Chapter 26—The Once and Future King

Arthur rose from the padded kneeler and followed the king out of the chapel. There had been only the required number of witnesses present, which was set at three by law, to confirm Arthur’s vows to the church. The three had been the head librarian in charge of the royal records, the royal court lawyer Havien Ballard to oversee the legality of the proceeding, and one trusted confidant of noble blood and of Arthur’s choosing. He’d chosen Lancelot. He’d felt uncomfortable, saying the words that swore the king was subject to the church and to God, in all things. It wasn’t that he had a problem with God, but the church was another matter. He was not confident that the truths, as delivered by the abbot, were truly a reflection of God’s will. He felt the eyes of the friar on his back as he followed his father up the aisle. He wished Merlin had been present. It was strange how much Merlin had come to mean to him.

Arthur squashed his unrest and strode up beside Lancelot. Lancelot winked at him, then bowed. “Sire,” he murmured as King Uther moved past him. “My liege,” he said to Arthur, when he paused at his side.

The irony of the moment was not lost on Arthur. “I am having a sense of this scene playing out before,” said Arthur, as Lancelot fell into step beside him.

“True. But this time I think you were able to keep your mind on the ceremony.” A quick smirk of a smile flashed across Lancelot’s lips.

Arthur stared straight ahead, aware of the crowds waiting just outside the double doors which had been thrown open wide.

“I would not be so sure,” he whispered back. This time Lancelot’s grin was full teethed. Arthur smiled in response. Lancelot’s shoulder brushed against Arthur’s as he moved ahead to lead the way into the hallway, ostensibly to clear a path even though those who waited for Arthur were there to protect him. Lancelot’s eyes swept the corners and doorways, searching for danger, before stepping aside to allow Arthur to exit the chapel. In addition to his honour guard, a crowd of nobles who had not been invited to the crowning ceremony had gathered to cheer God’s anointed heir to the throne of Camelot. Applause greeted him as the knights encircled him and moved him through the crowded hallways toward the Grand Hall where the second portion of the ceremony was to take place.

Arthur caught a glimpse of Lady Morgana at the intersection to the hall that housed the female nobility. She and Lady Guinevere were deep in conversation, their heads rising to meet Arthur’s eyes as he passed by. Both curtsied in acknowledgment of his presence, and Arthur nodded, before losing sight of them. A few more twists and turns emptied into the broad hall. Two guards, dressed in their finest burgundy livery trimmed in gold, stood flanking the polished oak doors, pikes set crosswise to bar entry. The face guard attached to their gleaming helms hid their identities, but Arthur knew them both. He paused before the doors. Horns blared, playing a regal tune set aside only for formal occasions.

Just beyond their crossed pikes, stood Havien Ballard. He had removed his chapel attire and now stood in official court robes of deepest navy. A pair of balance scales were stitched onto the right breast, and a fat, silver chain hung around his neck with the medallion of his office hanging from its length.

As the sound of the horns faded away, he opened his mouth to speak. “Who approaches the royal court of Camelot?” he intoned in solemn tones.

His guards parted and Arthur stepped forward. “One who would serve the king,” he said loudly in ritual response. His words echoed through the high-ceilinged chamber, lined with the heads of house of every major family of the kingdom.

“And how will he serve?” questioned the lawyer.

“With honour and dignity,” replied Arthur.

“When will he serve?”

“From henceforth and forever, for as long as the king draws breath.”

“And if the king should fall in battle?”

“Then I shall pick up his sword and fight until my dying breath to revenge the king and bring justice to his enemy unto the third generation has passed.”

“And if he is struck ill and weakened until he dies?”

“Then I will be his strength and his shield, and carry his words and commands on the four winds to the corners of the kingdom that justice and truth should prevail, until all life has passed and he has joined the company of his forefathers.”

The pikes separated, and Arthur took a step through the doorway. The ladies curtsied low, nearly touching their foreheads to the cold, stone floor. The men bowed, hands over heart, swords curving away behind them like the tail of a strange bird.

“I, Arthur Uther Edward Pendragon, swear to uphold the laws of Camelot, to serve her as my father serves, to care for her as a mother. In living and dying, fair times and trial, in good health or poor, I will be the servant of all. And when the time draws nigh, I will pick up my father’s mantle, heavy though it be. I will swear my allegiance to the church and to the crown, then become king if it be the will of the people. This I do swear on my hope of rebirth and salvation.”

The people in the audience held their positions. Silence descended.

Uther rose to his feet from a gilded throne placed on a raised platform at the far end of the hall. In his hand, he held a circlet of gold. “Come to me, my son, and kneel.”

Arthur straightened his back and walked sedately down the center of the aisle, down the ruby red carpet striped with sunlight. It ran from the doorway to the foot of the dais where stood his father. The nobles rose as he passed by, until all were standing. Arthur knelt on his right knee at the feet of his father and bowed his head in respect.

Uther looked over his son’s head, a broad smile on his face, eyes sweeping the assembled nobles. “You are here to bear witness to this momentous moment, the occasion of the naming of Arthur as Prince Arthur, heir to the throne of Camelot. From this day forth, you will honour him, as you would honour me. You will obey him as you would obey me. He is your future king. Today I will hear your oaths, to your future king, to Prince Arthur.” He placed a hand on Arthur’s head. “Arthur, it is my wish and my desire that on my death you will be crowned King of Camelot. This is no small thing I ask of you. To be king is to be loved and respected, yes. But it also brings many enemies. Guard your tongue, so that you may always speak the truth. Guard your heart, so that you may know joy. Guard your honour, so that you may always know loyalty. Guard your mind, that you will always know wisdom. I bless you, and your crown. I name you Prince Arthur, heir of Camelot.” He lowered the golden circlet onto Arthur’s bowed head. “May this crown never be too heavy, nor your burden so great, that you fail to serve. Rise, Prince Arthur.” The horns blared again, as the windows were flung open. Trumpeters on the walls took up the song and announced to the kingdom that a prince had been named and a future king selected.

Arthur looked up into his father’s face. His eyes shone with pride, and a huge smile creased his face. Arthur got to his feet and turned to face the nobles. Cheers burst through the room, blending with whistles and clapping. Arthur smiled, relieved that the ceremonies were over. One by one the nobles came before him and knelt, kissing the signet ring that he had placed on the middle finger of his right hand. It would move to the left hand when crowned king, a time he ardently wished to be far in the future. He accepted their pledges, noticing who lingered to speak and who rushed by with barely a brush of lips. Even the most adored of monarchs had enemies, and Arthur knew it would be no different when he gained the throne.

Their pledges offered, the nobles moved off through glass doors set into the outer wall of the hall, which emptied out onto a raised courtyard. Servants moved among the throng, offering mugs of mead and wine. Uther left Arthur’s side, to go mingle with the nobles who wasted no time in taking advantage of the rare opportunity to speak so directly to their king. A ring of guards also followed the king, his steady body guard hand picked long ago, to protect him in formal situations. They formed a ring of steel, allowing the people to draw only so near to their liege.

When the last noble had left the grand hall, the knights moved forward to gather around Arthur once more, and offer their personal congratulations. Sir Percival nudged Lancelot out of the way with a broad shoulder, eager to be the first to shake Arthur’s hand. “You performed splendidly, sire! Not an ounce of nervousness. Can you hear the crowd? The people have gathered in the square, eager to celebrate the crowning of their future king. Will you acknowledge them?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “A king without his people, is no king at all. I am their servant.”

“This way, Arthur,” said Lancelot, leading the way from the chamber. “If we don’t get out of here, the kitchen staff will be chasing us out with cleavers. They are anxiously waiting for you to leave, so they can set up for the banquet.” Lancelot cleared a space for Arthur through the throng of nobles. Their destination was a viewing balcony that overlooked the square below. As he approached the trumpeters raised their instruments and announced Arthur’s arrival. The throng of commoners below cheered and threw their hats in the air. Where yesterday the square had held only pain and misery and death, today it was festively beribboned. Banners hung from every lamppost and balcony, and the people waved batons with red and gold ribbons attached, which fluttered in the breeze. Arthur held up his hands in acknowledgment of their adoration, waving to the crowd. As he waved, the crowd grew silent. It was traditional for the prince to give a speech at this time. He had thought through what he wanted to say, but before the words could leave his lips, a man near the center of the crowd yelled out.

“We cheer your ascension, Prince Arthur. But even as we celebrate your naming, we also mourn for our dead, slain by the evil that has visited Camelot. Is it not so?” The man gazed around the crowd at the people, some of whom nodded in agreement. “What do you intend to do about the bone dragon, Prince Arthur? Is it not your duty to protect the people of Camelot?” The crowd’s mood shifted, as they gazed up at the man who would one day be king, eager to hear what he would say.

Arthur glanced over to Lancelot, then stepped closer to the railing of the balcony, in order to better address the man. “Men and women of Camelot,” he said, raising his voice to be heard through the square. “Do not think that your suffering has gone unnoticed. We are aware that the people suffer. It is a grievous thing that has befallen Camelot, these attacks of magic. Someone with a grudge has conjured this beast. Someone without a conscience. We are doing everything we can to capture this individual. They will not go unpunished.”

“Is it true, sire, that this is revenge for the killing of a child?” the man yelled. “A Druid boy?”

Shock rooted Arthur to the spot. How had the man known? Even as he watched, the man turned and melted into the crowd, disappearing from site. No one watched him go, their eyes riveted to Arthur. Lancelot leaned over and whispered in Arthur’s ear, and at his nod, left the balcony. Percival eased up behind him, taking Lancelot’s place, eyes scanning the castle courtyard and walls for signs of an attack.

“We do not know the reason for this attack,” he said in a voice that did not quaver. He was grateful for that. “We may never know for sure. What we do know is that the perpetrator will be caught and will face justice. They will be made to answer for their crimes. For they are crimes, not just a difference of opinion. If injustice is their motivation, there are proper channels to hear such grievances. Slaying the innocent for your personal revenge makes you no better than the person who wronged you. I swear to you this: I will not rest until the conjurer of the dragon has been captured. This I swear on my oath as your future king.”

The cheers returned, growing on a swell of affection. Banners waved, and Arthur acknowledged their cheers for a moment longer then left the balcony to rejoin his father. The servants had made quick work of setting up the hall, and moments later, they were being ushered inside. Long banquet tables ran the length of the room, groaning with food and plates. Fire danced in the wrought-iron lights affixed to the walls, joined by the flame of hundreds of candles placed down the center of the tables in long-armed candelabras. They sputtered in the breeze created by the passing guests as they sat themselves according to rank, the highest nobles taking places closer to the king. Servants moved among the tables, pouring drinks and delivering steaming platters of meat to accompany the many bowls of vegetables, gravies, and compotes.

Once everyone was settled, Uther rose to his feet. “It is fitting, that we start the banquet with a toast.” He picked up a jewel-encrusted goblet and raised it high. “To my son, Arthur, may his future reign be long and victorious. May it be worthy of remembrance to be sung by bard and maiden alike. Today, he starts that journey.” He raised the goblet higher. “To Prince Arthur.”

“Prince Arthur!” shouted the nobles and they drank to their prince. Uther sat, and immediately a servant filled his glass then offered a choice of delicacies. Once their plates were filled, minstrels strolled into the room strumming lyres and lutes.

Seated at the head table, in addition to the king and Arthur, was the king’s closest adviser and long-time friend, William of Wendag, and two of the retired knights of Camelot, now free men. At Arthur’s side sat Friar Francis, Lancelot, and Percival. Although the table was full, Arthur felt as though someone was missing. He glanced down the table and met Lancelot’s eyes. A look of understanding passed between them. Friar Francis’s bulk moved into his line of sight, pulling his attention back to the friar.

“I am surprised that Merlin would miss the festivities. Do you know why he is not here?” asked the friar as he bit into the roasted flesh of a water fowl.

“He had an urgent matter to attend to,” said Arthur. “I am sure he will arrive shortly.”

“Good. I had hoped to coach him in some of his duties as your representative to the church. Today’s ceremony would have been the perfect time to accustom him to the various ceremonies that accompany such events.”

Arthur nodded, taking a sip of wine. His worried gaze wandered to the windows, where the sun’s slanting rays were just visible beyond the castle walls.

Merlin, where are you? wondered Arthur. Stay safe, you fool.