The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes Part 2
The Knights Have a Thousand Eyes
See Master Post for warnings and disclaimer
Part 2
Farley cast a quick glance towards Merlin, who was listening intently to the Prince, shaking his head with a distinctly mutinous set to his face.
‘Ah, yes. Merlin,’ he said, agreeing with Romford’s unspoken assessment of the situation.
‘Why are you all saying ‘Merlin’ in that tone of voice?’ Bedevere demanded. ‘If Arthur’s putting forward him as some kind of imbecilic champion, then more fool him. I mean, come on. He’s a servant. He can’t even handle the full-sized swords.’
‘Maybe Arthur’s teaching him a lesson by making him accept your challenge?’ Gawain surmised.
‘No. I’m convinced it’s another Morgana thing,’ Farley argued. 'He had that look on his face.'
‘But Merlin’s hopeless!’ Bedevere remonstrated, frustration getting to him. ‘You've all seen him. A puff of wind and the boy falls on his arse.’
He’s not very good, is he?’ Gawain agreed.
‘Not as such.’ Percival said. ‘Okay, he’s pretty crap. Clumsy as hell. As likely to injure himself as his opponent. But still….’
‘It’s not fair!’ Kay interrupted. Outrage caused his voice to squeak back to immaturity. ‘Merlin isn’t a fighter!’
‘No, but he has the devil’s own luck.’ Sir Farley explained.
‘Voice of experience, Farley?’ Caradoc asked curiously, the other knight's rueful tone alerting him to a potential tale.
‘I might have, uh, challenged him once. You know, just in fun.’ Farley had the grace to look a little shamefaced.
All eyes turned to him. This snippet was news to them.
‘Really? You kept that close to your chest.’
‘It wasn’t exactly something to brag about, was it?’ Farley replied half in belligerence and half mortification.
‘So go on, you’ve told us that much, you may as well tell us the rest.’
They circled him like hungry vultures, and he realised they weren’t going to rest until he’d given them the meaty details.
‘Well if you must know, it was the most nonsensical thing ever. Naturally, I was winning. I could have taken him half a dozen times. The strange thing was the smile never left his face, as though he was toying with me. I brought my sword over my head, not going to hurt him you understand? Thought it would be amusing to land the blow in the ground next to him, give him a scare.
‘I don’t really know what happened next, but I must have got distracted and lost track of my surroundings because when I raised my sword I somehow got the bloody blade stuck in an overhanging branch and couldn’t pull it free.
‘Anyway, I stumbled trying to pull it out and fell flat on my back. Then my damned traitorous sword chose that moment to drop hilt first out of the tree and hit me in the face. Knocked me out cold.’
‘Wow. That was really….’ Gawain wanted to say unfortunate but somehow, ‘humiliating,’ came out instead.
‘Tell me about it. It was as if the gods themselves had passed judgement on me,’ he replied earnestly.
This information was not lightly dismissed.
Despite their skill and superior weaponry, the listening men knew that life and limb were frequently in the laps of the gods or subject to the whims of blind luck. If Merlin had the gods on his side then Bedevere was a goner.
Bedevere refused to be disheartened.
‘He was just a bit lucky, but don’t forget that Arthur beat him,’ he reminded them.
‘Yes, but Merlin lasted more than a couple of minutes. If he’d been of noble blood Arthur would have taken him on as a knight in training,’ Romford pointed out.
‘I heard a rumour that Merlin managed to knock Arthur out once,’ Kay whispered looking furtively in the direction of the prince.
‘Pshaw!’ Bedevere derided such scurrilous gossip, but at the same time felt a frisson of concern shiver up his spine.
‘And Arthur has been training Merlin. Probably so that he can draw him out like a secret weapon and point him in our direction whenever he wants to prove how crap we are,’ Gawain complained as he contemplated the sneaky, underhanded ways of princes.
‘Merlin’s alright. I feel sorry for him, actually.’
The others looked at Percival in askance.
‘You’ve seen their so-called training sessions? At least we share the burden of his instruction. Imagine being Arthur’s only pupil. All that energy and intensity and biting sarcasm focused solely on you for hours at a time. Enough to make a grown man weep.’
Caradoc shook his shaggy head. Not that he disagreed with the argument in principal. After all, Arthur had reduced hardy men to tears.
‘Yeah. But this is Merlin. He doesn’t give a hoot, does he? I really think he lacks the capacity to even feel fear. Say what you want about his skill, but no one can fault his bravery.’
‘True. Remember when he first came here and didn’t know who Arthur was? I nearly cracked a rib I laughed so hard. He was kind of brilliant in a clumsy, stumbling way.' Percival couldn't help grinning as he remembered Merlin's first appearance at court.
‘He was somewhat amusing, in his own clownish way, but brilliant? Surely not,’ Bedevere protested.
‘Saved Arthur’s life that first time. Then stood up to the King over that Valiant thing. Takes courage to face down King Uther,’ Caradoc added.
‘Or stupidity.’ Bedevere was turning positively sulky, steadfastly, refusing to believe the best of some commoner, even one as uncommon as Merlin. He couldn't believe the way the others were taking his side and defending him.
But defending him or not, no one could disagree with Bedevere's assessment because no one had quite figured Merlin out. For all his open smiles and wide-eyed looks, he was still a riddle, possibly wrapped in an enigma, and no one could tell where naivety bled into stupidity and where stupidity was merely a disguise for cunning.
‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it? My father gave me Simon as a manservant. Sixty years old if he’s a day. And Arthur somehow gets Merlin,’ Gawain said to break the silence.
‘Well he is the Prince. If it’s any compensation, Arthur insists he’s the worst manservant in the world.’
‘Brave, loyal and really quite eye-catching? If that’s his definition of ‘worst’ then Arthur has been paying us compliments for years.’
Farley looked back to where Arthur and Merlin were chatting. Well, Arthur was standing, arms folded, unyielding and stern in the face of Merlin’s agitated response.
Bedevere raised his eyebrows and supplemented the list of Merlin’s qualities.
‘Mouthy, incompetent and with no idea of the proper deference due to his master. The trouble with you lot is you always think that whatever Arthur has is cool. He has a three-legged hound and you all vie for it. He has the idiot as a manservant and you fall over yourselves to admire him. Blessed by the gods? Touched by the gods more like.’
‘But there is something about him, isn’t there? Rubbish at actually serving and has no inkling of how a servant should behave. Do you think he’s Arthur’s latest conquest? They do spend a lot of time together.’ Gawain’s gaze turned speculative.
‘No,’ Bedevere replied firmly.
And then watched as one of Arthur’s arms fell across Merlin’s shoulders.
‘Absolutely not. Arthur wouldn’t even contemplate lying with a servant.’
Arthur appeared to be staring deeply into Merlin’s eyes.
‘Really, he hardly even likes him. Besides he’s obviously celibate. Like Percival said. And can we get back to the point. Why would Arthur ever think that Merlin could beat me?’
…
‘You’re going to fight Bedevere. With a quarterstaff,’ Arthur informed his servant casually. ‘He’ll have his sword, of course.’
Merlin just grinned and shook his head.
‘No I’m not.’
Arthur said nothing, which Merlin found more than slightly perturbing. If this was a joke then Arthur should be making more of it, and at least have a witty comeback to hand. At the moment it was hardly funny at all. He felt it expedient to reiterate his position on this particular issue.
‘No. I’m really not. It’s bad enough getting beaten up by you, I’m not going to provide target practice for your group of bullying cohorts.’
‘Look, you don’t really have a choice. Bedevere insists on challenging a commoner. Shall I fetch one of the stable boys for him to knock around?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Why me?’ Merlin asked plaintively.
He looked like a hurt puppy. But Arthur stood his ground and refused to be manipulated by puppy impressions.
‘You said you managed to knock me unconscious with a stick, you know… that time when I definitely wasn’t trying to elope with Sophie.’
Merlin brows knitted in confusion. ‘But you were trying to e….’
‘The point is,’ Arthur clarified impatiently, a look of noble longsuffering on his face, ‘on that night we don’t mention and never happened, you said that you managed to knock me out,’
Merlin might have guessed that this particular fib would come back to bite him. It had been such a satisfying lie, as well. The confused disbelief on Arthur’s face had been pure gold. Even Gaius had struggled to hide a smile.
‘I… Oh, right. Ah. I might have been exaggerating? You were unprepared? I surprised you! In fact it wasn’t even me, your horse stumbled… no, you didn’t have a horse, uh… you tripped and banged your head and….’
‘You’re fighting him, Merlin, and that’s an end to it.’
It was that tone of voice that brooked no argument. Merlin proved to be tone deaf and continued to object.
‘I hope you’re satisfied when I’m lying dead and unconscious on the ground.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not going to die, and stop dilly-dallying, will you.’
‘Easy for you to say. The answer’s still no, and you can’t make me. So Bedevere wants to fight me? Why don’t you tell him he can’t? And why are you pandering to him, anyway?’
Arthur stopped and looked Merlin in the eye.
‘He persists in seeing ordinary people as cowards. And now he’s turned it into a matter of honour.’
Merlin was distinctly unimpressed.
‘Do I look like one of your thick-headed knights? You can’t just mention honour and expect me to fall eagerly on my sword. If I had one. Which I don’t. Because apparently I have a bloody stick.’
Arthur prided himself on being observant and couldn’t help noticing that his manservant seemed a trifle irritated. So he kept his voice calm and soothing and spoke as he would to a spooked horse.
‘Look, I know it’s not fair, but it’s necessary. And… I believe in you.’
Merlin drew a breath to continue to make his objections loudly and firmly. And paused. Arthur sensed a weakening, and immediately pressed his advantage.
‘Where’s the man who challenged a trained knight, to protect a fellow he didn’t even know? Where’s the man who claimed he could take me apart with less than a blow?’
The earnestness of those clear blue eyes, the weight of the gaze, bore down on Merlin, sapping his will to protest. One hand moved to rest upon his shoulder, distracting him with its warm steady pressure.
‘I need someone to win this challenge. You can do it, Merlin.’
There was no mockery in the words, only a deep sincerity.
Merlin blinked, and as though under some sorcerous spell, somehow found himself reaching for the staff that Arthur proffered. Before he knew what was happening he was holding a wooden stick, feeling bewildered and wondering how this could have possibly happened.
Damn Arthur and the enchanting power of his eyes and his hand and his stupid sincerity.
He debated crossly whether to give Arthur ten extra prat points for making him fight an armed knight, or deduct ten for showing so much faith in him. So he did both, and reluctantly followed Arthur, dragging his stick petulantly behind him. Arthur glared at him and he sighed and held the staff properly.
‘I didn’t know you meant Merlin. Honestly, I have no wish to hurt your servant,’ Bedevere blustered.
‘Do you wish to concede then?’
Merlin nodded enthusiastically in the background, as he tried to wordlessly convey his fervently held belief that the knight really should change his mind. But the arrogant bastard purposely ignored him.
‘Well, no. Of course not, but really, Merlin?’
The accompanying laugh sounded contemptuous to Merlin’s sensitive ears. The tips of which turned an angry red in response. He began hefting the staff with a purpose.
‘I hardly like to think of the damage he could do with such a good, solid stick,’ Farley whispered earnestly to Caradoc as they both quickly stepped back from Merlin’s hazardous attempt to whirl it around proficiently, and waved away the boy’s shouted apology at the near miss.
‘I just hope Bedevere fares better than Hubert.’
‘Merlin is too nice to purposely humiliate Bedevere,’ Percival whispered.
‘You think so?’ Farley asked doubtfully. ‘Even so, what does intent matter when the result is the same?’
‘Buck up. Bedevere hasn’t lost yet.’
‘He should never have made the challenge. It was… unsporting, as was my own dispute with the boy. And be sure, the gods will give him his comeuppance,’ Farley said ominously.
‘You might be right. I once met a mystic, a traveller from across the seas. He described it as karma.’
‘Calmer? Well, Hubert was certainly less of a hothead after the incident. And I now find myself thinking before drawing my sword. Yes, definitely calmer.’
The combatants were already facing each other.
Arthur looked over at Merlin.
‘Helmet?’
‘Rather not, actually. Can’t see a thing with it on.’
‘It’s to protect you, you imbecile. Now put it on.’
It occurred to Merlin that it would actually make casting a bit of magic slightly less conspicuous if he could obfuscate the golden glow of power in his eyes. So he nodded and let Arthur think he’d been persuaded.
‘Okay men? I want a fair fight….’
Well a sword was a knight’s weapon and Merlin reasoned that magic was his, so using a smidging of magic was perfectly fair.
Bedevere was expecting a blow to the head. It seemed like the obvious opening gambit, the bluff of a low blow, disguising the upper swing of the other end. He held his shield arm high in anticipation.
And then watched in bemusement as his opponent began flailing wildly.
Merlin appeared to have found the only rabbit hole in the field, caught his foot in it and was falling forward, arms wind-milling dramatically as he struggled for balance.
Some of the watching men began to guffaw at his antics, until Arthur shot a scowl in their direction.
The problem was that it all happened in a blink of an eyes, the blur of movement, the unpredictable swing of the staff as Merlin fell. It caught Bedevere unawares, hitting below his shield and cracking him across the knees. Bedevere was toppling down before he could even comprehend what was happening.
In some ungainly fashion, Merlin managed to recover his footing, accidently standing on Bedevere’s sword, and ending up looming over the fallen knight, staff poised ominously over his head.
‘I’m defeated?’ Bedevere asked in bewilderment, uncertain if the fight had actually begun, never mind ended. Yet there he was on the ground and at his opponent’s mercy.
Merlin took it as an admission rather than a question, removed his foot from the sword and began apologising profusely; throwing his quarterstaff to one side and giving the dazed knight a hand.
‘All before he had a chance to raise his sword,’ Farley noted with a mixture of sympathy and quiet satisfaction.
‘Humbling,’ Caradoc judged, ‘but not quite reaching the pinnacle of poor Hubert.’
‘I trust you’re satisfied?’ Arthur asked Bedevere, and because it was expected that he react with some grace, he nodded his head.
Satisfied wasn’t quite the word he was reaching for. He moved away, looking to his fellow knights for some kind of explanation of what had just occurred.
‘Merlin?’
‘Yes? What?’
Merlin pulled off the helmet.
‘Are you satisfied?’
‘Well…. In what way?’ His brow puckered as he wondered how this could be considered satisfying for anyone.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
‘Oh, never mind. Are you okay?’
‘No thanks to you.’ The ‘prat’ tagged on to the end could be taken as read.
‘I have to admit that I’ve never seen such a display of truly epic clumsiness.’
‘I won your stupid fight, didn’t I? I can’t believe you made me do that. And just so that you know, I’m not fighting your knights again.’
‘Thanks to Farley and Bedevere, you won’t have to. Your ineptitude terrifies them as much as it does me. It deserves to be immortalised by bards the kingdom over.’
‘Thanks a lot. I help you out and now I'm a laughing stock.'
‘Now?’ Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.
‘Oh, get lost.’
‘Nice way to speak to your future King.’
‘I’m from Ealdor, not subject to the King’s jurisdiction, remember?’
‘Pfft. A technicality. Ealdor is mine.’
And immediately Merlin’s irritation vanished.
‘Yeah, fair enough.’
‘What do you mean, fair enough?’ Arthur asked, suspicious of this sudden acquiescence.
‘I mean, it’s never going to matter who tries to claim it. We belong to you.’
‘Interesting. So you’re including ‘you’ in that ‘we’. As in you belong to me?’ he inquired innocently.
‘Yeah, in your dreams,’ Merlin said. But he turned an intriguing shade of pink and his eyes widened until he resembled a mesmerized rabbit.
‘Nightmares, Merlin. They’re called nightmares.’
Actually, the idea of it did strange things to Arthur’s stomach, a skittering of delicate, fluttery touches as though something fragile was captive inside him. He suspected indigestion brought on by sheer panic at the thought of someone so impressively accident prone as Merlin belonging to him. Despite his squirming innards, he kept a facade of blank query. Even managing to hide his amusement as Merlin began to stutter.
‘I meant, my, Ealdor’s loyalty is to you. I mean, what you did was…. Did I ever thank you for that?’
This sincere, grateful version of his servant momentarily confounded Arthur. It made him want to say something sickeningly sweet and reassuring. Luckily the moment quickly passed and instead, his mouth became a twist of arrogant condescension.
‘No. But I believe my breakfast did arrive on time and still hot for three mornings in a row, what further thanks could one ask for?’
‘Your breakfast is always hot!’ Merlin protested indignantly. That’s one thing his magic was always good for.
‘Unfortunately, it sometimes appears as lunch,’ Arthur pointed out.
That Merlin couldn’t deny it.
But only when the Prince had been entertaining all night and needed the extra rest, and how was he to know that Arthur had a 10 o’ clock appointment with the King that one time?
‘You’ll never let me forget that one mistake, will you?’ Merlin complained.
And then mentally kicked himself as he realised he’d offered an open invitation to Arthur, in gold swirly writing, please come to the Abuse Merlin Party. Maybe Arthur would be generous and politely decline it. And maybe pigs would fly.
‘One mistake? Would that be the one time you sent me to the feast with odd shoes? Or the one time when I couldn’t wear my crown because you put it in a ‘safe’ place and then couldn’t remember where it was? Or how about the one time when you were so busy taking in the delights of Morgana’s bodice that you….’
‘Okay! I get the picture. No need to keep harping on about it,’ Merlin huffed.
‘No, because if I continued to list all your ‘one’ mistakes we’d be here until sunset.’
Merlin pouted but didn’t really have an answer. There had been a few cock-ups, he freely admitted it, and his intimate acquaintance with the stocks was further proof, if any was needed.
On reflection, he didn’t think he was wholly suited to the position of manservant. Or serving in general, really. But he had a Destiny and it was a way of staying close to the prince, so he took the rough with the smooth. He just wished there could be a bit less rough and a little more smooth.
Merlin looked so dejected that Arthur felt obliged to cheer him up.
‘Look, we’ll postpone your lesson until same time tomorrow,’ he announced magnanimously. ‘And sorry about today, you know. The fighting thing.’
Ah yes. Today. Turn around was fair play, and Merlin was definitely storing that one up for next time he had to explain, in detail, Arthur’s various failings as a benevolent master. It occurred to him that he’d never got to the bottom of the strange challenge and why it had been so important to Arthur.
‘Did it accomplish what you hoped?’ he asked curiously.
Arthur shrugged his shoulders.
‘It’s a start.’
Merlin nodded as though he understood. In reality, he was considering broaching another subject that kept tugging at him insistently, and then his mouth went into action without the full agreement of his brain.
‘Arthur?’
Arthur was about to remark on the proper protocol for addressing a royal prince, but there was something about the way Merlin was intently examining a loose thread on his overshirt that made him pause.
‘Yes?’
‘He could have injured me. Bedevere, I mean.’
It wasn’t wholly true, but Arthur wouldn’t have known that. Neither was it quite what Merlin wanted to say. Despite his reputation for blurting things out, some points needed to be worked up to.
Arthur just gave him a distant look and said, ‘I wouldn’t have let him.’
But if it had been a real fight, how could Arthur have judged if Bedevere was going to pull a blow or go in for the kill?
He realised that Arthur had been completely unconcerned, oblivious even. Yet there was no doubt in Merlin’s mind that Arthur would never purposely endanger him. The obvious answer was that he’d never seriously thought for one moment that Merlin might have been in danger.
But he should have, Merlin thought, beginning to feel panic edging its way in. He was a peasant with a stick and Bedevere was an armed knight. Arthur should have been concerned.
And maybe Merlin’s initial assumption that the lesson of the fight had been for Bedevere’s benefit was erroneous.
Perhaps it had been a test for a Merlin…. Perhaps by winning he had failed.
Snatches of conversation came back to him.
I believe in you…. I need someone to win this challenge. You can do it, Merlin…. Helmet? It’s to protect you….
Arthur had made sure any sign of strange glowing eyes would be hidden from sight.
‘Why were you so confident that I would win?’ Somehow he managed to sound detached and curious.
But this was the question that had been hanging around Merlin, nagging at him, demanding attention, certain of its own importance.
‘I wasn’t,’ Arthur replied. ‘Not until you did.’
‘Well, yeah. It’s easy to be sure I’ll win once I already have.’
‘It’s easy to be sure when I know, yes,’ Arthur agreed.
The ambivalent answer was like a blast of winter, it chilled him to the bone and thread ice through his veins. The edge of panic was developing into something more full blown. Arthur knew he was a sorcerer? Had this fight proved something for Arthur?
He raised his eyes but Arthur was already leaving, and all he could do was scan that broad back for answers. It wasn’t saying much.
‘I’m meeting with father this afternoon, but I’ll require a bath before eating tonight,’ Arthur called without turning around.
‘I…. Okay.’
Arthur hadn’t mentioned this morning that he was meeting with the king. Had it just come up?
He took a breath and calmed himself. Everything was okay. Everything was fine. Arthur knew nothing. He had requested a bath tonight, so he obviously expected Merlin to be present, and not, for example, in the cells, or tied to a fiery stake, or lolling around without his head….
The calming breath wasn't working. Merlin hurried away. He needed to go see Gaius.
…
As Arthur made his way towards the disconsolate Bedevere, Hector caught his arm and tugged him to one side.
‘What in hell’s name just happened, with Merlin? That mockery of a fight… I don’t like it, Arthur. I’ve seen such things before. You realise he’s….’
‘Yes, Merlin is very lucky,’ Arthur said loudly with his most vacant and oblivious smile.
‘Arthur!’ Hector hissed. ‘The speed he moved was…. You must realise….’
‘Of course, I don’t realise. And neither do you,’ Arthur replied in a harsh undertone.
Hector immediately fell silent as Arthur grabbed his shoulder and turned him away so that they were no longer facing the other knights.
‘Tell me, are you trustworthy?’
‘Highness!’ Hector turned pale and his voice contained uttermost shock. ‘I am your father’s most loyal servant….’
‘I know,’ Arthur replied dryly, ‘but as we established previously, I am not my father.’
There was a moment of silence as Hubert absorbed this.
‘No. You are not your father,’ he replied slowly.
‘My ways are not my father’s.’
‘Okay….’
‘I am discovering that perhaps my beliefs differ somewhat to his,’ Arthur admitted tentatively. ‘I have had many teachers, Hector. You should know. You were one of them. There are lessons I’ve learnt. That I’m still learning.’
Hector was very much afraid of what the prince might say next. Afraid he would skirt the edge of treason. This conversation began because of suspected sorcery. Uther’s ruling on such things was very clear.
‘And these new things you are learning,’ he probed cautiously, ‘do they compromise the values that a knight holds dear?’
‘A knight’s values, your values, are my core, my touchstone. Believe me, I hold to them more fervently than ever,’ Arthur swore.
And finally Hector’s brain fizzed into life. This wasn’t a new conversation. It was a continuation of this morning’s baffling exchange. Except now, Hector could see some sense emerging and realised none of Arthur’s previous musings had been aimless.
‘Tell me what you meant earlier. What would I not understand? What lessons would you teach that your father could not,’ Hector demanded.
It was Arthur’s turn to give a slow nod, pleased with the elder knight’s quickness of understanding.
‘I hardly know myself. I look at these knights, young but already battle-hardened, and am certain that we are forging something strong and invincible. One day they will ride into battle with my name on their lips. Lately, it plagues me that their actions might thoughtlessly tarnish that name.
‘We can’t just teach them to kill without principle or conscience. Bedevere is a good man, but his damned pride…. He strikes at those weaker than him, is blinkered to the strength to be found in everyday people. I understand him. I was him. Until I saw men and women fight with nothing but shovels and sticks, and enough courage for a whole army of knights.’
But Hector was unmoved, more concerned with finding out how Arthur differed to his father, what the consequences would be and how he could attempt to mitigate them.
‘Maybe so, but cut to the chase, Arthur. Your father clings to this kingdom by his fingernails. You think he doesn’t already understand the strength of the people. He understands it. He fears it. This is why we must be trained and equipped, so that we can quell any uprising. What would you do that is so different?’ Hector asked bluntly.
‘I would have my knights unlearn some of the lessons I helped teach. I glimpse a future of Camelot that is not just her knights and nobility. It is all her people. A Camelot where honour, courage, respect, justice, fairness, loyalty holds true for all our people not just the elite.
‘What would I do differently? I would fashion a kingdom where respect and chivalry extends to all, not just fellow knights or fair maidens.’
To treat a beggar as an equal to a lord? And sorcerers? Were they also part of the Prince’s vision of Camelot? Hector tried to get his head around what Arthur was saying and acknowledged that the prince had been right in his assumption. Hector couldn’t comprehend the vastness of this vision.
Any strong king could change the political structure of the kingdom, but Arthur wanted to change people and attitudes and things which couldn’t be fixed with new laws or expanding borders.
‘I don’t know what you would have me say,’ Hector confessed miserably.
‘You don’t have to say anything, but Lancelot, did you think he would make a good knight?’
‘Of course! Unfortunately…,’ he stopped, realising he was on the verge of criticising Uther.
‘Yes. Unfortunately. Sir Hector, I will speak plainly. I would prefer not to have witnessed a man of merit and worth turned away because his father is not a landowner. That was Camelot’s loss. More importantly, I would not see a good man harmed because he is… lucky. Understand me, I would not deliberately challenge my liege, but where there is the potential for… conflict, it would be easier if some things were never brought to the King’s attention.
‘I would never ask you to choose between King and Prince. I too am the King’s loyal subject so there is no choice to be made. On the other hand, a man who has proved his loyalty and shown a willingness to trade his own life for mine, should not and will not be tried or judged as a traitor because of some accident of birth that causes him to be different to us, not so long as I have breath to protest it or strength to protect him. Do you understand me?’
Hector recognised the fine line that Arthur was drawing by keeping Uther ignorant and he was pretty certain that Uther would not share the same view of it. But if he had caught the gist of what Arthur was saying, the status quo would be maintained as long Uther did not know about Merlin. If he did find out and subjected the boy to the extremities of Camelot justice, then Arthur would be compelled to protect him.
There was a reason why Hector was one of Uther’s foremost knights, and he quickly extrapolated the consequences of Merlin’s discovery. Worst case: the Prince rebelled. This would pull Camelot apart, weaken her and leave her prone to attack. The kingdom would split down the middle because although people held Uther in fear, they were beginning to love his son.
And maybe this was the key to the new Camelot that Arthur dreamed of. Uther feared the strength of his people. Arthur respected and loved them for it. Fear begets fear but love begets love, and Arthur would reap what he sowed.
Hector made his decision.
‘I may not fully understand these things you would have me learn, but I’m not a fool, Arthur. Uther will learn nothing from me.’
He hadn’t realized how tense the prince had been until he relaxed his grip on the elder knight’s arm and Hector’s hand tingled as the blood flowed again.
‘Thank you. I will not forget this.’
‘There are still the others, though,’ Hector warned.
‘I know. I don’t think they noticed anything. And if they did? We’ll bring them back into line. I have you now.’ Arthur flipped him his most charming smile before turning back to his men.
Hector reflected ruefully that he was right.
Despite Arthur’s claim that he would never have to choose between father and son, he’d been forced into a decision and somehow managed to fall on the Prince’s side.
It set him wondering just how long Arthur had been working on him to get this result.
Probably since he’d been a scheming little four-year old, casually twisting hardened knights around his chubby fingers, Hector decided. And then smiled because damn, if the child was good, the king was going to be bloody brilliant.
Part 3
See Master Post for warnings and disclaimer
Part 2
Farley cast a quick glance towards Merlin, who was listening intently to the Prince, shaking his head with a distinctly mutinous set to his face.
‘Ah, yes. Merlin,’ he said, agreeing with Romford’s unspoken assessment of the situation.
‘Why are you all saying ‘Merlin’ in that tone of voice?’ Bedevere demanded. ‘If Arthur’s putting forward him as some kind of imbecilic champion, then more fool him. I mean, come on. He’s a servant. He can’t even handle the full-sized swords.’
‘Maybe Arthur’s teaching him a lesson by making him accept your challenge?’ Gawain surmised.
‘No. I’m convinced it’s another Morgana thing,’ Farley argued. 'He had that look on his face.'
‘But Merlin’s hopeless!’ Bedevere remonstrated, frustration getting to him. ‘You've all seen him. A puff of wind and the boy falls on his arse.’
He’s not very good, is he?’ Gawain agreed.
‘Not as such.’ Percival said. ‘Okay, he’s pretty crap. Clumsy as hell. As likely to injure himself as his opponent. But still….’
‘It’s not fair!’ Kay interrupted. Outrage caused his voice to squeak back to immaturity. ‘Merlin isn’t a fighter!’
‘No, but he has the devil’s own luck.’ Sir Farley explained.
‘Voice of experience, Farley?’ Caradoc asked curiously, the other knight's rueful tone alerting him to a potential tale.
‘I might have, uh, challenged him once. You know, just in fun.’ Farley had the grace to look a little shamefaced.
All eyes turned to him. This snippet was news to them.
‘Really? You kept that close to your chest.’
‘It wasn’t exactly something to brag about, was it?’ Farley replied half in belligerence and half mortification.
‘So go on, you’ve told us that much, you may as well tell us the rest.’
They circled him like hungry vultures, and he realised they weren’t going to rest until he’d given them the meaty details.
‘Well if you must know, it was the most nonsensical thing ever. Naturally, I was winning. I could have taken him half a dozen times. The strange thing was the smile never left his face, as though he was toying with me. I brought my sword over my head, not going to hurt him you understand? Thought it would be amusing to land the blow in the ground next to him, give him a scare.
‘I don’t really know what happened next, but I must have got distracted and lost track of my surroundings because when I raised my sword I somehow got the bloody blade stuck in an overhanging branch and couldn’t pull it free.
‘Anyway, I stumbled trying to pull it out and fell flat on my back. Then my damned traitorous sword chose that moment to drop hilt first out of the tree and hit me in the face. Knocked me out cold.’
‘Wow. That was really….’ Gawain wanted to say unfortunate but somehow, ‘humiliating,’ came out instead.
‘Tell me about it. It was as if the gods themselves had passed judgement on me,’ he replied earnestly.
This information was not lightly dismissed.
Despite their skill and superior weaponry, the listening men knew that life and limb were frequently in the laps of the gods or subject to the whims of blind luck. If Merlin had the gods on his side then Bedevere was a goner.
Bedevere refused to be disheartened.
‘He was just a bit lucky, but don’t forget that Arthur beat him,’ he reminded them.
‘Yes, but Merlin lasted more than a couple of minutes. If he’d been of noble blood Arthur would have taken him on as a knight in training,’ Romford pointed out.
‘I heard a rumour that Merlin managed to knock Arthur out once,’ Kay whispered looking furtively in the direction of the prince.
‘Pshaw!’ Bedevere derided such scurrilous gossip, but at the same time felt a frisson of concern shiver up his spine.
‘And Arthur has been training Merlin. Probably so that he can draw him out like a secret weapon and point him in our direction whenever he wants to prove how crap we are,’ Gawain complained as he contemplated the sneaky, underhanded ways of princes.
‘Merlin’s alright. I feel sorry for him, actually.’
The others looked at Percival in askance.
‘You’ve seen their so-called training sessions? At least we share the burden of his instruction. Imagine being Arthur’s only pupil. All that energy and intensity and biting sarcasm focused solely on you for hours at a time. Enough to make a grown man weep.’
Caradoc shook his shaggy head. Not that he disagreed with the argument in principal. After all, Arthur had reduced hardy men to tears.
‘Yeah. But this is Merlin. He doesn’t give a hoot, does he? I really think he lacks the capacity to even feel fear. Say what you want about his skill, but no one can fault his bravery.’
‘True. Remember when he first came here and didn’t know who Arthur was? I nearly cracked a rib I laughed so hard. He was kind of brilliant in a clumsy, stumbling way.' Percival couldn't help grinning as he remembered Merlin's first appearance at court.
‘He was somewhat amusing, in his own clownish way, but brilliant? Surely not,’ Bedevere protested.
‘Saved Arthur’s life that first time. Then stood up to the King over that Valiant thing. Takes courage to face down King Uther,’ Caradoc added.
‘Or stupidity.’ Bedevere was turning positively sulky, steadfastly, refusing to believe the best of some commoner, even one as uncommon as Merlin. He couldn't believe the way the others were taking his side and defending him.
But defending him or not, no one could disagree with Bedevere's assessment because no one had quite figured Merlin out. For all his open smiles and wide-eyed looks, he was still a riddle, possibly wrapped in an enigma, and no one could tell where naivety bled into stupidity and where stupidity was merely a disguise for cunning.
‘It doesn’t seem fair, does it? My father gave me Simon as a manservant. Sixty years old if he’s a day. And Arthur somehow gets Merlin,’ Gawain said to break the silence.
‘Well he is the Prince. If it’s any compensation, Arthur insists he’s the worst manservant in the world.’
‘Brave, loyal and really quite eye-catching? If that’s his definition of ‘worst’ then Arthur has been paying us compliments for years.’
Farley looked back to where Arthur and Merlin were chatting. Well, Arthur was standing, arms folded, unyielding and stern in the face of Merlin’s agitated response.
Bedevere raised his eyebrows and supplemented the list of Merlin’s qualities.
‘Mouthy, incompetent and with no idea of the proper deference due to his master. The trouble with you lot is you always think that whatever Arthur has is cool. He has a three-legged hound and you all vie for it. He has the idiot as a manservant and you fall over yourselves to admire him. Blessed by the gods? Touched by the gods more like.’
‘But there is something about him, isn’t there? Rubbish at actually serving and has no inkling of how a servant should behave. Do you think he’s Arthur’s latest conquest? They do spend a lot of time together.’ Gawain’s gaze turned speculative.
‘No,’ Bedevere replied firmly.
And then watched as one of Arthur’s arms fell across Merlin’s shoulders.
‘Absolutely not. Arthur wouldn’t even contemplate lying with a servant.’
Arthur appeared to be staring deeply into Merlin’s eyes.
‘Really, he hardly even likes him. Besides he’s obviously celibate. Like Percival said. And can we get back to the point. Why would Arthur ever think that Merlin could beat me?’
…
‘You’re going to fight Bedevere. With a quarterstaff,’ Arthur informed his servant casually. ‘He’ll have his sword, of course.’
Merlin just grinned and shook his head.
‘No I’m not.’
Arthur said nothing, which Merlin found more than slightly perturbing. If this was a joke then Arthur should be making more of it, and at least have a witty comeback to hand. At the moment it was hardly funny at all. He felt it expedient to reiterate his position on this particular issue.
‘No. I’m really not. It’s bad enough getting beaten up by you, I’m not going to provide target practice for your group of bullying cohorts.’
‘Look, you don’t really have a choice. Bedevere insists on challenging a commoner. Shall I fetch one of the stable boys for him to knock around?’
‘Yes. No. I don’t know. Why me?’ Merlin asked plaintively.
He looked like a hurt puppy. But Arthur stood his ground and refused to be manipulated by puppy impressions.
‘You said you managed to knock me unconscious with a stick, you know… that time when I definitely wasn’t trying to elope with Sophie.’
Merlin brows knitted in confusion. ‘But you were trying to e….’
‘The point is,’ Arthur clarified impatiently, a look of noble longsuffering on his face, ‘on that night we don’t mention and never happened, you said that you managed to knock me out,’
Merlin might have guessed that this particular fib would come back to bite him. It had been such a satisfying lie, as well. The confused disbelief on Arthur’s face had been pure gold. Even Gaius had struggled to hide a smile.
‘I… Oh, right. Ah. I might have been exaggerating? You were unprepared? I surprised you! In fact it wasn’t even me, your horse stumbled… no, you didn’t have a horse, uh… you tripped and banged your head and….’
‘You’re fighting him, Merlin, and that’s an end to it.’
It was that tone of voice that brooked no argument. Merlin proved to be tone deaf and continued to object.
‘I hope you’re satisfied when I’m lying dead and unconscious on the ground.’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, you’re not going to die, and stop dilly-dallying, will you.’
‘Easy for you to say. The answer’s still no, and you can’t make me. So Bedevere wants to fight me? Why don’t you tell him he can’t? And why are you pandering to him, anyway?’
Arthur stopped and looked Merlin in the eye.
‘He persists in seeing ordinary people as cowards. And now he’s turned it into a matter of honour.’
Merlin was distinctly unimpressed.
‘Do I look like one of your thick-headed knights? You can’t just mention honour and expect me to fall eagerly on my sword. If I had one. Which I don’t. Because apparently I have a bloody stick.’
Arthur prided himself on being observant and couldn’t help noticing that his manservant seemed a trifle irritated. So he kept his voice calm and soothing and spoke as he would to a spooked horse.
‘Look, I know it’s not fair, but it’s necessary. And… I believe in you.’
Merlin drew a breath to continue to make his objections loudly and firmly. And paused. Arthur sensed a weakening, and immediately pressed his advantage.
‘Where’s the man who challenged a trained knight, to protect a fellow he didn’t even know? Where’s the man who claimed he could take me apart with less than a blow?’
The earnestness of those clear blue eyes, the weight of the gaze, bore down on Merlin, sapping his will to protest. One hand moved to rest upon his shoulder, distracting him with its warm steady pressure.
‘I need someone to win this challenge. You can do it, Merlin.’
There was no mockery in the words, only a deep sincerity.
Merlin blinked, and as though under some sorcerous spell, somehow found himself reaching for the staff that Arthur proffered. Before he knew what was happening he was holding a wooden stick, feeling bewildered and wondering how this could have possibly happened.
Damn Arthur and the enchanting power of his eyes and his hand and his stupid sincerity.
He debated crossly whether to give Arthur ten extra prat points for making him fight an armed knight, or deduct ten for showing so much faith in him. So he did both, and reluctantly followed Arthur, dragging his stick petulantly behind him. Arthur glared at him and he sighed and held the staff properly.
‘I didn’t know you meant Merlin. Honestly, I have no wish to hurt your servant,’ Bedevere blustered.
‘Do you wish to concede then?’
Merlin nodded enthusiastically in the background, as he tried to wordlessly convey his fervently held belief that the knight really should change his mind. But the arrogant bastard purposely ignored him.
‘Well, no. Of course not, but really, Merlin?’
The accompanying laugh sounded contemptuous to Merlin’s sensitive ears. The tips of which turned an angry red in response. He began hefting the staff with a purpose.
‘I hardly like to think of the damage he could do with such a good, solid stick,’ Farley whispered earnestly to Caradoc as they both quickly stepped back from Merlin’s hazardous attempt to whirl it around proficiently, and waved away the boy’s shouted apology at the near miss.
‘I just hope Bedevere fares better than Hubert.’
‘Merlin is too nice to purposely humiliate Bedevere,’ Percival whispered.
‘You think so?’ Farley asked doubtfully. ‘Even so, what does intent matter when the result is the same?’
‘Buck up. Bedevere hasn’t lost yet.’
‘He should never have made the challenge. It was… unsporting, as was my own dispute with the boy. And be sure, the gods will give him his comeuppance,’ Farley said ominously.
‘You might be right. I once met a mystic, a traveller from across the seas. He described it as karma.’
‘Calmer? Well, Hubert was certainly less of a hothead after the incident. And I now find myself thinking before drawing my sword. Yes, definitely calmer.’
The combatants were already facing each other.
Arthur looked over at Merlin.
‘Helmet?’
‘Rather not, actually. Can’t see a thing with it on.’
‘It’s to protect you, you imbecile. Now put it on.’
It occurred to Merlin that it would actually make casting a bit of magic slightly less conspicuous if he could obfuscate the golden glow of power in his eyes. So he nodded and let Arthur think he’d been persuaded.
‘Okay men? I want a fair fight….’
Well a sword was a knight’s weapon and Merlin reasoned that magic was his, so using a smidging of magic was perfectly fair.
Bedevere was expecting a blow to the head. It seemed like the obvious opening gambit, the bluff of a low blow, disguising the upper swing of the other end. He held his shield arm high in anticipation.
And then watched in bemusement as his opponent began flailing wildly.
Merlin appeared to have found the only rabbit hole in the field, caught his foot in it and was falling forward, arms wind-milling dramatically as he struggled for balance.
Some of the watching men began to guffaw at his antics, until Arthur shot a scowl in their direction.
The problem was that it all happened in a blink of an eyes, the blur of movement, the unpredictable swing of the staff as Merlin fell. It caught Bedevere unawares, hitting below his shield and cracking him across the knees. Bedevere was toppling down before he could even comprehend what was happening.
In some ungainly fashion, Merlin managed to recover his footing, accidently standing on Bedevere’s sword, and ending up looming over the fallen knight, staff poised ominously over his head.
‘I’m defeated?’ Bedevere asked in bewilderment, uncertain if the fight had actually begun, never mind ended. Yet there he was on the ground and at his opponent’s mercy.
Merlin took it as an admission rather than a question, removed his foot from the sword and began apologising profusely; throwing his quarterstaff to one side and giving the dazed knight a hand.
‘All before he had a chance to raise his sword,’ Farley noted with a mixture of sympathy and quiet satisfaction.
‘Humbling,’ Caradoc judged, ‘but not quite reaching the pinnacle of poor Hubert.’
‘I trust you’re satisfied?’ Arthur asked Bedevere, and because it was expected that he react with some grace, he nodded his head.
Satisfied wasn’t quite the word he was reaching for. He moved away, looking to his fellow knights for some kind of explanation of what had just occurred.
‘Merlin?’
‘Yes? What?’
Merlin pulled off the helmet.
‘Are you satisfied?’
‘Well…. In what way?’ His brow puckered as he wondered how this could be considered satisfying for anyone.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
‘Oh, never mind. Are you okay?’
‘No thanks to you.’ The ‘prat’ tagged on to the end could be taken as read.
‘I have to admit that I’ve never seen such a display of truly epic clumsiness.’
‘I won your stupid fight, didn’t I? I can’t believe you made me do that. And just so that you know, I’m not fighting your knights again.’
‘Thanks to Farley and Bedevere, you won’t have to. Your ineptitude terrifies them as much as it does me. It deserves to be immortalised by bards the kingdom over.’
‘Thanks a lot. I help you out and now I'm a laughing stock.'
‘Now?’ Arthur asked, raising his eyebrows.
‘Oh, get lost.’
‘Nice way to speak to your future King.’
‘I’m from Ealdor, not subject to the King’s jurisdiction, remember?’
‘Pfft. A technicality. Ealdor is mine.’
And immediately Merlin’s irritation vanished.
‘Yeah, fair enough.’
‘What do you mean, fair enough?’ Arthur asked, suspicious of this sudden acquiescence.
‘I mean, it’s never going to matter who tries to claim it. We belong to you.’
‘Interesting. So you’re including ‘you’ in that ‘we’. As in you belong to me?’ he inquired innocently.
‘Yeah, in your dreams,’ Merlin said. But he turned an intriguing shade of pink and his eyes widened until he resembled a mesmerized rabbit.
‘Nightmares, Merlin. They’re called nightmares.’
Actually, the idea of it did strange things to Arthur’s stomach, a skittering of delicate, fluttery touches as though something fragile was captive inside him. He suspected indigestion brought on by sheer panic at the thought of someone so impressively accident prone as Merlin belonging to him. Despite his squirming innards, he kept a facade of blank query. Even managing to hide his amusement as Merlin began to stutter.
‘I meant, my, Ealdor’s loyalty is to you. I mean, what you did was…. Did I ever thank you for that?’
This sincere, grateful version of his servant momentarily confounded Arthur. It made him want to say something sickeningly sweet and reassuring. Luckily the moment quickly passed and instead, his mouth became a twist of arrogant condescension.
‘No. But I believe my breakfast did arrive on time and still hot for three mornings in a row, what further thanks could one ask for?’
‘Your breakfast is always hot!’ Merlin protested indignantly. That’s one thing his magic was always good for.
‘Unfortunately, it sometimes appears as lunch,’ Arthur pointed out.
That Merlin couldn’t deny it.
But only when the Prince had been entertaining all night and needed the extra rest, and how was he to know that Arthur had a 10 o’ clock appointment with the King that one time?
‘You’ll never let me forget that one mistake, will you?’ Merlin complained.
And then mentally kicked himself as he realised he’d offered an open invitation to Arthur, in gold swirly writing, please come to the Abuse Merlin Party. Maybe Arthur would be generous and politely decline it. And maybe pigs would fly.
‘One mistake? Would that be the one time you sent me to the feast with odd shoes? Or the one time when I couldn’t wear my crown because you put it in a ‘safe’ place and then couldn’t remember where it was? Or how about the one time when you were so busy taking in the delights of Morgana’s bodice that you….’
‘Okay! I get the picture. No need to keep harping on about it,’ Merlin huffed.
‘No, because if I continued to list all your ‘one’ mistakes we’d be here until sunset.’
Merlin pouted but didn’t really have an answer. There had been a few cock-ups, he freely admitted it, and his intimate acquaintance with the stocks was further proof, if any was needed.
On reflection, he didn’t think he was wholly suited to the position of manservant. Or serving in general, really. But he had a Destiny and it was a way of staying close to the prince, so he took the rough with the smooth. He just wished there could be a bit less rough and a little more smooth.
Merlin looked so dejected that Arthur felt obliged to cheer him up.
‘Look, we’ll postpone your lesson until same time tomorrow,’ he announced magnanimously. ‘And sorry about today, you know. The fighting thing.’
Ah yes. Today. Turn around was fair play, and Merlin was definitely storing that one up for next time he had to explain, in detail, Arthur’s various failings as a benevolent master. It occurred to him that he’d never got to the bottom of the strange challenge and why it had been so important to Arthur.
‘Did it accomplish what you hoped?’ he asked curiously.
Arthur shrugged his shoulders.
‘It’s a start.’
Merlin nodded as though he understood. In reality, he was considering broaching another subject that kept tugging at him insistently, and then his mouth went into action without the full agreement of his brain.
‘Arthur?’
Arthur was about to remark on the proper protocol for addressing a royal prince, but there was something about the way Merlin was intently examining a loose thread on his overshirt that made him pause.
‘Yes?’
‘He could have injured me. Bedevere, I mean.’
It wasn’t wholly true, but Arthur wouldn’t have known that. Neither was it quite what Merlin wanted to say. Despite his reputation for blurting things out, some points needed to be worked up to.
Arthur just gave him a distant look and said, ‘I wouldn’t have let him.’
But if it had been a real fight, how could Arthur have judged if Bedevere was going to pull a blow or go in for the kill?
He realised that Arthur had been completely unconcerned, oblivious even. Yet there was no doubt in Merlin’s mind that Arthur would never purposely endanger him. The obvious answer was that he’d never seriously thought for one moment that Merlin might have been in danger.
But he should have, Merlin thought, beginning to feel panic edging its way in. He was a peasant with a stick and Bedevere was an armed knight. Arthur should have been concerned.
And maybe Merlin’s initial assumption that the lesson of the fight had been for Bedevere’s benefit was erroneous.
Perhaps it had been a test for a Merlin…. Perhaps by winning he had failed.
Snatches of conversation came back to him.
I believe in you…. I need someone to win this challenge. You can do it, Merlin…. Helmet? It’s to protect you….
Arthur had made sure any sign of strange glowing eyes would be hidden from sight.
‘Why were you so confident that I would win?’ Somehow he managed to sound detached and curious.
But this was the question that had been hanging around Merlin, nagging at him, demanding attention, certain of its own importance.
‘I wasn’t,’ Arthur replied. ‘Not until you did.’
‘Well, yeah. It’s easy to be sure I’ll win once I already have.’
‘It’s easy to be sure when I know, yes,’ Arthur agreed.
The ambivalent answer was like a blast of winter, it chilled him to the bone and thread ice through his veins. The edge of panic was developing into something more full blown. Arthur knew he was a sorcerer? Had this fight proved something for Arthur?
He raised his eyes but Arthur was already leaving, and all he could do was scan that broad back for answers. It wasn’t saying much.
‘I’m meeting with father this afternoon, but I’ll require a bath before eating tonight,’ Arthur called without turning around.
‘I…. Okay.’
Arthur hadn’t mentioned this morning that he was meeting with the king. Had it just come up?
He took a breath and calmed himself. Everything was okay. Everything was fine. Arthur knew nothing. He had requested a bath tonight, so he obviously expected Merlin to be present, and not, for example, in the cells, or tied to a fiery stake, or lolling around without his head….
The calming breath wasn't working. Merlin hurried away. He needed to go see Gaius.
…
As Arthur made his way towards the disconsolate Bedevere, Hector caught his arm and tugged him to one side.
‘What in hell’s name just happened, with Merlin? That mockery of a fight… I don’t like it, Arthur. I’ve seen such things before. You realise he’s….’
‘Yes, Merlin is very lucky,’ Arthur said loudly with his most vacant and oblivious smile.
‘Arthur!’ Hector hissed. ‘The speed he moved was…. You must realise….’
‘Of course, I don’t realise. And neither do you,’ Arthur replied in a harsh undertone.
Hector immediately fell silent as Arthur grabbed his shoulder and turned him away so that they were no longer facing the other knights.
‘Tell me, are you trustworthy?’
‘Highness!’ Hector turned pale and his voice contained uttermost shock. ‘I am your father’s most loyal servant….’
‘I know,’ Arthur replied dryly, ‘but as we established previously, I am not my father.’
There was a moment of silence as Hubert absorbed this.
‘No. You are not your father,’ he replied slowly.
‘My ways are not my father’s.’
‘Okay….’
‘I am discovering that perhaps my beliefs differ somewhat to his,’ Arthur admitted tentatively. ‘I have had many teachers, Hector. You should know. You were one of them. There are lessons I’ve learnt. That I’m still learning.’
Hector was very much afraid of what the prince might say next. Afraid he would skirt the edge of treason. This conversation began because of suspected sorcery. Uther’s ruling on such things was very clear.
‘And these new things you are learning,’ he probed cautiously, ‘do they compromise the values that a knight holds dear?’
‘A knight’s values, your values, are my core, my touchstone. Believe me, I hold to them more fervently than ever,’ Arthur swore.
And finally Hector’s brain fizzed into life. This wasn’t a new conversation. It was a continuation of this morning’s baffling exchange. Except now, Hector could see some sense emerging and realised none of Arthur’s previous musings had been aimless.
‘Tell me what you meant earlier. What would I not understand? What lessons would you teach that your father could not,’ Hector demanded.
It was Arthur’s turn to give a slow nod, pleased with the elder knight’s quickness of understanding.
‘I hardly know myself. I look at these knights, young but already battle-hardened, and am certain that we are forging something strong and invincible. One day they will ride into battle with my name on their lips. Lately, it plagues me that their actions might thoughtlessly tarnish that name.
‘We can’t just teach them to kill without principle or conscience. Bedevere is a good man, but his damned pride…. He strikes at those weaker than him, is blinkered to the strength to be found in everyday people. I understand him. I was him. Until I saw men and women fight with nothing but shovels and sticks, and enough courage for a whole army of knights.’
But Hector was unmoved, more concerned with finding out how Arthur differed to his father, what the consequences would be and how he could attempt to mitigate them.
‘Maybe so, but cut to the chase, Arthur. Your father clings to this kingdom by his fingernails. You think he doesn’t already understand the strength of the people. He understands it. He fears it. This is why we must be trained and equipped, so that we can quell any uprising. What would you do that is so different?’ Hector asked bluntly.
‘I would have my knights unlearn some of the lessons I helped teach. I glimpse a future of Camelot that is not just her knights and nobility. It is all her people. A Camelot where honour, courage, respect, justice, fairness, loyalty holds true for all our people not just the elite.
‘What would I do differently? I would fashion a kingdom where respect and chivalry extends to all, not just fellow knights or fair maidens.’
To treat a beggar as an equal to a lord? And sorcerers? Were they also part of the Prince’s vision of Camelot? Hector tried to get his head around what Arthur was saying and acknowledged that the prince had been right in his assumption. Hector couldn’t comprehend the vastness of this vision.
Any strong king could change the political structure of the kingdom, but Arthur wanted to change people and attitudes and things which couldn’t be fixed with new laws or expanding borders.
‘I don’t know what you would have me say,’ Hector confessed miserably.
‘You don’t have to say anything, but Lancelot, did you think he would make a good knight?’
‘Of course! Unfortunately…,’ he stopped, realising he was on the verge of criticising Uther.
‘Yes. Unfortunately. Sir Hector, I will speak plainly. I would prefer not to have witnessed a man of merit and worth turned away because his father is not a landowner. That was Camelot’s loss. More importantly, I would not see a good man harmed because he is… lucky. Understand me, I would not deliberately challenge my liege, but where there is the potential for… conflict, it would be easier if some things were never brought to the King’s attention.
‘I would never ask you to choose between King and Prince. I too am the King’s loyal subject so there is no choice to be made. On the other hand, a man who has proved his loyalty and shown a willingness to trade his own life for mine, should not and will not be tried or judged as a traitor because of some accident of birth that causes him to be different to us, not so long as I have breath to protest it or strength to protect him. Do you understand me?’
Hector recognised the fine line that Arthur was drawing by keeping Uther ignorant and he was pretty certain that Uther would not share the same view of it. But if he had caught the gist of what Arthur was saying, the status quo would be maintained as long Uther did not know about Merlin. If he did find out and subjected the boy to the extremities of Camelot justice, then Arthur would be compelled to protect him.
There was a reason why Hector was one of Uther’s foremost knights, and he quickly extrapolated the consequences of Merlin’s discovery. Worst case: the Prince rebelled. This would pull Camelot apart, weaken her and leave her prone to attack. The kingdom would split down the middle because although people held Uther in fear, they were beginning to love his son.
And maybe this was the key to the new Camelot that Arthur dreamed of. Uther feared the strength of his people. Arthur respected and loved them for it. Fear begets fear but love begets love, and Arthur would reap what he sowed.
Hector made his decision.
‘I may not fully understand these things you would have me learn, but I’m not a fool, Arthur. Uther will learn nothing from me.’
He hadn’t realized how tense the prince had been until he relaxed his grip on the elder knight’s arm and Hector’s hand tingled as the blood flowed again.
‘Thank you. I will not forget this.’
‘There are still the others, though,’ Hector warned.
‘I know. I don’t think they noticed anything. And if they did? We’ll bring them back into line. I have you now.’ Arthur flipped him his most charming smile before turning back to his men.
Hector reflected ruefully that he was right.
Despite Arthur’s claim that he would never have to choose between father and son, he’d been forced into a decision and somehow managed to fall on the Prince’s side.
It set him wondering just how long Arthur had been working on him to get this result.
Probably since he’d been a scheming little four-year old, casually twisting hardened knights around his chubby fingers, Hector decided. And then smiled because damn, if the child was good, the king was going to be bloody brilliant.
Part 3