Conquest Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Arthur had begun to think his encounter with Guinevere was nothing more than a vivid dream.

The following morning they awoke and to eat breakfast before setting out for Camelot. She ignored him for the most part, and when she looked at him it was with eyes so cold he could scarcely believe the deal they’d struck the night before was real. He often looked at her lips, wondering if he’d really had them wrapped around the head of his cock the night before of that had been wishful thinking. After all, he’d been nearly asleep when she’d suddenly appeared before him…

“Ladies, it is time.”

Both Minerva and Guinevere were clothed in warm, woolen clothes and heavy hooded fur cloaks. They followed Arthur outside where the wind howled and blew snow flurries through the air, but the worst of the blizzard was clearly past.

The largest carriage Arthur had ever seen awaited them. Twelve horses were tethered to it, and it was painted black and held together with large metal rivets. It was so large, so high, the bottom of the side door was at eye level with Arthur. A long ladder was put into place for Minerva and Guinevere to climb inside. He followed them up and pulled the ladder in behind him. The interior was roomy and heated with warming coals.

“This carriage is large enough to roll through the deep snow on the roads ahead,” Arthur said, as though Guinevere and Minerva were guests who eagerly awaited reaching Camelot, rather than prisoners going against their will. “You will be quite safe,” he added.

“Thank you, Arthur. I feared riding in a carriage that would overturn,” Minerva said graciously.

“You’re from Crandyn, are you not?” Arthur asked Minerva. The wagon had started to roll. The ride was surprisingly smooth considering there was almost three feet of snow on the ground.

“Yes. I was born and raised along the border of Pinewood.” Minerva pointed out of the window in the general location of the town she’d grown up in, though it was not visible in the gray, snowy expanse ahead. “Farm country starts there. My father’s villa lies a few miles beyond that. In summer, when the weather is clear, you can see it from this castle. He was a blacksmith by trade.”

“And your husband? Not much is known of his early years. How did he take control so quickly with so little bloodshed?”

“My father took nothing,” Guinevere said, with an edge in her voice.

“Thomas was a warrior who rose to power in the north,” Minerva said, interrupting what would have eventually turned into a scathing insult from Guinevere. “He became more powerful than Vortigern, and his own followers named him king of their territory. You say little is known of Thomas but I thought this was common knowledge.”

“Little is known of him in Camelot. I know that when I was a child he was a warlord, not a king.”

“When Uther began his conquest to destroy magic Vortigern, and many other warlords, knew they could not stand against him as individuals. They came together and decided to join their kingdoms under one crown, with one king to rule them—Thomas was chosen to be that king.”

“What is the point of this interrogation?” Guinevere asked.

“I’m just trying to understand who Thomas is. I want to know the truth of his past and how he came to power rather than the wild rumors I’ve heard.”

“What sort of wild rumors?” Minerva asked.

“That Thomas and Merlin formed a pact and put all the kings of the land under a spell to join him rather than father.”

“Nonsense!” Guinevere said hotly. “That’s undoubtedly some tale your father concocted to turn you against my father and Merlin.”

Arthur wasn’t looking at Guinevere. He was looking into Minerva’s eyes.

“No such thing happened, Arthur,” Minerva said in a calm, steady voice. “Merlin is the prophesied savior of all magical people and creatures. He did seek an alliance with my husband once Uther began his attacks, but only because Uther used the families of those with magic as hostages and threatened to kill them if they didn’t turn on their own kind and serve him. Once anyone with reasonable power was no longer of use to Uther, he killed them, then often killed the witch or warlock who betrayed their kind to save their families. Nimue is a prime example of this.”

“Nimue killed my mother.”

“Your mother killed herself,” countered Minerva.

Minerva’s words awakened a rage in Arthur that was so hot he momentarily forgot himself. He reached out and grabbed Minerva by the throat pulled her forward, and then shoved her back into the hard seat of the carriage with enough force to knock the wind from her lungs.

Guinevere launched herself at Arthur with a screech of rage. She landed several well-aimed punches and kicks that brought him back to himself. He released Minerva and shoved Guinevere away.

“How dare you!” Guinevere shouted.

“You know nothing of my mother’s death!” Arthur shouted at Minerva. She coughed and held her throat, trying to regain her breath. “You weren’t there! You didn’t see what happened!”

“Neither…were…you…” Minerva managed.

Guinevere examined her mother’s throat. “I need a cool cloth,” she said.

“We don’t have one,” said Arthur.

Guinevere opened the window on her side of the carriage and gathered a handful of snow. She took a handkerchief she’d stuffed into the pocket of her trousers and put the snow in it, and then held it to her mother’s throat.

“I’m all right,” the queen said a few minutes later, once the cloth had cooled her burning throat. Her voice was very hoarse, little more than a harsh whisper.

Minerva said, “I know more than you imagine, Arthur. When you’re ready, I will tell you of what I know.”

“You are friendly with Nimue. I am not interested in any lies you would tell to defend her.”

“I will never forgive you for this,” Guinevere said. The anger in her eyes matched the rage he’d felt when Minerva had said his mother had killed herself. He knew that whatever chance he’d had of winning Guinevere over was now gone.

He’d come to Crandyn, defeated Thomas’s men. He’d captured Thomas’s queen and daughter.

He’d also foolishly lost his temper, and in doing so he had lost any chance he’d ever had of winning Guinevere over.

 *****

Guinevere refused to so much as look in Arthur’s direction for the next five days. Arthur chose to give up the comfort of the heated carriage interior to two of his knights so that they could guard Guinevere and Minerva while he rode beside Gawain, who drove them.

Though Percival was supposed to only be gone on his trip to Camelot for two days, it had been more than eight days since he’d left with Nimue. Arthur often pondered what that meant. Had he been discovered by the king and arrested, perhaps even executed? Had Nimue killed him as part of some treachery? Why had they not returned?

On the sixth night of travel they stopped for camp on the outskirts of Willowdale. They would reach Camelot by high noon in their mammoth trundling carriage. Arthur watched as his tent was finished being set up and then went into the tent Guinevere and Minerva shared.

“Your Majesty,” he said, bowing to Minerva. She nodded her head in acknowledgement.

“Arthur.”

“I have spoken very little to you since the incident in the carriage—”

“When you attempted to choke her to death!” Guinevere said hotly.

“Silence, Gwen,” Minerva said. “Yes, Arthur?”

“I have kept my silence and distance out of shame, not anger. I have come to apologize for what I did to you.”

He looked deeply into her eyes. He had to make her understand that guilt had gnawed at his insides ever since he’d taken his hand from her neck.

“I am truly sorry for what I did. I hope one day you can forgive me.”

Minerva cocked her head to the side and approached him. “I don’t know what to make of you, Arthur. You can be hard, and cruel, yet you also feel remorse and you can humble yourself. I believe you are sorry for what you did. I forgive you.”

“Mother! How could you after what he did?” Guinevere looked shocked.

“Uther Pendragon would never apologize when he was wrong, Guinevere. That is the difference between the king and the prince.”

“Thank you, My Lady,” Arthur said. He bowed low and turned to leave. He was almost at the tent exit when a small hand dug hard into his arm just above the elbow. Had he not been wearing so much padding to protect against the cold it would have hurt.

“My mother may forgive you but I do not,” Guinevere said. She thrust his arm away and stalked off toward the rear of the tent where she kept her back to him.

With a sigh Arthur left and returned to his own tent which was next to theirs. When he went in he was surprised to see Gawain waited with a note. It was sealed with the image of a sword and battle axe crossed over the other. Percival’s family seal.

“From Perce,” Gawain said.

“Thank God. I worried something had happened to him,” Arthur said.

He broke the seal and looked at the small, neat text.

The king has announced his bethrothment to Morgause. He has legally had her name changed to Igraine. He will name her queen upon their marriage. He visits her chambers several times a week and spends the night, or has her come to his chambers.

Blanchefleur says Morgause speaks of taking her own life. Hurry back, Arthur. I fear for what she will do, to either Uther or herself. Morgan discovered what Uther plans for her sister and threatened to use magic against him. He has had her sealed in her chambers. That is why she did not see you off the day we left for Crandyn. Hurry home, Arthur. The situation is dire.
-Percival

“My God…”

“What is it?”

Arthur was unable to speak aloud what he just read, so he passed the note off to Gawain, who read through it twice.

“No. Surely even he wouldn’t molest his own daughter.”

“She isn’t his blood, therefore he doesn’t care,” Arthur said.

“She looks just like your mother. He’s trying to replace his dead wife with his own stepdaughter.”

“He should love her as his child. I never dreamed my father could be so perverse.”

Arthur sat heavily on the chair and stared into the white wall of the tent. He felt numb at first, but that gave way to a burning and bubbling sensation in his belly. He thought he would be sick.

“Pack up the men. We leave for Camelot now.”

“Arthur, we can’t. It’s black as pitch out there. Even with torchlight we wouldn’t make any progress.”

“He could rape her again tonight!” Arthur shouted.

“If you want to save her, I can help.”

Arthur stood so quickly he knocked over his chair. Nimue had appeared out of thin air in his tent.

“Nimue!”

“I can lead you safely to Camelot.”

“You said you’d have Percival back from Camelot in two days.”

“He ran into trouble. Uther arrested him as soon as he returned to the city. He was in the dungeons until his betrothed managed to visit him and get the note from him to send to me.”

“Percival is still all right?” Gawain asked.

“Blanchefleur says he is well all things considered. I can have you in Camelot by daybreak. You should let your men come in their own time.”

Arthur considered her. “Leave us, Gawain. Prepare the wagon, Minerva, and Guinevere for travel.”

“You have King Thomas’s wife and daughter captive?” Nimue said. Her blue eyes became thunderous. “Fool! If you take them to Uther there’s no telling what he will do to them—before he publicly executes them.”

“My father isn’t going to do any such thing. My father…just get us to Camelot, Nimue. I will handle the rest.”

“I will get you to Camelot if you promise me to give these to Morgan and Morgause.”

Nimue held out two small rolls of parchment, sealed with the image of a magical staff. He accepted them, willing to do anything to get home to save his sister.

“Is there nothing you can do to ensure father does not…go to her…tonight?” Arthur asked

“No, I’m afraid not. I am barred from Camelot. Only you could give me permission to cross the border.”

“You know you could break through the enchantment,” Arthur said.

“I could, but there is too much risk, even for me. It’s why I’ve never attempted it,” Nimue admitted.

“How will you get us there?”

“I will light the way and melt the snow that blocks your path. You will arrive just as the sun rises. You should be in the castle as Uther makes morning court.”

“You can’t get us there faster?”

“I am a powerful witch, Arthur, but I am not a god. What is required to hasten your progress will take a lot of power and concentration. I will be ready when you are.”

The carriage wasn’t warmed. Arthur didn’t feel there was time to waste. He had Minerva and Guinevere wrap up in extra blankets to ward off the bitter chill while he mounted a horse to ride out front.

“Something has happened,” Minerva reasoned. “Arthur, what is wrong? Why do you want to leave camp in the dead of night?”

“It’s my sister, Morgause. The king seeks to marry her while I am away at war with Thomas.”

A look of disgust crossed Guinevere’s face. “He wishes to marry his own daughter? Is there no end to his depravity?”

“Morgause is not of his flesh,” Minerva informed her.

“She is his stepdaughter. It is still a vile thing to do.”

Minerva nodded. “Agreed. Arthur, I loved Igraine. She was a dear friend to me. If there is anything I can do to help her daughter once we arrive just ask.”

“Thank you, Minerva.”

For once Guinevere didn’t have a scathing response. She merely stared at the back of the carriage in silence.

 Arthur took up a position in front of the horses that pulled the carriage. Ahead of them Nimue stood in her flimsy red dress. She transformed into a sphere of blue fire that not only lit the way but made the snow melt under its heat. He allowed her a ten minute head start and then he started forward. Gawain followed while the rest of his men remained in camp. They would follow in the morning.

*****

Were it not for his concern for Morgause, Arthur thought he would have fainted from weariness. He struggled to stay awake in the saddle. Ahead of him, about half a mile, the blue sphere came to a stop. The castle Arthur called home was visible against the dark gray sky, but only just. True to her word, Nimue had gotten them to Camelot by daybreak. By the time the wagon reached the border that Nimue could not cross she had transformed into a woman again.

“Thank you,” Arthur said. “Without you we would not have arrived as quickly as we did.”

“You hesitate to claim you owe me a debt of gratitude. Clever,” Nimue said. “Though you are in my debt. I will seek recompense someday.”

“I’m sure you will,” Arthur replied dryly.

“As a matter of fact, I seek recompense now. Promise me you will do whatever it takes to save Morgause from Uther’s vile plans of marriage.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

Nimue shook her head. “No, Arthur. You’re here to be a thorn in your father’s side. You intend to beg him to release Morgause which is something he will not do. I want you to do whatever it takes to see that she is safe. Begging for mercy will not accomplish that.”

She was gone before he could argue the point. Arthur cursed under his breath and set off toward the castle. Behind him the war carriage that had belonged to Hengist himself trundled along behind him.

The road to the castle was slick with ice and packed down snow. Progress was slower than he wanted, but Arthur was grateful that his horse was surefooted. He pressed on, and the closer he got to the castle the more it became apparent that they were preparing for a celebration.

Servants ran back and forth, many had arms laden with old tapestries, usually hung at holiday feasts, to be aired out. Other carried meat from the butchers to be roasted, and a few cask’s of wine were rolled across the courtyard to be taken in for the celebration. Arthur could scarcely believe that it was true. His father was actually going to marry his own stepdaughter.

Many people bowed, their faces surprised, as Arthur passed. He ignored them and stopped on the steps.

“Gawain, see to it someone releases Percival from the dungeons.”

“Yes, Sire. At once.”

The halls were blessedly warm in comparison to outside. Arthur began to sweat, for the deeper he went into the castle, the warmer it got. He pulled off his cloak and steadied his sword before striding up to the double doors to the council hall. Two guards stood on duty but made no effort to open the door.

“What are you doing? Open the doors.”

“We have orders from the king not to allow anyone in. Especially you,” one of the guards said, gulping.

“Open this door or I will cut you down and open it myself,” Arthur warned.

The two guards looked at one another in fear. They were in quite a predicament. Disobey the king and be sentenced to death, or fight the prince and die for their efforts.

“Sire, we have orders—”

“I release you from those orders,” Arthur said, and drew his sword. “Now open the doors!”

One of the guards, braver—or perhaps more foolish—than the other opened the door on his side. Arthur walked through and received gasps of surprise from those at the rear of the council hall. Most people were too engrossed in what was happening up front.

There, standing in front of his throne, was Uther Pendgragon, giving a speech. He was unaware of Arthur’s return.

“Therefore I, Uther Pendragon, hereby announce that I am to marry Lady Igraine the Younger on the morrow—”

“You will do no such thing,” Arthur said. He didn’t shout but his voice carried quite nicely to the front of the room, where his father looked sour but not wholly surprised to see his son had defied orders to return.

“Arthur. What are you doing?”

Arthur caught his first glance at Morgause. She stood beside Uther looking worse than he’d ever seen her look before. It seemed that the will to live had escaped her completely. She was pale, skinny, frail, and utterly defeated. Even Arthur’s sudden return didn’t stir her very much. In fact, she hung her head as though deeply ashamed.

“You thought you could get rid of me and marry your own stepdaughter behind my back?”

Arthur approached and the council, who had gazed upon Uther with displeasure and disgust, and upon Morgause with pity, watched the confrontation between father and son with deep interest.

“I could have made this announcement with you here,” Uther said.

“Then why send me away?”

“So I wouldn’t have to listen to your incessant complaining. Make no mistake about it, Arthur. I don’t care if you approve of the decisions I make or not. I am the king and I will do as I please. I neither seek nor need your permission—”

Without a word Arthur took off his gauntlet and threw it at his father’s feet. Uther stared at it as though it were a great mystery that he was simply unable to solve.

“You pick it up,” Arthur said helpfully. “Or you refuse and show everyone the coward that you truly are.”

Uther’s eyes flashed fire. “How dare you say such a thing to me!”

“Is it not true, then? After all, you haven’t fought a battle in years. You sit here in the safety of your kingdom, behind your magical barriers, whilst I go out to fight your battles. I’m the one who slaughters the innocent in your name while you stay behind and indulge your dark lusts!”

“Silence!”

“You don’t care about what really happened with mother. You never did. All you care about is power and acquiring land. Pick up the gauntlet. If you win you get to kill me and get me out of your way forever. If I win, I claim the crown of Camelot.”

“I am not obligated to fight anyone for my crown.”

“Pick it up!”

“Or what?” Uther dared, stepping closer to his son. “Or what, Arthur? What will you do? You accuse me of cowardice when you haven’t a brave bone in your body. Guards, seize him!”

“Belay that order!” Arthur shouted. “I am your blood. I am the heir apparent. We are at war and I accuse you of cowardice, therefore I have the right to challenge you for the crown.”

“This is true. He is well within his rights,” Geoffrey, the court genealogist and scribe, said. He surprised Arthur. Never before had he shown even an ounce of courage to the king.

“I said seize him!” Uther repeated. The guards looked at one another, then at Arthur, clearly confused about who to obey.

“This is your last warning, Father. Pick up the gauntlet and face me like a warrior, or I will name you a coward and strip it from your head,” Arthur said.

There was real fear in Uther’s eyes now. For the first time since becoming king of Camelot his orders had not been obeyed. Behind him came the sound of booted feet. Arthur looked back and saw several more guards approach. Guinevere and Minerva were already in the room, had probably been there since the confrontation began.

Percival and Gawain also entered the room. Percival looked terrible, covered in dirt and his lips dry and chapped. He pulled his sword, and for a brief moment Arthur thought his friend would attempt to kill the king himself. Instead he knelt behind Arthur, and Gawain did likewise.

“I pledge my sword and my life to you, Arthur Pendragon,” Percival said. “Unto death.”

Gawain repeated the pledge. When he did, Uther knew he would find no help in his guards.

“Arthur!” Guinevere suddenly shouted. Relying on instincts honed by years of battle, Arthur fell back, away from his father. He felt the tip of a knife cut across his throat. It wasn’t a deep wound, barely a scratch, but blood poured from it all the same. Uther’s eyes glistened with victory and Morgause snapped out of whatever fug she had lived in since Arthur last saw her.

“No!” Morgause shouted, thinking Arthur mortally wounded. She pushed at Uther but he shoved her easily away. She fell and her head hit the arm of the queen’s throne that Igraine used to occupy. There was a terrible thud and Morgause fell to the floor, unconscious. A frightening amount of blood pooled beneath her head with alarming speed.

“Morgause! You killed her!”

Someone brushed past him—it was Minerva. She knelt beside Morgause and began to examine her. “No, Arthur, she lives. Someone fetch the physician. Quickly or she will die.”

Arthur leveled his blade at Uther and then went on the attack without issuing another warning or waiting for his father to pick up the gauntlet. Uther defended as best he could but it was useless. He was old and out of shape. He was also out of practice. Soon he was sweating and panting and Arthur disarmed him.

Uther fell to his knees and squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the death blow. Arthur stood with the tip of his sword at his father’s neck. It would have been so easy to shove forward. One good thrust would end the wretched coward that knelt before him.

“You used my respect for you and grief for my mother to turn me into a killer. I have led campaigns that ended the lives of hundreds of innocent people for you. You, a man who would lie with his own stepdaughter. A man who would manipulate his son to fight his battles for him! I can’t believe I ever loved or respected you.”

Uther remained still but opened his eyes. He kept his mouth tightly shut, unwilling to say anything to provoke his son while a sword was pressed against his throat. No one in the council chamber spoke.

“I will spare your wretched life, father, but it will not be an easy one. You will be locked away in the North Tower. You will have no one for company. Your meals will be sent through the door and you will be forgotten, forever. Long after you’ve died I will let your bones turn to dust in that tower. You won’t even receive a proper burial. You don’t deserve to rest beside my beloved mother.”

“Arthur, please,” Uther said. He looked horrified at the prospect of such a future. “I beg you—end me now. Don’t lock me away to be alone for what life I have left. I will go mad.”

“You have already gone mad,” Arthur hissed.

“I’m sorry about Morgause. You’re right, I lost my senses. She looked so much like your mother that I forgot who she really was—”

“I won’t listen to this! Percival, take him away. Seal him in the North Tower yourself. If he has even a shred of integrity he will jump from the only window in the room,” Arthur said. “I claim the crown of Camelot. I strip you of your title and your freedom. From this moment forth, Uther Pendragon, you are dead to me.”

Percival was all too happy to haul Uther to his feet. Arthur pulled the crown from his father’s head and flung it hard against the wall. It broke and clanged in two pieces to the floor. Feeling somewhat better, and savagely enjoying the pleas of his father until they faded away, Arthur turned to his sister. Gaius shuffled up to her, medical bag in hand, a skinny assistant pulled a litter behind him. He knelt beside Morgause and began to examine her.

“I need to get her into my chamber immediately,” Gaius said. He poured a bottle of potion into Morgause’s mouth and she choked weakly on it. “I just hope she has the will to live.”

So do I, Arthur thought.

With a stomach as tight as a drum, Arthur turned to face the council as Morgause was loaded onto the litter and pulled from the room. Guinevere and Minerva followed.

“Long live the king!” Gawain shouted.

The rest of the council members quickly picked up the chant.

“Long live the king! Long live the king!”

Their voices still echoed through the hall when Arthur caught sight of Guinevere in the entranceway. She gave him one final look, and then disappeared, heading out after her mother.

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