Author's Note: This story is basically a sequel to "The Magician's Mentor". It is also one of my stories set in the kingdom of Cameliard where Arthur, Merlin and several knights from Camelot are staying-Arthur is hiding his identity since King Leodogran allows magic in Cameliard and is thus considered an enemy of Camelot.
XIXIXIXIX
The Heir of Cameliard
Sir Brandt took a few tentative steps. His leg was healing nicely, the physician—and sorcerer—Blaise had said. Brandt held onto the end of the table with one hand, his other gripping Sir Taran. Madoc and Rigel watched, each sitting on one of the beds in the room.
"Why are we still here?" Rigel said as Brandt released Taran's arm.
"Prince Arthur wants everyone to be healthy and whole before we make the long journey back to Camelot," Madoc said.
"What—did you memorize his every word?" Rigel said. "You're turning into Cadoc."
"It's easy to memorize those words, Prince Arthur says them often enough." Taran caught Brandt as the man lost his balance on his weakened leg. "That's enough for today," he said to Brandt.
"I think by the end of the week, I'll be ready to go," Brandt rubbed his calf muscles.
"But will the Prince?" Rigel asked.
Anna and Arthur raced ahead on their horses. Merlin could hear them laughing, and saw Anna's bright smile as she turned, calling to Arthur behind her.
"Lord Erik is doomed." Sanam, the midwife, peered over the side of the cart, past Blaise's shoulder to the road ahead. She was sitting, legs outstretched, a bag of supplies next to her. Caradoc, dressed in trousers and a long coat, lay with her feet up on the side of the cart, a hat pulled over her eyes, dozing as the cart jostled along.
"Erik would be doomed even without the Captain here," Blaise said loudly enough for Sanam to hear. He kept his eyes on the road in front of them, reins draped between his fingers. Beside him, Merlin glanced forward and back, half-rotating his body to keep up with the conversation.
"I'm not so sure," Sanam adjusted her skirt around her legs. "Julia managed to find a decent one this time."
"Julia wouldn't have selected Lord Erik if she didn't think she could influence him."
"'Influence'? Your language is softening Blaise." Sanam winked at Merlin.
"There are children present." Blaise smiled to himself.
"'Are we there yet'?" Sanam mocked. She was middle-aged, her graying hair pulled in a tight bun behind her head. Lines over her face bespoke the experience of her years, but her eyes were bright, vivacious, and gleamed at Blaise's back—she knew he was chuckling.
"See for yourself," he said.
Sanam leaned over the side of the cart to look at the small town ahead—Arthur and Anna had already disappeared among its buildings. Behind her, Caradoc rolled over and sat up, dangling her legs over the back of the cart, and tucking a small purple pendant beneath her blouse. Their destination was a hut in the middle of town where dwelt a blacksmith and his pregnant wife.
"So, you do this twice a year?" Merlin asked Sanam as they pulled up.
"No, Blaise makes rounds to each town twice a year—I come as I am needed." Sanam picked up her bag and accepted Caradoc's hand getting off the cart.
"Anna drags him." Caradoc grinned at Blaise.
"She is very insistent. And each town gets a visit twice a year—I end up traveling four or five times." Blaise reached across the back of the cart to retrieve his own bag of supplies. "Depending on how many towns we can make in one day."
Anna came over, tucking a wisp of hair into her braid and wiping a small bead of sweat from the side of her forehead. A dirty child followed her, mashing his hands together.
"The carpenter hurt his hands, I think you should start with him," Anna said.
"Is this his son?" Blaise indicated the boy. Anna nodded. Blaise followed the boy, and Merlin scrambled after. Anna and Sanam ducked into the blacksmith's. Arthur gazed after them, turned his head toward the street where Merlin and Blaise had vanished, then returned his gaze to the door of the blacksmith's house.
"You can go in, too," Caradoc said. "These are good people; they're not going to steal the horses or the cart—even if they didn't belong to Anna."
"She does a lot for them." Arthur still stared at the door.
"She has her father's blessing—Leodogran's very proud of her." Caradoc smiled, and patted the black Arabian. Arthur finally looked away from the door to his own horse's nose, petting it. "You want to know why she does it, why Leodogran does it," Caradoc said, studying Arthur's face.
"I want to know why more kings don't do it." Arthur returned her stare.
A staccato shout of No! leaked through the walls of the house onto the street, briefly grabbing their attention.
"Other kings," Caradoc examined the reins of the sleek black horse—which really belonged to her, though Anna was riding it— "like your own father in Camelot?"
Arthur let out an exasperated breath. "Blaise told you."
"Blaise doesn't gossip. Your men do complain, though."
Arthur eyed her and sighed. "Does anyone else know?"
"Not yet. Anna will eventually figure it out, or she'll wait to hear it from you—same with Leodogran. But you know your father's looking for you?"
Arthur stared at her, surprised.
"I've intercepted some letters," she shrugged. "Or maybe I mean 'interfered with'—you didn't seem to want to be found, so . . ."
"Do you still have them?"
Caradoc nodded. "Why are you here? You must realize that if Uther finds out where you are before you tell him, that—"
The door swung open, Anna emerged.
"Trouble?" Caradoc asked.
"I don't know," Anna said, noting Arthur's grim expression. But Arthur offered no elaboration, so she turned to Caradoc. "Sanam is worried the birth will be difficult and wants Meara to come back with us."
"Is—Meara's—life in danger?" Arthur asked.
"Childbirth in general is dangerous," Caradoc said.
"Sanam's trying to make it less so," Anna started walking backwards toward the carpenters. "But the decision is Meara's. I'm going to see how Blaise is doing."
Arthur watched her turn around to walk forward.
"Oh go," Caradoc said, grabbing his horse's reins out of his hand.
Twilight. Lord Erik was perched at a window overlooking the courtyard of the castle, observing as Princess Anna rode up upon a black Arabian, the Captain of the Guard in close pursuit. It was a friendly chase he watched—the Princess laughed, out of breath, as the Captain dismounted, sharing the joke and helping the Princess off her horse. She needed no such assistance, Erik knew. Anna brushed some dirt off the thigh of her trousers and watched as the court physician drew up in a cart. Blaise and Merlin and Caradoc each made their way off it. The midwife, it seemed, had found her services needed somewhere.
"Is everything all right, Lord Erik?" Lady Julia approached him, two council members a few steps behind her.
"Does the Captain always spend so much time with Princess Anna?"
"It is the Captain's duty to ensure her safety." Sagramore, a retired knight, grasped his good right hand around his useless left. Erik continued to stare out the window.
"Anna has some notion of making our physician attend to every peasant and gypsy living anywhere near Cameliard." Julia turned her head toward Sagramore and Cole, muttering out of the corner of her mouth, "a notion which Leodogran encourages."
"And she needed an escort to a nearby village?" Erik said.
"There are still many dangers on the road," Sagramore replied.
"Thieves still accost travelers," Cole nodded his head, a patch over his right eye, and leaned against a cane. He was the youngest member of the council, but had the most scars.
"And threats disguised as salutations come from unfriendly neighbors," Sagramore finished.
"These are minor concerns." Julia put her arm around Erik's shoulder, steering him away from the window. "Cameliard has friendly neighbors as well, and has proved more than capable of defending itself."
"I hear Cameliard has the Captain to thank for that," Erik said as Julia led him down the corridor.
"The Captain is an asset, not a savior." Cole limped behind them.
"Don't worry about the Captain," Julia smiled up at Erik. "Go—eat—turn your thoughts to more pleasant endeavors," she gave him a friendly shove through the doors of the great hall. Erik stumbled into the room to find servants setting six places at the long dining table. He twisted his head, cracking his neck and trying not to seem so out of place. The servants bowed their heads as they passed him, rushing by with utensils and linens.
The door opened behind Erik, and Leodogran walked in, his daughter on his arm. She still wore the brown trousers from her ride. A white shirt was tucked beneath a patterned bodice, and her hair was unbraiding, wind-shorn and wild about her smiling face. Behind them came the Captain and his companion—some said servant—and Blaise.
"Lord Erik," Anna smiled at him, "I hope we haven't kept you waiting."
"I just came in myself, Anna. My Lord." He bowed his head to both Anna and her father, giving a curt nod to Arthur behind them. They took their places at the table.
"How was your ride?" Erik asked.
"Pleasant. Thank you." Anna watched as a servant filled her goblet.
"The Lady Julia tells me you regularly bring the court physician to nearby villages—doesn't that detract from his duties?" Erik looked from Anna to Blaise to Leodogran.
"Healing the sick is my duty," Blaise said as Anna took a sip of wine.
"If something unforeseen occurs, we send for him," Leodogran said.
"There are enough skilled people in the city to compensate for an hour or so," Anna looked at Erik, "and I do have a schedule set for Blaise's visits. Julia knows that."
"If they're sick and need medicine, can't they come into the city, or find other help—is it—"
"Really our duty to help people in need?" Anna put down her knife and grasped her hands in her lap. Leodogran sipped his wine, gazing at Erik, at Arthur. Anna turned the corners of her mouth up in the hint of a smile. "Not everyone has horses," she said. "And many can't afford to be away from their crops or animals or whatever chores they have to do just to survive. So we go to them." She picked her fork up and stabbed a piece of meat.
"How long have you been doing this?" Arthur asked.
"For several years now," Anna said.
"And it was your idea?" Erik held his fork out, almost pointing at Anna.
"Indeed it was," Leodogran beamed.
"Besides," Blaise said, "medicine is a difficult thing to learn—it takes years of study. Someone well-practiced and knowledgeable doesn't simply fall out of a tree. 'Other help' is not so easy to find."
"But you train apprentices?" Arthur spoke between bites.
"Have to pass on the knowledge somehow." Blaise stole a glance at Merlin, who conscientiously dissected his meat.
"Does that include magical knowledge?" Erik asked. Merlin pored over his food, studying the meat on the end of his fork.
"Much of magic can be used for healing, yes," Blaise said.
"Skilled sorcerers are a disappearing breed—that knowledge definitely needs to be passed down." Anna picked up her goblet, making a gesture with it like to a toast.
"Some would argue there are still too many sorcerers, and that's dangerous," Erik said.
"Only Uther's ilk," Leodogran muttered.
"There's still magic in the world—not having people around who know how to deal with it is far more dangerous." Anna waved her goblet in the air.
"Uther? You mean Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot?" Erik said. "He's not the only king who opposes magic."
"Though he is by far the most vehement." Blaise set his jaw and looked askance at Arthur.
"Blaise used to live in Camelot," Anna said to Erik. Arthur looked up at Blaise then stole a glance at Merlin.
"You used to live in Camelot?" Arthur asked. "When?"
"Many years ago." Blaise considered Arthur for a moment. "Gaius, the court physician was my teacher. I hear he's still alive and thriving." A bitterness, deep, rooted, tainted the words.
Merlin glanced at Arthur, watching his face. Arthur looked at Blaise, frowning, seeming to have forgotten the food on his plate as his fork rested between his fingers.
"In medicine—or magic?" Arthur said, still looking only at Blaise.
"A little of both."
"Blaise left in the middle of the Purge." Merlin gave Arthur a wan smile and turned back to his food.
"Do you know what that was?" Blaise had a sly edge in his voice and addressed Arthur only.
"No. I mean not really—I've heard the word before." Arthur noticed Anna, Leodogran and Erik around him and added, "once or twice. When we've passed through Camelot." He looked to his plate, but looked up again at Blaise. "But no, I don't really know what it was."
"It's Uther's word." Leodogran's face was grim. "As if he were flushing a poison. It was his word for hunting out anyone remotely connected to anything slightly magic."
"He must have had his reasons," Arthur said.
"A lot of people dislike magic—think it's evil," Erik said. "Uther's not alone in his beliefs."
"No." Blaise nodded, still looking at Arthur. "Uther had reasons."
"What reason could he have for murdering the innocent?" Anna asked.
"Maybe they weren't innocent," Arthur said.
"Some people are born with magic—they can't help it anymore than you can help the shape of your nose. How can someone justify making it illegal to be born?"
Arthur looked at Anna. There was a flush to her face, and she had started to fidget in her chair. "Well we can't ask him, can we," Arthur said.
"Even if you could, he might not give you the whole story—or the real story," Leodogran said.
"Actually," Blaise leaned back, "as I recall, the historian—Geoffrey, I think was his name—was at every proceeding, every so-called trial, every execution, keeping meticulous records."
Leodogran shook his head. "If there are records, it's because Uther hopes his descendants will be as intolerant as he—and will absolve him. Glorify him."
"You're implying that he knows he was wrong, and at the same time is convinced he's right—which is it?" Arthur's voice began to rise.
"It's both," Leodogran said to Arthur. "A man is not a piece of parchment, flat and simple—have you yourself truly never acted contrary to what you believe? And yet if you did it, you must have had conviction enough."
At this, Arthur looked down, pensive. Leodogran continued.
"Uther once tolerated magic. Then something happened to make him persecute it. So now his outrage is so great he thinks magic should be completely silenced. He tells the story that magic is evil and makes sure it's the only story told. You see, as much as Uther hates magic, he has no problem with sleight-of-hand and is himself a master of illusion. He says magic is bad, and there's nothing to contradict him. So magic becomes bad."
"Blaise just said records exist," Arthur said.
"Then where are they?" Merlin said to Arthur, Blaise watching.
"His story?" Erik was incredulous.
"Think of it this way: if you were to ask Uther's son his opinion on magic, what do you think he would say?" Leodogran told Erik.
"I assume . . . he has the same opinions as his father," Erik stuttered. Merlin kept his eyes on Arthur and Blaise. Blaise betrayed no emotion, no reaction, no semblance of holding secrets; Arthur was trying to suppress his growing agitation.
"You say that like you think—Uther's son—is nothing but his father's pawn," Arthur said.
"You say that like the young man thinks for himself," Blaise retorted, nonchalant—Arthur narrowed his eyes.
Picking up his goblet, "so," Arthur leaned back in his chair and gazed down into his wine as he swirled the cup with a gentle rotation of his wrist. "You know a lot about Arthur—that's Uther's son isn't it?"
Merlin thought he saw a smile flicker across Blaise's face.
"Everyone knows Arthur—the man has a reputation," Erik said.
"For feats of arms, not mind," Anna replied to Erik then turned to Arthur. "But, that's not what you're asking?"
"I'm just wondering how you can claim to know so much about a man whose family and kingdom you avoid."
Leodogran stared at Arthur. "Is Arthur a friend of yours—you said you've been through Camelot?"
"We've met." Arthur still held his goblet in his hand.
"And what do you think of him?" Leodogran asked.
"He's an ass," Merlin said to his plate, noting that Blaise was hiding a smile behind a show of rubbing his nose. Arthur tensed, but Merlin doubted anyone else noticed.
"Supercilious," Arthur said. "But actually does listen to reason—if someone gives him reason to listen to," he shot a glare at Merlin.
"And if the only thing he hears is his father's rationalization?" Anna looked closely at Arthur out of the corner of her eye. Leodogran also seemed to be examining Arthur anew. Merlin glanced at Blaise, but the sorcerer's face was again a cipher. Arthur did not answer.
"You're right, we don't know Arthur personally," Leodogran said. "But I know he's the most sheltered child in the entire land—Olaf lets his daughter wander further than Uther his son."
"And I'd wager we know a great deal more about Uther than you do," Blaise said, his face suddenly grim. "And the events of Camelot's past."
Sir Cole entered Sir Sagramore's half-lit chambers—a fire the sole source of light, into which the older man stared, his right hand cradling his left in his lap.
"Did you get it?" Sagramore asked as Cole closed the door. His body didn't move, only his lips.
"Do you know how many love potions there are?" Cole said, removing a folded piece of paper from his shirtfront.
"We just need one."