Conquest Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The moon was full and bright in the clear skies above the forest. Arthur listened to Guinevak flirt with Merlin, who looked back at Guinevere.

“Guinevak would like to see the dragons,” he said.

There was a very knowing look in Guinevere’s eyes when she said, “Yes, you go show her the dragons, Merlin. I will see Arthur to his tent.”

Merlin smirked and then led Guinevak through the trees, away from more crowded areas of the encampment.

“I take it he has a dwelling of his own out there?”

Guinevere failed to respond, so Arthur asked her a few more questions.

“He uses magic openly in front of the king? Magic is dangerous, don’t you think? He could turn on your father at any time. My father made the mistake of trusting a witch and it cost my mother her life.”

Guinevere stopped. They’d reached the edge of the tree line. Ahead was the clearing where many campfires burned to ward off the cold of the night. Tents glowed like paper covered candles for quite a distance before them.

Guinevere asked, “Do you know the true circumstances of your mother’s death? If you do and you still have this attitude toward magic and those who practice it then I fear I will never be able to respect you, not even as an enemy.”

Arthur glowered at Guinevere, astounded she would have the nerve to speak of his mother’s death as though she understood something about it that he didn’t. “Of course I know the circumstances of my mother’s death! Nimue used magic to cure Morgan and my mother paid for it with her life.”

“You got this information from Uther, I take it?”

“Who else would I get it from?”

Guinevere shook her head. “It never occurred to you that Igraine understood the sacrifice that would have to be made to save her daughter, did it? It has never occurred to you that she sacrificed herself. She wasn’t murdered—”

“How dare you speak such lies! My mother was murdered!”

“It is your father who lies, not me,” Guinevere said calmly. “You’ve helped wage a war that should never have been fought. Thousands have died in your father’s quest to soothe his guilty conscience and you have much to repent for yourself—”

Unaware of what he was doing, Arthur leaned in close to Guinevere. His entire body shook with rage.

“I’m warning you, Guinevere. Do not speak of things you don’t understand.”

Guinevere didn’t look the least intimidated. Her eyes brimmed with pity for him, and that made Arthur even angrier.

“You know the way from here,” she finally said. She started back on the path leading to the tent she shared with her sister. Arthur watched her go until the darkness swallowed her. He wanted to kick something, punch someone, find some way to expel his rage.

As he walked back toward his tent, however, Arthur knew that some of the tension in his gut was not just anger, but fear. He had never questioned his father’s account of what really happened between his mother and Nimue. He’d always assumed that Nimue had lied to avoid justice for killing Igraine.

Had his mother truly sacrificed herself to save Morgan? Had her death not been murder at all, but a selfless act to save the child she loved? If that were so then every single time he’d ridden out to war he’d gone out seeking innocent blood.

You’ve always known they were innocent…

Indeed, they had always been innocent. Only Nimue deserved to die for what happened to Igraine.

What are you doing, Arthur? he asked himself. This is what they want. They want to drive a wedge between you and your father. If they can divide you, they can conquer you. Don’t let them do it.

Arthur continued on to his tent with renewed faith. He had not killed in vain. His father’s cause was just. Those who practiced magic did so because they were evil, and they would have to be wiped from existence. They would all die, not just for Igraine’s death, but for all the innocents they’d hurt with their brand of evil.

Percival sat next to Gawain, who had his head and wrists bound in the stocks that had been set up by the fire. A blanket was thrown over Gawain’s back, and a chair had been set up beneath him to make the night more tolerable to pass. He snuck the men the food he’d taken from King Thomas’s table, and they ate quickly, greedily.

“Thank you,” Gawain and Percival said in unison.

“You’re welcome. You’re all right here?”

“As all right as I can be,” Gawain said. His face was pinched in discomfort, but he basically seemed okay.

“It’ll be over soon. King Thomas has agreed to release us tomorrow.”

Both men sighed in relief and bade Arthur goodnight.

“I’ve really learned my lesson about losing control of my tongue, I promise,” he heard Gawain say as he entered his tent.

“No you haven’t,” Percival countered. Both men laughed.

*****

Arthur was much more tired than he’d first thought. The room was warm with extra embers that a male servant had brought in, which made Arthur smile. He was sure Merlin was responsible for making sure Guinevak didn’t come near him again. Extra blankets had also been provided. Even with all of this the night was cold enough to still have a slight chill in the tent.

After pulling off his boots Arthur climbed into bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin. The bed was remarkably soft, if not a little bit lumpy, filled with straw and wool to keep the occupant nice and warm. Despite this he knew that once the warming coals went out he would be freezing and unable to completely rest.

He was anxious to get back to Camelot, to his room and a hot bath and good food. Better still, he longed for the good company of his sisters, Morgause and Morgan. He could indulge in an intelligent conversation and a challenging game of chess with Morgause. Morgan’s bubbly enthusiasm for life would be infectious as always and lift his spirits. She knew nothing of war and violence. Her innocence would be a soothing balm to the raw of his spirit.

Sleep evaded Arthur at first. As the light from the coals dimmed he began to slip into the darkness of sleep. His dreams were not filled with the sort of peaceful images that relaxed the mind. Instead they were hot with raw lust. In his dreams he pushed Guinevere against a tree and thrust deep into her, hard and fast, while she moaned in false protest. Her hands raked through his hair, her strong thighs squeezed him deliciously close.

The dream quickly took on a very realistic quality. He felt the thick shaft of his cock in a small, warm hand, and moaned. The sound of his own voice in the close confines of the tent awoke him, and he started when he saw the indistinct figure of a woman’s head bobbing up and down as she took the head of his member into her warm, wet mouth.

“What…who…”

“Let us make peace,” she whispered, and Arthur moaned in force. Guinevere had returned, and her gesture of peace was so much more gratifying than the dream he’d had of working out his frustrations with her by dealing out a hard fuck. 

Guinevere straddled Arthur. His lips pulled up into a smug grin.  “I knew you couldn’t stay away. You want me as much as I want you, Guinevere.”

He grabbed her by the arms before she could begin to properly ride him and flipped her onto her back, knocking the blankets off the bed so that his bare bottom was exposed to the cool of the tent. He put himself at her entrance and began to live out the dream of a hard, fast fuck.  She cried out but not in pain from inexperience. She’d done this before. She took him easily and Arthur felt a stab of absurd jealousy that he wasn’t the first, and then fucked her harder for it.

“Call me a name,” she grunted.

“Whore,” he said, obliged. “Who did you fuck before me?”

Guinevere growled in his ear and then bit his neck, hard enough to draw pain, and then ran her tongue over the spot to soothe it. He continued fucking her, how long he didn’t know. It wasn’t his best performance, for sure, for Arthur came fast, uncaring of satisfying Guinevere and hoping he would leave her frustrated enough to stay, to warm his bed and his body, and beg him to fuck her again later in the night.

“She’s in here!”

Arthur froze. His hair was ringing wet with sweat. He knew that voice. It sounded like…

A lantern poked through the tent first, followed by Guinevere’s face. In the dim light that filled the tent, he looked down and realized he was not inside Guinevere, but inside her sister, Guinevak.

She cocked an eyebrow at him. “Father will have your head for this,” she said dispassionately. “It’s no less than you deserve.”

Guinevere’s face was thunderous. Arthur was as nervous of her wrath as he was of Merlin’s.

“Guinevere, I didn’t know it was her,” Arthur said, getting up and pulling on his trousers. He wished he could clean up, but he knew such a luxury would not be afforded him.

“Who did you think it was?”

You, he thought, but he wasn’t about to say that. “An obliging serving girl,” he lied. “I thought her a gift from your father. A distraction—a woman to warm my bed in the cold—nothing more, I assure you.”

“Unlike Uther, my father doesn’t whore his female servants out,” Guinevere said coolly. “Don’t think you’ll be excused for your part in this, Guinevak.”

“Don’t be silly, Sister,” Guinevak replied flippantly. She waved her older sister’s concerns away.

“Guards—seize them both,” Guinevere ordered.

“You must be joking!” Guinevak shouted.

Guinevere’s anger caused her face to flush. “I assure you, Sister, I am not.”

“What’s going on?” Arthur heard Percival ask from outside the tent. He closed his eyes, dreading what would happen next. He threw on his jacket and followed Guinevere outside where he allowed the guards she’d brought to clap irons to his wrists without protest.

“As your Prince, Percival, I am giving you a direct order not to say a word. You will not resist, do you understand me? Keep the fire going. Gawain will die in this cold if you do not.”

The fire Percival had kept going to warm Gawain still burned brightly. Gawain struggled to turn his head to see what was happening.

“Keep him quiet,” Arthur added.

“Yes, My Lord,” Percival said dutifully.

“I have made a mistake and the consequences are mine to bear alone,” Arthur informed him.

“Actually, your men are coming with us. Guards, clap them in irons as well. Bring them along,” Guinevere ordered.

Gawain’s face contorted with pain from having spent hours bent over in the stocks. He looked relieved to be upright, even if it meant being chained and led, quite possibly, to his death.

Once again Arthur found himself walking toward the king’s tent, only this time in irons, with one of the king’s own daughters shouting indignant protests with every step.

“Was it really good?” Gawain whispered. He’d seen Guinevak a couple of times now and had looked at her lustfully already. “She looks like a shag worth dying for…”

“No shag is worth that!” whispered Percival angrily. “In case you’ve forgotten, I have a woman awaiting my return in Camelot.”

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry,” Arthur told them, and he meant every word. He was glad Merlin wasn’t there. If he was, Arthur was certain the wizard would lose all control and burn him to cinders with a glare.

The tables upon which dinner had been served only a few hours before were now bare and had been moved to the edges of the tent. Two thrones, one for King Thomas, and a smaller one for Queen Minerva, now took up the center of the room. Arthur, Percival, and Gawain were forced onto their knees before the thrones, as was Guinevak. She looked truly worried now, and had fallen silent.

Thomas exploded into the tent with an angry, “Where is he?” His eyes sought out the three men kneeling, facing the thrones, and he stormed up to them.

The king backhanded Arthur hard enough to make the prince taste blood. “How dare you! How dare you dishonor my daughter? How dare you sully her!”

Somebody else had that pleasure, Arthur thought. Probably Merlin. He wisely chose to hold his tongue, at least on that matter. He’d never seen Thomas so incredibly angry before, nor had he ever heard of him being capable of such ire.

“Forgive me, Sire, I…I thought she was a serving girl. It was dark. I didn’t know she was your daughter.”

“That is no excuse. Our servants are not whores for nobility! Not in my kingdom!” Thomas spat. Guinevere had come to stand behind and to the right of her father. She smirked down at him.

Arthur held his tongue, giving Thomas time to pace back and forth before them. The king’s head was flushed dark, and a nasty looking vein had popped out on one of his temples.

“To be fair, my lord, the girl came to Arthur,” Gawain bravely pointed out.

“Silence!” Thomas shouted at Gawain. “You have no voice here. Speak out of turn again I’ll cut out your tongue myself!” He rounded on Guinevak, pointing a finger in her face. “And you! Your mother wants you sent to a convent in the north. I’m inclined to agree.”

Guinevak blanched and leaned backward. Clearly she’d never inspired such ire in her father. “You wouldn’t!” she said in a trembling voice.

“You spread your legs like a common whore and think it will go unpunished?” he shouted.

Guinevak, normally a good judge of her father’s limitations, realized she’d pushed him too far. He was angrier than she’d ever seen him before. He’d never compared her to a whore. Tears stung at her eyes and her lip trembled.

“He led the raid on Merlin’s village. His men murdered Gwendolyn. I wanted to get revenge for Merlin, that’s why I did it! I thought if he bedded me, you would…you would…”

“You seduced Arthur to get back at him for what happened to my wife?” Merlin said. His voice was cold and no one had heard him enter the tent. “How is that a punishment?”

“She figured I would kill Arthur to restore my honor. Didn’t you?” Thomas asked her. Guinevak nodded and lowered her head. Merlin sighed and shook his head with a look of pity and disgust on his face. Gawain looked worried, genuinely worried, when Thomas stared at Arthur as though he considered doing just that.

“Minerva wants you castrated, Arthur,” Thomas said.

“My Lord, really!” Percival said in a panic, since Gawain had been forbidden to speak. “I’m sure Arthur never intended to offend you. He is a man of honor and…”

Thomas’s withering look silenced Percival at once.

“Merlin, gather your dragons, get these men out of my sight and back to the border forthwith. The next time I meet you will be in battle, Arthur Pendragon, and I promise you I will indeed seek to skewer you on the end of my sword! Get out!”

Guinevere motioned for the guards to pull Arthur, Gawain, and Percival to their feet. She marched them out while Thomas continued to shout at Guinevak.

“As for you, Guinevak, I have half a mind to beat you myself! I am confining you to your tent, under guard, indefinitely. I may indeed send you to that convent after all. You put one more toe out of line—”

Outside Merlin used vines once again to constrain Arthur, Gawain, and Percival, while Thomas shouted at Guinevak. Arthur looked forward to the ride home, even if it meant being poisoned by the dragons again. He’d never wanted to put a place to his back so bad in his life.

Merlin’s eyes looked suspiciously wet and red.

“Merlin, I’m sorry for bedding Guinevak. I know she means something to you. I honestly thought she was someone else. Had I known I swear I would have refused—”

Merlin looked at Arthur. Something in his gaze—something hard and unforgiving—stole the words from Arthur’s mouth. Merlin leaned in close and whispered so low, so fiercely, that only Arthur could hear his words and even he could barely make them out.

“She was right, you know. You did lead the raid that day, and your men did kill my wife. She’d never hurt anyone in her life. She was the epitome of goodness and kindness and your men cut her down like she was a common criminal. Now all you can do is apologize for fucking some royal slut that I bed when I’ve nothing better to do? If I didn’t value my word to King Thomas I would kill you myself, Arthur Pendragon.”

Merlin leaned away and his eyes flashed. At once Arthur felt woozy. The world seemed to tip sideways as he fell to the frozen ground, and slipped into darkness. 

*****

The sunlight glared painfully in Arthur’s eyes through the patchwork of bare tree limbs above. He opened his eyes and realized he was the first of the three of them to awaken. He struggled to sit up and looked around. They were close to a small brook that had frozen over on either side, leaving a narrow corridor for the water to run in the center. The water was black like oil and Arthur’s dry mouth thirsted for a sip.

They were still on Thomas’s side of the border. Whoever had dropped he, Percival, and Gawain off had not crossed the border between Thomas and Uther’s kingdoms. Not even to return Arthur had Merlin had not crossed that line.

Gawain and Percival still slept. Thankfully, this time, the dragons had not sunk in their claws to poison them on the return trip, and there were no traces of the vines Merlin had tied them with to be found on any of them. Arthur’s body ached with cold and stiffness. There was no telling how long he’d lain exposed in the cold. His men would freeze to death if he didn’t get them awake and warm.

A creaky footbridge was only feet away. Arthur crawled over to Percival and slapped him on the face.

“Perce! Wake up. We’re at the border.”

Percival didn’t respond. His skin was cold as ice. In a panic, Arthur felt for a pulse and found one. It was shallow but steady. Gawain fared no better.

Struggling against stiff joints and cold that seemed to bite at his very soul, Arthur got up and struggled across the footbridge to his kingdom. The more he moved the easier his limbs responded. Thankfully the wood was dry since there had not been rain for many months in his father’s kingdom. Tinder and wood was easy to find and he quickly put together a fire.

Every second he worked, Arthur had the feeling he was under someone’s watchful eye. He surreptitiously scanned the forest around them as he moved but he could not locate anyone. Had Merlin remained behind? Did he, even now, consider killing he and his men and simply not report it to King Thomas? Or did he consider satisfying his desire for revenge and then simply own up to breaking his oath? What could King Thomas really do to Merlin that Merlin wouldn’t allow anyway?

No one made a move to stop him, or act to impede his efforts to save his men, so Arthur continued to work. He found a felled sapling and began to hack at it with his sword, the only weapon or resource he’d been left with. The cold and the dry caused the wood to splinter under the ferocity of Arthur’s blows with the blade and soon he had usable chunks to not only build a proper cooking fire, but to carry with them for another fire later.

Starting the fire without flints had not been easy, but twenty minutes after gathering wood, Arthur had a warm fire going. He ran across the footbridge and started with Percival first. The man was as large as a bear and as heavy as one as well. Gawain was easier to drag across the bridge. He laid both men next to the fire, as close as he could get them without singing the hair from their faces.

Would it be enough? Arthur wondered.

The air was blessedly still, which was good for keeping the fire from guttering, but they would need food and shelter if they were to survive. They were tens of miles from the nearest village, a small, rundown place called Miller’s Wheel. The ride would be long one even on a fresh horse, but to walk it would take a couple of days.

Arthur searched the woods, feeling eyes upon him, and jumped when he saw Guinevere standing on the other side of the footbridge, still in her father’s kingdom.

“Guinevere?”

“Don’t think of coming back into our territory,” she warned.

“Trust me, I’m not.”

She smirked and held up a hand. About fifteen women moved forth, all of them armed with longbows notched with arrows tipped with wickedly sharp metal heads. Had she and her archers hidden, watched his attempt to save his men by warming them with a fire, only to kill them when he succeeded? Had Thomas ordered her to wait for them to make it back to their territory before assassinating him? 

The women didn’t take aim, but he knew they would if she gave the order. She held up her hand again, and Arthur’s breath froze in his chest. Rather than her archers taking aim, a few more women emerged from the thick of the forest pines, bringing the horses Arthur and his men had ridden when Merlin first captured them.

The first two horses were packed with bedrolls, pots and pans for cooking, and the third horse pulled a litter loaded with folds of cloth and other materials for a tent.

“Father wanted you to have these lest you die of exposure and thereby give Uther an excuse to spark a war,” Guinevere explained. “Not that Uther won’t use your brief visit with us to do that anyway.”

“I’m not going to tell him where we’ve been. I’ll say we had an extended visit in Miller’s Wheel and then camped for a few days, hunting.”

“You would do that?” Guinevere questioned with no small amount of skepticism. “I thought you wanted war. I thought you wanted the opportunity to conquer more of my father’s land.”

“That goes to show you don’t understand what I want,” Arthur replied simply.

Guinevere studied him, uncertain what to make of the young man who stood only thirty feet away from her.

“Safe travels, Arthur Pendragon,” Guinevere said.

“Guinevere. I’m sorry for what happened with your sister. I thought she was…”

Guinevere cocked a brow and waited for Arthur to finish his explanation, but the knowing gleam in her eye belied the certainty that she already knew Arthur thought he was bedding her not Guinevak.

“I thought she was someone else,” Arthur finished tightly. His throat was really dry. He longed for something to moisten it with.

Without another word, Guinevere sent the horses over and then turned on her heel, ordering her archers to follow. They disappeared into the dense darkness of the pines that lined Thomas’s side of the border, and soon Arthur had the feeling he, Percival, and Gawain were truly alone.

*****

Chunks of beef and a sack of potatoes and carrots had been provided with the supplies sent by King Thomas. Arthur gathered water from a hole in the ice he hacked through and soon had a meager stew boiling on the fire he’d cooked. The smell woke Gawain and Percival, who had properly warmed now that Arthur had wrapped them in the bedrolls King Thomas had provided.

“The man even gave us salt?” Percival said, looking at the small sack that had been filled with the grainy substance. He even pulled out a loaf of bread. “Bread too. How strange.”

“How so?”

“I can understand him giving us supplies to make it to a village but why would he give us a luxury like salt? Why would he care if the food he gave us tasted good?”

“You think its poison?” Gawain asked suspiciously. He’d wolfed down half a bowl of the stew, along with a few mouthfuls of bread. His cheeks bulged with food so that his words were barely understandable.

“I’m sure it’s fine,” Arthur said reasonably. “If it was poisoned we’d have felt it by now. It makes no sense to get us this far and then poison us. Eat up. We need to clean up and then head out. If we leave in the next twenty minutes we can make Miller’s Wheel by noon tomorrow.”

After eating what was left of the stew, Arthur, Percival and Gawain began to pack up. It wasn’t long before they rode out on bellies full of hot stew. Arthur felt a hundred times better having warmed up and gotten something to eat.

They rode at a steady pace, pushing the horses on but not hard enough to wear them out. Arthur insisted they ride until they had very little sunlight left to gather wood. Judging by the tendrils of smoke that rose in the distant valley, they’d reach Miller’s Wheel late morning rather than noon. Arthur wanted to push on, but clouds had moved in and the moon would not give them much light to see by. They could easily get lost in the pitch black of a moonless night.

When Arthur returned to camp, arms loaded with wood, Percival and Gawain were sharing a laugh and looking in a couple of the other sacks.

“What amuses you two so much?”

“King Thomas,” Gawain said, emphasizing the name, “didn’t just give us salt. He gave us tea and honey as well.”

“What?”

“Eggs too,” Percival said, snorting with laughter.

“Eggs? You’re having a go,” Arthur said dismissively.

“Look for yourself,” Gawain insisted.

Arthur checked out the full range of supplies that had been packed under the tent. There were a few small sacks. One contained tea, another had a small jar of amber liquid—honey. Sure enough, packed in a tiny crate, were half a dozen clean brown eggs stuffed into some straw for cushioning.

Percival and Gawain burst out laughing.

Arthur still didn’t understand what they found so funny. “What?”

“No man would have done this!” Percival said. “No man would have given us precious spices.”

“It was Guinevere,” Gawain said.

Arthur dumped the wood. Light was fading fast and he didn’t have time to banter with them. “Make the fire, Gawain. Perce and I will set up the tent.”

“She must have—”

“Guinevere hates me,” Arthur interrupted. “Trust me. I know when a woman likes me and Lady Guinevere would sooner see me freeze and starve than have small luxuries like salt, honey, tea, and eggs.”

“Then it must have been Guinevak. She must have begged her sister into loading you up,” Gawain insisted. “I’m telling you, Arthur, this is not King Thomas’s handiwork. Oh, and Guinevere might like you more than you realize. I’ve had women punch me because they hate my guts, and then jump me and shag me like their lives depended on it. Love and hate—ooooh—powerful when you combine them just right.”

Gawain had such a wistful look on his face it took him a moment to realize Arthur and Percival were staring at him as though he’d gone mad.

He shrugged and gave in. “Fine. This is all out of the goodness of King Thomas’s heart. Careful, Arthur; next time you meet with His Majesty King Thomas, you may have to shag him. It seems he’s hot for you, what with the honey, and the tea, and the eggs and salt. Oh, and what do you know, a little tea pot! One fire, coming right up!”

Feeling hot with embarrassment Arthur grabbed the tent and pulled it from the litter. “Come on, Percival. Let’s just get the tent ready.”

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