Summary: An envoy from Camelot's rival kingdom Escetir arrives with an urgent matter for King Arthur, but his response is not what they had hoped.
Chapter 15 The Emissary
After declaring his business urgent with the king, Sir Bernewyn rode at the head of the Escetir envoy through the southern gates into Camelot's middle-class town, Pendragon banners flapping mockingly in the midmorning sun. As with the occupants of the tent city outside the castle walls, its lanes also throbbed with music and revelry. No doubt King Arthur designed this ostentatious spectacle to flaunt Camelot's stability and wealth after the Southron War victory and his union to a mere serving girl.
Yet Bernewyn kept keen eyes upon the fortifications. Cressets blazing along the broad parapets. Significant forces patrolled the streets and ramparts, heavily armed. Passing through the portcullis into the citadel courtyard, he noted allied sigils, emblems, and colors blending with Camelot-crimson and black. Far more defenders than their scouts had estimated garrisoned the palace. Of course, this mass was temporary.
Only two of his envoys were allowed into the castle, the remaining four halted under guard in the courtyard. His first visit deep inside the enemy stronghold, the citadel teemed with household guards, many bearing the sigil of Camelot though some may have been conscripts from other realms. Climbing the southeast turret, he spied servant girls darting quick glances and hushed whispers at their foreign uniforms. Likely the help were forbidden from even approaching sensitive areas such as the king's council chamber ahead. Nourishments were brought in promptly as were sentries posted inside and outside the doors.
They waited.
Two hours, he waited – Camelot's lack of decorum and respect brewed fury in Bernewyn's blood. Pacing like a caged animal when the doors parted, King Arthur entered in formal regalia flanked by crimson-caped knights, the very image of chivalry and authority. Much younger than anticipated.
Bernewyn managed a stiff bow, his eyes on Pendragon instead of lowered with humility. "I am Sir Bernewyn of Airaldii, emissary to King Lot of Escetir."
Pendragon met his gaze directly, an air of bold confidence about him quite unlike the paranoid tyrants ruling some kingdoms. Perhaps the boy fancied himself courageous to deal plainly instead of cowering behind shields of security. Still those piercing eyes seemed to take him in full measure in an instant despite his years.
"What business brings you to Camelot during this joyous time of celebration, Sir Bernewyn? Surely, your arrival could have delayed a week."
"Broken treaties do not pause for parties, Your Majesty. My king sends urgent matters that will not wait." Their business in Camelot was no mystery to Pendragon's informed eye – unless matters of border security and sovereignty had escaped the young king's attention considering the end of a war, a dragon attack, marriage, and a new queen. Their timing to provoke him was perfect.
Arthur's jaw clenched, but he smoothed his flash of annoyance. "Esteemed emissary you may be, but I dare not insult my queen by marring her coronation with critical debates. Your business will keep till next week."
Bernewyn's lips thinned at the firm dismissal. "Time is of the essence, sire. I cannot linger idle when it took eight days' ride to arrive."
"Then enjoy the hospitality of Camelot until I conclude affairs with my queen," King Arthur replied, his smile not reaching his eyes. "You may even represent Escetir in the tournaments if you're up to the challenge."
Bernewyn curled a fist, indignant at both offers. "King Arthur, I must protest."
"Your arrival is unexpected, Sir Bernewyn," he replied sharply. "I will not alter my plans nor my decision to accommodate what I am certain is ill news. It will wait. Sir Ranulf…"
"Yes, sire."
"Please see our guests situated comfortably in an envoys' pavilion with the other visiting nobles – outside the city walls. Keep them under watch until I summon them." The finality of Pendragon's tone brooked no argument. He spun smoothly on his heels, red cape swirling as he strode for the doors without further acknowledgement.
His advisor came beside him still staring at the doors as they closed behind Arthur. "The arrogance!" Lord Ioan said. "Does he not understand?"
Bernewyn slammed a fist into his palm, burning with indignation. "As if our urgent missive is some trifling matter to be delayed for a party!"
"He's even more a naive fool than we realized," Lord Ioan spat. "The pretty boy-king dancing attendance on his bride when the serious affairs of men await!"
"Have a message sent to Airaldii over the delay." He glared at the closed doors – the unexpected impasse handed by Pendragon bristling. "Mark, my words, Ioan. This fanciful king would soon learn what realities exist beyond youthful notions of romance."