Chapter 24—Party Plans
Arthur woke as dawn split the sky in a dazzling display of golden splendour. A ray of sunlight highlighted the dust motes dancing in the air as he sat up in his four-poster bed, covers sliding to settle at his waist. His jaw cracked into a fierce yawn as he stretched, loosening his limbs. It had been a long evening of preparation, and he had gotten to bed well after the twelfth tolling of the bells. He pushed his coverings aside and stood, bare feet cooling on the polished stone surface, then picked up a robe of a soft wool, tying it at the waist. The dark clouds hugging the horizon drew his attention. He walked over to the window and pushed aside the heavy coverings, somber gaze sweeping over his future kingdom. Smoke curled from chimneys in ribbons of grey, drifting off to the south with the gentle breeze that flowed in from the countryside. His eyes automatically searched the skies for signs of the flying demon. This had been the first night that the guards had not been forced to defend the city from the rampaging of the dragon. She had not shown herself, a fact that was not lost on Arthur. Perhaps its gaze had been captured by another.
He craned his head to look toward the west, to where the Valley of the Fallen Kings guarded the passage to a mystic lake, surrounded by caves. His ancestors claimed that the area was somehow sacred to the Druids. Most people thought that the valley was a monument guarding the entry to this beautiful, but hostile area of the kingdom, but in actual fact it had been the location of a fierce battle long ago. The kings and warriors of the clans of the Emerald Isle had gathered, fought and died, defending the world against the birth and escape of magic. The area had been quiet for many years, ever since the beginning of his father’s reign. The king’s proactive approach to controlling magic and those who wielded it. The various purges had done their job well; perhaps too well.
It was also a place that every heir apparent would travel to in a quest to prove their worthiness to be named king. He would pilgrimage to that valley, pay his respects to the spirits of the kings of old, and face the madness of the birthplace of magic, in a solo quest on his father’s death. None of that mattered right now. It was a care for another day, hopefully far in the future. His father would live a long and robust life as king of Camelot.
Today his focus was to be on his naming day ceremony and not on the diabolical plans of one crazed sorceress. Merlin will see to the dragon, he mused as he turned away from the window. An amused grin creased his lips. What an upside-down world it was, when he trusted the defense of his future kingdom to the orphaned son of a brewer and his appointed spiritual liaison.
A knock at the door announced the arrival of his manservant. Manfred, his elderly orderly entered the room, his arms full of freshly ironed clothing. “Good, you are awake, my lord,” he said. He crossed the room to Arthur’s side, laying the clothing over the wooden butler at the foot of Arthur’s bed. “Hot water has been drawn and your bath prepared in your bathing chamber. If you would be so kind as to finish your ablutions, we can get you dressed and off to your father. He has requested your company in his chambers for breakfast.”
Arthur followed Manfred into the bathroom for a quick bath and a morning shave. Half an hour later, he was dressed in a fine linen shirt of pale blue, tucked into the waist of slim pants, and an overcoat of deepest charcoal decorated with a band of golden embroidered rearing lions, set with rubies. His coattails reached to the bend of his knees. Arthur paused in front of the mirror to examine his appearance while Manfred retrieved his ceremonial sword, belting it around his waist to complete the ensemble.
“I polished your boots, my lord. If you please?” he said, gesturing to the shining black leather.
Arthur sat down on a chair and slid his feet into the boots, stamping to settle them into place. They pinched at the toes, due to the height of the heel. He hated the fancy shoes of court. He got to his feet, wobbling a bit with the unaccustomed height.
“You are to attend the ceremony with a bared head. When you are raised, a new crown will be produced. This way please,” said Manfred, showing Arthur to the door. It swung wide at his approach, opened by his escort, an honour guard for the day, hand-selected from a pool of knights for their valour and courage.
His father’s chambers were in the next wing, at the end of the hall. The lintels of the double doors were carved with roaring lions, clawing and climbing over each other to reach the top, and centered over the opening was the family crest of Pendragon. The capstone was of a different colour than the surrounding stone, and of a more recent make, set into the existing frame like an opulent jewel into a silver smith’s ring shank. Each monarch of Camelot over the centuries would have decorated this vantage point with their own crest, proclaiming for all the current ruling dynasty. Arthur studied the crest as the guards announced his arrival. It was not lost on him how quickly the stone could be replaced. Or himself, for that matter.
The door opened, and Arthur stepped into his father’s anti room. The king’s chambers were easily three times the size of Arthur’s, complete with a private dining hall that could seat ten and two lounges flanked at either end by massive fireplaces tall enough to stand up inside. The mantle was built of creamy venetian stone, smoothed to a mirror-like polish. His father sat in one of two tall, straight-backed chairs flanking a fireplace. On a round table between the two chairs was set an abundance of food. Bowls of sweet red cherries in a creamy goat milk yogurt sat beside a platter of crusty rolls. Pots of apple butter and plum compote stood side by side with a hot cereal infused with strawberries and honey. A platter with a selection of roasted duck and pork, and pickled herring completed the offerings. Pitchers of milk, a pot of hot tea, and a flagon of hard cider were also present to wash down their repast.
“Ah, Arthur, there you are. Come, sit with me and enjoy your last breakfast as a free man. Today, you leave childhood behind, forever.” Uther waved a hand at the spare chair, then motioned the waiting servants to approach and serve their meal. Arthur sat in the chair across from his father. The servants served the meal on plates of burnished bronze embossed with the Pendragon crest, poured ale and then withdrew out of earshot, leaving father and son alone. Uther picked up a crusty roll and broke it in half, then piled it high with roasted duck before taking a bite. Silver strands winked in the sunlight as he moved. Deep lines creased the corners of his eyes and a pink scar puckered his brow enhanced by the deep furrows that appeared when he was angry. Dark crescents lined his eyes.
My father is getting old, Arthur thought, surprised that he hadn’t noticed it earlier. Time is not being kind to him.
As though he had voiced the thought aloud, Uther sighed, weariness escaping with a small groan. “My bones ache this morning,” he complained, rotating his right shoulder. “I seem to ache every morning now on waking. Must be my age, creeping up on me. I feel the Grimm’s hand on my shoulder, squeezing. He will not give up until he has me, body and soul.” Uther grimaced, then forced a smile onto his face to dispel the gloomy words. “But this is not a day to focus on an old man’s pains. This day is about you, and about the future king of Camelot. This day is your naming day.” He lifted his glass of ale, saluting Arthur. “A finer son could not be found in all the realm. I am proud of you, Arthur. I know you will make a fine king and bear many sons.”
Arthur felt a blush creeping up from the collar of his shirt. “We do not know what the future holds, Father. But I will make you proud. I know my duty.” He picked up his own glass of ale, holding it out to his father in a toast. “Long live the king!” he said, then drank deeply.
“Indeed,” said Uther. “I plan to be around long enough to sit the grandchildren on my knee. It will be a fine thing to see your progeny flourish and fill the halls of the castle.” Uther popped a pickled egg into his mouth and chewed, considering Arthur. “I have not forgotten your choice for wife. Are you sure you do not want to wait to see all the beauties dance before making a choice? There are many beauties who will be in attendance tonight, solely for the chance to capture your interest. All who attend the banquet tonight have my approval. You may choose any of them.” Arthur blushed again, and this time his ears reddened. Uther grinned, mistaking the blush for bashfulness. “Come now, the ways of women are not that different from men. We all play our role in life. Surely you do not need instruction on the way of a man with a maid?” Uther teased, his eyes crinkling in merriment.
“Father, stop!” Arthur groaned. “Please, not the birds and bees talk, again.”
“Actually, it will be more like the bull and the cow. You see, when a man…”
“Stop!” hollered Arthur, jumping to his feet. Uther’s booming laugh filled the chamber. A serving girl smothered a grin in her sleeve. Chagrined, Arthur sat back down, glaring at his plate.
Uther’s laugh lessened to a chuckle. “I’m sorry, Arthur, I shouldn’t have teased you so. Naturally, you are nervous. This is a big day for you. I will honour your choice of future mate. If it is Guinevere you desire, then it is the match that will be made. Now eat, this will be your last chance to do so until the banquet.”
As Arthur dipped his spoon into his cherries, Uther outlined the schedule for the day. “At the tenth bell, you will oversee the changing of the guard on the main gate. At every half hour after that, you will go to each consecutive gate, moving from east to west as the sun travels. As there are five gates in total, this parade will take you to twelve bells. Once this rotation is completed, you will join me in the parade grounds, where the knights will perform for the court. Jousting, demonstrations of sword forms, and a melee or two, to entertain our guests. Shortly before fifteen bells, you will return to the castle and attend me in the family chapel, where we will receive the blessing of the church.” Uther frowned. “The abbot is not currently available. He has appointed the friar to conduct the mass and anoint you with oil. Strangely, he requested Merlin’s presence.”
Arthur did not meet his father’s eyes, instead concentrating on the slab of pork on his plate.
“Once the anointing is complete, we will join those invited to the ceremony in the grand hall, where you will be crowned heir to the throne, Prince Arthur of Camelot. Once again, the friar will oversee the ceremony on the abbot’s behalf in his absence.” Uther paused. “It is strange for him to miss such a momentous occasion,” he commented. Arthur murmured something noncommittal. “After this final ceremony, the banquet will begin. I hear the kitchens are working overtime to create a feast to remember.”
“It all sounds grand,” said Arthur. “I look forward to today’s events.”
“It will be a day to remember. I have requested an escort of six knights to be your sword bearers for the day. They await you, outside my chambers. They will remain with you throughout the day as your protection. The festivities of this day present too tempting of a target, for our enemies to ignore.”
“I agree,” said Arthur. “We must be vigilant. I know the knights are prepared to sacrifice their lives to save mine. They are all sworn to this duty.”
“Then may they perform with honour and valour. This special guard will not participate in the entertainment. They are not to leave you alone at any time.”
“As you command, Father, so it will be.”
“It is time, then.” The king stood, and walked over to an ebony cabinet, where he retrieved a long, narrow box. He opened it, to retrieve a thick linked chain of silver. A heavy gold ring hung from the chain. Uther returned to Arthur and hung the chain around his neck. “This is your own, personal seal. As prince, you will have the ability to create laws and cast judgments. Remember, my son, that to seal one’s fate is not an easy task. It takes wisdom and courage, reason and conviction, and in all things an unswerving faith and belief in oneself to become a just ruler. You will find that truth is not always black and white, but mostly shades of grey.”
Arthur lifted the ring to stare at the emblem that stood out in sharp ridges and whorls. A crown intertwined with grape vines. A large letter “A” formed a trellis for the vines. “Thank you, Father.”
“Now go. Your escort is waiting.”
Arthur rose to his feet, gave his father a quick hug, then left the fireside. Thoughts of the day ahead to be endured tumbled in his mind. Some would be pleasant, others not so pleasant. He straightened his spine and lifted his chin. He would do his duty to his king and to Camelot. He paused at the door, then with a firm grip pulled it open and stepped into the crowded hall of destiny.