New Jersey Yankee In King Arthur's Court

by P McAuley, Robert

“Surely. But, they be equal to ya an’ not ta be shouted at nor chastised by yee, for tis a duty o’ Wizard Merlin and young Wizard James ta watch over the young folk of Camelot Castle, an’ they become mightily upset should they be hurt. Be thou for it?”

  He quickly stood tall and then bowed. “My queen, I be for it. An’ might add, thy stables wouldst soon be the best in England.”

  “I’m sure they shall, Sir Albert. Now I propose that for this evening we rest right here an’ start off for Camelot Castle after morning-meal tomorrow.” She looked at Arthur and said with a wink, “My king, wouldst thou be against Sir Albert riding up front with us?”

  “Methinks that be a grand idea, my queen.”

  Later, as the pages and serfs from Sir Albert’s old camp flowed into Camelot Camp, Sir Boche asked Guinevere, “My queen. Far be it for me ta question yee, but why doth thou offer Sir Albert ta run thy stables an’ ask him ta ride with us?”

  “Because it be easier ta watch him about Camelot Castle than wonder what he be up ta on his own. If Sir Albert thinks he be important, it hurts no one.”

  “My queen, truly thou art wise.”

  The group was much larger than when it started out from Camelot Castle and the return trip was much more relaxing as fires could be lit, tents could be raised and best of all, songs could be sung. Sir Albert proved to be an amiable man, ‘when watched,’ as said by Sir Boche. He also ate three times the amount of anyone else. It was a one-day trip and a roar went up the next evening when Camelot Castle came into view.

  Arthur whispered to Guinevere as they rode side by side. “Tonight, my queen, we sleep in our bed.”

  She wiggled her nose, “After a nice hot bath.”

  The sun had dipped below the horizon when they entered the castle through the open drawbridge.

  Arthur stopped and said, “Guinevere, look around. Check out the greenery.” She looked and saw the grass had reclaimed its place and the hard packed dirt was gone. The trees and shrubs were in full bloom with roses and dandelions.

  “It is a fairytale picture, Arthur.”

  That night the cooks of Camelot pulled out all the stops and set out a feast for all and it was after midnight that the royal couple climbed the stairs to their room. Opening the door they were struck by the odor of flowers and scented candles all of which mingled with the misty vapors of hot water rising from the bathtub.

  Arthur smiled and said, “Boy, Guinevere. This crew could easily have hung out with us back in Keansburg.”

  An historical note here before we continue. Sir Albert turned out to be a reliable and faithful knight who would get down on his hands and knees to scrub the stone floors of ‘his’ stables when he knew the King or Queen were coming to get their horse. Every day mayors and officials and knights came to Camelot to swear their allegiance and bring the tax money needed to run England. While there were always rumors of certain knights outside of Camelot thinking of rebelling against the King and Queen, they never could seem to gather an army to challenge them. The reasoning was, ‘why fight the King and Queen? Go to Camelot Castle and stay with them and be swayed by their good will . . . beside they have a few Wizards on their side.’ Soon Camelot was unchallengeable and peace reigned for many, many years.

  The sun had just risen and Arthur poked Guinevere. “Hey hon, I’m cold.”

  “Me too. I do think we should start closing the windows at night.”

  He wrapped the deerskin tightly around himself, padded over to the fireplace and tossed another log on. She held the covers open so he could quickly slide beneath them.

  “Brrrr! Your feet are cold, Arthur.”

  “Can’t help it. I think we could use a wall-to-wall rug these days.” He looked at her. “Think the girls are up to weaving one of those?”

  “Those girls can do anything.”

  They lay on their backs looking up at the stone ceiling, both waiting for the new log on the fire to warm their room before they got up to get washed.

  Arthur snuggled close to her. “Boy, it’s times like this that I miss coffee the most.”

  “Me too. Sometimes I can almost hear the Grinnels as they shuffled around downstairs in the kitchen making coffee.”

  “Yeah, me too. I used to sneak a cup and bring it back to the room. Once Garret wanted a sip so I gave him one and I found out later that he started sneaking a cup for himself. Boy, the Grinnels were really upset that their coffee was being raided.”

  Guinevere looked at him then back up at the ceiling. Arthur spotted the gleam in her eye. “Hey, don’t cry.”

  “Can’t help it.” She turned and hugged him. “Garret was one of the originals.”

  Arthur whispered, “So was Lance and Gerry Haad.” He poked her. “Hey remember the time Gerry Haad fell into the moat while he was going over the drawbridge?”

  She wiped her eyes and added, “Yes. He was wearing his armor and sank like a rock. Thank goodness Ron was there and jumped in and saved him.”

  Seeing that he changed her sad mood into a happier one, Arthur went on. “And remember when Triston shot an arrow into the air and it came straight down and struck him on his head?”

  She laughed. “Thank goodness he had his helmet on.’

  “After that I always ribbed him that he had a hole in his head.” He was silent for a second. “I miss him.”

  “I miss them all, Arthur. Every one of them.”

  There was a knock at their door followed by a deep voice. “Mom, Dad. Be yee decent?

  Arthur smiled at the sound of his voice. “Of course we’re decent. C’mon in Arty.”

  The door opened and a tall, handsome man entered. He was clean-shaven and wore his gray and black hair shoulder-length, as was the fashion these days. He smiled at them as he carried a tray full of eggs, bacon and muffins.

  “Forsooth, good parents, it be warm in here.” He put the tray on a table next to their bed. “Shall I open yon windows ta cool the place?”

  “Your mother was cold so we closed them.”

  Guinevere looked at him and gave him a playful punch in his arm.

  “Ohh! My old wound.”

  “I’ll give you a new one if you don’t watch yourself.” She turned to the young man. “Arty, your father woke up shivering and placed a log on yon fire.”

  The young man shrugged his broad shoulders as his father always did when he was perplexed, “Father! Why doth thou put a log in thy fireplace when right out this very door there be a boy ta do that fer ya? All yee needs ta do is but call him.”

  “Arty, by the time I call him and he comes in, I can do it for myself.”

  “But father, it be June an’ the sun warm.” He shook his head and his long hair flopped around his handsome face as he rolled his eyes as his mother always did. “There be times, good parents, that yee both perplex me greatly.”

  Guinevere wiggled her finger at him. “Son, perplex thyself not, for we still be thine parents and allowed ta be chilled should we feel the need too.”

  The young man did a bow from the waist. “Forgive me mother dearest if thou sees my words as anything more than reverence and love for thee both.”

  “Arty, your mother and I both know that you and everyone else means well. It’s just that where we come from we are used to doing things ourselves.”

  Guinevere asked, “How is Edwina, my son. Last I heard thy wife had a cold.”

  “She be fine now, mother.”

  “And the boys?”

  “They both be fine mother, an’ would go ridin’ with yee next week after studies.”

  “Tis a date. Tell them I can still best them in a race.”

  “That I shall, mother.” The young man set up two chairs, one on either side of the table. “Come eat. And pray, tell me more of thine growin’ up.”

  Young Arty was right as the room had warmed up a tad too much and Arthur allowed him to open a window. They sat at the table and Arty pulled another chair over and joined them. “Pray tell me of Keansburg again.”

&nbs
p; Both of his parents got a far away look in their eyes and his mother responded first. “Keansburg, New Jersey is on the shoreline of New Jersey, a land far from here. You father and I grew up there.”

  “Yee both lived in the same place. Correct?”

  She nodded. “Yes. It was what they called an orphanage, a place for children with no mother or father.”

  The young man shivered at that. “Methinks that be horrid, mother.”

  Arthur clasped his hands together, his elbows on the table. “It was horrid, my boy. We had nobody to turn to for help when we needed it, except to ourselves.” He smiled as he recalled. “Our group was one tough gang and more than once we had to roll in the dirt with the townies.”

  “The townies be the kids what lived outside thy compound?”

  “Yes, you could say that. They lived outside our compound in more ways than one. They had their parents but we had twelve close friends we could talk to.”

  Arty’s face broke into a large smile, “Ahh! Thy friends, the original Keansburg Gang!”

  His father matched his smile with one of his own as he said, “Yes. The original Keansburg Gang. What a crew we had back then. We were unbeatable!”

  “Father, my teacher sayeth thy gang be what saved England.”

  Guinevere nodded. “Young Arty, thy teacher be correct. At first there be many knights fighting for all they could get. Then, as if by magic, we were here and had to fight to reach our place in life.”

  “An’ saving England too, mother.”

  “You’re right Arty. Thanks to thy uncle Merlin’s guidance, we are where we are this day.”

  The young man’s voice went soft. “Pray tell me of mine uncles, thy original Keansburg Gang.”

  Arthur looked at his son for a moment, then got up and went to a wooden closet against the wall. He took out his black leather jacket and unzipped one of its pockets. He then took out a folded parchment, brought it back to the table and unfolded it. Guinevere sat back in her chair and felt for the handkerchief she knew was in her sleeve. Arthur cleared his voice and shifted slightly to allow the morning sunlight to shine on the journal he had started years before.

  He cleared his throat and read from the creased parchment. “Happily, all of thy uncles died in their beds, Arty. First was Sir Galahad at age seventy-four. Sir Lancelot when he was seventy-six, Sir Gawain, seventy-nine. Thine uncle Lefty or as we knew him, Sir Percy, passed away when he was seventy-two. Sir Lionel died when be was seventy-one. Sir Tristram, or as we once knew him, Sir Triston, passed when he was seventy-two.” Arthur tried to sneak-wipe a tear that rolled down his cheek as he went on. “Sir Garethe. We knew him well as Sir Garth. He died when he was seventy-nine. Sir Lucan who we knew as Sir Lucas followed him two days later. He passed when he was seventy-five. Not long after him we lost Sir Bruno, or as most called him, ‘the Black Knight’. He was only seventy-four. Then there was Sir Delvlin.” Arthur grinned as he went on. “He was built like a fireplug.” Seeing the questioningly look on his son’s face he added, “Don’t ask. Anyway, he passed away when he was seventy-eight. And finally there was Sir Gerry Haad. As yee know he passed last week when he was seventy-five.” He gently refolded the parchment and reached for Guinevere’s hand. “Son, thee hast taken a little of each of them for thineself an’ it please your mother and me greatly.”

  Young Arty reached out and took one of each of their hands. “Father, mother, should I have some o’ each of mine Keansburg uncles in me, I be much pleased, as great men they truly were.”

  Arthur shook his head. “Son, not great men they were, rather, great men they still be. For you see, they are still here with us.”

  “Father, yee speak in riddles. Where be they?”

  Once again it was time for Guinevere to help out. “What your father means, Arty, is thine uncles be here in spirit if not the flesh.”

  The young man nodded as he grinned. “Methought thou meant they shall return here.”

  Arthur stood and ran his fingers through his son’s hair. “Someday, young Arty, thou shall learn much more of our past. But for now, I feel much in need of a bath.”

  “Then I be off. Will thou be riding to thine spot?”

  “Yes. Will yee tell Sir Albert to expect us in one hour?”

  “I will, Sires. Enjoy thy bath.” He turned and left as Arthur put the creased parchment back in his leather jacket.

  He turned to Guinevere. “I think I’m gonna wear my old motorcycle jacket, jeans and boots today.”

  “Then,” she added, I’m going to shock the gang by wearing mine too.”

  “And our yellow shirts, too?”

  “Why not. It’s not like we aren’t the king and queen and can’t do what we want. Lets shock them all.”

  An hour later they stood in the stables dressed in their Keansburg street clothes. Both wore their long, gray hair in a ponytail as Sir Albert himself brought out there horses. He smiled brightly as he held the reins.

  “Good day, Sires. The sun be warm an’ tis a good day fer a ride. Wouldst thee like a page ta ride with yee?”

  Arthur helped Guinevere mount her horse as he said, “No, thanks anyway, Sir Albert.” He lifted up a basket their page had put together for them. “We’re going to have a small picnic alone today.” He looked around and saw the woodwork well oiled and fresh straw on the floor. By the smell, one couldn’t tell they stood in a stable. Arthur placed a foot in the stirrup and, with some effort, swung up and into the saddle.

  “Sir Albert. It was the right appointment the queen made all those years ago when thee were appointed head o’ the Royal Stables o’ Camelot Castle, They be the finest in England an’ we thank yee.”

  The man gleamed. “Sires, I wouldst ask if thou wouldst be against my stayin’ at home an’ let young Albert do me job?”

  Arthur looked at Guinevere. “Methinks, my queen, that Sir Albert wouldst like ta retire an’ let his son handle the stables.”

  The man shook his head. “No Sires. Not me son, rather me gran’ son. He be wantin’ ta work thy stables an’ me wife wouldst like me home more.”

  “Then,” said Guinevere with a nod, “It shall be thine grandson who would saddle our horses in the future. Pray come back an’ visit us, Sir Albert. Old friends be hard ta find these days.”

  They rode out and over the drawbridge. After ten minutes of quiet Arthur said, “Seems all of our old friends are either retired or gone.”

  “Yes, it’s pretty much just you and me, Arthur.”

  “Do you ever regret it?”

  “Not for one second.” She looked sheepishly, “Except, maybe the times I punched your old wound.”

  “Boy,” said Arthur grasping the moment to act hurt, “Sometimes they really hurt.”

  She simply rolled her eyes to let him know she wasn’t buying his self-pity act.

  Thirty minutes later they were swimming in the small pond beneath the large oak tree. After their dip Guinevere set up the picnic and they sat on the red tablecloth. As she put out some sliced ham and cheese she noticed Arthur fingering something on the tree. “Lunch.” She called.

  “Hey, Guinevere. Come here and look at this.”

  She came over and saw that he was running his finger in the grove of the heart he had carved in the tree trunk all those years ago.

  “Remember?”

  She nodded and traced the same heart. “So long ago, my husband. We were just kids then.”

  “I’m not saying it was a long time ago, but when I first carved the heart it was level with my chest. Now the heart is way over my head and I have to stand on my toes to reach it.”

  He put his arm around her. I wonder how many times we were here.”

  “I’d say two-three hundred times. Maybe more.”

  He shook his head and his long, pure white hair whipped about, reflecting the sunlight. “I mean even before. Before we were living in Hollin’s House. When we first lived here, in Camelot Castle, hundreds and hundreds of years ago.”

  “Merli
n’s theory.”

  “Yeah,” he said, Merlin’s theory.”

  She turned her back to him. “Will you squeeze the water out of my hair? I don’t want to catch cold.”

  He pulled her long gray hair back over her thin shoulders and turned it around his fist and watched as the water ran down to the ground and seeped into the exposed roots of their great oak tree. She piled her hair up on her head and wrapped a loose fitting net around it. Arthur kissed her.

  “We really need to get you some more blackberry lipstick.”

  She laughed and they sat when all of the sudden Marlin stepped from behind the tree.

  “Merlin!” They both shouted at the same time and it fast became a group hug.

  Arthur slapped his old friend on the shoulder. “How the heck have you been, dude?”

  “Fine, Arthur. And I must apologize for being away so much. Lord, how time flies when you’re not wearing a watch these days.”

  Guinevere quickly put out another setting and the three sat as she questioned the wizard. “Where have you been? How’s James? Are you staying?”

  “Whoa! I’ve been here, there and everywhere, my friends. I finally understand the entire book I wrote myself and it’s meaning.”

  “Anything we need to know?” asked Arthur.

  Merlin shook his head, “No. Except that all’s on track as far as I can see.”

  Guinevere lowered her eyes as she said, “Do you know about the guys?”

  Merlin nodded and said in a low voice. “I know.” He looked at them and went on. “Please don’t think bad of me for not being around, but in fact I am always around. It’s not by chance that the guys all passed in their beds.”

  With a questioningly look on her face, Guinevere asked, “How so?”

  “Many times I stepped in between the boys and someone who wanted to get a name for themselves by slaying them.” He rolled his eyes and said with a grin, “Lord, do either of you know how many times I had to help Lefty out, because he picked a fight with some big guy who called him Percy?”

  “But they never told us?”