Searching for Arthur (The Return to Camelot #1)

by Donna Hosie

  Make the trade, Death. Just make the trade.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  And the Winner is…

  Without a working watch, minutes, hours and days disappeared. Time was gauged by sunrise and sunset, with an unhealthy dose of fighting in the middle to starve away the boredom.

  When I woke up on the cold, damp floor of the chamber, I was alone and it was dark. Late evening or early morning? I had no idea. Someone – I willingly assumed it was Bedivere – had placed a thick tapestry over my body. It smelt musty and old. My mother would have thrown it in a skip. I pulled it up to my ears.

  Voices were echoing along the corridors. Low, slow-moving voices. Words spoken deliberately and with meaning.

  Did people in this time gossip? I always meant to try it out with Eve, but never got the chance.

  I was surprised to find myself alone. It was almost as if I had been forgotten. I guessed Arthur would be with that creature (I didn’t know what name to call her now), and Bedivere and the others were with Talan. The only way Robert of Dawes would have let me out of his sight was if he was needed by Sir Percivale and the travelling Caerleon court…

  I started ticking off names in my head, trying to account for their whereabouts.

  Frustration soon got the better of me as I went through each face: strangers who had become my friends.

  Something wasn’t right. Someone was missing.

  Rising, I almost collapsed as my knees buckled under the weight of pain I was in. This is what it must feel like to be stretched out on a rack, I thought, staggering to the door. My limbs felt wooden and too long for my body. Blood had congealed on the scrapes and cuts that criss-crossed where my flesh had been bared and unprotected. Every movement dislodged the healing, causing the open wounds to start weeping and bleeding again. Worse was the Balvidore-inflicted gash to my neck, which stung with the slightest movement. As I groped my way down the corridor, feeling the stone with my fingertips, I felt the trickle of warm blood inching down to my collar bone. The green fleecy tunic that Nimue had given me by the Falls of Merlin was now stained and ripped. Tie-dyed by warfare.

  Camelot was heaving with bodies, but at least they were live ones. Women and children scuttled along the corridors, lighting the few torches that hadn’t been pulled from the walls. Where had they been hiding? Water was being slopped onto every surface. If they scrubbed hard enough, they might forget what had happened here.

  Arthur found me staring out of a thin slit in the wall. Outside, a huge pyre was burning, spitting bright amber sparks into the inky sky. The smell was hideous.

  “They’re cremating the Saxons,” explained Arthur.

  “What happens to the dead knights?”

  “Buried. There’s a place reserved within the walls of Camelot for them.”

  And I knew where it was without seeing it. Deep in a memory, I had been there before.

  “Bedivere and Tristram have taken charge of everything.”

  “How are we going to get back, Arthur?”

  Arthur sighed.

  “I don’t know, Titch.”

  “The way through the tunnel is blocked. It collapsed.”

  “We’ll find a way.”

  “But Robert Dawes…”

  “Don’t worry. We’ll find a way.”

  The thing was, I wasn’t worried. Not in an aching, I miss home, kind of way. I wasn’t like Dorothy. I couldn’t click my heels together and say there was no place like home, because where was home? Avalon Cottage wasn’t home. It was a house I slept in. I loved my parents because I had to – they were my parents. But I didn’t like them. Friends? I had none – not in my own time.

  They say home is where the heart is. My heart was now here. Bedivere had it, although I wasn’t sure where he kept it. He was the first person I had ever given it to, and I didn’t want it back. I thought back to his terrified face in the Solsbury Hill monastery. It was me and only me in his thoughts. Bedivere had found my earring by the Falls of Merlin, and had tracked me in the darkness with the calling of birdsong. I remembered the previous perfect night with no date. It seemed like forever ago.

  And I wanted more just like it.

  I could make a home here, I thought to myself. Well away from castles and knights and death. We could keep horses, or even a few rabbits. No chickens though. Nothing that flapped. Home isn’t a structure, it’s a feeling. A warm fuzzy feeling that roots in your stomach and spreads to every part of your body. It’s knowing that you can gaze into someone’s eyes and not feel self-conscious doing it. Home is the anticipation of a long kiss, the wanting, the needing. Stealing Bedivere’s breath, and knowing he was taking mine right back because he needed it as much as I needed his.

  “What are you thinking about?” asked Arthur, ruining my moment. “You have that look of concentration on your face. The one that makes people think you have trapped gas.”

  “Bite me, Arthur.”

  He laughed. It was good to hear. Almost normal.

  “Do you think Bedivere would mind if I went to him?” I asked, finally dragging my eyes away from the burning. “I don’t want him to think I’m clingy.”

  Arthur did that annoying older brother thing by ruffling my stinking, greasy hair with his hand.

  “He won’t think you’re clingy. For some unknown reason, Bedivere appears to be madly in love with you,” he teased. “I told him you are a neurotic little freak who talks to herself, snores, and wets herself whenever a bird comes within a five mile radius, but it still didn’t put him off.”

  Clenching my fists was agony to my split knuckles. Punching my brother would hurt even more, but I could cope.

  “It was a joke, Titch,” said Arthur, quickly backing away, hands up in surrender. He knew me better than anyone, and pain was no barrier to wrath. The spaghetti vein in my forehead was disintegrating with stress.

  “This is hardly the place to practice stand-up, Arthur.”

  “Actually, I think it’s exactly the place,” he replied, stepping forward and slipping an arm around my aching shoulders. “Otherwise we’re going to go insane, Titch.”

  “I went mad years ago.”

  “I was being polite.”

  “Is Talan still alive?”

  “He was not long ago. Byron and Robert Dawes are vying to be chief healer. He’s a funny little chap.”

  “Robert?”

  “Nah – that Byron. I like him. Anyone who can fire an arrow into Mordred’s ass with such precision deserves a bit of respect.”

  “Where is Mordred?”

  “Ran for it apparently. Once he had found his testicles and could walk again – you’re pretty lethal with that knee, you know. Everyone was so preoccupied with Talan and Gaheris that they didn’t notice Mordred had gone, until it was too late. I have no doubt we’ll see him again. The druids of Gore were waiting with horses by the front gates; the cowards never even entered the castle. They just used that blue flame and waited for the Saxons to implode.”

  I had to ask the question.

  “And where is your vile ex-girlfriend?” Heavy on the pronouncement of the X.

  “Don’t start, Titch.”

  “You have dumped her? She attacked me with magic, Arthur.”

  Arthur let out a long groan.

  “Can we discuss this later?”

  “Oh my God. You’re still with her aren’t you?”

  “You’ve been through a tough time, Titch. Let’s go find Bedivere and the others. Get you some food while we’re at it.”

  The patronising tosser. I didn’t want to eat; I wouldn’t have been able to get it past my throat, let alone into my churning stomach. I shoved Arthur into a wall.

  “What did she tell you? She denied it all, didn’t she? The magic – the rolling eyes – the blue flames in her hands. Ask the others. Ask Tristram. He told me that Sammy went through some re-birthing ceremony. She joined Mordred, Arthur. She tried to kill me.”

  “That’s enough, Titch,” yelled Arthur, raising his v
oice as he pushed me back. “I know all about the things she went through when she was with Mordred. She did it to stay alive, Titch. She was frightened out of her wits.”

  “SHE ATTACKED ME.”

  “Will you listen to yourself, Titch? Now I don’t know what you think you saw after Mordred kidnapped you, but Sammy is as capable of creating that blue flame as I am.”

  “I’m not lying,” I sobbed.

  “I’m not saying you are. But you’ve been through a hell of an ordeal, and have banged your head countless times since this started. You’re confused. They probably drugged you.”

  Arguing was hopeless. I could barely get the words out between the hiccupping gulps that had trapped in my chest and throat.

  “She set…wasps on me…Arthur.”

  “This is hopeless,” snapped Arthur angrily. “I’m taking you to Bedivere. Maybe he can talk some sense into you.”

  The fool. The stupid fool. How could these people believe he was their king when he was so blind? Tristram’s words about the real threat to boys and men repeated in my head.

  The subtle craft of a maiden. One who ensnares the heart and renders a man as helpless as a baby. Love is a powerful ally, but it is also the most dangerous foe there is.

  Samantha Scholes-Morgan, Slurpy Morgana, was going to be the most dangerous foe there was, and my brother was walking right to her.

  I stormed off, determined to find Talan. David was the only knight keeping a bedside vigil. Byron was there as well. He must have won the battle with Robert of Dawes.

  “I’ve stopped the bleeding,” was the blunt reply from the dwarf when I asked how Talan was.

  “They are burying Sir Gaheris,” whispered David. He was clenching Talan’s sword between his knees. “I wanted to be there, to pay my respects, but what if Sir Talan was to die alone? I would never forgive myself.”

  “You did the right thing, David,” I said quietly, and I kissed the top of his head. “You’re an amazing knight, and an even better friend.”

  “I should probably go find them,” replied Arthur. He had followed me to Talan’s makeshift hospital bed, but we hadn’t spoken. I was still too angry.

  “They are also burying Sir Ronan,” added Byron. He was pulling apart strips of white cloth.

  Sickening shame engulfed me. I could feel it from my toes to my fingers and it was burning hot. I had willed Ronan’s death. Made a pact with the Grim Reaper. Let us keep Talan and take a lord of Caerleon in his place. Yet another death was now on my conscience.

  “Are you ailing?” barked Byron, tugging at my tunic. “You look too pale, Lady Natasha.”

  “I need Bedivere,” I gasped. “Find him, Arthur. Find him now.”

  Several figures swept into the large room, just as my legs betrayed me. A mop of long, straggly chestnut hair flew through the air and caught me, just as I was about to slip away. Two green starlights pulled me back.

  “You need to sleep, my love.”

  Words started tumbling out of my mouth. Incoherent and twisted. I wasn’t making sense to myself, let alone those around me. Bedivere and Arthur combined to prop me against a wall. Tristram poured warm oily water into my mouth, but it went the wrong way and got trapped in my nose.

  I once had a panic attack on the New York subway. Power failure. I was trapped. I couldn’t get out. The same was happening now. The black, wet walls of Camelot were closing in around me. I was never going to leave. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t know where home was. I was floating into space: airless and lost. Making stupid pacts with Death, only to find Death was a willing player.

  “Breathe slower, Titch,” prompted Arthur, massaging my bent knees. “In and out, in and out.”

  “Is she asthmatic, Arthur?” asked a Scouse accent.

  “No,” replied my brother, who was still attempting CPR via my knee-caps. “Just prone to the hysterical.”

  “Like most women,” said Robert.

  They laughed, and then abruptly stopped when I swore at them.

  My breathing steadied, but something still wasn’t right. There was the threat of unfinished business hanging in the air. A black cloud. Lightning was waiting to strike. Then, as I saw the fork of brilliant white blaze from the heavens in my head, it changed shape. The sharp angles became softer, curved. It morphed into a scythe.

  Death. He wasn’t finished with me yet.

  My eyes sprang open. The knights I had come to know and love were standing in an arc around Talan and me. No one was watching the door.

  Not one person was staring in the direction of the figure in black, who had slipped into the room unnoticed. They couldn’t sense the treacherous intent, because their lives were bound by honour.

  Not one person saw the glint of silver, a moonbeam, reflected from the long blade that was raised into the air.

  Except me.

  “NO.”

  I’ve always been good at running. I had the legs for the sport, and they didn’t fail me. The wall was my starting block as I heard the gun shot in my head. I knew I would win. I had the quickest instincts for the fight.

  The blade slashed down, but I was through the tape first. It broke across my stomach. I heard the roar of the crowd.

  I had won.

  I lay on the cold ground, trying to catch my breath. It wouldn’t come. I saw Tristram bundle Archibald out of the room. He still had the knife in his hand: the blade that was to avenge his sister, Lady Fleur. It had been meant for Bedivere, but I had come first.

  Dark shadows started to play with my eyes. Amorphous blobs swam across my vision. I had a stitch in my side from the running. I had become very unfit because it was hurting.

  And then I was in Bedivere’s arms. Finally. I wanted to go to sleep in them, but Arthur and Robert of Dawes were screaming at me to keep my eyes open.

  Bedivere was crying. I couldn’t understand why was he doing that? It made his eyes red and swollen. Blue was the colour of pain, but green would always be my favourite.

  I was so tired. I just wanted to sleep – just for a few minutes.

  The world had become very bumpy. Didn’t they know I was trying to sleep? And it was hot. So very hot and wet. I was drowning in my own perspiration. I hated being sweaty because my clothes would cling to my skin and make me feel fat.

  I wanted to sleep in Bedivere’s arms.

  Bedivere kissed my face continuously. His stubble was back. I couldn’t remember what year razors were invented. My legs and underarms needed one desperately. The stitch in my side was still there. It was hurting even more, even though I had stopped running hours ago. Bump, bump, bump.

  I just wanted to sleep.

  I heard Arthur arguing with someone. It was definitely a female. I thought he was breaking up with Slurpy - at last. Hope didn’t make the pain go away, or the sweat. My gums felt swollen. My throat lined with spikes. The white fluffy clouds above me looked like blankets. Warm and inviting. I couldn’t hear Camelot screaming anymore, but there was crying.

  And still Bedivere held me in his arms. I was home.

  A haze of blue. I was scared. I wanted the green of home. Where was Bedivere? Where was my brother? Hands started to lift me, and then Bedivere arrived.

  “It has to be me.”

  His voice was breaking. Wind chimes in the breeze. The gentle lapping of water on the shore. Bump, bump, bump. I was rocked from side to side. The pain had spread from my stomach. It was everywhere. It wasn’t just a stitch anymore, although I was still out of breath. This was a fire. I was Joan of Arc, martyred in flame.

  “We aren’t all going to fit.”

  Slurpy. She was haunting my sleep.

  “We have to. I’ll keep her alive.”

  Robert of Dawes. Desperate.

  “I swore an oath to protect her.”

  My Bedivere. I felt his calloused hands on my face. His tears mingled with mine as he kissed me. Why was he saying goodbye?

  “The Vale of Avalon is the only place that can save Natasha now.”

&n
bsp; They were taking me away. Pulling me from Bedivere. No, I wouldn’t let them.

  “She’s rocking the boat.”

  It worked. I felt Bedivere’s breath on my face. He smelt of warm bread. Delicious.

  “I will find you, Natasha. If I have to travel through the boughs of time itself, I will find you.”

  I opened my eyes and saw starlight. It was my earring: the small diamond stud I had fixed to Bedivere’s cloak before the battle of Camelot.

  “I love you.”

  “I will love you until the end of all things.”

  “Please don’t let them take me away.”

  Bedivere started to pull away. I tried to grab him, but I couldn’t raise my body. I was in Hell. Death was taking me. I was in Charon’s boat, crossing the water to the Underworld.

  “Stay with me, Titch. Stay with me. Squeeze my hand. No. Don’t close your eyes. Keep them open – keep them open. We’re going home, back to mum and dad. Just hang in there, just hang on. For me.”

  The figures on the shoreline raised their hands. I heard their voices, but one by one they fell away. My eyes stayed on that little glint of starlight, until the clouds closed in around us.

  I saw Eve, smiling shyly; her beautiful red hair floated around her head, like she was suspended in water. Maidens with covered faces, and monks in sacks; they were counting glistening gold coins. Sir Gaheris, a dragon roaring on his tunic, saluted us as we passed through. Then Sir Ronan, red-faced, eating a chicken leg and laughing.

  Finally, a little blonde-haired boy in a blue t-shirt.

  “You have to let me go,” he called.

  The mist and cloud became thicker and darker. It whispered like the wind. It gave me permission to sleep, and finally, I closed my eyes.