Welcome to Camelot

by Cleaver, Tony

  “My beloved lady, thou couldst never pain me. I fear that I am weak from loss of blood and my head still spins with concussion, but if thy lips should touch mine own like thou hast touched my wound below that will suffice as the most efficacious medicine ever known in Camelot. I will float; I will dream; my wound will never hurt again…”

  She kissed him and almost let go of the wound she was holding together as the desire in her quickly rose again. Her cheeks flushed, her temperature climbed, she would have let go of his flesh, but refused to. She must mend this man first before she threw herself onto him and all caution to the winds.

  Kate reappeared with bandages and medicines. Still holding onto Sir Gareth’s side, Lady Gwendolyn asked her maid to find needle and thread from her belongings in the chest at the foot of the bed. She noticed now that her bedchamber had been turned around and all her belongings rearranged. Someone other than herself with entirely different tastes had been inhabiting this world but any questions about that would have to wait. First things first: she had to close and bind this puncture in her knight and lord.

  “Kate, I will need thy help now. Thread this needle first, pass it over to me, then prepare to clean the blood away from my lord’s side as I tie his wound together. See!”

  Half an hour later and the Lady Gwendolyn was pleased with her handiwork. She had watched a similar operation before, as a maid like Kate, but this was the first time she had done it herself. She had instructed Kate as she had been instructed herself and hoped that Merlyn, the master physician, would be as pleased as her when he saw what she had done. Was she being selfish, wanting to do all this herself instead of calling someone more experienced than her to attend to this wounded warrior? But she wanted him, all of him, and didn’t want the rest of Camelot to have him – a very twenty-first-century ethic, she little realised.

  Sir Gareth lay there still, unmoving, trusting his two fair surgeons, not so much as uttering a whimper as his flesh was stitched up like they were sewing some cloth shirt. And now poultices were applied and bandages wound around him, four gentle hands turning him and binding him until his two guardians were satisfied. He risked turning and lying on his back now, his left arm tucked down and holding the poultice tight against his wound. He smiled.

  “Ladies: my most sincere and humble thanks for thy kind and sensitive ministrations. No knight has ever been so sympathetically cared for as thou hast cared for me. Milady – thou art an angel from heaven sent to recover me from the Devil’s own battlefield, but I cannot overstay my welcome in thy chambers any more, I must rise and leave thee in peace now…” Sir Gareth made an attempt to climb to his feet.

  The Lady Gwendolyn was outraged.

  “I do not give thee leave, Sir Gareth, to move from this bed! You give me thanks as if I am a mere maid to Merlyn and not one that has declared her undying love for thee. I will not be dismissed as some squire or attendant. And thou wilst stay where thou art until I release thee!”

  “My lady, I mean thee no wrong! I only wish to serve thee as any true knight and must not presume to stay in thy rooms for longer than is appropriate…”

  “My lord, it is I who shall be the judge of that!” She turned to her maid. “Kate, thou must leave me now. Thou hast served me as faultlessly as always. I am delighted to have you back with me once more but I shall call you next when I need you. Thou art my loyal and faithful servant.” She kissed her on the cheek and dismissed her.

  When the door closed, Lady Gwendolyn turned back to her knight who had moved no more, admonished as he was.

  “And now, my lord,” she said as she lowered herself to kneel beside him, “thou ungrateful warrior who wishes to bid me goodnight, I have not finished with attending to thee yet!”

  She immersed a cloth in the water that was still warm in the basin by the bedside and began to wash him again. Loosening the remainder of his clothing she stripped him of his leather breeches and stockings and began to bathe his legs. When she reached up to his loincloth she gently removed that too, and continued bathing him as he, for the first time, now began to move restlessly and moan aloud…though not in pain. She dropped the cloth on the floor, removed her dress and got onto the bed, kissing his body as she did so. Careful not to hurt him too much, she then climbed on top of him and blew the candles out.

  Chapter 15

  WELCOME TO CAMELOT

  Gwen’s head hurt. For a few seconds the world seemed to be turning round and round and she fought hard to regain consciousness. She felt the rain on her face and suddenly came to. Gareth! She found herself in his arms, his worried face looking down upon her. What was he doing? It was he that was injured, not her! But her head was still hurting and looking around she did not recognise at first where she was.

  “Gwen! Look at me! Are you OK? You’ve really banged your head!”

  His arms were holding her, gently encouraging her to sit up. It was dark, the rain was still pouring and she was getting soaked by a river of rainwater flowing down the road. Road? Everything suddenly came into focus. She was half-sitting, half-lying in the road just down from her house in the middle of a thunderstorm. She was back!

  “I’m back! I don’t believe it! Gareth…are you OK?” She ran her wet, cold arms up under his shirt and felt for the arrow that she had seen sticking in him.

  Gareth jumped, laughing. “Gwen, for Christ’s sake! Can’t you leave off for a second – your fingers are like ice! Let’s get inside, quickly.”

  Gwen held on to him. She couldn’t believe he was uninjured. On the battlefield she had felt blood pumping out of him. She felt for his wound and there – there she felt something: a lump on his side where the arrow had gone in.

  She looked up him, worry creasing her face again. “What’s that? There! You’re hurt!”

  “Get off me, Gwen! That’s just an old rugby wound where I got trampled on…get up now, come on. You’ve had a nasty fall!” He lifted her up onto her feet. “There, let’s get you inside and look at your head…”

  Gwen wouldn’t move. “You got trampled on in rugby? What bastard did that? What sort of game do you play where people do that to you?”

  “Gwen, don’t just stand there in the pouring rain! Has the knock on the head made you crazy…?” He could not believe this gentle, loving woman was now standing, trying to argue with him only yards from her front door instead of running for shelter.

  Gwen threw her arms around him and kissed him with all her strength. Her head was still spinning but there were all sorts of other feelings crowding through her brain and, anyway, she had got used to the rain and lack of creature comforts in Camelot. First things first: the man she was panic-stricken about; the man she thought had gone out to his death; that big, ugly mountain of a man was standing in front of her, now uninjured, and she wanted him.

  “Yep!” she came up for breath. “I’m crazy alright. Crazy for you!”

  Gareth laughed and picked her up. He walked the last few paces in the rain to the wooden gate at number 5, Raglan Road, carrying Gwen in his arms. He kicked the gate open and awkwardly staggered through it and up to the front porch. There, he tried to put Gwen down but she hung on to him, her arms tight around his neck.

  “Ooh, Sir Gareth, thou art so strong and brave!” She tried kissing him but he wasn’t having any.

  “What’s got into you? Behave yourself!” He knocked on the door and finally managed to set this crazy woman on her feet.

  Ceri Griffiths opened the door, her eyes wide in surprise. “You’re both soaked. Come in quickly,” she said. “What on earth were you doing, going out in this downpour?”

  “Mother! It’s you! I’m back!” Drenched in the rain as she was, Gwen rushed to cling onto her mother.

  Her mother smiled and let her daughter press her soaking wet clothes against her. “Come on, dear – you’ve only been gone a few minutes and now look at you! What have you been doing, the two of you, as if I didn’t know!”

  Gareth grinned. “Well you said it, Ms Griffith
s. You have a beautiful daughter!”

  “Gwen, dear, we’ll have to get these soaking wet things off you and wrap you in a towel. In fact…” she looked at Gareth, dripping in front of her, “you’d both better come inside and do the same before you catch your death of colds.”

  Gwen looked up at her mother, her eyes shining with happiness. “Mother, if we both take our clothes off in the same house together then you’ll have to wrap me in concrete, not towels, to keep me off him!”

  Ceri Griffiths laughed. Thinking on it, perhaps that was rather a risky thing to say, she considered.

  Gareth was as fascinated as before with the twists and turns this girl was performing with his emotions. “Gwen has had a nasty blow on the head, Ms Griffiths. She slipped over just outside and went down with a bang.”

  “No, Gareth, Mother, I really am OK. Don’t worry. It is just that I’m back home again. I…I have been away for so long it seems. In another world. You wouldn’t believe it…”

  The three all looked at each other without speaking. Water was still streaking off two of them, making little rivulets on the carpet in the hallway. An awkward pause.

  “Gwen, go upstairs immediately, dry yourself off and change. Come downstairs only when you are ready and we can talk about this later. Gareth, don’t move! Stay here and I’ll find you something to change into. Gwen – off you go this instant!” Her mother took charge, spinning her daughter around and pushing her in front towards the stairs.

  There was an airing cupboard on the landing upstairs where Ceri Griffiths kept the towels. She pulled out two of the biggest and returned to the hallway.

  “Take your top off, Gareth, and dry yourself with these.” She handed the towels to him. “I’m afraid I have no men’s clothes in the house to let you have – I got rid of all those years ago and anyway those that were here would never have fitted you…”

  “Don’t worry, Ms Griffiths. It’s good of you to let me have these.” He stripped off the Arthurian shirt he was wearing and the tee shirt underneath. Both were saturated. He towelled his upper body dry right there, standing in the hallway. His trousers were equally wet from the knees down but he could suffer that. Polite as ever, he was effusive in his thanks to Gwen’s mother.

  “Thank you so much, Ms Griffiths…but I suppose I had better be going. I’m making a mess of your carpet…”

  “No, Gareth, you can’t go until Gwen comes down. You had better come inside and wait.” She ushered him into the front room and he stood there, rather awkwardly, by the front window. They both looked at one another and knew what each was thinking. Which Gwen was it that would come downstairs?

  They did not have long to wait, Gwen was desperate to see them both. She came skipping downstairs, barefoot and in a jumper and jeans, her face still alight. She came into the front room and span around, taking it all in.

  “I’m back! I’m back!” She was bursting with emotion. “And a proper toilet upstairs!” She grinned at the two others, staring at her. They must think I’m crazy, she thought. She wanted to rush and kiss them both again but their faces were too serious. She stopped.

  “Is everything OK?” she asked tentatively.

  “Erm, Gwen…you said you’ve been away, in another world, that we wouldn’t believe it. I think we would, if you’d like to explain…” Gwen’s mother held her hand and directed her to sit down in front of them. Her mother sat facing her; Gareth, still rather wet, preferred not to. Both were looking intently into Gwen’s face, trying to read her expression.

  Gwen suddenly felt very nervous. “I don’t know how to say this…”she began.

  “Try us,” said Gareth.

  “There was a thunderstorm, a castle, I was rushing outside …” She looked at her mother, trying to explain. “Sir Gareth was hurt…” Gwen looked up at Gareth, pleading with her eyes. “I was trying to get to you, to see where you were injured, you were bleeding…then I got hit on the head – by your horse, I think.”

  “Gwen, how long ago was this…and where were you?” Her mother was searching her eyes.

  “Just…just minutes ago. There was this terrifying battle…” Gwen put her head down and covered her eyes with her hands. Images of men dying and blood spilling everywhere came back to her. Merlyn’s face grim and steely as he set fire to the grenades; Sir Gareth riding away from her; her desperate rush onto the battlefield, seeing his body lying on the ground. She exploded into tears. It was all too much.

  Her mother put her arm around her and Gwen raised her head, tear-stained and confused.

  “Don’t ask me how it all happened. But I was there. I was!” She looked round at Gareth, standing above her. “I thought you were dying…I did!”

  “Where was this Gwen?” her mother still asked, although she had guessed the answer.

  “In Camelot,” she answered simply. “There! I’ve said it. I know you won’t believe it, but I was there, with King Arthur, Merlyn and…and …Sir Gareth. And I’m not crazy. Really I’m not. It wasn’t a dream! I was there!” She looked at her hands, to see if there were any traces of Sir Gareth’s blood under her finger-nails…but she couldn’t find any. “And now I’m here again…”

  “We knew it,” said Gareth. “We both knew it! So…the old Gwen is back.” He was upset and his voice showed it. He didn’t know where to look or what to do. The girl he had kissed and who had declared her love for him less than thirty minutes ago had already vanished. “Shit!” he swore.

  Ceri Griffiths wasn’t finished. “Gwen…you say we won’t believe it…but we do! We do believe you. And do you know why? Because all the time you say you were away we had another Gwen with us here. She said she was from Camelot. It was you here all the time…but it wasn’t you. It was a new you…”

  Gwen looked up at her mother in utter surprise. Her eyes opened in wonder. “No! Don’t tell me…don’t…but do tell me…how did she speak? What was she like? Did she speak of Camelot? What did she say?”

  Gareth broke in. “She was beautiful. Your mother said that. You were beautiful, open, honest, so expressive! We all loved you. Dai Mervyn as well. You were like his daughter come back to him. He told me that even his dog, Morgan, loved you. And yes – you, or rather she, she spoke as if she had just walked out of the past…‘Dost thou know me?’ was the last thing she asked me. Then she fell over and I picked you up.” His voice was flat, expressionless. He was hurting inside, his emotions turning his stomach in knots.

  “You, or she, told us that Camelot was this warm, supportive community where everyone really cared for one another, whereas here, people are so distant and she felt all alone. Except she…it obviously wasn’t you…she said that she had lost her mother as a child and could not understand how she could find me here…I really loved her…I mean, you!” Ceri began to feel her own tears beginning to rise.

  Gwen was stunned. Speechless. These two were as overcome with emotion as she was. What sort of person had replaced her in the affections of those here? Somebody clearly who had had a big impact on them. Gwen tried to think of what Kate had told her when they had first met – of how her mistress had loved Camelot and how she, Gwen, saw nothing. How her mistress had lost her mother, killed by Saxon invaders many years ago; how Sir Gareth absolutely doted on her. Yes – she had been slow in realising how much he felt for her and she guessed she had treated him badly for days until just recently when she had woken up to her own feelings about him. And here were these two now, implying much the same – how the Gwen who had replaced her was far quicker to appreciate and love them than she had ever been. She leaned forward and put her arms about her mother.

  “I love you, Mother. I’m sorry. I’m lucky to have you, I realise now.” She looked at her and nodded. “What the Gwen who took my place here said is true. Camelot is like that, right enough. When I was there, at first I saw only the things it didn’t have. Things mostly. I didn’t see what it did have until much later. And I guess I used Sir Gareth at first and didn’t see how lovely he was until I nea
rly lost him.” She got up and went to hold his hands. “But I love him now!”

  Gareth was still stone-faced. Same story as before, he thought. “What Gareth did you know there? He wasn’t me! I haven’t moved from this place. Do you know me?”

  “You are the same. You big lovely, ugly, brute. Just as distant and standoffish at first here as you were there. Very polite and proper. I remember you used to look at me at school like you looked at me in Camelot. From afar. And I treated you badly in both places! I must have been a bitch to you but you were still good to me. And then I saw how good and proper and courteous you were with everyone in Camelot and realised you were like that here as well, before. And when you were prepared to sacrifice yourself to protect us all, like you had protected me, that’s when I realised how lovely you are. Here as well as there. So don’t tell me I don’t know you! Gareth Jones…I do know you and if you don’t bloody well kiss me now I’ll burst into tears again!”

  Gwen promptly burst into tears. Gareth gently kissed her. “I do know you…I do!” She looked at him, tears coursing down her cheeks. “This has all been too much!”

  “Telling me,” he grimaced. He looked down at Ceri, holding Gwen’s head into his chest, comforting her while she cried. “I don’t know whether I’ve kissed the same girl twice in half an hour, or kissed two different girls…Talk about going crazy!”

  * * *

  The morning came with Sir Gareth still sleeping, weary from battle and in need of complete rest. Lady Gwendolyn rose and looked down at his craggy features, now softer in repose. She had worshipped him for years but it had taken a trip to the future for her to get up close and confess it. Evidently this knight had fought harder and longer than any other – though she had not seen it – had been hit on the head and struck in the side, so it was no wonder that he was in need of more sleep than her. She had not witnessed the Saxon invasion first-hand but was in no doubt that Sir Gareth would have been first onto the battlefield in the attempt to repel all and any of them.