Chapter 9: Capture
The night drew long and dark, a thunderstorm was heading its way back into Camelot tonight. Dark clouds rolled into sight and rain pelted its way onto the earth. Nights like this were the perfect opportunity for an invasion. The guards were assembled inside the warm castle, stationed at each entrance. However, seldom did the guards patrol inside the castle, and one by one, they fell asleep to the pleasant, temperate change.
Masked, armed men drew near the castle in a huddle. Their leader, a brawny giant, towered over the others and spoke in the roughest voice. "Remember, Arthur is a tall, dark-haired knight. He should be sharing a bed with a woman, brunette. Do not harm him in any way other than knocking him unconscious. Cedric says he needs him in one piece for now. Search every room and be quiet! This is the perfect and only chance we have and if you dare ruin it, Cedric will not be pleased." They filed into the castle silently, each man wandering into a different direction.
Their shadows pierced the stillest time of the night, traced on the dark walls. However, no one saw them for everyone was sound asleep in the castle. A young Saxon approached the east wing of the castle, a long dagger shaking in his hand. Cautiously, he opened one door to expose an obvious knight, his snores matching with the thunder bolting outside. The Saxon closed the door gently and moved to the next. Nothing. Then the next. He had little hope of finding Arthur, for the castle was enormous and every corridor was long and dark. Sighing, the Saxon reached another corridor, this one filled with torchlights.
He opened the first door to his right. His eyes adjusted to the figures sleeping on the silk-curtained bed. Indeed, a dark-haired knight was resting on the bed with a brown-haired lady. The Saxon crept towards the bed and in a sudden movement, pressed his dagger against the man's neck. "Are you Arthur?" he hissed.
Lancelot stared at the Saxon rebelliously. His mind was spinning with endless parades of questions. How on earth did Saxons manage to get inside the walls of Camelot? What was he to do? If he answered no, his chances of living were still slim to nothing and he did not have his weapons in hand. If he answered yes, the Saxon would most likely kill him on the spot. And what about Elena? He feared for her safety, even as she slept calmly into the night, unaware of the danger lurking in the room.
"I am Arthur." He answered, shutting his eyes close. The least he could do for his best friend was profess a false identity. If the Saxons captured Arthur, Camelot would most certainly be doomed and well within the reach of Saxon hands.
A second later, the handle of the dagger slammed into the side of his head and everything faded to black.
Morning roused Elena warily. She rubbed her forehead, trying to wipe out the awful nightmare she had. It was one of her more dreadful dreams, where everything seemed so accurate and so believable that she feared that her dream had somehow managed to slip out of her mind and come to life in front of her. She tilted her head to see Lancelot, but when all she saw was the shape where his body had previously lain and the tangled sheets at the foot of the bed, she panicked.
No, don't panic now. Perhaps he is in the bathroom or the kitchen. Do not panic until you are sure. She told herself. Jumping out of bed, she quickly dressed in robes of periwinkle blue. Just as she was about to leave to check the kitchens, she noticed beads of blood on the floorboards beside the side where Lancelot slept. And muddy footsteps, still fresh, led a trail from Lancelot's side of the bed to the door.
"Oh my god." She whispered to herself. Intruders. Saxons.
"Arthur! Arthur! Get up!" She yelled down the hall, attracting attention from the many late-sleepers of the night. Gawain poked his head out halfway as he saw Elena dash by his room. Perplexed at her behavior, he followed her. Bors, Dagonet Galahad, and Tristan were quick to follow as Elena fled by their rooms too.
"What is the matter?" Bors asked in wonder as they followed Elena in vain. His fellow knights had no answer to his question, so they quickened their pace to catch up to Elena.
The King had heard the commotion from the moment Elena voice echoed through the castle. Guinevere, still groggy from sleep, peered through a shade of darkness. She moaned and rolled over in bed. "Arthur, what is all that uproar?" Her husband shrugged and opened the door, poking his head out to examine the racket. Elena reached him just in time.
"Arthur, Lancelot has been captured!" She shrieked. This was enough to stir Guinevere from sleep. She bolted from bed and in a second, was next to her husband, looking at Elena with wide, disbelievingly eyes.
"What did you say? Lancelot is captured?"
"Yes. I woke up this morning and he was not there. That already drew suspicion to me. Then I noticed blood on the floorboard and footprints. An intruder must have slipped in the castle and taken him. A Saxon." Her voice was breaking, and tears welled up, obscuring her vision.
The other knights looked at each other in apprehension. Lancelot taken? It seemed impossible, but they knew Elena would tell no such lie. Bors was the first to speak-- "But why would anyone wish to capture Lancelot? He isn't much use to them." His tone was not offending, only questioning. "Why didn't they kill him instead? If they had to take anyone, they would have taken Arthur." Tristan hid behind the dark shadows of the wall, studying the baffling faces of his comrades.
Arthur turned back to the faces of his knights, realizing why his enemies had kidnapped Lancelot. "I think I know. Knights, how would you describe my appearance in simple words?"
"Tall, dark-haired," Galahad answered easily. It took him a moment to realize the importance of his words. "Like Lancelot." He whispered, the sudden shock hitting him.
"They meant to take me." Arthur whispered silently, avoiding eye contact with any of the knights. Wordlessly, he thought how I wished they did. Oh, how I wish I could trade places with him right now.
Elena's face paled to a ghostly white. She stumbled against the wall, trying to find something to hold her balance, but nothing caught her. Her vision became blurred in a procession of unwanted colors. Tears sprang to her eyes as she thought about Lancelot, trapped in the hands of the deadly violent Saxons. The all likelihood of him surviving in Saxon hands was very unlikely. If the Saxons did find out he was not Arthur, they would torture him nevertheless, until the Sarmatian could hold out no longer. And if they found out his true identity, his torment would be much worse. Either way, the knight had little chance of living.
"Is he dead?" Bors asked, his voice very quiet. They all knew the seriousness of the situation.
No one uttered a word. Just like Elena, they all understood his slim chance of living. The poor knight could be lying dead on a hard dungeon floor even as they spoke. But no one wanted to say that. It was too upsetting to think about.
"He's better off dead." Arthur stressed, his heart heavy. His brow was dripping with hesitant perspiration. Off to his left, Guinevere was hushed, her concentration focused entirely on the others.
"Don't speak of it that way, Arthur." Elena replied. She was still optimistic. She wanted to believe that Lancelot was still alive, clinging to the last thread of hope that his friends might find him and rescue him.
"But it is the truth. You know that Elena. We all do." Arthur said.
"Let me gather an accompaniment for a search rescue. At least let us try to consider the chance of him alive. I will not rest to stop looking for him until I actually see his body in front of him, departed." She firmly stated. Arthur bit his lower lip. He had considered going to find Lancelot, but he didn't even know where to start. They had no idea where the Saxons resided and where they camped. For all they knew, the Saxons could be in Rome. However, Elena was clearly hopeful and the King knew all they really needed was a surge of hope and a horse-drawn wagon.
"Alright then, here is what we need..."