Summary
Preoccupied with solemn stately matters and deeply personal concerns, Arthur contends with Escetir's aggressive envoy for past interventions in one of their outlying villages.
Chapter 23 The Might of Men
Several hours before daybreak, Arthur sat behind his desk, his intent to prepare for the diplomatic entreaty with Escetir, now moved forward with careful purpose. Instead his thoughts kept drifting to recent events – Merlin and Galahad indeed finding magical residue outside the vaults, Lord Badawi's arrest at first light, and Gwen's fainting spell in the garden last night. All distressing but none more so than Gwen. His deep concern for her had returned.
There was an air of difference in her as of late. She smiled and laughed more easily, worries seeming to lift from her delicate shoulders. The haunted dullness in her lovely eyes from sleepless nights had vanished over preceding days. In its place dawned a glow of vibrancy returning to warm brown depths.
Had time finally allowed soothing of old wounds? Arthur pondered the question, remembering the anguish they endured when she had been enchanted by that bracelet. Though it was not her fault, the betrayal cut deep. And what torment had she endured from Helios that she had yet to share? Could such trauma truly fade? He wanted to believe healing was possible over time. And yet he dared to think her enchanted again. Arthur shuddered. "No. No."
While relieved at her apparent recovering vigor, an instinct deep within needled at Arthur. Something integral shifted in his wife and confidant, though its meaning eluded his grasp. And her puzzling resistance to physician care whispered of matters yet to understand.
The daybreak toll of the morning bell sounded and Arthur froze – the hour now come for Badawi's fate to rest in Percival's hands. He massaged his forehead – his heated orders given to Percival echoing. His faithfulness saw distasteful duties done despite doubts. A good man – seldom could duty honor virtue so starkly.
Guinevere stirred on their bed, waking as she moaned softly and rustled beneath the covers. Arthur rose from his chair and went to lie beside her as she opened her eyes. He kissed her gently on the lips, relishing her sensuality, desiring her. The heat of his body swelled, so with reluctance, he pulled away—just a little.
"Good morning, my love," he whispered, still close to feel her warmth.
"Good morning, Arthur," she replied, smiling at him with eyes lazy that glistened with hunger.
He longed to join her in bed – excite her with exquisite pleasure, but the servants would arrive soon and the world still would not stop for them – guests departing and an envoy to talk terms awaited.
As if she was aware of responsibilities too, Gwen extracted herself and rose on the other side just as a knock sounded at the door. Arthur stood with a sigh and strode to his desk, summoning the servants once she had retreated behind her privacy screen.
Gwen's new maidservant entered with a pitcher of water and a tray of stoneware and goblets, a young druid maiden named Sefa. Arthur managed an encouraging nod as she slipped behind the screen to assist Gwen.
Camelot's first known druid servants – as far as he knew. He harbored no illusions that old doubts were wholly conquered on either side. But the glittering ember of hope in Gwen's eyes when she had advocated they set this progressive example still sparked his own. And while Gaius gave his utmost assurance, Merlin voiced no reservations – offering a blessing, his excitement palpable at this prospect for unity. Still, Arthur made note to gently probe his wife's comfort, reassess in a few weeks' time if all was well. For now, optimism must lead.
George arrived with the tray of food and a sealed scroll. Handing it to Arthur first, he arranged the table in quiet efficiency, the clunk of plates and clank of utensils could be heard along with the rustling of Gwen changing clothes.
Arthur glanced at the seal quickly – Donnchadhs of Cornwall – nothing registering a reason for a missive. He broke the seal and read the letter.
His face tightened with disbelief; fingers gripped the parchment. He chewed his bottom lip, rubbed his forehead.
"George," he said, his eyes still on the message, "fetch Sir and Lady de Bois – the lesser hall in two hours." George stopped whatever he was doing and left with expediency.
Arthur crossed to the table set with breakfast, the scroll in his hand, and plucked a grape from a bowl before seating, waiting for Gwen. It wasn't as sweet as it should be, Lady Donnchadhs' demands leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.
When Gwen appeared, Arthur seated himself, rigidity in his posture, avoiding her inquisitive gaze as she sat beside him.
Sefa gasped behind them as a ringing crash shattered the heavy silence – Arthur and Gwen looked toward the ruckus.
The mortified servant recoiled from the fallen serving tray, terrified eyes darting between Arthur and Gwen anxiously. "I'm sorry, your majesties! I'm-I'm…" Sefa dropped to recover the scattered dishes with a wince.
"It's all right, Sefa," Gwen assured the young woman, overlooking her awkward blunder with grace and patience, though her worried eyes now fixed firmly on him again. "Arthur... what is wrong?"
He slid over the damning letter. "Isolde's in trouble," he replied heavily.
Gwen scanned the elegant script, eyes widening with dawning sorrow. "Oh no..." Her voice a wounded whisper as fingertips gently covered trembling lips. After a fraught silence, she asked:
"What will you do?"
Arthur shook his head, his lips thinning. This would cut deep. With great effort, he met Gwen's expectant eyes. "What I must."
In the lesser hall, Arthur sat upon a modest throne on a short dais, Gwen graceful beside him. His most trusted – Merlin, Fredrick, and Geoffrey – stood vigil nearby. Before them, Escetir's emissary waited alongside Camelot's high lords, delayed from departing for home soil for this urgent council.
The envoy stood tall amidst his black-cloaked entourage, gripping a parchment. He met Arthur's gaze directly as an equal, not a petitioner bowing before a king – bold, even for a protected member of the court. Subtle tension hummed in the air, their mutual distrust and lingering animosity palpable in the hall.
Arthur's postponement of critical talks during the coronation – to begin six days later – had vexed the envoy also, raising diplomatic stakes. Yet to now convene this morn –with his staff scarce – this concession acknowledged Camelot's perceived urgency in their grievance. All crafted purpose however – to conclude affairs before the harvest's mysterious restoration come dawn Monday. The high road was oft the harder. But first to listen and seek accord – granting full fair hearing despite contrary storms on Camelot's horizon. Arthur kept his face neutral now, gesturing permission to proceed.
Bernewyn half-bowed from the hip, a thinly veiled scowl on his face. "Our gratitude for your hospitality and the… expedience of your audience, King Arthur."
Arthur paid him a cool gaze – bold indeed. This was no groveling subject, but a proud emissary still simmering from the imposition of delay. Arthur kept his irritation in check. He was in a difficult position, trying to balance multiple pressing issues while accommodating Escetir's demands. If the envoy bristled at the inconvenience, too bad – the needs of Camelot came first, diplomatic feathers be damned. Only one man here was king, and Arthur would ensure this envoy did not forget it.
"King Lot sends his congratulations to the queen of Camelot and wishes you great success," Bernewyn continued with a regal bow to Guinevere, interrupting the cutting rebuttal on the edge of Arthur's tongue.
"Thank you," she acknowledged, her expression stately and attentive.
Arthur buried his sharp response, taking a quiet breath. He needed to hear this news plainly before reacting.
"What else does King Lot have to say?" asked Arthur, inwardly bracing himself for the worse. Indeed, he had more than an inkling what ill news was coming.
The scroll crinkled as Bernewyn unrolled it and began to read. "His royal highness, King Lot Rynart of Escetir, brings forth the following grievances against the king of Camelot, Arthur Pendragon, and demands recompense for said grievances:
"On the fifth day of May of the year of our Lord 699, you crossed our borders and sought refuge in the village of Ealdor. A raid sanctioned by the queen of Camelot, Morgana Pendragon, was carried out by Sir Agravaine de Bois – your uncle purportedly – on the eighth day of May. In their search for you, they terrorized the town and set it to fire. Many homes and property were lost."
A stirring went through the council members as murmurs broke out, Arthur realizing that most if not all of them not aware of the details around Sir Agravaine's raid – that Arthur and Merlin had fled to Ealdor after Morgana and Helios conquered Camelot.
"We take comfort no lives were lost," Arthur countered, glancing at Guinevere. She had been present in Ealdor as well, her temporary home during her exile and providing some comfort to him for a time. "Great care to secure their safety was undertaken."
"That is not in dispute, King Arthur," the emissary replied, his tone an even challenge.
Arthur's jaw cinched; his lips thinned. Frustration kindled that his efforts shielding innocents went so casually ignored. As if those terrified souls huddled in the dark forest mattered not at all! Did this man think fear a trivial thing forgotten for peasants?
"The grievances against Camelot continue, highness."
Arthur forced steady composure, nodded for him to continue. Losing temper would only seem weakness in this adversary's shrewd eyes. The envoy clearly maneuvered to nettle, seeking loose stones in the fortress of his poise. He would not crumble so easily.
"Six years past, on the nineteenth day of October in the year of our Lord 693, you, Lady Morgana, and Lady Guinevere crossed our borders into Ealdor and killed several of our citizens one week hence, including a warlord named Kanen."
Loud gasps and angry cries erupted from the council as Arthur diverted his eyes for a moment. Lord Aldwin shot to his feet in outrage before Lord Gregory grabbed his arm and sternly pulled him back into his seat. Shocked whispers echoed around the hall.
Arthur pressed his lips together, the truth unavoidable - he had crossed into another kingdom and engaged in conflict without consent, violating treaties. His intentions mattered not - the Crown Prince of Camelot interfering in a matter that did not concern his lands. An unauthorized aggression against Escetir, one he had gotten away with until now.
"In defense of innocents left to suffer, something any man of honor would do." Arthur held the envoy's gaze, anger burning beneath the surface. He would not apologize for coming to the aid of the helpless, treaty or no. "If King Cenred neglected his people, he invited foreign intervention." Relaxing his tightened jaw, Arthur breathed steadily.
"What happens within our kingdom is none of your concern, majesty," Bernewyn retorted pointedly.
"There are people living there who are my friends," Arthur replied, his voice hard and defiant, eyes boring into Bernewyn. "I protect those loyal to me, no matter what crown they live under."
Arthur had never admitted his fondness toward Merlin's mother and her neighbors. Twice they had accepted him, confiding in him though he wore a foreign crown. He felt Merlin's gaze, sensing his friend's quiet approval. But Arthur kept his eyes locked with the envoy's. He would not be shamed for doing what was right.
Bernewyn glared at Arthur before breaking his gaze. "King Arthur, Kanen and his men were subjects of Escetir no matter their character. You had no right nor authority to murder them."
The lords around the table grumbled, some nodding in accord. While displeasure at the envoy's discourteous tone rang clear, others perhaps agreed with the grievance. Some may not have even known of Arthur's infractions until now, angered by his unauthorized aggressions.
"Those… men… brutally killed an innocent farmer knowing he was not a threat and pinned a warning for us on the bolt sticking out of his back," Arthur said tightly, reigning in the anger stirring within him. The emissary's words had cut deep, though Arthur knew his actions had been justified, circumstances necessitating intervention. Still, had a foreign prince violated Camelot's borders, he might have reacted the same as Lot. The treaty violations gave legitimate cause for outrage that could not be easily assuaged.
"It was not murder," Arthur said finally. "We defended ourselves and gained meaningful friendships with the villagers."
"The kingdom of Escetir acknowledges your relationship with Ealdor." Bernewyn's gaze slid to Merlin and Arthur hitched a silent breath.
May he be damned! How many more hidden enemies lurked within Camelot's walls? He'd rooted out his uncle's spies, but Agravaine could not have been the only one with eyes and ears among the court. Did Escetir have its own web of informants woven throughout his castle and capital?
The emissary eyes turned back to Arthur. "But King Lot also recognizes it as a violation and demands recompense."
Arthur lifted his chin. "Which is?"
Bernewyn unrolled another scroll and read the words. "Escetir Forest is to be returned to its rightful kingdom Escetir with ten thousand gold pieces to be paid in full within one hundred twenty days."
The lesser hall erupted in a cacophony of discord as Arthur's nostrils flared, his eyes slitting – though whether from shock or outrage he did not know. But muscles feathered in his cinched jaw – a demand of this magnitude – tribute and land…
"This demand is outrageous!" "Preposterous!" "You mustn't, King Arthur!"
Arthur glared at Bernewyn. A small, thin smile spread on the emissary's lips as he rolled the parchment.
The Ridge of Ascetir lay between the forest and Lot's territory. Surrendering such a vast and valuable amount of land would greatly diminish Camelot's eastern border while expanding Lot's. His reach would be dangerously closer to Camelot proper.
Arthur held up his hand, called for silence. "Am I to assume the terms include the Ridge?" he asked.
"Due to its location, King Arthur, it does."
The murmurs rose again. Arthur raised his hand once more. Silence followed.
He shook his head, a short derisive chuckle escaping him. "Sir Bernewyn, you cannot possibly believe that Camelot would cede half its eastern territory to you and shift its border to my front gates. Such demand and expectation are folly."
Bernewyn stiffened, his shoulders rigid.
Arthur inhaled. "The Forest of Ascetir was brokered in a treaty between my father and Lot's father. I will not upend it."
"Unfairly brokered," the emissary reproved, his gaze steady and unyielding on Arthur.
Arthur leaned forward, his eyes like steel. "I will not be drawn into a decades' old debate over bruised egos or imagined slights from the past. Take care with your next words."
He measured the man, raking him up and down. He'd granted the emissary some concessions on protocol and the delivery of his words. Leniency must be adhered no matter how volatile the message or how fearless the messenger. But he was at his end.
At last, Bernewyn lowered his eyes.
"I shall take council and deliberate over King Lot's… unreasonable terms," Arthur said, reclining into the throne. "You shall have our response in a few days."
Arthur evoked a courageous front, but inside, his gut churned as his eyes found Gwen's. This newest threat was stacked upon simmering chaos within his kingdom. Could Camelot withstand assaults from without and from within at once? Could he?