Chapter 9: Multitasking

Arthur strode down the wide hall, Lancelot in tow. His last intended stop was the kitchens, and that would wrap up his questioning of the staff within the castle. Night had fallen, the dinner hour long past. He pulled open the door, and a wave of delicious smells washed over him. The lingering aromas of roasted fowl and pork combined with savory herbs and pickled garlic set his mouth to watering. Ignoring the urge to pick up a fork and knife and go in search of the food himself, he stopped just inside the door. He grimaced at the thought of his congealing dinner awaiting him in his chambers. He simply had not had time to stop to eat.

Harriet, the kitchen matron was dressed in starched white livery that matched the rest of the kitchen staff. The only difference was the crossed spoons embroidered on the bib of her smock, announcing her position as head cook. She hurried over to Arthur, her pristine apron fluttering around her plump waist as she curtsied to the prince. “Sire? Would you like a platter delivered to your chambers? You should have a servant fetch it for you. The kitchens are no place for a prince.”

Arthur shook his head even as his stomach rumbled. “No, not yet. I have a few questions to ask.” His eyes flickered over the busy backs of the cooking staff. “We are wondering if there has been any strange activity within your staff over the past day.” He pursed his lips and then waved a hand at the array of cooks. “Any unexplained absences, or late arrivals. Anything out of the ordinary.”

“No, my lord, nothing unusual. I mean we do have one staff member sick, but she did come to work. I sent her home.”

“When was this?” asked Lancelot.

“Yesterday and today, sire. The girl’s name is Simone. She has been working here for about a month. Very bad cough, sire.” She looked from Arthur to Lancelot, confused. “What is the problem, sire?”

“Possibly nothing.” It was a slim lead. But he had little else to go on. “Do you know where the girl lives?” said Arthur.

“Yes, sire. She has taken a room at The Frog’s Leap until she can arrange other, more permanent lodgings.”

“Thank you. Please report any other unusual or suspicious activity immediately to me.”

She bowed and murmured, “Sire.”

Arthur and Lancelot left the kitchens. “Couldn’t you have given me five more minutes in there? One of the girls was about to fix us a plate of food.” Lancelot gazed longingly over his shoulder, his expression pained.

Arthur cast a disbelieving look at his companion. “Is that all you ever think about, eating?”

Lancelot grinned, his eyes straying to a maid who had paused with an armful of linens to bow and grant them passage. “There are one or two other activities that rival food for dominance in my mind. A good battle with a stout sword and a lovely wench on my knee.”

Arthur snorted. “So, I have heard.”

Lancelot laughed. “So why are you interested in this servant?”

“I am running out of avenues to investigate. She probably is sick, but I’d like to make sure we have chased down every lead, no matter how slim. Come, if she is ill, she should be at the inn and we can wrap this up right away.”

At that moment, a pageboy bolted around the corner and ran toward them. He slid to a halt, pushing his sweaty hair off his pimply forehead before bowing. “Prince Arthur! The king commands your presence right away!”

“Again?” Arthur sighed, waved the page away, then changed directions making for the council chambers.

“I wonder what it can be about, this time?” Lancelot matched his stride to Arthur’s, glancing at the prince. “How many emergencies can there be in one day? Or is the king looking for an update already?”

“No, I have a feeling this is a new emergency. Come on,” Arthur said, quickening his pace.

They arrived at the chamber doors to find them flung wide open and the room crowded with the knights of Camelot. A clear path down the center ended at a woman, lying on the floor. Her clothing was burnt, and she reeked of woodsmoke. Burns covered her arms and legs, but she lived. A healer knelt by her side, inspecting her injuries. A man stood beside her, twisting his hat in his hands.

“And then the dragon attacked, Your Majesty. It soared over the village and flames were everywhere. I managed to pull my wife out of our burning home, and we ran for the woods. We were the lucky ones, sire, for the creature hunted down every mortal it could find. It slew the entire village. Every last person.” The man began to cry. “Please save my wife. Please,” he begged the physician. Together they lifted the comatose woman and carried her from the hall. Arthur watched them leave, a frown creasing his brow.

Uther pushed himself up from his chair, then motioned Arthur to step forward. Lancelot joined the milling knights who quickly filled him in on what had been said. Arthur walked down the center aisle, moving aside for the last of the physicians, then halted in front of his father. Arthur crossed his arms and straightened his back, stoically looking the king straight in the eye. His father’s face was set in a worried frown, brows pinched and lips set in a scowl, in that way he had that always preceded the delivery of bad news.

“Arthur. I must ask you to investigate a disturbance in the village of Affalon Ford. This man brings news of an attack by magic. He describes witnessing a hideous skeletal dragon that rose from the waters of the River Affalon and attacked the Ford. He claims the town has been destroyed, utterly and completely. Take ten knights and as many guards as you feel you need and go to Affalon Ford. Confirm his story.” Arthur nodded and turned, but his father gripped his arm. “If there is magic at work, you must be extremely careful. Do not risk your life for those who are dying or already dead.”

Arthur’s spine stiffened. “I will do my duty to our people. I will not let them die if we can rescue them. To do so is cowardice.” His voice softened. “But I will not take silly risks either. Trust me, Father. I will get to the bottom of this.”

Uther nodded then turned to the knights. “I need ten volunteers to accompany Arthur and investigate this report.” Hands shot into the air and Uther picked ten at random.

They stepped forward and Arthur joined them. “Come, we ride at first light.” Arthur left the chambers, followed by his retinue. Arthur lengthened his stride, but Lancelot’s long legs easily caught up to him.

“Which task first? Do you want to check on the girl? Or wait to do that when we get back? We could be there a while searching for survivors, if the destruction is as bad as they say.”

Arthur shot a frown at Lancelot. “What do you think? The urgency of the attack on our people trumps a theft, but I have this feeling that the two events are connected. A magical object goes missing and then a magical creature appears, all in the same day. I don’t like it. Not one bit.”

“I agree. Look, why don’t we stop by the inn first, and send the other nine ahead to Affalon Ford with the guards. They can aid what survivors they find, and we can complete what we started. Who knows, there might be a clue at the inn.”

“That is not a bad plan,” Arthur mused. “We can stop by the abbey and let them know of the disturbance too, maybe they can send out some healers. Good thinking, Lancelot.” He gripped his friend’s arm and squeezed, smiling his thanks. Arthur dropped his hand, motioning for the knights to gather around. He outlined the plan, then said “Gather supplies for three days plus emergency supplies for the villagers. We will load pack horses and bring them with us. Half of you leave tonight. The other half, meet me before dawn in the courtyard.” The knights moved off to prepare, leaving Arthur and Lancelot standing alone in the hallway. The main bell rang the hour. Eight o’clock.

“Listen, I need to go speak with Lady Guinevere.” Arthur fidgeted with the pommel of his sword, then looked up, catching Lancelot’s eye. He was surprised to find a look of jealousy in the clear depths, and then it was gone.

Lancelot bowed. “Of course, sire. She is to be your intended. I will leave you to your business.” He bowed a proper, formal bow as befitted royalty, then strode away down the corridor.

Arthur sighed, staring at the stiff set of Lancelot’s broad shoulders as he walked away. Was Lancelot jealous of his relationship with Lady Guinevere? Arthur recalled his comments about a lovely wench on his knee and his gut tightened with a jealous flare of his own. It’s hopeless, he thought, choosing a path that would take him to the wing of royal apartments. Neither of us can have what we want.

Brooding over the lack of control he had over his personal life, his face was wrapped in misery as he knocked on Guinevere’s door. A muffled voice from the other side called “Who’s there?”

“It is I, Arthur,” he called back, and the door swung wide.

Guinevere tilted her head to the side, like a bird studying an insect. “Why do you look like you have just lost your best friend?” she asked, stepping aside to let him in.

His head came up, and he wiped the expression from his face. “Perhaps I have. Being royalty leaves you in direct control of few choices, in your life. My duty to the king, to the crown, and to the throne of Camelot, feels like an ever-tightening noose, despite being trained for this since the day I was born. Do you never feel strangled by your duty, my lady?”

Guinevere led him to a matching pair of straight-backed chairs, softened by plump pillows, embroidered with the Pendragon coat of arms in silver and burgundy. The chairs were pulled up in front of the fireplace, set to capture the warmth cast by the burning logs. A round mahogany table, stained a rich plum and inlaid with mother of pearl, held a silver rope tray. A matching flagon of wine and two glasses sat on top of it, chill beads of moisture rolling down its shining surface.

“Please, make yourself comfortable, Arthur.” Arthur sat in the chair closest to the door while Guinevere glided over to the table. “Wine?” she asked, lifting the pitcher. At his nod, she poured two glasses and handed him one, then seated herself in the other chair.

“To answer your question, yes. Yes, I feel strangled by my duty, by the pressure of my family and court to make a marriage advantageous to my queen and to Northumbria. I have little say in it, other than to pick between the few suitors deemed ‘appropriate.’ But a choice? It is a choice I wish I did not have to make.” She took a sip, watching the legs of the red wine trail down the inside of the cup. “Yet here we are.” Her eyes rose to meet Arthur’s. “What is it you want so desperately, Prince Arthur, that you strive to hide it from others?”

“To be free,” he whispered and took a sip of his own wine.

“And if that is not possible?”

“To be happy.”

Guinevere sighed. “Such are my desires, too. If I cannot be free to wed who I wish, I would that I could at least be happy in the arrangement that has been chosen for me.” Her eyes rose from the contents of her glass, to meet Arthur’s eyes. “For us.” Her smoky lashes framed a sincere gaze that met Arthur’s and in the depths of her eyes Arthur caught a glimpse of her fear, her anxiety. “What kind of a man are you, Arthur Pendragon?”

“What would you have me say, my lady? I am to be king of Camelot. I must marry and produce the next heir of Camelot. That is my duty. I am a warrior by training. If you are asking if I am a womanizer, as are some of the lords of this land, I can emphatically tell you, no. Beyond that, I enjoy the arts and nature and those things that inspire the soul.”

She considered his words. “So, you have no interest in the ladies of the court?”

“Beyond a mild affection that I afford anyone, no.”

“Then why the interest in dresses?” The bird-like movement returned, as she tilted her head quizzically.

Arthur shrugged. “It is a creative outlet. I like contributing to the beauty around me. I’d be just as happy designing clothing for men, but they are such a stoic bunch. Maybe in time, they will find a sense of style. For now, it’s the ladies who are interested in enhancing their beauty with clothing. But I must ask that you do not repeat this within my father’s hearing. He considers my interest in fashion to be…unnatural.” His eyes pleaded with her to understand. There was so much he couldn’t tell her, not yet. But at the same time, he wished to get to know her better. “Guinevere, would you do me the honour of accompanying me on a picnic later this week?”

“No, I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“I wish to go with you on your current mission.”

“We go to visit a village torn apart by dark magic. Surely you do not wish to visit such a place?” said Arthur. “How did you find out about it?”

Guinevere’s eyebrow rose. “I have my sources. Do you take me for a delicate flower? I assure you, I am not. If you wish to spend time with me, I’d like it to be while you are being tested, so I can see the type of man you really are.”

Arthur granted her a small smile. “As would I, my lady. Wise choice.” He stood. “I do not have a problem with you accompanying us. You will have an escort of ten knights. Will you be bringing a chaperone?”

“My father will insist.” Guinevere raised her hand offering it to Arthur. “What time shall we leave?”

Arthur rose and took her hand. “We leave at sunrise, my lady.” He kissed her hand. “Until dawn, then. Sleep well, Guinevere.”

“Sleep well, Arthur.”

Arthur could feel her eyes on his back, all the way to the door.