Chapter 6—A Winning Design

Arthur tapped Lancelot on the shoulder, relieving him from duty. The king’s mason bustled about, running his hands over the ruined stone, clucking his tongue. “The damage is very bad, sire, very bad indeed. It will take time to repair. I can’t understand how the hinges could melt like that. And look here,” he pointed at the surrounding masonry, “the stone itself has softened.” He scraped his chisel along the surface and flakes of stone fell to the floor in a shower of dust. “This is granite, yet it slivers like shale.” He shook his head, bewildered, muttering under his breath.

Two Camelot guards stood behind the mason, awaiting their orders. Arthur pointed at the men. “You will provide security for the chief mason,” he said, sternly. “The objects inside are not only precious, but also dangerous. You will guard them with your lives.” The guard’s feet shifted, eyes flashing to the dim interior, before focusing on the prince, once again. “You will not leave this post until the captain of the guard sends your relief. Understood?”

They placed their fists over their hearts in salute, then took up positions on either side of the chamber door, hands resting on sword hilts and leaving just enough room for the mason to work. Two stone apprentices arrived, pushing carts loaded with buckets of water and powdered mortar and spare stones, chisels, hammers, and other tools required to repair the door.

Arthur acknowledged their salute with a nod of his head then left the landing, climbing the stairs to the main floor of the armoury, Lancelot following in his wake. The sun was an expanding disk of orange slipping toward the horizon as they stepped into the courtyard. “I assume you were undisturbed during your vigil in the cellar?”

“Not so much as a mouse squeaked to relieve my boredom,” said Lancelot.

“Well, I hope you can shake off your lethargy long enough to pay attention. My father has asked me to get to the bottom of this theft. I want you to assist me, along with Sir Gawain. Go fetch him.” Lancelot turned to obey the order, but Arthur grabbed his arm. The feel of his muscular arm under his hand sent a shiver through his body. “Take time to eat while you are at it.”

“Where will you be?” asked Lancelot.

“I am going to question the guards and any servants I see. I want to know who was moving about the castle while we were in chapel.”

Lancelot nodded. “I will also make inquiry amongst the knights.”

Arthur nodded. “Meet me at the main gate at sunset.”

“Sire.” Lancelot bowed and left Arthur, his long strides carrying him across the courtyard. Arthur watched him go, then shook his head, pushing away the thoughts that fought to be recognized. He needed to focus on the task at hand. Arthur’s determined steps carried him to the entrance of the stables where they were built into the outer stone wall. The large doors carved with the crest of Camelot were thrown back, and grooms moved in and out of the doors, some leading horses to their owners, others returning with recent arrivals. They paused and bowed as Arthur pushed past the opening. He paused for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim interior.

A skinny stable hand ran up to him and bowed at the waist, hands on knees. “Marcus, here, sire. Do you wish me to saddle your stallion?”

“No, Marcus. Actually, I wished to speak to you.”

The boy straightened, nervously clasping his hands together. “Me, sire? How can I help you?”

Arthur smiled what he hoped was an encouraging smile. The boy’s fidgeting increased. He was a good-looking lad, thirteen or fourteen years of age, Arthur noted. “I was wondering who has arrived at the castle today. Have there been any strangers within the castle walls? Say, over the last twenty-four hours? Not our normal guests or those who have attended the castle in the past.”

Marcus frowned, thinking. “The Ladies Guinevere and Morgana arrived for your ceremony yesterday. Their horses are there,” he said, pointing over his shoulder to a pair of Palfrey mares with turquoise tooled halters. “But they have visited before.” He frowned, searching his memory. “And then there was the royal mail carrier, but he left around midday. He was only here for a couple hours.” His eyes roved the stables, frowning at the various horses. “No one has arrived yet for your party except the ladies. Most guests are expected tomorrow. No, sire, there have been no other visitors, who would not normally stay at the castle.”

Arthur nodded. “Thank you. Please keep a list of any new people arriving over the next week. I’d like to know when they arrive and when they leave. I will check back if I have need of the information.”

“Yes, sire.” He bowed again, hands on his knees.

Arthur left the stables, digesting the information. Whoever the thief was, he was not a normal visitor to the castle. He hadn’t thought so, but he’d needed to rule out the possibility. His feet carried him to the next place where servants were likely to be found, the castle laundry. It was located at the base of one of the towers, tucked into a corner on the opposite side from the arch that led to the outer courtyard. The laundry was one large room with multiple windows, all flung open wide to allow the heat to escape. Arthur rarely came to the laundry facilities, so his entrance caused gasps to race around the room. The servants pulled their hands from steaming, soapy basins, hastily drying them on aprons, while they curtsied. Large vats of water were hung from an iron arm, under which a fire had been laid. Steam rose from the kettle, and the women moved large paddles through the soup of cloth, sweat streaming from their faces. Other women hung clothing on a line, while others took them down and pressed a heated iron against the clothing laid over flat boards. Spying Arthur. the head laundress hurried over, to give him a deep curtsy. Arthur was rather impressed for this woman was rather stout.

“Sire? Do you need a shirt laundered immediately? I can put my best girl on it. She will have it washed, dried and delivered to your chambers before you can return to them.”

Arthur held his hand. “No, that is not why I have come.” He paused for moment, searching for the right words. “I wish to know, if you have seen anything unusual in the laundry over the past day? Like torn, ripped, or bloodied clothing, where the cause is unexplained? It could be a towel or such.” He peered around the room, meeting eyes. All shook their heads, indicating that they had not.

“The last clothing that we had to repair, was yours, I believe. During your last practice?” offered the head laundress. “But other than cuts by the kitchen staff, which had many witnesses, we do not know of anything unusual.”

Arthur nodded. “Please keep me informed should anything unusual present itself.” They nodded and curtsied as Arthur left the hot interior, for the relative coolness of the outside. It was a slim chance that the perpetrator would actually put their dirty clothes out to be laundered. He could have sworn he saw some blood on the stone floor in the entranceway, but with the thick dust, he could have been mistaken. But there would not be any clothing to find, if the thief was a stranger, which was becoming the more likely theory. But if that was the case, how had he or she known where to look for the articles they stole? He did not believe it to be a random theft. There were more precious items in there, things that would fetch a greater price on the black market. No, this theft was purposeful, and the thief knew exactly where to look. Which meant, if the thief was not of Camelot…he or she had an accomplice inside of Camelot. With that solid fact in his mind, he turned about and returned to the laundry, sticking his head through the stout door opening.

The head laundress hurried over, curtsying again. “Yes, sire?”

“Has any of your staff been ill over the last day?”

“No, sire. Everyone has been at work.”

“Thank you, again.” He left the laundry, mulling over his next steps. “Right. Housekeeping next.” He crossed the courtyard to the covered walkway, then walked down a passage between two buildings. At the far end, once again at the outer wall, he came to a plain door with a simple latch. He pushed it open. Women stacked sheets and towels onto the top of four wheeled push carts, preparing them for the next morning’s chores. A woman leaned against a door at the back of the room holding it open for another cart. The hall led to a ramp that curled up three stories.

All eyes swung to the front and once again a wave of curtsies washed through the room. “Sire? How may we be of assistance?”

Arthur waved them to straighten. He repeated the questions he had asked at the other two stops and received equally negative responses. He left them with a word of thanks and advised that if anything strange came to their attention, to report it immediately.

He left housekeeping and entered the main castle. The only other two main places that involved servants was the maintenance area and the kitchens. But the maintenance area was rarely manned. That left the kitchens.

Head down and deep in thought, he headed in that direction. He strode swiftly down the corridor and nearly repeated his earlier fiasco when he came face to face with Lady Guinevere.

She held up her arms, stopping his advance, with a rueful smile. “Arthur. There you are. I have been looking for you.”

“Lady Guinevere. What can I do for you?” He fought back the creeping blush. His embarrassment was still fresh in his mind.

“I wish to apologize for my harsh words. I overreacted. I wish to beg your forgiveness.”

“It is I who should apologize. It was an accident, but embarrassing for both of us.”

“Yes, it was indeed.” Silence fell. She seemed to be arguing with herself, her facial expressions changing swiftly. Finally, she took a deep breath and said, “The Lady Morgana wishes to speak with you, also. She would like to ask your advice…” she hesitated for a moment, then plunged on, “on the party dress she wishes to wear for your induction ceremony.”

Arthur stared at her, waiting for her to deliver the punchline, for surely this was a joke. “She wants my opinion?”

“Yes. You have quite the reputation in the castle, amongst the ladies.”

“I do?” He grinned, eyes roving over her form.

“Don’t go making a fool of yourself now.” She fisted her hips, unconsciously drawing attention to her chest. “This has been an almost pleasant conversation,” she snapped. “Will you come with me or not?”

“Now?”

“Yes, now!”

“Uh, ok. But I can only spare a moment. I am on castle business right now.” He gestured in the direction of the hallway she had just vacated. “After you, my lady.”

Guinevere sniffed, then glided off down the hallway, Arthur at her side. Arthur leaned over and in an overly loud voice whispered, “So what do the ladies say?”

She shot him a glare out of the corner of her eye, then said, “You are known to have a great eye for fashion. They are thrilled with your designs, and every sketch you create is immediately put into production by their seamstresses. You seem to have created a trend that all are eager to copy.”

Arthur nodded, pleased. “I am happy to beautify every woman I meet. The gifts provided by Our Lord, should be glorified, not hidden away as shameful.”

Guinevere rolled her eyes in response. They walked in silence for a moment, then she said, “I saw the one you made for the Lady Sharine. She wore it to a state function in Northumbria.” She eyed him for a moment, then said in a reluctant voice. “It was beautiful.”

Arthur laughed. “You say that as if it’s a bad thing. I like to design. I can also swing a sword. There are none better, even amongst the knights. Why can’t I have both artistic talent and warrior prowess?”

They turned a corner, entering the hallway where the royal household and special guests resided. Their heels clicked on the tiles with matched strides. “You are an enigma, Arthur Pendragon.” She stopped at Morgana’s chambers and knocked.

“Come in!” called a voice from inside. Guinevere pushed open the door and Arthur followed her inside.

The tip of Morgana’s head could just be seen over the top of the dressing screen. Fabric rustled and then Morgana’s head peeked past the edge of the divider. “Come and tie this, Guinevere.” She moved back behind the screen as Guinevere joined her, out of sight of Arthur. Morgana turned around, exposing her bare back, where ribboned ties hung limply from the back of the dress. Guinevere pulled and tugged, snugging the garment to Morgana’s shape.

Morgana murmured a thank you and moved out from behind the screen, her skirts rustling. When she turned around Arthur was staring at the dress, lips pursed, a finger tapping his cheek. He ran a critical eye down the garment and frowned.

The dress was navy blue and form fitting. White lace trimmed the bell-shaped sleeves and was stitched into the hemline and also the top of the bodice, hiding the cleavage created by the boned bodice. While the silhouette was pleasing, the overall effect did not impress Arthur.

Morgana did a small twirl for effect. “So, what do you think?” She smiled, then noting Arthur’s expression, the smile faded. “You hate it, don’t you?”

“No, I don’t hate it, but it is too matronly for you, Morgana. It makes you look like a spinster, rather than a beautiful young woman.” The blunt words fell into the room, cracking on the slate tiles.

Morgana’s face fell. “I just got it back from my seamstress. She swore it was the latest thing.” She stared at the puddle of lace on the floor, then her head came up. “Arthur, would you fix it for me? Show me what to do with it. Give me something to take back to her to make changes. Would you do this for me? Please?”

“I don’t know if I can, Morgana. I have duties to attend to, assigned by my father.”

“Oh, please, Arthur. Please.”

Guinevere took a step in Arthur’s direction. “You can fix this in a snap. That is what the court ladies say. Or was that all lies?” She tilted her head, challenging Arthur to prove her wrong. “Maybe you are not as talented as you think,” Guinevere taunted.

Arthur stared at her. The words stung. “Give me some parchment and a quill,” he said to no one in particular. He held out his hand to the side, and snapped his fingers. “I don’t have all day.”

Morgana hurried over to a bureau with a writing desk attached to the side. She pulled open the top drawer, pulling out a length of parchment, quill, and inkwell, laying them on the surface. “Sit and draw. I will order you some refreshments. You can sketch and eat at the same time.”

Arthur’s stomach gave a rumble at the words. He suddenly realized he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. “Very well. But I can only give you an hour.” He sat himself at the desk, placing weights at the corners of the scroll, then began to sketch.

Guinevere pulled the servant’s bell cord. Morgana’s maid entered from a side door, curtsying. “Fetch food and wine for three.” The girl curtsied again and left. Guinevere quietly moved up behind Arthur, her silk skirts rustling as she moved across the tiled floor. She peeked over his back as his hand scratched lines onto the parchment, before dipping into the ink once again. He bent over the paper, his focus absolute. She doubted that he knew she was watching him. Morgana moved up beside her. Morgana’s soft gasp echoed her thoughts.

The dress was the same dress, yet it was not. The sleeve was tapered to cling from shoulder to the lower arm. He had sliced it down the center and sketched in a sheer fabric that showed the slender arm beneath. The dress now rested on the left shoulder, but the right one was bare, the sleeve removed. The bodice rounded under the arm. All trace of lace had vanished. The dress hugged the legs to the knees, then flared like a bell with a train of navy fabric that spread in a two-foot puddle from the side seaming to the center back. Arthur drew a line then began a silhouette of the back. The expensive lace now ran in three bands down the back of the dress, the white rows fanning equidistantly across the train. The new look was sleek and polished. To finish the look, Arthur drew in a necklace of opals.

The door opened, and the servant returned with a tray of sandwiches and jug of wine. Arthur got to his feet, stretched, then helped himself to a sandwich. The ladies had not moved, still studying his sketch.

“Well, do you like it?” He took a huge bite of the turkey and tomato sandwich.

“Like? Arthur, its amazing. Gorgeous. Stunning. Like?” Morgana was grinning from ear to ear. She rushed over and gave him a big hug. “Thank you! Thank you!”

Arthur smiled, then his gaze moved to Guinevere, who had picked up the parchment, studying the image. “How do you do this?” she said, her eyes wide with incredulity. “Where do these concepts come from?”

“From nature, mostly,” said Arthur with a shrug. “You approve?” He finished the first sandwich and picked up another and took a hearty bite.

“Yes, very much.” She tilted her head at him, considering him. “We need to talk, Arthur Pendragon. A serious talk.”

Arthur read the intent in her eyes. He knew what the subject of this discussion would be. He nodded. “When would you like to talk?”

“The sooner the better. Will you come to my chambers after the dinner hour? Say, around eight o’clock?”

“I will be there.” He poured a little wine, drinking it down, then gave the ladies a quick bow. “I must go about my duties. I look forward to seeing the transformation in your dress, Morgana. Until later, Guinevere.” With a final nod, he left Morgana’s chambers.

As Arthur stepped into the hallway, the alarm bells sounded, clanging with urgency. They blared throughout the castle. Servants rushed past, clearing the hallways until the all-safe bells were sounded. Arthur changed direction, heading instead for the council chamber. The bells continued to ring, clamouring for attention. He arrived at the same time as Lancelot, Gawain, Percival, Bors, Galahad, and Belvedere. His father paced the room, pausing as the doors opened admitting them, Arthur in the lead.

“What is the cause of the alarm, Father?” The table of the morning was gone, except for the high-backed chair his father had been using earlier in the day. The knights spread out in a semicircle around the king, eyes darting to check the room for dangers. Arthur joined his father at his side, but it was Lancelot that spoke. “A civil guard has been found, slain by a knife to the back. We are searching the lower town now for the attacker.”

“You questioned all those who were present in the vicinity?” demanded Uther.

“We are conducting interviews as we speak,” said Lancelot.

“How long has it been since he was murdered?”

“Not long, my king. An hour at most.”

“And you have reason to suspect this murderer is headed for the castle?”

“Yes, sire. The guard that was murdered is the same one that was on duty just before the recent theft…the one that I informed you of just after chapel.” Arthur’s eyes narrowed, frowning at Lancelot. It was a mirror of his father’s angry glare.

“Double the guard, and bring all those who witnessed or were in the vicinity at the time in for questioning. I want an answer by morning,” said Uther. “Arthur, you will add these interviews to your ongoing investigation.”

Arthur nodded. Uther’s dark gaze took in all the knights facing him. “I do not like the timing of this event in light of the recent break in. I want to know if these events are related.” He waved a hand in the air, dismissing the knights and Arthur to their duties.