26. Misconceptions
"Damn Severinus, damn him to hell!" Lancelot screamed it, and his fist crashed on the table. "The brainless idiot. Tottering fool, I'll wrench his neck!" The beautiful crystal goblet he had been holding in his other hand was shattered to a million pieces when it hit the wall with ferocious force.
"This" Erec said from his seat at the other end of the huge table "is indeed a disaster."
"It's the end of all our plans, we're finished, finished" Lancelot foamed.
"Now let's not get ahead of ourselves…" Erec tried to reason with his enraged ally but Lance would have nothing of it. "What is there to get ahead of?" he barked. "Our hands are tied, we have no reinforcements, your fabulous Gaul-Saxon army is still months away."
"Weeks" Erec corrected calmly. "One month, at the worst."
"What does it matter?" Lancelot shouted. "Even as we speak, all Albion is flocking to Arthur's side, assuring him of their unwavering loyalty! He's a tragic figure now, a martyr. Days, a week at the very best, before anyone makes a connection between this attack and Severinus. There will be a traitor, mark my words, there always is. If this blithering idiot of a Bishop had his spies in Arthur's household, then the King has his spies among Severinus' followers. Arthur is no fool."
"With all due respect, My Lords" interjected Jeffrey softly "of that I'm not so sure."
"What's that?" Lance asked rudely.
"The High King is planning a public declaration. A decree that shall entitle Prince Galahad to a vast fortune on his royal father's eventual demise, but which will also exclude him from the succession to the throne of Camelot." Jeffrey spoke with his eyes modestly lowered to the ground. "I have it on the very best authority."
"What?" du Lac puffed. "A public insult to the law of the land? Why should Arthur do a thing like that?"
In his anger, Lancelot missed the tale-telling look Erec and Jeffrey exchanged. Indeed, why should King Arthur exclude the boy from the succession to the throne? Because the rumours about the young Prince's physical and perhaps mental disabilities were true, that was why. And, as Arthur quite obviously no wish to enter a real marriage to another woman ... But there was little use in explaining the details of Arthur's true predicament to the Baron du Lac.
Quite the contrary.
"Isn't it obvious?" Erec asked silkily. "Arthur knows you're the boy's father, doesn't he? Do you expect him to snub his precious Branguards in favour of a son that isn't his?"
"I thought we'd agreed not to mention Galahad's true descent" Lance snapped with a warning look at Jeffrey, who pretended that he wasn't listening.
Erec supressed an amused laugh. Sometimes good old Lancelot was hilariously naïve. "Besides" he continued patiently "the Branguards were that close to seizing power at Arthur's Court, they will not give it up, not for themselves, not for the Old Religion, which is their real objective in this."
"So you keep saying" muttered Lancelot acidly.
Erec scrutinized his fingernails to hide his contempt for the other. "I have ample proof that the Branguards strive to destroy our faith. Galahad is a true and loyal son of our Church." he explained with forced benevolence. "And from Arthur's legitimate first Queen, no less. Do the maths, Lancelot."
"I don't follow you. Guinivere and Arthur are divorced. Severinus himself blessed the High King's second marriage."
"Under duress, Lance. Unlike her successor in Arthur's bed, Guinivere happens to be very much alive. Now that Gwendolyn is dead, there can hardly be any issue from her, can there. The Bishop will declare the divorce null and void."
"Why should Severinus expose himself such? He'd virtually ask for being caught red-handed."
"Our good Bishop is a true believer."
"Aren't you, Erec, my brother in Christ?"
Erec looked at the ceiling, unnerved by du Lac's sudden, unexpected sarcasm. "My motives are not the issue here" he replied irritably. "Severinus would not, in fact, being who he is, could not, accept Arthur's upcoming act of succession, as long as the legitimate male heir is still alive. He'll do everything in his power to force Arthur into taking Guinivere, and with her Galahad, back."
"Thereby putting the hangman's noose around his neck with his own hands" Lancelot objected.
"Of what concern is Severinus' neck to us, dear friend? A moment ago, you wanted to kill him with your own hands. The only important thing is that Arthur will categorically refuse. Even if he won't, the Branguards will do it for him. It's life or death for them."
Lancelot went ghostly pale, while Erec and Jeffrey waited with bated breath.
And, indeed, Lancelot thought what they wanted him to think. "That's the death sentence for Guinivere and my… the boy" he said. "Malcolm Branguard will see to it, that …."
"Then it is our task to prevent this horrible, unnatural deed" interrupted Erec. "We must take action now, it must be us who forces Arthur's hand, not the Branguards. Of course we must take care that our actions are legitimate and ethical, before God and the people of Albion. On that score, Severinus' death might yet be our salvation….."
Erec talked and talked and by nightfall, all was settled and decided.
Two days later, Arthur declared, in front of all the court of Camelot, as well as of the nobles of Albion, his new act of succession. However, it was an extended version. Pendragon began with the surprising announcement that he would take his first Queen back. But that was the only appeasing thing he said. Not only did Arthur exclude Galahad from the succession. The High King had also chosen the late Queen Gwendolyn's and Malcolm Branguard's eldest son as his heir presumptive.
Malcolm, who had opposed and fought his King over this last bit up to the last moment, stood behind the throne, as white as chalk. For days he'd been telling Arthur that this was the one distinction to the Branguard family no other noble house in Albion would stomach.
With Gwendolyn's death, the arrangement had come to an end; the King had to remarry, and this time in earnest.
But Arthur had been adamant. No more marriage schemes, no lies. He would settle things now, once and for all. It was a last honour to a dead High Queen and nothing Branguard said could convince him otherwise.
Malcolm was scared stiff by what would come from this, and he did not have to wait for long.
There was an uproar among the assembled nobles that was impossible to pacify. Louder and louder the men shouted and yelled their protest.
The turmoil fell silent only when one man shouted louder than anybody else.
Then and there, Severinus raised his voice in heated objection.
As the public quarrel between King and Bishop escalated into a full blown scandal, one word gave the other, until Severinus, in the vilest words, condemned the Branguards as traitors and heretics, who were secretly plotting to overthrow Arthur's rule and re-erect the Old Religion.
Brought to a white heat, Arthur stripped the clergyman of all his worldly and clerical offices without so much as thinking of consulting with the rest of the clergy. Severinus was arrested on the spot.
It took the Bishop a while to realize that, other than he had thought, no spontaneous rebellion of the most Christian people of Albion came to his aid.
He was devastated when Malcolm Branguard visited him in his cell and told him, with obvious relief and triumph, that there were many examples in history for a King's well founded wrath being much more consistent and longer-lasting than the common men's memory. And that even the most pious nobles had more to gain from a reconciled King than from a quarrel about religious or legal technicalities.
Arthur and the Branguards had found a way to hush things up. It would be expensive, but it would work. A new Bishop would be appointed soon, and the old one, safely tucked away in his cell, would soon be forgotten.
It was the one thing Severinus, fighting the just cause, could not and would not endure.
The Bishop set his eyes on martyrdom. He demanded – and got – an audience with the King. Willingly, indeed eagerly, concealing only the involvement of Lancelot du Lac, he confessed his part in the murder of Gwendolyn, High Queen of Albion and her entourage.
Two days later it was Sir Leon himself who put the noose around Severinus' neck and opened the floor beneath his feet.
Together with the Bishop's neck broke the peace in Albion.
Guinivere, in her convent, was appalled by the news she got only much belated, and from tittle-tattle or other hear-say. At least until Elyan returned and gave her a first-hand account of events in Camelot. "You can't stay here, sister" Elyan said at last. "You and Galahad are too tempting a target for many a rascal who sees his chance. Arthur wants you both in Camelot."
"But that is impossible…."
"Look, I know it won't be pleasant, but there's nothing for it. Arthur can no longer hide Galahad's true nature from the world. As soon as people have seen the two boys, Malcolm's and yours, side by side, the resistance against the act of succession will cease. You and Arthur renew your marriage, and everyone is happy. It's what we should have done years ago. Now, where's Galahad?"
"I sent for him two days ago, he's here, …but…"
"No buts and ifs, sister, we must hurry. Get ready."
All the way Elyan was tensed, hearing and seeing dangers that weren't there. When they first sighted the Camelot battlements from afar, he heaped a sigh of utter relief.
"We're almost there, Gwen" he said to his sister. "About time, too."
Elyan smiled at his nephew. As always, Galahad hung more than sat in the saddle of his mount, like a wet sack. Sensing his uncle's emotions, he gave Elyan a lopsided grin. "I'm glad" he said in his usual funny manner, a result of his belatedly developed ability to hear and speak. "Don't like horses much."
"That much is certain" Elyan laughed loudly. "But your father will be happy to see you on horseback."
Galahad's smile became more radiant. "You think so, Uncle?" he asked eagerly. "Father will be pleased?"
"Of course he will. Remember how long he stayed when he last visited you? You were inseparable, the two of you, were you not?"
"Ye..e..s" Galahad replied happily. Perhaps this arduous trip was worth the trouble after all.
He hardly remembered the last time he had been with both his parents for more than two or three days. And he was twelve years old now, sure there were many things his father could teach him now, things of which so far Arthur had always said "later. When you're a bit older, Galahad."
And, as his mother had told him, he had a brother now waiting for him in Camelot, of the same age. This boy would once become King, and about that, Galahad was extremely happy.
Galahad loved his books, and his friends at the convent, and his parents, and all of their friends, but the thought of becoming King one day had always terrified him. His eyes weren't very sharp, and his hearing wasn't acute, but his thinking was as sharp as a newly forged blade.
A Prince's inability to take part in boyhood games had helped is quite a teacher in a way. The other boys had been lenient with him to his face. That was because his father was the King, and his mother a Queen. But they had also been giggling and whispering among themselves when they thought he wasn't aware of it. That was because he would never be a knight, never be a warrior, and therefore, he could never become a King like his father.
Galahad's books were his best and closest friends. He would one day become a fine scholar, he knew that, one of the best even. He also knew that he would make the most miserable King in all of Camelot's history.
So, as far as he was concerned, three cheers for the other boy who would take the burden off his meagre and somewhat disfigured shoulders.
In an even better mood than before, Galahad sat more upright on his steed and admired the landscape, as far as he could see it. Luckily Gaius had, shortly before his death, taught one of the monks in Galahad's convent the secrets of making spectacles.
At the thought of the old Court Healer, Galahad felt a pang of misery. He didn't remember too much about Gaius and Alice, as he had been quite young; and away from Camelot at the time of their deaths. But the memories he did have were fond ones. Especially as the two old people had had a singular talent for putting Arthur into a good mood. Galahad remembered how happy Arthur had been about any progress his son had made; progress that the two healers had made possible.
"Mama" Galahad suddenly said to Guinivere "Do you think I could ….."
But Guinivere would never know what had come to her son's mind in that instant.
A bunch of men broke from the brushwood in that very moment, screaming and howling like creatures let loose from hell. Galahad's mare, uncomfortable with her unaccomplished rider as it was, panicked at once.
The boy yelped in fear when the animal turned and sped away, right through the four guard men who rode behind him.
"Galla" screamed Guinivere, and spurred her own, nervous horse to pursue her son's bolting mount.
Galahad was by now stuck in the melee of horses and men, in danger of being thrown under the stamping hooves every second.
Desperately Guinivere tried to get to him. Solely focussed on saving her child she didn't flinch when someone at her side drew his sword and fought the two nearest guard soldiers off by cutting their horses down. When the two wretched animals fell, with their throats slid, they caused even more havoc in the crowded space, but for a precious moment, Galahad was in Guinivere's reach. As his mare broke down on her hind legs, she grabbed her son, and pulled him unto her own saddle.
She had only ears and eyes for her awkward struggle to keep the terrified boy in her arms. When the knight who'd come to her aid took her bridle and dragged her horse away from the turmoil, she thought nothing of it but that it was the only suitable course of action.
It was not before they had made it safely away from the fighting crowd that Guinivere shouted at the man for a halt. The knight, in plain armour and without a crest, increased their speed instead of heeding her command.
"Stop" she screamed commandingly. "At once!" For all her confident behaviour, she was more than glad when the knight finally grinded both horses to a halt, albeit only because they'd come to another bunch of men who blocked the narrow road.
"Who are you?" she demanded to know, breathless from the struggle. Galahad clung to his mother for dear life, still panting and speechless.
The knight opened his visor and talked rapidly.
However, Guinivere did not care for what he said; she only cared for who he was. She grabbed her hanging bridle, and tried to turn her horse, away from these men, away from him.
She did not make it very far.
But even so, the six men had their hands full when they dragged mother and son off the horse. As Guinivere managed to pull her dagger, two men regretted taking part in this expedition for the rest of their lives.
As the others did their best to wrestle her down, she once more saw the knight's fearful face. "Arthur will have your head for this!" she shouted. "You are a dead man, Lancelot du Lac, a dead man!"
Lancelot looked away when they pressed a wet, sharp smelling cloth on her face and she finally lost consciousness. He was trembling. Whenever he had imagined their reunion during all these lost years of his life, it had been passionate, loving, and warm.
Nothing in his dreams had prepared him for this day.
With an effort, he turned to the boy who was held by two of the bulky brutes Erec had dispatched for this enterprise.
"Galahad" Lance said hoarsely. "Don't be afraid. All will be well…."
It was the first time ever that Lancelot had a good long look at the boy he thought to be his only child.
Galahad was tall for his age, but lean, almost gaunt. He screwed up his eyes the way very short sighted people use to do. His spectacles, or what was left of them, were tangled up in the shreds of his neckerchief. He tried to say something, but stumbled over the syllables, until he stammered pitiably and finally fell silent.
Lancelot's throat tightened, and his stomach cramped. What on earth had these people been doing to his son? Not even Arthur would …. not to a helpless child, anyway ….
Briefly he remembered what he had once heard about Galahad.
But surely that had been a bunch of lies, Pendragon, or rather Branguard, propaganda.
His son had been born perfect.
And it had been this same perfection that had driven his enemies to hurting him, deforming him, so that he could pose no danger to their plans.
Du Lac's gaze brushed over Guinivere's limp form with an emotion bordering on hatred. How could she have allowed such a monstrosity to happen? She was the boy's mother, for God's sake.
Slowly, sadly, Lancelot raised his hand to stroke the boy's cheek. He would make his son better, he promised himself, no matter what the cost, somehow he would….
The Baron screamed in pain and stared at his bleeding hand in utter disbelief.
Galahad felt like crying at the sight of his mother, but nevertheless he tried to stare the man down whose hand he had just bitten as hard as he possibly could. With all the strength and wrath he could muster, he glared at his captor's gobsmacked face. "I am the High King's son, and my father will skin you alive" he finally managed to get out, and to his profound satisfaction, he spoke strongly, without stammering.
"Yep" one of the mercenaries said when he took a piece of rope from his saddle and tied the cheeky, struggling brat up for safer transport. "Does his old man proud. That's Pendragon bravado for you, an' no mistake!"