Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)

by Donna Hosie

  “The physician’s quarters are no place for a maiden,” answered Bedivere brusquely, “even one as able as you.”

  David was pulled from Tristram’s horse and gently laid onto a frayed woollen blanket. Even in the eerie firelight, I could see he had gone a strange yellowish-green colour. The veins on his face were swollen, filled with the same pus that had marked the deformed bodies of the dwarves. His eyes were shut, and his throat was making rapid gasping noises. The poison was suffocating him.

  Bedivere, Tristram, Gareth and Talan formed a guard of honour around the blanket, and then each picked up a corner and gently raised it. I was sure I saw tears in Tristram’s eyes. They were helped by several more servants, who had scurried out of the dark corners of the courtyard like mice. David was carried away into a tunnel, and Slurpy and I were left alone.

  “Should we run for it?” whispered Slurpy. Her words echoed back at us.

  “And go where?” I replied, without sarcasm for once. “Now we know what’s out there, do you honestly think we would last the rest of the night?”

  “We should never have come here.”

  “I think it’s too late for that.”

  “Will that boy live, do you reckon?”

  I shook my head, unable to speak. David could not have been more than fifteen years old: two years younger than me, and three years younger than Arthur.

  But the same age my other brother, Patrick, would have been now - if he had lived.

  The men had gone, but a group of scared-looking women had replaced them. They approached us cautiously, and then flinched back as I sniffed loudly and wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweatshirt. All of them were dressed in horrible A-line dresses that skimmed their ankles and appeared to add at least twenty pounds to their weight.

  They still looked malnourished.

  “Please, come with us,” squeaked one woman. “We are ordered to take you to the ladies chamber.”

  “I hope there is hot water,” sighed Slurpy, “because right now I would kill for a bath.”

  I couldn’t help but snort as two of the women appeared to sway with fright. I leant over to Slurpy and whispered in her ear.

  “As they think we are witches, we should probably leave talk of death and killing for another time.”

  Slurpy threw her hands out in frustration and slapped them down on her hips. She was still swearing and cursing the land of bizarre a full five minutes later.

  We were led in the opposite direction to the one the knights had taken the injured David. Across the courtyard and into a circular tower. Up and round we climbed on narrow, slippery stone steps that were already starting to wear down with use. The now familiar sight and smell of burning torch brackets lit the way. We were shown along several long stone corridors, most of which were lined with long velvet standards that were covered in silvery cobwebs. Various mythical beasts had been sewn across them: dragons, unicorns, and even a one-eyed giant.

  A quick glance at Slurpy was enough to tell me that she had that wrinkled quizzical look about her again.

  “Is this familiar as well?”

  She nodded. “Perhaps it was a school trip,” she mumbled.

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “You recognise it?”

  “Perhaps I’ve seen it in a book.”

  “Well, I don’t read books.”

  A heavy oak door groaned as it was opened, and we were led through it. A large four-poster bed, covered in white linen sheets and heavy satin fabrics, dominated the room. A roaring fireplace, set deep into the stone wall, blazed directly opposite us. In front of that, two steaming tin baths were waiting.

  Two young women approached us. They were dressed in pale pastel coloured dresses which fell to the floor, and they wore ballet type slippers on their feet. Their long red hair was left loose where it fell in waves around their shoulders. They were very pretty.

  The girls – who I thought were probably sisters – curtsied, and the shoeless servants pattered away to the other side of the heavy door without another word.

  “Your bath awaits, m’lady,” announced one of the girls. Then she stepped forward and immediately started to pull at my clothes.

  “It’s okay, I can do it,” I mumbled, although I had to ask for help in removing my skinny jeans, which had glued themselves to my sweaty, swollen legs.

  I asked the girls to turn around for the final part of undressing. I never showed my body off to anyone, and this reminded me too much of the torture that was the school changing rooms. Naked, I slipped into the bath water and submerged myself up to my neck. It was oily and smelt of lavender. The water was warm, but the roaring heat from the fire made it feel much hotter. Once my maid had stopped playing with the hook and eye fastening of my bra - which she found fascinating - she skipped over and started washing my hair, gently massaging a musky ointment deep into the roots before gently lathering and rinsing. It was peaceful and calm, with the silence only broken by the snapping of logs on the fire, and a strange wheezy rattling that seemed to come from the maid’s chest. She was tender though, and I was particularly grateful that she paid attention to my stitches, carefully rubbing around the wound on my head that had been slowly healing for a week.

  It seemed a lifetime ago now.

  “Spa treatment – medieval style,” I said to Slurpy.

  I don’t think she heard me. Her maid was not as gentle as mine and had ducked Slurpy under the water. Perhaps she was checking to see if Slurpy would sink or swim - wasn’t that what they did to witches centuries ago?

  Long, white linen nightgowns were then slipped over our heads and our long hair dried, combed and then wrapped up in segments and tied with suede ribbon.

  “You look ridiculous,” said Slurpy, as she flung herself onto the end of the four-poster bed.

  “You should just be thankful Arthur isn’t here to see how stupid you look,” I replied.

  And then we both fell silent. We had forgotten the reason we were there.

  Arthur.

  “May I ask a question, m’lady?” said the girl who had been helping me. Her arms were filled with my filthy clothes.

  “Of course,” I replied, “and please, call me Natasha, or Titch. Everyone else does.” Well, those that don’t call me freak, but then I wasn’t going to tell her that.

  The two sisters swapped looks. Then, urged on by the other, my maid spoke again.

  “Is it true what the men of the castle are saying, m’lady? About Arthur?”

  “Why, what are they saying?” I sat upright, desperate for news of my brother.

  The girl had swallowed her top lip.

  “The men are saying the bell has tolled once more. They are saying that Arthur has come again, and the great and brave have finally awoken. That the Knights of the Round Table shall meet the barbarian Saxon kings, and that the battles to come shall be the greatest ever seen in the kingdom of Logres.”

  She may as well have spoken to me in Mandarin for all the sense it made. How on earth could I answer that? I looked to Slurpy for help, but her mouth had dropped into a perfect circle, and her eyes were so wide the whites had swallowed her irises.

  It was time for diplomatic relations again.

  “My brother is the bravest, smartest boy I know. Arthur has stood by me, and believed in me when no one else would. If he can help, in any way, I believe he will.”

  My statement - taken straight from my father’s book on Foreign Affairs speak - seemed to please the two girls. A small hand bell was rung, and a fat woman, as wide as she was tall, then waddled into the room and placed a wooden flat tray on a table. It was filled with roast chicken, bread and fruit. Two golden goblets with dark red wine were also put down.

  The maids curtsied, and Slurpy and I were left alone once more.

  “I suppose now wouldn’t be a good time to go and ask that Tristram dude for my cigarettes,” said Slurpy, grabbing a chicken leg.

  I was so hungry that, for a moment, my brain was willing to fool m
y conscience that I was a vegetarian. The smell from the roast chicken just oozed into the room. I had been a vegetarian for a year, and if I was honest, I desperately missed bacon and chicken nuggets. This delicious feast wasn’t helping.

  “I hope the court physician has helped David,” I said, grabbing several tomatoes and tearing off a chunk of bread. My conscience would win the battle with my stomach this night.

  “Who do you think lives here?” asked Slurpy. “I didn’t think people, other than the Queen, lived in castles anymore.”

  “One of the servants mentioned the names Percivale and Ronan to Bedivere,” I replied, reaching for the wine. “My guess is one of them is in charge here.”

  Slurpy started snorting into her wine. Some of it dribbled out of her nose. I laughed as she choked.

  “This is mental,” she gasped. “I still think we’re tripping out on something. Does your mother grow funny mushrooms in your garden?”

  “My mother wouldn’t know a mushroom if it grew on her face,” I replied. “She’s literally starved herself since Patrick…”

  I trailed off. The heat from the fire, the aroma of the oils, and the very strong alcohol content of the castle-brewed wine had caught me off guard and dulled my sense of self-preservation. Patrick was a banned subject.

  “Arthur told me about Patrick,” said Slurpy, and there was something sly in her voice that immediately raised my defences.

  “Good for him,” I replied bluntly, slamming the goblet down. Thick red liquid slopped over the sides, trailing down the rim like blood.

  I walked over to a bronze basin and poured cold water from a jug into its hollow. My hair was already tied up, and so I didn’t need to worry about holding it back, as I threw my head forward and submerged my face in the freezing shallows. The giddiness quickly left me.

  With my appetite gone, I climbed in between the sheets and closed my eyes. Slurpy followed, after blowing out the candles. The fire burnt down to cinders, and I eventually fell asleep.

  I was back in Avalon Cottage, watching my two brothers play in the garden from an upstairs window. The room wasn’t mine; it was Arthur’s bedroom. I had space to breathe. There was a river running through the garden, fast-flowing and black as coal. It disappeared from view at the same spot where the chicken coop and Mr. Rochester had lived. Arthur was calling to me to watch Patrick, just for a minute. Then Arthur turned into a honey white rabbit and disappeared into the long grass. Patrick was laughing with his infectious giggle. Then he started running after Arthur. I wanted to call out to him, but I couldn’t speak. My fingers grasped inside my mouth and found nothing but space. My throat was screaming at Patrick to stop, to stay away from the water, but no noise came out. I turned from the window to run downstairs, but my mother was blocking the door. In one hand she held a silver knife; in the other she held a purple slab of meat. It was my tongue.

  “This is what we do to liars,” she snarled, and then her scaly nostrils started to smoke as white flame shot from her mouth.

  “Natasha, Natasha,” screamed a voice in the dark. “Titch, wake up, wake up.”

  My eyes sprang open. I was back in the hospital bed. I could feel Arthur holding my pinkie finger, and hear the bleeping of the hospital machines.

  My eyes focused, and Slurpy came into view. Another vision in white. I looked for Arthur, but instead saw the grim faces of Tristram and Talan standing beside the bed. Their swords were raised over my digital watch which was beeping away.

  Sweat was pouring down my face and neck. Every muscle I possessed ached.

  “You were screaming, but I couldn’t wake you,” sniffed Slurpy, “even when I slapped you around the face, and then they rushed in with their swords and I thought I was going to die.” She looked whiter than the nightdress she was wearing.

  “How is Patrick?” I gasped. “I mean David.”

  “Alive,” was the reply. I wasn’t sure whether it came from Tristram or Talan.

  “Why are you here?” I said to the men, pulling the sheets up around my neck. “Isn’t it against some knight’s code to enter a girl’s bedroom without an invitation or something?”

  To my surprise, both looked embarrassed.

  “We heard screaming,” mumbled Talan, glancing at Slurpy. “Sir Bedivere had placed us outside the door to guard you both. We feared you to be in danger.”

  “From my watch?” I silenced it with two pushes of the same button.

  The knights looked confused and slightly fearful.

  “Tell Bedivere that we are perfectly well,” I said, “and you can both get lost.”

  Tristram and Talan couldn’t get out of the bedroom quick enough. The door slammed with a solid thump as the temperature finally registered on my skin. I looked down at my arms, which bore more than a passing resemblance to a plucked turkey, as the skin pimpled with the cold.

  “Bad dream?” asked Slurpy, lying back down beside me.

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I hope the nightmares stay inside your head, freak girl.”

  I didn’t reply. It would seem like tempting fate. The terrors of my sleep were bad enough. I didn’t need them invading the waking moments too.

  Chapter Nine

  Bedivere Revealed

  Roosters. Hundreds of them. Rising in one symphony of tuneless screeching. It reminded me of Arthur’s dreadful singing in the shower, and my heart ached for what I had lost: past and present.

  The two maids - who both looked far too happy for such an obscene hour - skipped into the bedroom. Slurpy had dived under the bed covers in an attempt to block out the noise from outside the castle walls. I had resorted to jamming two feather pillows against my ears.

  “It is time for the women of the court to waken, m’lady,” said my maid, as she started stoking the fire with a long blackened stick. It sparked to life like a cracker, and then simmered down as more logs were placed into the centre of the grate. I noticed the strange wheeze in my maid’s chest again. She rattled with phlegm.

  I wasn’t exactly dragged out of bed, but it was close. With my eyes still glued shut with sleepy dust and that corner gunk you get whether you wear mascara or not, I was led, cold feet on even colder tiles, to a long wooden bench. My maid started tugging the ribbon out of my hair. Each portion cascaded down like a dirty blonde waterfall until my entire head was covered in a wave.

  My maid beamed as I touched my hair with my fingertips. My reflection was shown back to me from a large polished plate.

  “I love it.” And I really did.

  “You are very beautiful, m’lady,” said my maid. “We just had to clean you up, that was all.”

  Slurpy’s long dark hair looked even more stunning as it cascaded over her shoulders. It had a midnight blue sheen to it. She looked calculating, scary. Definitely witch-like. She even cackled as she gazed at her reflection. I felt jealous just watching her. I was pretty in a typical blonde hair, blue eyes kind of way, but Slurpy looked utterly gorgeous at times. I was mesmerised by her eyebrows. They were thick and arched low above her chocolate brown eyes. Keira Knightley eyebrows.

  Hair combed. Teeth brushed with hot water and my finger. Face washed and eye gunk removed. It was time to get dressed, but my clothes from yesterday were gone.

  The maid – who, after much prompting, had revealed that her name was Eve – had placed a sapphire blue dress on the bed. To my horror, I realised I was about to become a medieval Barbie doll. The satin was stitched so tightly that it made me gasp, as it was yanked and pulled down over my chest and hips, and then tightened like a corset. It was full length to my ankles and had long flared sleeves. Bands of silver embroidery were sewn into the hems and neckline. Upon closer inspection, they looked like linked hearts.

  It was hideous.

  I turned to Slurpy, who was wearing a magenta coloured dress with black and white fur edging.

  “Arthur would love this,” she sighed, flaunting her hourglass figure one way and then the other in the copper plate mirror.

&nb
sp; I thought that my brother would probably love the plunging neckline, but I wasn’t so sure he would be too keen on the dead badger that was hanging from the cuffs.

  “I’m going to see Bedivere as soon as we’re finished here,” I said, as Eve tied a silver chain belt around my waist. “I want to know where Arthur is, or at least who they think took him.”

  “Oh, that would be the heathen king, m’lady,” said Eve interrupting. Her little hands immediately flew up to her mouth, and she choked with an involuntary reflex as her chest gave way.

  “Heathen king!” cried Slurpy. “What on earth are you talking about?”

  “It’s okay, Eve,” I said softly. “If you know something, anything, about Arthur, you must tell me. My brother has been missing for two days now. I have to find him.”

  Eve’s eyes were bulging in their sockets; her freckled face was on fire. She shook her head.

  “It’s just gossip in the kitchens, m’lady,” she said weakly, although she wouldn’t meet my eyes. I knew when a person was lying, especially when they weren’t very good at it.

  “Eve, where is my brother?”

  “Tell the lady,” prompted Slurpy’s maid, nudging Eve in the back. “Tell them what we heard.”

  “You won’t get into trouble, Eve. I promise you.”

  “King Balvidore has him, m’lady,” whispered Eve. “At least that’s what Sir Percivale told your Sir Bedivere last night, m’lady.”

  “Tell me everything you know about this Balvidore man,” I replied. “Quickly, before we have to leave.”

  “Well, he isn’t a king for a start,” interrupted Slurpy’s maid. “He just calls himself that. If you can’t pay the taxes he sets, then he takes one of your family to work it off. Dirty old man, he likes the girls, ‘specially the young ‘uns,” she added, narrowing her eyes. “Right nasty he is – pure evil, like the devil himself. Instead of the joust, he’ll watch people burn at the stake for his jolly.”