Chapter 3 Bait and Switch
The slamming door sent reverberations round the hall and there was silence as the echoes faded.
'Did he just tell me to fuck off?' murmured Arthur looking to Bedivere. The other knight stared back at the King, his mouth slightly open, his expression showing that he had no idea what to say next.
Arthur looked back at the solid oak door, the shocked surprise he had felt changing to hard, cold fury. As he stood to go after Goosefat, Sir Bedivere caught his arm.
'No,' the old knight said. 'Let him be.'
'That's a stupid idea,' growled Wet Stick, but Bedivere tightened his grip on Arthur, moving himself between the King and the door.
'Do you really want to come to blows with one of your knights in the middle of the castle?' Bedivere asked. When he put it like that, it wasn't such a good idea. 'Besides, if Goosefat doesn't want to be found, he's not going to be.'
That was also true. Bill knew his way round all the dark parts of the castle and was always showing up where you least expected it. Arthur gave Bedivere a short nod. The other man slowly released his grip and the King sank back down into the seat. In front of him was the Round Table, something that was supposed to bring his knights together. He laid his hands flat on the cold wood. The anger hadn't subsided, but Arthur took a couple of slow breaths, trying to uncoil the tension that was still locked inside his body. For a long time no one spoke.
'It must have been one hell of a grudge,' said Wet Stick eventually.
Arthur nodded, then he remembered what Bill had said. Grudge wasn't the word he used, but Justice. It was justice, but justice for what? Arthur hated secrets and not knowing what was going on. Maybe, when you were King there was just too much information for one man to know, although he didn't really believe that. But trusting others to know more than he did wasn't easy for Arthur. He turned to Bedivere, who looked as confused and angry as Arthur felt.
'What was that about? Tell us what?'
'I don't know,' Bedivere said, with a shrug. 'I know there was something, but he would never tell me exactly what happened.'
'When? And why not?' demanded Arthur, releasing some of his fury at the older knight. 'Did he have a brother? A wife? Did the man kill his dog? What? You were the leader of the resistance, why don't you know?'
'He never spoke of it.'
'You're his boss! You should know!'
'He never spoke of it.'
Arthur was going to ask again, shouting this time, but he stopped himself just in time. Berating Bedivere wasn't going to help. The knight was clearly as angry about this as Arthur himself.
'Well, what do you know?' he said at last.
Bedivere sighed. He looked older, weariness on his face. The truth of what he'd said earlier struck Arthur. These men has fought a long, thankless and brutal resistance to give him the chance to reclaim his birthright and avenge his parents' murder. The anger started to slip away from the King, leaving him feeling tired and drained.
'It was a long time ago,' Bedivere said. 'At the beginning of the true slaughter. Goosefat returned to the hideout after escaping from the Blacklegs, beaten, with a broken arm, barely alive. He was later than he should have been, far too late, the chance to save the villages was gone and they had burned. For days he was delirious, and it was months before he picked up a bow again. All he would ever tell me was that Mercia caused the delay, he never said how or what happened. Since then, he could never say the name without getting that look on his face.'
Oh, yes. That look. The one he'd had as he watched Mercia step off the boat and stand waiting on the pier. What was it that had so royally pissed the man off, enough to risk his own safety, and the safety of his future king and all the resistance members on the ground to take that one shot?
Arthur shook his head. Was this what being king was like? Secrets and lies? Friends at each others' throats and fights in the castle halls? No one would have dared do that to Vortigern, or even to Uther, for that matter. This was not what he wanted his kingdom to be like. Where had he gone wrong?
Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur saw Blue edging towards the door.
'Oi! You are not going anywhere!'
'That's not fair,' whined Blue, still backing away from the others. 'Goosefat's gone. Why can't I?'
'You dare talk like him, I'll…' snapped Arthur with a glower.
'Take it easy, Art,' Wet Stick said.
In spite of the sudden reappearance of the urge to punch something, Arthur managed to nod.
'Let's hear it then, Blue,' he said. The boy had a frightened and lost look about him now, different from the cocky little sneer he'd had earlier when arguing with Bill.
'I didn't do nothin'. I told you. It's got nothin' to do with me. It's not my fault.' He looked away to the ground.
Arthur waited. He understood Blue, shared the loss of a father, and knew well the urge for revenge. This was about what happened in Londinium, at least for Blue. Goosefat might have bigger problems, but for Blue he was always walking in the shadow of his father's death.
'Blue?'
The young boy continued to look at the floor for a few seconds, but when he looked back to Arthur there was a bright anger blazing in his eyes.
'You were all there! If that stupid old man hadn't have shot that Earl, Dad wouldn't be...'
The Blue's mouth suddenly clamped shut.
In some ways what he said was true, the logic was undeniable. But that wasn't the way it worked on the streets. There was no simple cause and effect when it came to Londinium, you learned that quickly when you lived there. Whatever had happened that afternoon, it had been a trap. Shooting Mercia had maybe even stopped more of them dying by forcing the trap to spring before the Blacklegs were properly ready. They could never know. Not that anything he said would help.
Arthur stood and laid a firm hand on the boy's shoulder. He could feel him shaking.
'I miss your dad too,' he said. 'It's easy to blame someone. If Bill hadn't fired, maybe your dad would be here.' Blue squirmed under Arthur's tight grip. 'But you don't know what would have happened.'
The boy stared at the ground again. There was a cycle of revenge, Arthur understood how it worked its poison in the mind and the heart. Blue was too young to bear this for the rest of his life, if it didn't get him killed first.
'It's easier to blame Bill,' Arthur said. 'But Vortigern and Mercia, they were the bastards in this.'
'I hate them too,' hissed Blue.
'Vortigern's dead,' said Arthur with a grim smile. 'I killed him. For myself. For my parents. And for my friends.'
He had only an instant to see Back Lack before he died. Only an instant to grab Blue and pull him out of the way. Vortigern destroyed many things he cared about, including his friends. He wasn't going to let him take Blue away as well, overcome by the curse of revenge. But what else was he going to say? Blue needed something, and Arthur had no idea how to provide it, or even what it was. Hitting someone wasn't going to work this time.
'Look, I don't expect you to be best friends,' started Arthur.
Suddenly the boy snorted.
'He can rot for all I care! I HATE HIM!'
Before Arthur could respond, Blue twisted out of his grip, yanked the door open and raced off out of the room, leaving the door swinging behind him.
Arthur looked after the boy, then frowned. That wasn't how you treated a King? Didn't anybody know that?
Wet Stick made a move to follow.
'Don't,' said Arthur. 'Just… don't.'
At that moment, he didn't want to speak to either of them ever again. Bedivere was staring out of the door after Blue, his expression sorrowful and sombre. Arthur watched him for a few moments, recognising the confusion and worry. What old troubles had this confrontation with Blue dredged up? Whatever had started Bill's feud with Mercia, it had clearly troubled the older knight. He thought of Lucy, bruised and bloodied, after the Greybeard had finished with her. He had taken very great pleasure in stripping the Viking of his beard and his dignity, and if that man had done anything more to Lucy, he would have strung him up by his heels in the water of the River to drown in filth. But what had Mercia done to Sir William? He couldn't think of a good way to find out.
Bedivere turned and saw Arthur staring. He shook his head.
'If Goosefat hasn't told me, he's not going to confide in you,' Bedivere said.
'And there was nothing else?'
Bedivere shook his head once again.
The memory of what the Mage had told him last night suddenly came back to Arthur. There was always more to understand, more secrets and half-truths. Whatever had happened in the past between Bill and Mercia, it was still poisoning the present, and could consume the future as well, if he let it.
There was movement by the doorway. On edge and taken by surprise, Arthur's hand went to his sword. Then suddenly he smiled.
Maggie appeared at the doorway, slightly less poised and gracious than usual.
'My Lords,' she started, looking around the room. Though not noble, she was a valued and trusted member of the household, and had grown close to Blue since their shared incarceration in Vortigern's dungeons. 'I heard what happened between Sir William and Blue. The girls told me. And I think most of the castle knows by now.'
'Does news always travel that fast in this place?' And he'd thought the brothel was a haven for gossip! Maggie didn't have to nod, her expression said it all.
'But you are too late to mediate,' said Bedivere. 'They've both gone.'
'Oh,' she murmured, crestfallen.
'I'm glad they're not here,' said Arthur with a sigh, rubbing his eyes. 'I don't know what to say to either of them.'
'Well, I have some news to help distract you,' Maggie said with a contrite smile. 'But it won't help life your spirits any. A rider arrived just a short while ago. The nobles. Some will be here by morning.'
Arthur swore under his breath. Nobles being early? That wasn't what he expected. He had expected them to stay away until the very last minute, rather than being eager to attend court. Being King meant dealing with the other nobility, a task that was never going to be straightforward for either side. Although born a prince, Arthur's unconventional upbringing caused problems for many of the high-born of the land, in spite of his recent victory over Vortigern. That in turn caused problems for Bedivere and Goosefat, who usually took on the task of mediating between the two camps.
'Who?' asked Bedivere.
'I'm not sure,' she answered. 'The Duke of Wessex and the Duke of Cornwall, at least. Some of the other Earls and Barons from the west as well. Enough to warrant your attention tomorrow when they arrive, my Lord.'
Bedivere's eyes narrowed.
'And why? What excuse did they give for such a sudden arrival?'
Maggie just shrugged.
'None,' she replied. 'Fair weather?'
Bedivere snorted and muttered something under his breath.
'I'm sorry, my Lords,' she said. 'To bring you more bad news.'
Arthur managed to smile, even though Bedivere was still frowning.
She curtsied but didn't turn away. For the next few moments, Maggie took all Arthur's attention. Framed by the door, she was wringing her hands, the image of concern. Not about the nobles. And not the motherly concern that she usually showed for Blue, but something different, more subtle, maybe more important. Bill? As far as Arthur knew, they barely spoke. But that was the only explanation.
'Maggie? Is there something else?' Arthur asked slowly. 'Is there something wrong?'
She stopped twisting her hands, and took a quick glance to Sir Bedivere.
'There's a rumour,'she said after a pause. 'The guards have been talking. About Sir William.'
He was still so distracted that Bedivere replied
'I don't listen to rumour,' he said.
'Sir William wouldn't behave like that,' she insisted. 'He wouldn't do those things behind your back. He would never try to hurt you.'
Why do you care? Arthur wanted to ask, consumed by sudden curiosity. And why are you so concerned about this?
Bedivere walked over to Maggie and put his arm paternally around her shoulders, guiding her out of the door, speaking in such a low voice that Arthur couldn't make out what he said. An uncomfortable feeling grew inside him. Did he really know any of these people at all? Had he been too caught up in his own life and world and thoughts over the past months to see what else was going on in the castle? Had he spent too much time focusing on the wrong things, building his Table, day-dreaming about the Mage, rather than seeing what was going on about him.
The only other person in the room was Wet Stick, who looked out of the door for a moment before turning back to Arthur. He shrugged.
'Don't look at me,' the man said. 'I don't know what's going on either.'
Did Arthur feel better or worse for that admission?
'It's not the same as Londinium, is it?' added Wet Stick. 'I miss the old places. The River. The people. You knew where you were with the people. You knew their price. Not like here.'
'Court life is not what I expected,' Arthur said quietly.
'I thought the people would be nicer.'
'People are still people.' But if that was true, what was different now?
The King gave a loud huff. He'd had days like this back at the brothel where nothing felt right and no one had wanted to cooperate. After a long, awkward day trying to make money on the streets he, Back Lack and Wet Stick would close the doors and leave it all behind. Sometimes they would play dice, betting work or chores, or they would go out drinking, carousing and getting into stupid fights. The bruises and scars didn't matter. Blacklegs could be bought off, merchants could be bribed. No one cared what they did.
'Fancy losing some coin on dice?' asked Wet Stick. 'You have enough of it tucked away in the vaults to lose a little to me.'
Arthur gave a small laugh. It wasn't really his money though. He didn't think of it as his money, not when Vortigern had squeezed it out of the people so brutally.
Wet Stick smirked.
'Or we could prepare for meeting those nobles tomorrow,' he suggested. 'Talk about policy. Talk about Vikings. Talk about taxes. Talk about…'
'Ok, ok!' said Arthur. 'I get it!'
'We need three,' said Wet Stick. 'D'you think Bedivere plays dice?'
Arthur laughed again, with more feeling.
'No.'
'Percy?'
'Mmm… Probably. But would he play against his King?'
'I would. You are too easy to beat.'
'Thanks for your honesty.'
Wet Stick gave him a wide smile, and bowed low.
'Always. Your Majesty.'
Arthur smiled back for a moment then his smile faded.
He could smell a trap. Like his comrades from the brothel, he had lived for years by instinct, in a place where you ended up floating down the River if you got it wrong. And now, with news of the nobles' unexpected arrival, coupled with this business with Blue and Bill, his instinct was telling him that something was going on. He had to find out.
Wet Stick was the one he trusted with anything, and was the one who could go and do the things he couldn't, find out the things he couldn't.
'I need you to do something,' Arthur said.
'Not dice?'
'No. But you can still play dice if you want to.'
'You name it, Boss.'
At last, someone knew how to behave!
'Now that's the way to treat a King,' he said with a grin. 'Find out what's going on.'
'About Goosefat? The nobles?'
'About everything.'
'You think there's something else going on?' asked Wet Stick. Arthur nodded. 'I agree. I'll do what I can.'
'And find Bedivere. Tell him I want to talk about tomorrow.'
Wet Stick headed out of the door.
'And I don't do it because your my King,' he called back.
He was gone before Arthur could reply.
There is no one else in the castle. It is completely silent, no sound came from his steps as he strolls around the empty halls and chambers. It is peaceful. It is safe.
He comes to the throne room where Vortigern had ruled, but the room has been stripped of everything of value. On the stone floor Excalibur is lying, as if discarded or accidentally left behind. Arthur looks at it and as he does there is movement from the throne. A snake, black and silver and it slides forward and coils around Excalibur as it lies on the floor, writhing continuously. Moments later, more snakes join it. The sword is covered by little black bodies, hissing and spitting at each other. Arthur reaches out to take Excalibur, but the snakes don't let him touch it.
One, the smallest, comes across towards him and he reaches out again, as his did once in reality, so the snake can slide up his arm. It coils round his shoulders to his neck. This time, unlike before, it doesn't strike.
'I miss you,' it whispers to him, it's breath a warm caress. 'I am too far away. Powerful magic in Camelot. I feel the power. I cannot reach you. Take care of the people you trust. Be the King.'
Arthur doesn't reply, he watches the other snakes on the floor, every so often a flash of silver steel shows that the Sword is still there. The breath on his cheek goes cold, like the touch of ice.
'Something's coming.'
One bigger snake slides out from a nearby shadow. It's jet black with green eyes.
With one accord, all the snakes stop moving, their heads turn towards Arthur. They advance, slithering over the floor to his feet. Then up, over his body, cold and smooth. Excalibur is in front of him, but he can't reach it. Something sharp digs into his neck and he can feel the warm trickle of blood. The smell of death fills his head.
Arthur woke with a start, drenched in sweat once more, his heart pounding as if he'd been holding his breath to the very limit of his lungs. The sheets of his bed are wound round his arms and legs, and he had been struggling to get free.
It was warm in his chambers. The sun was peeping into the room, it was an hour or so after dawn. Below, the castle was stirring, he could hear the faint noise of men talking in the courtyard below and the familiar clatter of metal and wood.
As his breathing slowed he closed his eyes again, trying to relax and untangle himself, but the events of the day before crowded into his mind, as well as the hangover from trying to get himself to sleep. He wished now he'd taken Wet Stick up on the offer of dice. Instead, he and Bedivere had sat at the Round Table and discussed the upcoming meeting for hours into the night, even though neither of them had anything new to say. After such a monotonous evening, Arthur had helped himself to a bottle of strong mead from the stores beside the kitchen before heading up the winding stairs to his chambers. But even with the aid of the alcohol, sleep hadn't come easily. Now he was awake too early, thirsty and still tired, but too alert to go back to sleep.
He tried to focus on the day ahead, but the prospect made him feel more miserable.
Firstly, and most immediately, were the nobles. With a little questioning he'd discovered both the Duke of Wessex and the Duke of Cornwall were indeed arriving, each with their extended retinue of Earls and Barons. He hadn't met either man before, and hadn't expected them to be at this gathering. Neither had anyone else. Bedivere had been disparaging about the two, especially "young Wessex", who had only recently come into his title. He would been formally introduced to both the men this morning. Afterwards there would be some sort of council discussion about Vikings or taxation. Or both, if he was very unlucky.
The there was Blue. He and Bedivere had skirted round the subject. Arthur still felt unsure how to help the boy and found himself wondering what Back Lack would have done. Blue had always been just like his Dad, quick and clever, honest and loyal, but the stubborn streak went deeper than the River. How could he help? He had no new ideas.
And finally, there was Sir William Wilson. He didn't know how to deal with him either, other than with his fists, and the urge to punch him was only now beginning to lessen. Annoyingly, Bedivere had probably given him good advice in not going straight after Goosefat. If they had met in the halls, he would have hit him rather than spoken. When they had met in the Brothel, Arthur had tested Bill's strength and knew Goosefat was physically the weaker man. In the hideout later he had picked a weak spot, knowing he had the man's measure. Yesterday evening he would have done the same, and likely have taken it a step too far. Beating a man who was supposed to be a friend and loyal knight to a bloody pulp was not the best action for a king. Although, in his own defence, Goosefat had just told his monarch to fuck off, and that wasn't exactly knightly behaviour.
What was he going to do about Bill and Blue? And did he still trust either of them? Arthur had no answer.
With the nobles and barons already at Camelot, Arthur broke from his usual routine so he had no opportunity to check on the vaults or speak to the guards and find out the night's gossip. He wasn't even sure he would want to hear what the rest of the castle thought of the little spat between Blue and Bill. Anyway, Wet Stick would have news, and that would have to wait until later as well.
After almost an hour of resting in bed, there was a knock at his door and the squire came in, bowing respectfully. Shortly after, Arthur was dressed in his richest robes, although being helped to dress by a servant was something he felt he would struggle to get used to.
On a cushion beside the window was the crown. With a smile he placed it upon his head, then picked up Excalibur and fixed it to his belt. He looked like a king even if, this morning, he didn't feel like one. Now he was ready to face the first battle of the day: a verbal joust with the nobles of England.
Guards, servants and knights all bowed in greeting as he left his chambers and descended the stairs. He could hear the murmur of polite conversation from the gathering hall, which Vortigern had used as his throne room.
All noise stopped as he walked through the doorway of the hall, and he paused to look around at the gathering of men. Percy, closest of his knights to the door, bowed very low and all the rest of the room followed. They didn't move, and Arthur let them stay like that for a few seconds longer than usual. Then he nodded in response and they rose, continuing their discussions as if there had been no interruption.
Arthur looked around, seeing familiar faces, knights and Barons. Caradoc and Urien were at one side, speaking to Wet Stick. Ector stood by the fireplace, on his own, looking uncomfortable. Bedivere was standing close to a group of old Barons near the window. No Blue, but then the boy wasn't expected at this sort of gathering. There was no Goosefat either, at least not at first glance. But Arthur consoled himself that the man was good at being inconspicuous, and wanted to stay out of his way.
He recognised various Barons from the east and Londinium, but two men stood out as newcomers. He had no difficulty in guessing that one was Wessex and one was Cornwall.
A moment later, Bedivere came towards him. He bowed as he approached.
'Are you ready? Shall I introduce you?'
'Of course. Let's get it over with.'
The older knight gave a grim smile.
'I hope you have plate mail under your shirt.'
'And I had an extra bowl of porridge.'
'You are going to need it,' Bedivere replied with a chuckle.
He lead his King forward towards the two Dukes.
'Bed-i-vere,' the elder one said, taking his time with each part of the word. Arthur saw Bedivere's eyes narrow slightly, just before he bowed to the newcomer.
'My lord, King Arthur, may I present to you Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall.'
The man gave a thin smile.
'A pleasure to meet you at last, sire.' He bowed low, with a sweep of his right arm and a flick of his hand. He was a good head shorter than Arthur, rather skinny, like a bird, but perfectly presented, very precise and well-dressed. He looked old about his face, but his hair was black without a touch of grey. He had a superior expression that Arthur imagined he used all the time.
With a flourish, Cornwall gestured to the man next to him.
'This is Cynric, the Duke of Wessex, sire.'
This man was much younger than Cornwall, maybe only a few years older than the King himself. Of equal height with his fellow Duke, he was broader, with a warmer face and a more nervous manner.
'My Lord,' he murmured awkwardly.
'Wessex, do try to be more gracious,' said Cornwall. 'It is the King.'
Wessex bowed again.
'Sire,' Wessex said. Arthur was sure that Cornwall rolled his eyes.
Introductions completed, Bedivere suddenly noticed something else, of vital importance, over the other side of the room and made his excuses, leaving the King to face the two Dukes alone. Arthur couldn't blame him for escaping. After his departure, the three men stood in silence for a few moments.
'So what brings you to Camelot then, Cornwall?' Arthur asked.
'It was not my intention to be in attendance, that is true,' the Duke said. 'My Baron are more than capable. But Wessex here and myself were close, and there was a suggestion to call, pay our respects to our new monarch and celebrate your victory. The council was a bonus.'
He knew it was a lie. Standing beside these Dukes, Arthur had a familiar resigned feeling, one he'd often had in the brothel, with punters he knew were going to be trouble.
'You're well attended for an impromptu visit to the King,' observed Arthur.
'One's retinue should never be far away. Don't you agree, Wessex?' Wessex nodded. 'A reliable retinue. One of the backbones of a secure throne.'
The Duke smirked. Why did Arthur have the feeling he was missing something?
'Take Vortigern,' continued Cornwall. 'Too careless with his people, and his power. I despised him.'
From the venom in the man's voice, Arthur wanted to believe him, although it could also have been feared, instead of despised. Or envied, maybe?
'But you. You are quite different. And so like your mother.'
Arthur could tell a backhanded compliment when he heard one, but the change in topic surprised him. He felt the conversation slowly slipping out of his grasp. He didn't want to get drawn into this topic, but he found he couldn't help himself.
'You knew her?'
'We all knew Lady Igraine of Ergyng, the most sought-after princess in the land. Not only was she very beautiful, rich and charming, she was strong, and kind, and very clever. Many men wished to marry her.'
'Oh?'
'But of course a King beats a Duke with this sort of thing,' said Cornwall with a casual shrug. 'Even a King like Uther Pendragon. And certainly beats a mere knight.'
Arthur could hear the malicious mockery in the other man's voice, but he'd had plenty of practice in the brothel learning how to treat people who thought they were better than you were. Arthur smiled back, as warmly as he could, his eyes never leaving the Duke. He didn't say a word, just watched the other man, looking straight into his green eyes. Cornwall looked away first, but Arthur still didn't speak, just waited as the silence grew painful.
'At least your knights are here to greet us,' Cornwall said. 'Most of them, anyway. No Sir William, I see. Off skulking around somewhere again, I presume.'
The Duke laughed at what Arthur imagined was a witty joke, and the man continued to do so, even when nearby men turned to stare. No one else joined in.
'I should let you go and track him down,' Cornwall said, still smirking. 'Come, Wessex!'
The two men walked off, with Wessex mumbling something polite as he was swept away by Cornwall. Arthur looked after them in anger, knowing full well the implied insult, and not quite able to believe that Cornwall had been so brazen about it. Somehow in the exchange he had lost the battle without realising.
The parting shot stung deeply. Angry and more than a little humiliated by Cornwall's actions, Arthur looked around the room once again. As the Duke had said, there was no Goosefat Bill anywhere to be seen.
The anger grew more insistent. He would have expected better from the man. Bill might have behaved badly last night, but the decent thing, the knightly thing, to do was come and apologise and get his wrists slapped, then to get on with being a knight and not letting his absence be a point-scoring exercise for snobbish Dukes.
He signalled to Wet Stick, who weaved his way through the gathering to Arthur's side.
'Boss, I think we have a serious problem,' Wet Stick started.
'I know,' Arthur. 'Goosefat. Where is he?'
For a moment Wet Stick looked confused.
'I've not seen him. But we still…'
'Didn't we do this yesterday as well?' growled Arthur, careful not to let his voice rise above the general babble. 'He should be here.'
'Yes, but…'
'Go and get him. Drag him out of bed if you have to, but get him downstairs to be nice to the nobles.' Wet Stick hesitated. 'Now!'
Wet Stick moved off, disappearing out of the main door. The next few minutes dragged on as Arthur circled round the room, continually being greeted by various Earls, Barons and knights. They all talked to him, inquired of his health and generally made polite conversation. The moment Wet Stick returned, he made his excuses and joined him by the doorway.
'Room's empty, looks like he's not been there all night.'
'What?'
'And no one I spoke to has seen him since the evening, since that fight with Blue. People are starting to talk.'
'Talk?'
'Not in a good way, either. About Goosefat. About you.'
'What? What is going on?'
Arthur tried to get the attention of Sir Bedivere, but the other man was too engrossed in a conversation with Sir Ector to notice. Finally, Arthur abandoned the subtle approach and went over to join them.
'Excuse us, I need a word with my friend here,' said Arthur with a thin smile. He pulled Sir Bedivere to one corner, as far for the two Dukes as he could get, with Wet Stick following.
'What is he playing at, Bedivere?' Arthur hissed.
'Who?'
'Goosefat.'
Bedivere looked around the room, as if noticing for the first time that Bill wasn't there. Arthur frowned. A sudden, very unpleasant thought struck him. He looked to Wet Stick.
'Where's Blue?'
'Thought of that already,' said Wet Stick. 'He's helping in the kitchens. He's not seen him either. He promised me.'
'You believe him?'
'This time, yeah.'
'Goosefat's not here?' Bedivere sounded confused. 'I don't understand.'
'We didn't exactly part on good terms.'
'Regardless, he is still a knight. He knows his role in the council.'
'Maybe he's too ashamed to face me,' grunted Arthur, strangely hurt by the thought. 'Maybe he's gone off to sulk.'
'No,' replied Bedivere, with a firmness that surprised the King. 'No. Whatever you may think of him, and whatever has happened between you, he would never turn his back on his duty. He should be here.'
'But no one has seen him,' repeated Wet Stick. 'It's like he's just vanished. Now people are saying he tried to kill you and he's on the run.' Arthur turned to stare at Wet Stick. 'That's what our problem is. The rumour is all over the castle.'
Arthur continued to stare, open-mouthed. To one side there was movement from the doorway at the other end of the hall and the herald appeared. Bedivere took Arthur's arm.
'It's time for the council,' said Bedivere. 'You must go.'
The last thing the King wanted to do at the moment was have to sit through a meeting. He felt as if he had missed something, an opportunity that would never come again. Perhaps, last night, instead of getting distracted by the sudden arrival of courtiers, he should have confronted Goosefat while he had the chance.
'Please, Arthur,' continued Bedivere. 'Let us find out where he is. Let us find out what's going on. You are the King and you have other duties.'
He did want to do anything of the sort, but he knew his responsibilities. Arthur took a slow breath and glanced round the room. The nobles were ignoring him, caught up in their conversations. All except Gorlois of Cornwall, who saw Arthur's gaze and gave a charming smile. It sent a chill down Arthur's back. He didn't smile back.
To begin with, there was only the vaguest of sensations. It was quiet and warm, but Bill was uncomfortable. He hurt, his arms ached, his head ached, his stomach ached. As he came to more fully, he realised he was bound, gagged and then left on the floor as if he had been an old bundle of clothes.
It hurt to think. Panic wasn't far away, and to avoid its grip Bill tried to think back to what he could last remember, but it was all jumbled up.
Blue. He had been angry with the boy. He was going to give him a clip round the ear. Arthur had appeared. They had exchanged angry words, he had felt sick, and afraid of what he might tell them. A price on his head. Edward's doing? Suddenly his predicament and the discomfort made more sense.
But how had he got here? Wasn't he smarter than that?
Above the growing panic, another memory returned. He'd been thinking about the day he'd nearly died, the day of his worst failure, the day when that poor family was slaughtered. He forced the memory back down into the dark where it belonged.
Instead he tried to remember more about the previous night. The King had been there, and they had spoken but they didn't just argue. He had deliberately sworn at the King before storming off in a stupid huff, rather than trusting his friends. It had been the ale talking, and his own pride. What in God's name was he thinking, telling Arthur to fuck off? The man was his King!
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he had seen the raw fury on the King's face. It was fortunate Arthur was so surprised at his outburst. Had there not been a delay, Bill would have had an impossible fight on his hands.
He remembered rushing through the hallways towards the courtyard, brushing past anyone who had tried to stop him, not speaking, not slowing down. Out of the corner of his eye, he'd seen Maggie hurrying along the hall, and had ducked into a shadow to avoid her, unwilling to face her anger or tender concern.
He had been relived to be outside, away from the other knights. The sun had set, but there was still light enough in the sky. It had been warm evening, in spite of the clouds there was no rain. A sick sensation had made him feel dizzy. It wasn't the same as the feeling of too much ale. He didn't remember much in the way of food, except what little he'd had last night before falling into bed. He had leaned against the stable wall, looking over to the river. His memory faltered. Had there been guards? Had someone else had been there? The details remained infuriatingly out of reach. The harder he tried to remember, the less detail he could prise out of his memory.
Bill tried to take a deep breath, but it hurt too much, and the gag got in his way. One thing was obvious. Whatever had happened next, he'd fallen foul of Edward's men.
He winced, but not in pain. A stupid mistake. He should have admitted he was unable to deal with it, and that he was vulnerable. He would have, with Uther. Did he fear the mockery of Arthur? Or that the new King wouldn't help? Or did he think that the new mantra of "why have enemies when you could have friends" would be applied to Edward and he would have to live the rest of his life looking over his shoulder? Or was he just too proud of his reputation to ask for help?
It didn't matter at the moment. Edward had him, dumped like a sack of potatoes in a shed. The ropes round his wrist were that bit tighter than usual, plus the time he'd been unconscious had made his hands and lower arms go numb. He couldn't use a knife or lock-pick if he couldn't feel his hands. But that didn't matter much. He had no tools. There had been no need to carry the tools of his trade with him in Camelot. Camelot was supposed to be safe.
The rough, woollen gag in his mouth made it difficult to breathe, especially since his nose was mostly blocked. He could smell blood, the logical explanation was that someone had kicked him in the face while he was unconscious. He still felt sick, but the ache in his arms and shoulders was more noticeable.
Such was his skilled in the art of lock-picking, and always with a back-up plan and a suite of clever tricks, Bill was never usually in trouble for long. He had liked the nickname of Goosefat, it made him sound soft and a bit stupid. A good way to put your enemies off guard was to look soft and stupid. Though there were times he had been as harsh, brutal and as ruthless as the Blackleg guardsmen. It was the only way to survive. Life on the streets is hard, but working as a spy in the enemy's castles or living your life on the run and hiding in the forests isn't such a merry time either, especially when you risked a hanging, or worse, if you were caught. He always planned as thoroughly as he could. He knew his mark, he knew the layouts and the escape routes.
But this time, lying bound and immobile on the wooden floor, Bill knew he was in very serious trouble.
Notes
Thanks and buckets of fresh salmon to Realmlife for the beta -x-
