Chapter 19—Lunch with Arthur

Merlin raced through the castle, scouring the halls for the location of the prince. Servants sniffed and turned up their noses at his queries, scoffing at his northern accent which marked him as a stranger and an outsider. Whispered conversations followed in his wake. Some were convinced he didn’t have sufficient authority to request the prince’s attention, and others that he was up to some nefarious agenda of his own making. After the tenth refusal to assist him in his search, Merlin paused in an alcove to rest. He leaned against a wall set with the stone frame of the rose window. It cooled his back as he peered out into the courtyard below, hoping to catch sight of the elusive prince. He moved over to a hinged window and turned the catch, pushing it wide open so that he could lean out over the wall for a better view.

He searched the crowds that milled in the courtyard. No prince, but he did spy Lancelot standing at the front of a line of people. Beyond him stood the Lady Morgana, dressed in a midnight blue gown trimmed with red teardrop-shaped beads. At her side was Lady Guinevere, dressed in a lilac gown trimmed with silver irises. Before each of them, stood a peasant. Guinevere bent to hear the words of the elderly woman, before handing her a bundle of medical supplies and a wrapped parcel of food. The woman bobbed a thankful curtsy and shuffled away to where her husband stood leaning on a makeshift crutch. One leg of his pants had been torn away and hastily tied around his bicep and then wound into a sling to support his arm.

Guinevere straightened and stretched her back. She smiled at Lancelot then nodded her head, and he allowed the next person in line approach the nobles. Arthur was nowhere in sight.

Merlin scanned the crowd. They were held in check by a ring of knights, who held them in a staging area at the mouth of the street, just beyond the curtain wall. The gate was winched to its highest position to allow the passage of both man and carts. Hundreds of people waited to be seen, but these people were ambulatory. The most critically injured had been moved into sick wards. Blood still stained the cobblestone from the panicked triage of earlier in the day. It wouldn’t be until tomorrow that the crowd thinned enough for the groundskeepers to scrub the darkened cobblestone and rinse it clean. He knew they would cleanse it thoroughly, as disease was the greatest threat where many wounded were gathered in close quarters.

Merlin straightened, his gaze rising to scan the balconies and windows facing him across the yard. Arthur stood on a small balcony embedded in the tallest spire, a solitary figure dressed in grey. His royal cape billowed in a gust of wind as he starred down into the courtyard. His hands gripped the railing and even at this distance, Merlin could see the whitening of his knuckles.

Merlin brought his hands to his lips then called, “Arthur!” and waved at the prince.

Arthur’s head came up, searching for the source of the sound. Spying Merlin, he raised a hand in acknowledgment.

“I have news!” shouted Merlin.

Arthur nodded. “My quarters,” he shouted back and left the balcony.

Merlin closed the window and descended the tower, hurrying along the corridor that formed the outer ring of the castle. The history of Camelot was reflected in a flashing diorama as he ran past, blurring out of the corner of his eyes. He ran by polished suits of dented armour commemorating battles fought long ago. Small plaques carved into the stone base gave the name of the wearer, and the name and date of battles Merlin had never heard of. Broken blades and rusting ceremonial maces were displayed on marble plinths tucked into ambry alcoves, and aged tapestries depicted horrific battle scenes. Merlin did not pause to study them. That would have to wait for another time.

He rounded a corner and collided with a young woman carrying a heavy tray laden with food and drink. The platter flew into the air. A flagon sailed past Merlin’s ear to smash against the wall and the fruity scent of wine flooded the corridor. Crockery shattered on the tile floor, splashing its contents across the tile. The maid screamed as she fell into Merlin, and together they tumbled to the floor. His head smacked hard on the surface and his vision swam.

“Ahh! Are you hurt?” a squeaky, youthful voice said.

Merlin pushed up onto his elbows, as the woman rolled off of him. He raised a hand to touch the abrasion on the back of his head. A lump swelled under his fingers. They came away sticky with blood.

“Ach, no!” said the maid. “I think you took the worst of it.” She climbed to her feet. Merlin gazed at her, amazed to see that her sky-blue cotton livery was unsoiled. She held out her hand. “Here, let me help you. My name is Clara. Who are you?”

Merlin shook stew off of his arm, flinging soggy carrots to the floor with a wet squish, before wiping his hand on his sleeve and gripping hers. “Merlin,” he said, shaking her hand. He pushed slowly to his feet, swaying slightly as he watched cooling stew slide down his leg to plop onto the floor. “Whose lunch is this?”

“Prince Arthur’s,” she said with a guilty grin.

Merlin groaned. “I was just on my way to see him. Listen, if I help you clean up, could you show me the way? I am not sure how to get there.”

“You want to go like that, all covered in stew?” She laughed. Merlin decided right then and there that Clara’s laugh was very pleasant. High and tinkling, it put him in mind of a cheery brook tumbling over stones. “I think you should go change first. I can clean this up in a jiffy.”

“Right. Well then, how about I meet you at the kitchens?”

“That would work. Meet me there, and you can help me carry up his meal.”

“Excellent!” His quarters and the kitchens were two places he knew how to find. He left Clara sopping up the spilled lunch. Ten minutes later, after removing the bits of carrots and potatoes clinging to his eyebrows, dabbing a clean cloth against his bleeding scalp and having donned a fresh pair of trousers and a clean shirt, he arrived at the kitchen doors.

Clara was waiting, a full tray in her arms. “You can carry the wine. It is the heaviest thing on the tray.”

Merlin picked up the flagon of wine, falling into step beside her. Blonde curls bounced around her pale face as she walked. Mesmerized, he decided that blonde curls were his new favourite.

“You’re not from Camelot,” he said, as they walked.

“Neither are you.”

“No, I am from Northumbria. Your accent is strange to me.”

“That is because I am a Saxon. Or at least I was born in Saxony. When my mother died, my father sent me to live with my aunt, here in Camelot.”

“It’s a beautiful accent.” Clara cast a glance at Merlin, eyes crinkling with laughter. “I really mean it,” said Merlin, flushing slightly.

“I’m sure you do.” She walked along in silence for a moment, then said, “Did Arthur summon you?”

“Yes.”

“It’s strange. He never sees people in his chambers.” Curiosity widened her eyes, giving them a look of innocence, inviting his confidence.

“Is that so? Well, I am sure he has his reasons.”

“So, what do you do, for the prince?”

“What do you mean?”

She jerked her head back in the general direction of Merlin’s quarters. “You have been assigned a room within the castle. Those are reserved for trusted staff that the royal family wishes to keep close at all times.”

“I cannot say, at present.” He shrugged his shoulders. “You wouldn’t believe me if I did. “

Clara sniffed and led him into the portion of the castle that held chambers for royalty and guests of the royal family. The furnishing became more opulent, with alcoves containing carved plinths decorated with sea foam venetian glass. Named for the haunting hues of green that mimicked the curve of a wave on the sea, it was the dearest glass available for purchase in the known world. Merlin peeked into each recess as he passed by. Statues of swans in flight competed with fish jumping through swells of water so realistic, he wondered why there wasn’t a puddle on the floor. He was tempted to touch them.

“Are you coming?”

Merlin pulled his eyes away from the fish to see that Clara had paused several paces ahead of him. He hurried to catch up, matching her stride. The grey slate tiles of the main hallway changed to a polished marble. He could see his face reflected in the glossy surface. The heavy timbered doors that they passed were ornately carved. Banners hung from twisted pegs of iron skewered into the center of the door. The banners were updated with the coat of arms for visiting kingdoms. Over half of the pegs were empty, but Merlin suspected that would soon change.

The sharp click of their heels muted as they came into the royal family’s corridor. Intricately woven rugs of fine wool covered the marble, muting the general noise and bustle of the castle. Clara stopped in front of a door flanked by two palace guards. The gilded personal seal of the prince was carved into the door.

“Clara with the prince’s meal.” She cast Merlin a look.

“And Merlin, at Prince Arthur’s request,” Merlin announced.

The right guard knocked on the door, opened it, and stuck his head inside. A muffled voice drifted to their ears, and then the guard stepped aside, leaving the door open. “You may enter.”

Merlin followed Clara into the spacious sitting room. She strode to the ebony cedar table and placed the tray in the center, then moved over to a sideboard and collected plates and utensils, and placed them at the end of the table.

Arthur walked out of his bedroom, buttoning his tunic. “Set a second place for Merlin. He will be joining me for lunch,” he instructed. Clara paused, startled. Giving Merlin an inquisitive stare, she retrieved the additional place setting.

“Will there be anything else, sire?”

“That will be all, Clara. Merlin can serve the meal.”

Clara curtsied. “Sire.” She left the room, pulling the door closed behind her with a soft click.

“I am starving, Merlin.” Arthur sat himself at the table and waved a hand toward the covered vessels. “What are you waiting for? You can be the official taster this evening.”

Merlin pulled the lid off the largest pot, which contained more of the warm stew that he had recently worn. He knew how good it was and set about ladling the delicious broth into Arthur’s bowl. He added several slices of crusty bread and a creamy yellow butter to a side plate, several slices of goat’s cheese, then added pickled beets and small white onions. On a third plate, he heaped a cabbage and turnip slaw. His stomach rumbled loudly. He poured wine into Arthur’s waiting goblet, then stood back. “Is there anything else you desire, sire?”

Arthur picked up his spoon and gestured toward the remaining food. “Eat. You look like you are about to blow away on the breeze.”

“Thank you, sire.” Merlin wasted no time filling his bowl and plate and sank gratefully into the chair to Arthur’s right and began to eat. When he lifted his gaze from his plate, his eyes caught sight of a map of Camelot with the surrounding roads and villages for a couple day’s ride in all directions. Merlin finished his plate well ahead of Arthur, who watched him the entire time. Merlin pushed back from the table sighing with contentment, then rose to walk over to the map.

“The only men I have seen eat so fast have been on campaign. A march of miles will bring on a sharp hunger.” Arthur sat back and added more cheese to his bread and topped the bite with pickles. “So, what is this news, you wish to share with me?” He took a big bite, chewing slowly, eyes narrowed in thought.

Merlin glanced over his shoulder at the prince. “I think I understand why the dragon was conjured, and by whom. Have you ever heard of a sorceress by the name of Nimue?”

Arthur frowned. “My father has spoken of her, but she has not been seen for many years. I don’t even know that she is still alive. I believe she fell during the purge of Affalon Ford.”

“I would not be so sure.” Merlin returned to his study of the map, trailing his finger along a road that ran from the western edge of Camelot and away into the low hills. His eyes roved over the various features and markers, while he told Arthur all that he had discovered during his research in the libraries.

“So, you believe that Nimue is behind this and that she is conjuring the beast?”

“No. The woman I saw was younger. Unless she was disguising herself, which is possible I suppose. I think it may be her daughter. And I think it has to do with those children who have been taken from the village and put into the church. You remember the incident with the abbot during your vigil?”

Arthur nodded. “What does that have to do with this?”

“What if a Druid boy was caught up in that recruitment? What if the abuse was discovered? Something has triggered a powerful hatred of Camelot, and the church has been a partner in the purges.”

“It is possible,” Arthur said slowly, frowning at the half-eaten slice of bread in his hands. “What do you suggest we do to discover the truth of this?”

Merlin stared at the map, thinking. He tapped a spot, then returned to the table, taking his chair across the table from Arthur. Absently, he touched a smooth knot of wood, tracing its outline with his index finger. “May I ask you a personal question, sire?”

At his words, Arthur glanced over his shoulder to check that the door was closed. “Yes, but depending on the nature of the question, I may not answer,” he replied, then nodded his assent.

At Arthur’s nod, Merlin continued, in a soft voice. “What is your private view of magic?”

Arthur pushed back his chair and stared at Merlin, his mouth set in a firm line. “You know I have no choice in this. My father’s edicts are command. I cannot disobey him.”

“Yes, I understand. You must do as you are instructed. It is your duty as crown prince. But what do you believe in the privacy of your heart? I know I am asking for something very personal and private, even dangerous in the wrong hands. I swear that I will not breathe a word of your answer to another living soul. But I must know your feelings on this matter before I respond. Many lives are at stake.” Merlin glanced up, his eyes earnest and clear. They met Arthur’s guarded gaze.

Arthur’s eyes scanned the room then returned to Merlin’s. He exhaled noisily.

“If I had my way, magic would not be outlawed.” Merlin barely heard Arthur’s careful whisper. He leaned in, to catch the faint words. “I disagree with many of the edicts my father proclaims, and that of the church. I…” his eyes flicked back to the door, “…am reluctant to pursue those with magic. I had not seen evil made flesh in the way that is proclaimed by the church, that is until now,” Arthur’s expression hardened. Arthur leaned across the table toward Merlin. “But this bone dragon is evil, Merlin. It does not discriminate between those it sees as guilty and the innocent. Many have been killed or maimed. How many more will fall before we can stop it?” Arthur got to his feet, and paced the floor, hands clenched into fists. “I cannot turn a blind eye to the suffering of my people, Merlin. The dragon, or sorceress behind the conjuring if you be right, it must be stopped. That puts me in the position of having to slay this conjurer. I do not have a fight with magic. I have a fight with a rogue sorceress who is bent on destroying Camelot. That is my issue and my charge and my duty.”

“I understand, sire.” Merlin shifted closer to Arthur, keeping his voice low. “I ask that you grant me permission to confront the dragon, when it is next sighted. The witch has shown herself to me once before. I may be able to reason with her, get her to cease her attacks. Now that I know who she is, maybe I can stop her before more are harmed.”

“I will assign four squads of knights to assist you, they—” Arthur broke off as Merlin interrupted him with a vigorous shake of his head.

“No, Arthur, let me do this alone. She will not listen if there are Camelot knights in the vicinity.”

“You cannot hope to reason with her or stand against this witch, Merlin! You will be slain where you stand.”

“I think not. I have a plan.” His eyes pleaded with Arthur. “Let me try. The knights should be protecting your people. There is no need to risk the townsfolk any further. They cannot be close enough to interfere with what I do, should things go badly. She won’t appear. Besides, what does one lowly brewer’s son mean against the lives of so many? If I fail, you can carry on with your original plan, and send the knights in to attack.”

Arthur considered Merlin’s words. “You are either extremely brave or extremely stupid.” He studied the determined set of Merlin’s face. “Yet somehow, I know you will survive this encounter. I expect you will miss the feast?” Merlin nodded. Arthur puffed his cheeks full of air, then said, “Fine, if you insist on this course of action, carry these words to the sorceress. Tell her that we do not wish war, that we wish to speak of peace. Tell her that I, Prince Arthur, promise compensation for her loss and will see to the punishment of the guilty party. But first she must stop the attacks. Give her these words. I will speak to the friar to see if he can stand in for you. I am sure he will jump at the chance to represent the church.”

“I will, sire.” Merlin stood. “I will leave you now. Thank you for sharing your meal with me. I must prepare the beer vats for the celebration tomorrow.” He bowed and headed for the door.

“Merlin.” Merlin paused at the door, turning to face Arthur. “I am glad you are here.”

Merlin grinned, nodded once, then left Arthur’s chambers.