Chapter 16

Arthur stared in fascination at the spider spinning a web between the stone wall and the bracket that held one of the two torches in the dungeon. He wished he could get a better look at it, but the chains that ran from the manacles on both his wrists to the back wall of the dungeon prevented him getting any closer. He couldn't quite believe how deftly it moved and how intricately it spun the web. He'd never really paid much attention to the wonders of nature before, and if he did spend any time watching animals, it was usually through the sight on his crossbow, seconds before he dispatched them in a hunt. And he felt a slight pang of regret that he hadn't given more time to just enjoying the beautiful world that he was about to leave.

Much had happened for Arthur in the long hours since the door of the dungeon had been locked behind him. After the initial shock of the judgment had worn off and the reality of what was going to happen to him began to sink in, the numbness gave way to anger, and he raged against his fate, against Ivan and against the cruel unfairness of the world that had taken one wrong decision – that of bringing Guinevere with him – and turned it into an executioner's axe, an axe that would bring to a sudden and premature end all that his life had been destined for. And after the anger, grief eventually overtook him, and he wept bitter tears for all he was about to be taken from. But after the tears had also subsided, he made a decision.

Arthur was never one to admit defeat. He had faced monsters and armies where the chance of victory had been almost none, and in each case he had somehow won through. But as Arthur faced his own death sentence and the impossibility of escaping it, he eventually – even without Merlin's guidance – did the wisest thing possible. He decided to accept it. He knew that the only thing he could change was the way that he faced his execution, and he decided that he wanted to face the inevitability of death with courage and dignity. And somehow, from deep within himself, he found the strength to do exactly that. And so as evening fell, and a beautiful sunset lit up the sky over Mercia, there was an air of peace and calm about Arthur as he stood transfixed by the only thing of beauty in the dungeon - the spider and the delicate web that it was spinning so diligently.

When he heard the sound of the key in the lock and the door opening, it was with some reluctance that Arthur tore his gaze away from the web and turned his head to look towards the door, only to see Ivan walk into the cell with a look of triumph on his face. They had not spoken since the trial, but Arthur had known that he would probably encounter Ivan before his death, and had resolved to himself that he would not let Ivan – whatever he said or did - take away the peace in his heart that had been won at such cost.

Before he spoke, Ivan made sure that he was on the safe side of the invisible line across the centre of the dungeon – the line which Arthur's chains prevented him from crossing.

"Well, Arthur, it seems, doesn't it, that I have won, and that you have lost the last battle that you will ever fight. How does it feel to be the loser - to find yourself wrong footed, completely outplayed and soundly beaten by the better man? You know, Arthur, it was worth the pain," – he patted his chest – "just to see that look on your face when you saw the wound!"

When Arthur didn't respond, but just looked at him impassively, Ivan continued. "And how does it feel to be going to a criminal's death in disgrace and dishonour? That must hurt the proud Arthur Pendragon so much! Well, you shamed me on the tournament field, but it was your turn this time. Oh, that was sweet, to see you being humiliated in the way that you were before that roomful of people, and I'm sure that the whole of the city will have heard all the details of your private life by now. It seems, doesn't it Arthur, that maybe you and I are not so different as you would like to think?"

And when Arthur finally responded, all he would say was, "My honour is still intact with those whose opinions I care about." And with that Arthur turned his face away from Ivan and went back to looking at the spider.

Ivan had, of course, wanted more response from Arthur – he'd wanted to mock him so that he could rile him and get some more satisfaction from that. So he tried something different. "Well, whatever their opinion is of you doesn't alter the fact that you will be dead in not much more than twelve hours from now. And that will be the end of you. What was it you said to me Arthur - you're not fit to govern your people, now or ever, and I pray you never will? It seems, doesn't it, that you're the one who's never going to rule, whilst I will one day go on to be king, and I will govern my people in the way that I see fit."

There had been a note of triumph in Ivan's voice when he spoke, but when Arthur replied it was still with the same calm, as he turned his attention from the spider's web to the dancing flames of the torch above it. "I don't deny that I've felt bitter today, and been through anger and grief the like of which I've not known before. But it's funny, Ivan - staring your own death in the face does strange things to the mind. I can hardly believe it, but I find that I pity you…."

Ivan sneered at him, "It is you who are to be pitied Arthur, for your pathetic ideals…."

But it was as if Arthur hadn't heard him, and he simply continued. "I'm lucky to have people whom I know love me deeply, and would give their lives for me – knights, nobles, servants and subjects. I'm grateful to have known them – each one of them - and I've loved them in return. And yes, it does grieve me that you're tearing me away from them now. But the one person whose love I craved most but never had is that of my mother – she couldn't come to me, but now you're sending me to her, and I'm at peace. And I pity you because I don't think you know either love or peace….."

"You can keep your pity, Arthur – I neither need it nor want it. And I'm not here to listen to your ramblings. You'll no doubt be aware that according to custom you're granted, within reason, a last request. As a royal, you're already afforded the right to wash and change before your execution. So, what is your last request?"

Arthur had indeed known of the custom, and had been expecting it and had thought carefully about it. And so he didn't hesitate before replying to Ivan as he finally turned back to face him once more: "To speak to three of the party from Camelot."

"Three! I said, within reason. You have one."

Arthur spoke calmly but firmly: "And surely it's reasonable to have the opportunity to put my affairs in order before I die."

"You're probably wanting to discuss some doomed plan of escape…."

Much to Ivan's perplexity, Arthur actually gave a little laugh, as if he had some private joke of his own. "Nothing could be further from the truth. I give you my word, which can be trusted, that I only want to put my affairs in order. Even you surely wouldn't stoop so low as to deny me that, given that it's you who's stealing my life from me. Three."

It was only Arthur's comment about him stooping so low that finally pushed Ivan into a compromise: "You have two. Give me their names."

Arthur paused and after a moment's deliberation decided to take the compromise: "Very well."

But it was as Ivan was making his way - as darkness was falling - between the dungeon and the cells where the party from Camelot were being held, that he was given news by one of his knights that made him smile.

"My lord, the dogs have picked up the scent of the servant. He is in the woods to the south of the city."

"And you did as I instructed?"

"Yes, Sire. The dogs were all released from their leashes as soon as we were sure that they had the scent."

"Good, then there won't be much of the servant left to deal with by the time the pack has caught up with him."

And with that, Ivan resumed his walk to the cells, but with a twisted sense of satisfaction in his heart.

All discussion had long ceased between Arthur's friends. Although there was a quiet that hung over the cell, it was one of despondency and hopelessness. Elyan was still sitting against the back wall, but Gwen was by now curled up on the floor, with her head resting on his leg, too exhausted with grief to do anything else. Gwaine and Percival were sitting together against one of the other walls, and although they exchanged the odd word, there was no comfort in anything that was said. Leon stood by himself, with his arm against the wall, and his head resting on his arm, whilst Lancelot slowly paced around the cell. All apart from Gwen raised their heads or turned them when they heard the sound of approaching feet, and all stiffened when they saw Ivan.

Gwaine leapt to his feet but found himself restrained by Lancelot, who hissed at him, "Don't give him the pleasure of seeing your anger," to which Gwaine growled back in a low voice, "Well before we leave this place I'm going to make sure he knows that he's going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder - up to the point I hunt him down and kill him."

Although he was safe on the other side of the bars, and was accompanied by half a dozen guards with crossbows, there was something about the silent looks of hostility that each of the knights gave him that unnerved Ivan, even if he didn't show it.

"Your prince has requested to speak with two of you." He paused for a moment before continuing. But I thought you might also want to know first about his manservant." Ivan saw each of the knights suddenly stiffen again. "I'm afraid you won't be seeing him again." And it perplexed Ivan as well as gratified him, to see just how much each of them were clearly pained by the news about someone who was just a servant.

And Gwen, who had heard all that was going on, expressed in a whisper without raising her head what all of them were feeling: "Then there is no hope….."