“And stay out!”
He heard the water jug smash against the wall as he fled their bedchamber. The servants carefully hid their grins as his naked form ran past them. As masters go, Arthur was pretty liberal, but even he would draw the line at them smirking at the little prince.
Grabbing a helmet from the head of one of the guards, he moved it to protect his modesty, pausing long enough outside the room to consider a retort.
But no. Sometimes, an ignoble tactical retreat was far preferable to provoking further engagement. Let tempers cool for a week or two.
‘See the quartermaster for a replacement,’ he called back as he stalked away.
He was not wholly sure which of his recent indiscretions his wife had uncovered, but he was self-aware enough to realise she was probably justified in her annoyance. It was a sore enough topic that they had been married for three years with no heir on the way, without every servant possessing tits dropping kids left, right and centre.
Whichever wag had rechristened Tintagel Castle as ‘Came-a-Lot’ was not doing much for the state of his relationship.
His mind was, therefore, elsewhere when a meaty hand took him by the throat and crushed him against the stone wall. Arthur struggled for a moment before submitting. Meeting the eyes of the colossal man that had accosted him, he whispered through a tightened windpipe. “Good morning, father. How have I disappointed you today?”
Uther Pendragon, King of all the Britons, scowled at his only son. For a moment, he wondered how many of his current headaches would be resolved by tightening his hold on the neck of this naked man. Then, with a sigh, he relented and dropped him to the floor.
“I have been petitioned, again, to remove you from command in the field. Adragain’s report describes you as being either drunk or a fool during your last engagement.”
“And that simply shows the lack of imagination which we both know is Adragain’s key flaw: I was most probably both. Although, for the sake of completeness, is there a particular aspect of my role where Sir AgainandAgain feels I have faltered, or is it just his usual bile?”
“He notes that through your inaction, the rebels from Nanstallon could flee to the moors when more decisive leadership would have led to their destruction. He falls short of accusing you of cowardice but not by much.”
“Of course, let’s not forget I am fucking the man’s wife. He may not be an entirely dispassionate judge of my performance. She, on the other hand…”
It had always been like this. Almost from the moment of his birth, Arthur had set out to undermine all the prophecies made of him. Had not Merlin himself prophesied that his boy would be the one to finally break the Anglo-Saxon menace and unite the country under one banner?
Everything Uther had done in his life had been in the service of that prophecy. He had given up all his hopes when he had to bed that harridan, Igraine, to unite the tribes. Merlin had been clear his boy would need the spears that unholy marriage would gain him, and he had made that sacrifice.
But looking at the unclothed man sprawled at his feet, he wondered where he had gone wrong.
“Is that would you have me tell my thegns? That they should have confidence in their commander because those who complain of him are the ones whose wives he’s fucking!”
“I concede that explanation is unlikely to be a balm on troubled waters.”
“And is there another?”
Arthur adjusted his borrowed helmet as he tried to find, whilst lying on a stone floor, a more dignified position from which to address his father.
“We approached Nanstallen from the east road, but the rebels were clearly well briefed as to our disposition. We’d fought a number of engagements whilst still more than a day’s ride away: all inconclusive but bloody enough to have given me pause. I judged to have continued to engage in skirmishes, particularly when our opposition seemed entirely too familiar with our route, would have been costly. I sent Sir Adragain to explore alternative approaches to the town. When he returned, having found a secret road that would lead us directly to our adversities, I ordered our retreat.”
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Because?”
“Father, Sir Agragain has abandoned our cause. Our assault on Nanstallen was too well known, and I judged that unless you had planned to send me to my death,” Arthur looked up into Uther’s eyes and paused for him to respond. When no answer came, he pressed on. “Someone else was sharing information with our enemies. Of course, his wife has quite the collection of Anglo-Saxon finery in her bedchamber, which was fairly suggestive. I refused to lead the army into an obvious trap set by a traitorous cuckold. Should that require my removal, so be it.”
Uther closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. “I had Agragain burned alive this morning. Your assessment of his betrayal was accurate. It had been going on for six months.”
“So, your morning assault on my person was because … ?”
“Arthur. You are Prince of the Britons. You have no legitimate heir, yet I’m beggaring my treasury on the upkeep of your bastards. ‘Our cause’ is to put you on the throne. Men are dying to make that prophecy a reality, and yet there is no line of succession for which to fight. Agragain is not the only thegn to think there is a brighter future elsewhere.”
“I imagine the flammable ones might be thinking twice right now.”
“Impregnate your wife, Arthur. If you can’t rise to the occasion in your own bedchamber, see Merlin. He always came through when I needed something to help me through the night with your mother.” Uther suppressed a shudder. “We need the spears that will come with Guinevere’s swollen belly. If we don’t have them before the summer, we will not be able to hold the Saxon advance and will have to fall back from Isca Dumnoniorum. Should that happen, there will no longer be enough of Britain of which for me to be king. And certainly nothing left for you to unite. Do you understand?”
“Alternatively, Merlin could just come down out of his Tower and vaporise the lot of them. Who needs spears when your best friend can destroy armies with a word?”
Uther shook his head. He was not having this argument with Arthur again. Particularly not when naked.
“Merlin has made it clear that, right now, he has to focus on his own advancement. We will not be seeing him on the battlefield again until he makes that breakthrough. Our lives have been made easy by his power, I would have us try to stand on our own two feet in this matter. Merlin is not to be disturbed because the Saxons are getting frisky.” Uther put out his hand to help his son up.
“But he’ll be happy for me to knock on the door to ask for a potion to help me land one on Ginny?”
Uther hauled him to his feet. “Whilst he may not have the time to slaughter more thousands in our name, I think you will find he is not above slipping you a pill or two. Merlin loves nothing better than to relieve his youth vicariously.”
*
Arthur liked Merlin.
Of course, it was hard not to feel affection for someone who declared to everyone that you would be an all-powerful King. Especially when he then moved heaven and earth – at times literally – to make that happen.
So, he had found the last six months a challenge. He did not quite understand why the wizard had felt the need to so completely retire from court life and lock himself up in his Tower, but the ways of cultivators were many and strange and were quite beyond him.
Nevertheless, he had missed his advice, his support and – in the face of his father’s constant disappointment – his complete lack of judgement around his life.
“Uther loves you,” Merlin would tell him. “He just has hazarded so much on your success that it pains him to think you are not so committed.”
“I know. I just would like to think I had some options in life that were not wholly to be viewed through the prism of how best to ensure I become this legendary warrior.”
Even to his own mind, that sounded pretty weak sauce.
So, he rebelled – but in more minor ways than his reputation might suggest. Yes, he had slept his way across Dumnonii, but he knew for a fact his father had done much the same. He had fought, with distinction, in all the major conflicts to which he could bring his sword during his thirty years. No one could accuse him of cowardice and expect anything other than a summary fiery execution. He was liked, genuinely, by nearly everyone to whom he came in contact – spurned wives and angry husbands aside.
He guessed his father was correct, though. Until he had a natural heir, questions would remain as to the viability of his line. And without the men Leodogran had promised once his most waspish daughter was with child, the Britons would likely struggle to withhold the Saxon press come the summer. Particularly if their all-powerful wizard was too busy to lend a hurricane or two.
So that was why he found himself at the base of Merlin’s Tower, seeking a little something to make the idea of a night with Guinevere cause him to stand to attention.
When his knock found no answer, he turned to Bors, the biggest of his household guard. “Break it down for me; there’s a good chap.”
Bors raised two massive eyebrows. “Break down Merlin’s door? Didn’t he tell us not to bother him. Won’t he be angry?”
“Absolutely. Probably completely blow his top. That’s why you’re knocking it down, not me. I fear Merlin is very much a ‘throw a fireball at the messenger’ personality, and, well, you’re more expendable than me. The once and future king, and all that.”
“There’s only so many times you can play that card, my prince.” Bors took several steps backwards to give himself room to charge.
“True. But if you’re not going to use it when potentially annoying a supernaturally gifted wizard who expressly has forbidden people from knocking on his door, when are you?”
Bors’ answer was lost by the sound of him crashing through the heavy oak door. And then any quips Arthur might have prepared rapidly faded from his mind.
Because there was a smell coming from the Tower that was somewhat too recognisable to soldiers who had spent as long on battlefields as the two of them.
“Bors, when was the last time anyone saw Merlin?”
“Six months, my prince.”
“Figures. Go find my father immediately. You need to let him know that Britain is, permanently, lacking its wizard.”