwen arrived at the door of the tavern, the poor fugitive was thrown to the floor. The man on top of him began raining him with blows as others in the posse arrived and started calling for blood.

  The little man writhed on the ground and tried to defend himself. A second and third assailant started kicking him whilst he was down.

  “Oh, stop them, Sir Gareth! Stop them!” Gwen called out in alarm. There were three now hammering away at the poor victim as if they wanted to break his bones. One raised a wooden staff to
deal a serious blow.

  Sir Gareth needed no encouragement. This was no noble quarrel but a one-sided bludgeoning of a defenceless captive. He drew his sword and beat the wooden staff away as if it was a matchstick. The first assailant, who was kneeling over the little man, he seized by the scruff of his neck and hauled him off, tossing him to one side. He then stood over their quarry and faced the pack of bloodthirsty sailors who had chased him.

  “Who are ye to chase a man like a pack of dogs and not give him a fair chance?” Sir Gareth demanded with a face of fury.

  “And who are ye to defend such a miserable infidel who deserves to have every limb torn off and the rest of him to rot in hell!” yelled the first and most muscular of the posse.

  “I’m Sir Gareth of Camelot, sworn to defend the meek and the powerless against the hordes of bullies and barbarians who despoil this land.” He raised his sword to direct it at the throat of his adversary and then circled it to point at all the others who now had formed a row in front of him. A big man, almost twice the size of the one at his feet, with a fierce expression and a broken nose that had come from earlier battles, Sir Gareth was clearly not a person to be trifled with, even without the silver blade that threatened to decapitate anyone who aroused his ire. With the posse now stopped in full flight and the shouting died down, Sir Gareth could speak in a quieter, but still deadly serious, voice.

  “Suppose you tell me of what this poor man is accused and why you people think he deserves to die at the hands of an uncouth rabble such as yourselves?”

  “Look at him!” one shouted. “He’s a heathen, an evil outsider!”

  “He tried to poison us!” another shouted.

  “No! No! They bad men. I simple cook. Good cook. No poison!” the little man protested at Sir Gareth’s feet.

  Gwen gained a closer look at the poor man who was now scrambling to his feet. He was dressed in a grey trouser suit, the leggings of which came down only so far as his calves. He wore no socks but just small, flat, cloth shoes with rope soles. A long pigtail dangled down his back almost to his waist. She recognised his looks at once, though she guessed the others would not. He was Chinese and, she guessed, there were very few in these times who would have seen his like before. People were always frightened of what they did not understand; she knew that only too well.

  “He can cook for me, Sir Gareth,” Gwen called out. She quite liked Chinese food. “Tell the others to leave him alone.”

  Kate gasped at her mistress’s bold intervention but if Sir Gareth was startled by this lady putting herself in the firing line between two opposing lines of battle, to his credit he did not show it. He looked back first at Gwen, checked she meant what she said and then he turned to face his adversaries once more. He let out a scornful laugh.

  “Look, you miserable shoal of codfish – the fairest maiden of all Camelot has no fear of this infidel who you seem frightened of enough to want to kill. Go back now, the lot of you. Tell whoever are your superiors that Sir Gareth of Camelot has taken your prisoner and will grant him his life. Now: begone – all of you!”

  Sir Gareth stood feet apart, his sword still held out, defiant in front of all of them. None dared contest him, though as they turned away one or two muttered insults under their breath. Safely at a distance, one called out: “We know who you are! We’ll come for you one day! The Saxons don’t fear no Camelot!” He hurled a stone in the air.

  The stone bounced harmlessly along the road towards Sir Gareth, the little Chinese and Gwen and Kate, still standing, waiting at the tavern door.

  Sir Gareth looked seriously at Gwen. “My Lady Gwendolyn, thou shouldst not come out and address a fearsome rabble in the street like that. It is not safe and nor shouldst thou grant them the honour of seeing someone so fair as thyself.”

  Gwen curtsied in front of the noble knight, someone whose honour she had come to respect but she could not completely surrender her twenty-first-century spirit in this unliberated age. How could she explain this difference of attitude and role of women without invoking a fear of witches?

  “Forgive me, Sir Gareth. Thou art of course correct. But I have seen someone like this in a vision: a good man; one who is very different but one who brings much fortune to those who are not frightened of foreign influence. And I always feel safe whilst thou art with me – a valiant knight who cannot stay silent in the face of injustice. I trust in thee completely.”

  The effusive praise of his noble performance did the trick. He bowed his head and went down on one knee.

  “Thy ladyship dost honour me most graciously. I am thy devoted servant.”

  The little Chinese man watched all this with great interest. Such a show of chivalry indicated that he was in civilised company. He stood stock still and bowed to his waist – first to Gwen and then, when Sir Gareth had risen to his feet, to his noble and valiant saviour.

  “Thank you! Thank you! You save my life. Thank you again!” He bowed twice more. “You are good people. I may go with you, yes?” he questioned.

  Gwen smiled at Sir Gareth. “We’ll have to take him back to Camelot with us now. He cannot stay here…and I want to see what sort of cook he is anyhow!”

  “As my lady wishes,” Sir Gareth smiled in response.

  “Yes, you can go with us now,” said Gwen to the little Chinese. “But tell us your name. Who are you and how did you come to be here?”

  “My name Chen Ka Wai. I travel many years on ship. Now I go with you. You save my life. Many bad men here.”

  “They’re not all bad here, Ka Wai. You’ll see,” said Gwen. “We have to wait for friends coming on a boat from Bristol first of all, and then you’ll go back with us.”

  Chen Ka Wai nodded. He understood. He was some years older than his rescuers, but although small in stature he was wiry, resilient and despite quite a beating, not one to complain about his lot. He clearly had survived many escapades in his long years crossing the world and he was accustomed to taking his chances as they came.

  The long summer day gave over to a lengthy twilight – time enough for the boat returning from Bridgestow to find its way up river and back to the quayside at Caerleon. Brangwyn and his accompanying yeoman disembarked, toting a large sack and they met their welcoming party on the quayside.

  “Oranges?” Gwen questioned, looking at what they were carrying.

  Both men nodded.

  Gwen grinned broadly and almost danced a jig right there on the quayside. Sir Gareth was just pleased to note that no other ships or boats remained anchored nearby that evening – which meant that the posse of unruly sailors who had been chasing their Chinese friend had now left.

  Chapter 10

  THE GRAND OPENING

  “How can they understand, Merlyn, if they have never seen what I have,” asked the Lady Gwendolyn, plaintively. “How can they know Camelot if they have never felt the comradeship, the love of all of us working together for a common ideal? It seems to me as if I am speaking a foreign language to them…but thou knowest of that which I speak. Dosn’t thou? Tell me that thou knowest!”

  Dai Mervyn, Lady Gwendolyn and a quiet and thoughtful Gareth Jones were all outside the hotel now, walking slowly in the grounds whilst all other hotel employees were streaming out of the banqueting hall and moving off to their various stations.

  “I know what you mean, ‘least I think so, Gwen. Not directly like, more’s the pity for that. But I was born in the War and my parents, they spoke of what you say. All together, working against a common foe: they never tired of telling me. The camaraderie, the fun, the excitement; even in amongst the bombing their spirits were high. Everyone helped out everyone else, they said. The loss of anyone was a loss to all. Bonded them, it did. I grew up with that. Never been like that since then, though. We live in a society now where everyone moves on. People used to grow up with friends and neighbours living next door to ‘em. Time was when I knew everybody in the village. Not any longer. Things are so different, so fast-moving, so volatile now. Nobody kno
ws their neighbour, these days. How can you feel at one with your fellows next door if you don’t know ‘em, eh?”

  “’Tis sad, Merlyn. More than that…I feel all alone, cut off, isolated, hopeless. I see all these people, walking by and they all seem alone. No one reaches out for anyone here. They are all like islands, every one, and I am one amongst them. I despair!”

  “Gwen, my Gwen, in the little time I’ve known thee, you’ve made me feel I have a daughter again. You, most of all, have reached out and touched me more than any other in all of my seventy years. Look – here comes Morgan: up ‘til now my only friend and companion and he feels the same as I. He loves you too – he can feel thy warmth like I can. So don’t you trouble yourself so – you are creating the love and comradeship about thee everywhere you go. Sure, there’s an awful lot of people you see that you cannot touch as yet – too many, see. People rushing everywhere, all the time. But you are reaching some of us, Gwen. You’ve made your mark, right enough.”

  Gareth Jones, second-row rugby forward, big and fearful of next to no one, stopped and looked at Gwen. He spoke up, movingly.

  “I’ve never known you like this, Gwen. I knew you for years in school and, coming back, I met you again not long ago here in the King Offa. You are an attractive girl for sure and many’s a boy I’ve known tried it on with you…but they’ve all said you were a real hard case to crack. And I once said the same in the rugby club. But I guess I’ve been wrong all along…”

  “I think not, my noble knight. It was some other person thou knew’st before, not me. I know not how to explain this but since my collapse and the loss of three days in my life, I have awoke a different person, in a different time and place. I seem to remember some people and places but all is confusion…save what I know of love and life in Camelot and what is missing here. There are many fine things I see in this world, too many things…and a lot of talk like just now, but…but somehow it is not enough. It is all so shallow.”