Chapter 15—A Child’s Cry

Arthur skipped over the steps, floating with happiness down the multiple staircases to the main floor. Giddy with relief, he couldn’t remember a time when he’d felt happier. Burdened by privilege, Arthur longed to escape the crushing weight of responsibility. This small victory of the heart lightened his steps.

If my feet weren’t anchored by these boots to the earth, I could soar through the clouds, he thought, with a crooked grin.

As he approached the main doors to the courtyard, two burly guards pushed open the doors. Arthur, a pack slung over his shoulder, sped past the pair, trotting down the stairs, and into the dark courtyard. Pools of light splashed from brackets filled with wood attached to the castle wall. His horse snorted, pawing the ground and pulling at the reins held by a groom. He handed his pack to the stable hand and took the reins, petting his stallion’s nose while the groom tied his pack to the back of his saddle.

“Ready to be off, boy?” he said, in a soft voice. The stallion’s ears flicked forward to listen to his voice then one swiveled to the side, as a footfall sounded behind Arthur. Arthur turned to see Merlin approaching on foot.

“Good evening, my lord,” said Merlin with a bow.

“You are still here? I thought you would have left ages ago.”

“I have been in consultation with your head cook, planning for your party.”

“You are heading back to the abbey now?”

“Yes, sire. I thought I would walk with you.”

“Nonsense. Travis, fetch the new grey.” The groom moved off to saddle another horse, returning within minutes with a quiet, dapple grey mare with white socks. “It is yours,” said Arthur, “a reward for your service, today.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped, as he ran his hand down the mare’s neck. “Thank you, sire. You are too generous.”

Arthur waved away his thanks, as Merlin swung into the saddle. “You would slow me down, by walking. Come, let us be off.” He touched his heels to the stallion’s flank and they trotted away.

Merlin drew alongside Arthur, then said, “You are going to the abbey, too?”

“Yes. In preparation for the naming ceremony, it is traditional for the heir apparent to spend time in solemn reflection, introspection, and penance at the abbey.” Arthur shot him a look out of the corner of his eye. “When is the last time you did penance?”

Merlin shrugged, fiddling with his reins. “I do not believe I have ever done penance. The Christian faith is not popular in the northern settlements. Camelot’s ways have not reached the area where I was born. Occasionally, a missionary would pass through, but they soon moved on. Our village was not large enough to gain their attention for long. It is the old ways that hold sway over the daily lives of the villagers.”

“You mean they practice pagan rites? Worship idols and practice magic?” Arthur’s sharp words slapped Merlin, and colour rose in his cheeks.

“They worship as they have always believed in the gods of earth and sky and nature. They are a peaceful people, my lord,” he said, his voice stiff with rebuke. “Magic is not evil.”

“It was magic that destroyed Affalon Ford. The proof was all around you. Magic and pagan beliefs have shown themselves true. Their ways were outlawed because they are evil.” Arthur glanced at the young man from the north, only a couple years younger than himself. Merlin’s back stiffened and his resolute eyes were fixed on the abbey which dominated the horizon. “I will overlook your comments this once, but know that if my father, or the abbot, were to hear you say such a thing, you would be hanged for speaking heresy or worse burnt at the stake for sorcery. I’d keep my opinions to myself, if I were you.”

Merlin’s lips thinned. “Of course, sire,” he said.

Arthur grimaced. He hadn’t intended to alienate the boy, but everything he spoke was true, at least as far as the kingdom was concerned. That he was considering defying the same authority that granted his father his kingship and someday his own rule terrified him. He couldn’t afford to show his true feelings on the matter and parroted the decrees of the king and the church, which if truth be known, were driven by the abbot, rather than by the king’s personal beliefs. His father toed the line, rarely challenging the abbot and the church’s position on magic. It seemed to Arthur that the quoted scriptures left much to interpretation, and rather than challenge the church, his father had chosen to support the edicts, as had his father before him. While it was true that the church only claimed jurisdiction over matters of faith and belief, its sticky tendrils found their way into the common laws of the land. And magic, well that was the antithesis of one God. Pantheistic beliefs had no place in a Christian-centered realm.

And neither did his attraction to Lancelot. Arthur’s joy dimmed, as reality came crashing back in. One of the ironies of royal life was the hypocrisy that ran rampant not only through Camelot, but through every royal court. He had seen it since his grandfather’s time—nobles who bowed the knee in public to receive the benediction in affirmation of their faith, but once behind closed doors the pious shell crumbled. His father had remained above reproach, remaining aloof from the machinations of the nobles. Arthur had never known his father’s name to be linked to a scandal, and his father took every opportunity to hammer into Arthur’s head that as a Pendragon, he must remain above reproach. If a crack could be found in the dynasty of Pendragons, then it would open a flood of challengers for the throne. While infidelity alone would not be enough to topple the rule of a monarch, rejection of the Christian faith would be.

The abbey loomed in his vision, as Arthur refocused on his immediate surroundings. Merlin was already dismounting by the time the stable hand ran out of the stable. He gripped the bridle and bowed as Arthur dismounted. Arthur nodded to Merlin in dismissal, turning to acknowledge another lad dressed in simple robes, who had paused by Arthur’s side.

“Sire, I will show you to your rooms.” He reached up and untied Arthur’s bag and led him inside the abbey by the side entrance. Merlin handed his reins to the stable hand and followed Arthur up the stairs at a polite distance. Arthur noticed that he went through a doorway that led to the kitchens and then he disappeared.

The chamber to which Arthur was assigned was plain. There was no window. The stone walls were unadorned except for a silver cross bearing a likeness of Christ. A single candle, emitting a pale flickering light, stirred in the air currents released by the opening of the door. A single bed with a simple pillow and blanket was pushed up against one wall, and a wash stand with a pitcher of water and a folded towel sat under a square mirror. Wooden pegs for hanging clothing hung above a ladder backed chair. A brown robe hung from one peg, completing the decor. Arthur could cross the room in five paces. The lad placed his bag on the chair then bowed. “Will there be anything else, sire?”

“No, that will do.”

“Thank you, sire. The abbot says to don the robe and then meet him in the main chapel in a half hour to begin.” He bowed again, the door closing behind him with a soft snick as he left.

Arthur turned in a circle, grimacing at the bare room. Aesthetics aside, the room had a cold, unfriendly feel. Why anyone would choose a life like this, he couldn’t fathom. He pulled his tunic over his head and stripped down to his undershirt and leggings, preferring to leave them in place for warmth, then pulled the tan robe over his head. The cloth was rough, scratching his arms as he shoved them through the sleeves. On the peg was a length of braided rope, which he tied around his waist. The robe had a hood, which he pulled up over his head, then he glanced in the mirror. He barely recognized himself. The frayed edge of the hood made him look like a pauper, and it was an uncomfortable sensation. Arthur hurried over to the door and wrenched it open, anxious to put distance between himself and the confused reflection isolated in glass.

Suddenly, he was unsure he could pull off the pious performance required to pass this test to his ascension. His thoughts returned to his obsession: Lancelot. To a lesser extent, they dwelt on Lady Guinevere. His excitement grew until he was grinning again. His feet carried him toward the chapel more swiftly than he intended. With a start of surprise, he found himself standing at the entrance. Arthur froze, mastering his feelings and tamping down his excitement. He couldn’t enter the chamber like a giddy girl. This was a time for somber reflection. He dragged in a deep breath, exhaling slowly while he slowed his heart rate, relaxing into calm. Wiping all emotion from his features, he pulled open the doors and entered a world of twilight.

Night had fallen and the stained-glass windows were dark. The images, which were alive with light and colour during the day, now reflected the muddy glow of the candle flames dancing on their wicks on the altar candelabra. Abbot Gillon, dressed in pristine white with gold symbols embroidered down the front of his robes, stood waiting for him. The candles reflected off of his bald head. A silver chalice and pitcher sat on a brass tray, resting on a waist high wooden plinth.

“Prince Arthur. Approach and receive my blessing.” The abbot’s arms opened wide, in a gesture of welcome.

Arthur hesitated. His eyes strayed to the figure on the cross, from which their private chapel casting had been patterned. In the dim light, the statue was draped in shadow. Only the silver of the nails caught the candlelight, bright pinpoints in a black canvas. Arthur shivered. The aura cast by the shrouded image felt sinister. Arthur walked slowly forward, his head bowed in what he hoped was a pious attitude. He paused in front of the abbot and waited.

“My child.” Abbot Gillon placed his hands on Arthur’s head, opened his mouth, and in a deep baritone voice, declaimed in Latin. Arthur caught a few of the words and understood it to be a summons to confess his sins, to seek forgiveness at the feet of the Lord. Arthur stood still until the hands lifted.

“Do you have sins that you wish to confess, Arthur? If penance is required, I am happy to assist you in choosing the means. To be cleansed of guilt and sin is a necessary aspect of this vigil. The clarity of mind that comes with forgiveness will illuminate your path to the throne. If I am to guide you through life, we should begin now to purge any evil that soils your immortal soul.”

Arthur peered at the sweating abbot. There was no way that he was going to confess his deepest secrets to him, yet he could hardly say that he had nothing to confess. He thought rapidly, then said, “I would like to meditate on my sins through the night, as part of my vigil. In order to fully understand the depth of my depravity, I will prayerfully consider the error of my ways and in the morning, accept your guidance, and final cleansing.”

The abbot’s eyes narrowed. Silence stretched between them, and then the abbot walked over to a long table, on which rested the various vessels used in communion. He picked up a taper made of wood and walked back to Arthur, handing him the slender stick, along with a short scroll. “This scripture summarizes the elements you must complete this evening. You will find candles in the cupboard on the right wall. I will leave you to contemplate your sins.” His voice hardened. “But in the morning, you will confess.”

Arthur gave the abbot a short nod and stared straight ahead at the crucifix as though he was already in communion with God. He kept his eyes fixed on the cross, until he heard the abbot’s footfalls fade away. Only then did he walk over to a lamp burning on a stand and unfurl the parchment. He scanned the words on the page and set about arranging candles, paper and quill, at the prescribed stations as outlined in the scroll. One by one, he set out the blessed wax in the preordained shape of the cross, then he stepped back to inspect his work. The cross looked naked to his eye. Disregarding the instructions written on the scroll, he added a ring to the cross, encircling the central portion of the cross, as had been done for generations before him. It was not the prescribed cross, but it was familiar and an image he identified with.

Preparations complete, Arthur knelt on the cold floor and lit the first candle and recited the first of many prayers written on the long scroll. All were in Latin and the letters danced in the dim light.

The hours passed as he recited the prayers, the words blurring into a mind-numbing litany. Strangely, the repetition freed his thoughts to wander, and in the silence of the cathedral, he discovered a freedom he’d lost. He allowed his mind to drift. Peace descended.

A sharp cry jolted Arthur out of his meditation, and he got stiffly to his feet, shaking out the pins and needles tingling in his flesh. Hours had passed. He listened hard, trying to figure out what it was that he had heard. A male voice swore, and Arthur moved toward the sound, following the disembodied voice into a side corridor that was used by the choir boys. Hand outstretched, Arthur felt his way along the black hallway, chiding himself for not grabbing a candle before setting out. He had taken a scant handful of steps when his foot collided with a soft object on the ground.

“Ouch!” yelled Merlin.

Arthur jumped. A rush of fear had him reaching for his nonexistent sword, which was safely stowed in his room. “Merlin! What are you doing here?” he hissed, as Merlin stood up, pulling a small shuttered lantern from under his coat and holding it aloft in his right hand. “You disturbed my vigil!”

“Shh!” cautioned Merlin. “I heard something. Keep quiet. Come on.” He grabbed Arthur’s sleeve as he moved away down the passage. Arthur tugged his arm free, following Merlin as the minimal light faded.

“You can’t tell me to keep quiet, Merlin. I give the orders. You are my vassal, and I, your prince.”

“Shh,” Merlin said over his shoulder. “Someone is in trouble. I think it’s a child’s voice I heard.”

Arthur shook his head but followed anyway, curiosity getting the better of his judgment. Merlin paused, holding up a finger to his lips, but Arthur didn’t need the warning. He had heard it, too. A child was crying, his voice thick with fear. A low voice rumbled, the words unintelligible but unmistakably spoken by an adult. Merlin crept forward, Arthur on his heels, and the voices became clearer.

“Please, leave me alone,” the child sobbed.

“Come to me, Hector. Didn’t I tell you that you are special? Chosen by the Lord to serve his grace? You are called to this, my child.”

“I want to go home,” sobbed Hector.

“You are home. Your parents gave you up to serve the church. I am your father now, and I am married to Christ. See, it is not unnatural at all. Men were meant to be together. Now hush.”

Hector’s next words were mixed with muffled cries. Merlin crept to the opening of a door, where a weak light spilled out into their path. Arthur shouldered Merlin aside and pushed his face up to the crack. Merlin sank to his knees and peered in at the occupants. The small room was set with a bed and a chair. Abbot Gillon sat on the bed with a young boy on his lap. His thick lips were pressed against the boy’s mouth and his hand had disappeared inside the boy’s pants. No more than eleven or twelve, the boy was no match for the strength of the abbot. A sob escaped the boy’s throat as the abbot pressed him back onto the bed, flipping him over on his stomach as he did so.

Arthur growled deep in his throat and shoved open the door. “What do you think you are doing, Abbot?” Merlin fell into the room, then stood up beside Arthur, blocking the door. “Get away from that child. Right. Now.” Arthur’s hands clenched into fists, which trembled with pent up fury.

The abbot jumped to his feet, straightening his robes, which failed to disguise his arousal. “Prince Arthur!” he blustered, “What are you doing here? You are supposed to be in seclusion.” His eyes flicked in Merlin’s direction then back to Arthur.

“Merlin, get the boy and bring him to me.” Merlin moved to the bed and grasped the child’s hand then pulled him off the bed and over to Arthur’s side. “You are a pervert. How dare you sodomize that child? They are entrusted to the church to be cared for, not to be raped. They are dedicated by their parents to serve the Lord, not the disgusting attentions of a depraved priest. I ought to have you hanged for this.”

The abbot stood up, face pale and sweating, glaring at the young prince. “You have no jurisdiction here, Arthur Pendragon. The crown answers to the church, not the other way around. The church is above the state. You cannot touch me.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow. “Perhaps I cannot have you officially restrained and imprisoned. But I can arrange for an ‘accident.’ You wouldn’t see the blade coming, Abbot.” Abbot Gillon paled. “But I have a better idea. You can forget about any plans to appoint yourself as my personal advisor. In fact, I think you will be appointing Merlin, here.”

Merlin’s jaw dropped open in surprise. Arthur took no notice. “I will do nothing of the sort!” shouted the abbot.

“Then my fastest rider will be reporting your conduct to your superior, and the Camelot town crier will deliver news of your unholy behaviour in every town and village in the land. You will be disgraced publicly. By the time I am through with you, not even a farmer would hire you to feed his pigs. When you are eventually thrown out on the street, I will have you arrested and sent to the dungeons to entertain the criminals held there in much the same way as you intended to abuse this child.”

“You wouldn’t dare!” gasped the Abbot.

“Merlin!” barked Arthur. “Fetch quill and paper from the cathedral. The abbot is going to confess his crimes here and now.” Arthur leaned in and whispered in Merlin’s ear. “And for god’s sake, fetch me a sword!”

Merlin left the room, running.

The abbot took a step toward Arthur, the minute Merlin disappeared out the door. Arthur raised his fists.” Do not think that you can defeat me in hand-to-hand combat, Abbot. Stay put.” Hector moved behind Arthur, and away from the abbot’s reaching fingers.

A noise sounded at the door and Merlin rushed back inside. He handed Arthur a sword, inlaid with gold. Surprised, Arthur gave Merlin a quizzical look then returned his attention to the Abbot. “Now, you will confess your sins, Abbot.” Arthur touched the tip of the sword to the abbot’s chest. “Sit down.”

A voice rumbled from the doorway. “What in the name of all that is holy is going on here?” Friar Antonio filled the frame, eyes moving between the four people crowded into the room. Arthur moved to the side, keeping the friar in view. It was Merlin who spoke, filling the friar in on the details of the last few minutes.

Friar Antonio pushed past Arthur, ignoring his sword. “Is this true, Father? Are you guilty of this crime?”

The abbot pushed out his chest and huffed, “It is no crime to love one of god’s own creatures.”

“This is a child!” thundered Friar Antonio. “You should be excommunicated for this! You have brought shame and censure on us all.”

Arthur and Merlin’s eyes met. Merlin nodded his agreement to the silent communication. “I have a solution,” said Arthur. “Appoint Merlin as my liaison between the church and the kingship, as my religious adviser, and you can oversee Merlin, Friar, on behalf of the church. I am sure you will understand my desire to maintain autonomy and distance from the sins of the church. I cannot have the corruption I discovered here, tainting the throne.”

The friar’s mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “You want Merlin to be your go between?”

Arthur nodded, his face set in stone. “I will have no other. This is not open to debate. Refuse my request and by noon tomorrow, the abbot will be shamed throughout the kingdom, and the church set on its ear. Do you wish to lose all of your flock to this abuser?” Arthur pointed at the Abbot, who opened his mouth to argue.

“Shut up!” yelled the friar. The abbot swallowed the words he was about to speak, his face flushing. Antonio searched Arthur’s determined face, then Merlin’s and finally settled on the tear-streaked face of the boy.

He knelt in front of the lad but did not touch him. “I am sorry, Hector. I wish you had told me about what was going on. From here on out, if anyone touches any of the boys here, you are to tell me immediately, do you understand?” Hector nodded. “Now, go get yourself a drink from the kitchen and tell Peter you will be sleeping in the spare bed in his room from now on. I will have your things brought to you in the morning.” Hector nodded then ran from the room.

Friar Antonio got to his feet. “Abbot, you are under suspension. As the Claustral Prior of this abbey, I relieve you of your duties, until a tribunal can be arranged to hear your crimes.” He walked over to the door and pulled the skeleton key from the door. “You are also under house arrest.” He motioned to Arthur and Merlin to follow him out of the room.

“This is not the end, Arthur Pendragon.” The abbot stared at Arthur’s back with hatred.

“Tread softly, abbot,” said Arthur, as he left. The key rattled in the hole as the friar locked the abbot inside the room.