Arthur of Avalon
A Legendary Tale of King ArthurBy Gary L. CarlsonAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2010 Gary L. Carlson
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4520-5847-4 Contents
I. King Arthur.............................1II. The Final Battle.......................7III. Avalon................................17IV. The Oak Grove..........................21V. Lady Eunice.............................29VI. The Great Circle.......................33VII. The Forest............................41VIII. The Shining Eyes.....................49IX. The Wood Spirit........................57X. Arthur's Dream..........................65XI. The Man of Ages........................73XII. Arthur of Avalon......................81
Chapter One
King Arthur
As he sat on top of his horse in the early gray morning after the rain, King Arthur waited for the battle to begin near the moors and overgrown marshes of the river that brought in ships from the sea. The water reflected the sky.
Arthur paused to remember the early instruction of his teacher and mentor, Merlin, as he looked up at the sky ... 'observe the heavens and the stars and the moon and sun in them, everything else being unimportant.' Arthur pulled back on the reins as another horse approached. It was Sir Bedivere.
Sir Bedivere was portly for a knight and lacked a little of the fighting instinct. Not desirous of going to battle at every whim, he was a welcome relief.
"What brings you here with such urgency?" the King inquired.
"My lord, I have a message sent from Mordred's camp."
Arthur opened the missive and read aloud, "It is hereby accepted that on this day, a formal truce shall be signed on condition that I, Sir Mordred, be granted the Lordship of Cornwall and Kent and succession to the British Throne upon the death of King Arthur of England."
Arthur did not trust Mordred. "Only last night you revealed to me another letter read aloud to the court in my absence."
"While you were out of the country ... in France."
The words were chiseled in stone in Arthur's memory, Mordred would have them on his grave ... 'That on the date herein ascribed, King Arthur of England was witnessed to have died of mortal wounds delivered to the chest and head.' ... "He seems preoccupied by my death."
"Mordred no longer wants to be recognized as heir to the throne. It is not enough. He wants to be King!" Sir Bedivere vented his anger.
"Smiling, always smiling, eyes unafraid of death, eyes that carry with them the knowledge of a terrible sin ... the little bastard. I should never have recognized him as my son."
Sir Bedivere did not say a word. Arthur's illegitimate son, Mordred, conceived through enchantment, was raised in a secret forest by Arthur's half-sister Morgan Le Fay until he was of age to assert his claim as heir to the throne. At first the King refused to acknowledge Mordred as his son, but once confronted, Arthur knew down deep that naive innocence and even deception were no excuse in the cause and effect of life. Ultimately he had to recognize Mordred as his son and heir to the throne.
"We do not have much time before we are to meet Sir Mordred and sign the truce. Sir Bedivere, I want you to do two things for me with great haste."
"Yes, Your Majesty," replied a curious Sir Bedivere.
"I want you to find me those papers on which you had recorded my account of the early history of Camelot, and I want you to find me an alert young man who has the stamina to return unaided to his nobleman's castle." The King knew what he wanted, and he knew it was the right thing to do. With thunder rumbling in the distance, Sir Bedivere rode away to follow the King's command. The storm was approaching and the rage of war.
King Arthur called desperately for the one who could help him, guide him, and give him hope. "Merlin, where are you? I need you now more than ever."
An enchanter gifted with the sight, Merlin had seen his own destiny close at hand and before leaving Camelot foretold Arthur the main events of his life.
"You warned me, Merlin! You warned me! But why didn't I listen?" The King did not want to bring to consciousness what he knew to be true. Arthur collapsed his forehead in the palm of his hands. For a fleeting moment, he could feel his hands, his fingertips reaching, stretching as if to pluck his eyes out. He did not want to see what he knew to be true.
"Deception." It was the one thing Arthur had grown to hate. "I loved them!" Arthur screamed. Gwynevere, his Queen, and Sir Lancelot, the greatest Knight of the Round Table, had betrayed the King's trust. Arthur had never wanted to prove their adultery, hoping in time that everything would set itself right. Allowed to fester in the dark reaches of his mind, the deception, once exposed by Mordred, had to be dealt with.
"I sentenced her because it was the law to sentence her." The sweat ran from his forehead into his eyes. He didn't move to wipe it away. He didn't move at all. For a moment, there was no thunder, only silence.
Mordred had provoked dissension and enlisted twelve of Arthur's Knights to be constantly aware of the lovers' every move. Confronted in the Queen's chamber, Lancelot killed all twelve of Arthur's Knights. Arthur's trusted friend and the Knight he loved the most became his mortal foe. As King, Arthur must uphold the laws of justice and the sentence for adultery.
Lancelot saved Gwynevere from being burned at the stake, and escaped to Lancelot's castle in France where they were joined by other knights sympathetic to their cause.
King Arthur then led an army to France where Lancelot was able to hold them off. Not wanting to press the battle any further, they agreed to a compromise. Lancelot would be granted safe passage to escort the Queen back to Camelot where she would be received without judgment by the King.
The young knights who followed Mordred, however, were filled with nationalistic pride. Raised to war, there were those who wanted a conquest in France against Lancelot, others sought revenge for the slain knights, and there were always the ancient hatreds. It was as though King Arthur and Mordred were nothing but figureheads to complex forces which seemed to be under a kind of impulse, and the impulse was to war.
"Your Majesty," Sir Bedivere had returned, the requested papers clutched in the hands of a thirteen-year-old boy. The King eyed the young man whose destiny he would change. They dismounted and the boy knelt on one knee in front of his King with his head bowed. Arthur crossed to the young man and lifted his chin so that he could see his eyes. The boy did not look away. The King looked at Sir Bedivere and nodded his affirmation.
Arthur stepped back to retrieve his sword Excalibur from its sheath. "What is your name, young man?"
"Tom of Warwick," he humbly replied.
"Were you prepared to fight today?"
"Oh yes, my lord."
The King was pleased and saddened by his determination. Pleased that he was so willing to serve but saddened that he was so young.
"You will not fight today or tomorrow but rather find your way safely back to your nobleman's castle with these papers. There you must never raise a sword except in defense and as a last resort. You are to keep yourself from battle and remain alive to teach the ideas that first began in Camelot. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord," the loyal subject responded.
With the sword in both hands and placing the tip of the sword on the boy's shoulder, the King proclaimed, "I, King Arthur of England, do hereby knight thee ... Sir Thomas of Warwick, a Knight of the Round Table." The young man could hardly contain his emotion as the sword touched his other shoulder. "Rise, Sir Thomas of Warwick."
The boy stood, and his eyes burned with a great intensity. "I shall serve you proudly, Your Majesty."
"I know you will." Then the King repeated very softly and confidently, "I know you will. Go, Sir Tom and be safe."
With one last look to the King, he turned and began his journey.
King Arthur stood alone, devoid of any feeling or emotion. He felt empty. The King felt his age. He was forty-two and everything was gray from the gray in his hair, to the steel gray of his armor, to the day itself. He had no energy for the task at hand, and he surely hoped the truce would be upheld and he could return to Camelot.
"Your Majesty, we are mounted and ready."
Chapter Two
The Final Battle
As he knew Mordred's impulse was to war, the King cautioned his troops to be prepared to commence fighting at the sight of a drawn sword.
Mordred had given his followers the same command. Impelled by the thought of being King of all England and having felt the power that such authority brings, Mordred wanted King Arthur's life. If he could have felt the King's disillusion, his heartfelt loss, Mordred might not have sought so eagerly to overcome a nearly lifeless body.
Riding above the soggy wasteland of the moors, King Arthur and Sir Bedivere proceeded to the designated site halfway between their respective camps. The intense solitude of the woodlands nearby reinforced their own tension at signing the truce conceived by Mordred.
The King raised his hand to signal his troops to halt as he saw Mordred in front of his own troops. Although he sensed the will to war and did not trust Mordred, the King lowered his arm as he and his troops advanced. Nearer Mordred, the King again halted his troops and proceeded with Sir Bedivere to meet Mordred, who waited with the truce in hand.
With the King stopped in front of him, Mordred announced his greeting somewhat too joyfully, "King Arthur."
The King was reserved in his response, "Mordred."
With a great urgency, Mordred thrust the papers towards the King. "The truce which I've prepared."
The King retrieved the papers and before signing handed them to Sir Bedivere to look over for any last minute changes by Mordred. In the awkward and uncomfortable silence only the pawing of the ground and the snorting sounds of the horses could be heard. Under the weight of a complete suit of plate armor, even their horses seemed anxious.
Sir Bedivere handed the papers back to King Arthur with a nod of his approval and the King proceeded to sign.
Just at that moment a startled horse reared at a nearby snake and a sword was drawn. With cries of hate and distrust the Final Battle had begun.
As Mordred's men charged into battle filled with the intensity of a victory close at hand, Mordred felt the death of Arthur.
The King, on the other hand, had kept the spirit of Camelot alive, thrust into the hands of the young and earnest Sir Thomas of Warwick. As the sweat inside his armor ran down his body, the thought and hope for his chosen torchbearer gave Arthur a sense of purpose. "Run, Tom, run!" Arthur screamed. He became swept into the action. There was no time to think, only to react, to defend himself and his kingdom.
The sword blows that struck the plated armour of the fighting soldiers and knights rang with a loud noise that echoed over wood and water. The sounds of battle were an outward expression of the anger felt within. Arthur was struggling with his own nature. His strong physical appearance could be identified with any Knight of the Round Table while his inward nature was like the little boy who never wanted to grow up, eternally young, and full of youthful optimism. The anger and hatred left him confused. Not understanding the reason of it all, he felt indifferent and very much alone as if it was his truth against the world.
The dead, the maimed, the injured were everywhere. In the hours of fighting, King Arthur, with his sword Excalibur, had remained untouched. Sir Bedivere, whom Arthur had ordered to remain at a safe distance so that he might record the event, was also unharmed as was Mordred, who had purposely waited outside of the conflict to protect himself from injury or death.
Sir Bedivere approached Arthur's side and saw in his face the despair of lives lost in battle. A war of opposing minds, ending with the loss of body and soul.
Amongst the cries of the wounded, the King knelt down beside a severely wounded soldier. Recognized by his clothing as a soldier of the King, he laid Excalibur on the ground to his side, reached down, and cradled the man in his arms.
Through the bloodied face of the man in Arthur's arms, a small laugh could be heard forcing itself through the broken body, and then softly but mightily, "Over here, over here." Another small laugh and his voice became like a small boy's at play. He was remembering a time gone by, a happier time, a time of innocence. Maybe it was a game of hide-and-seek or the happy discovery of some treasure hunt. The voice became stronger. "Look, look, it's a Knight of the Round Table bathing in the stream ... naked. We could steal his clothes and scare his horse away." He laughed as he remembered. Then Arthur noticed the movement through a slit in the man's almost closed eyelids. It was as though he was aware of Arthur's presence or merely searching for where he was, confused between the memories of the past and the pain of the present.
Arthur knew he must surely be a Knight of the Round Table for if he was not he would make him one. "I'll summon the strongest in body, the noblest in character, and make them soldiers of the King." The soldier's eyes moved from side to side in search of the voice.
Oh how Arthur wished they were cleansing in a stream and could easily wash off the blood of battle.
Suddenly, as though the knighted soul had been instantly snapped away, the lifeless body lay dead in his arms. Arthur took in a deep breath of air and held it for a moment. How precious life was. Sir Bedivere, moved by the scene, walked away from the King and left him alone.
Moments had passed, when a charging horse could be heard. Sir Bedivere turned and saw Sir Mordred with a sword raised above his head. "Your Majesty!" Sir Bedivere yelled in alarm.
As the King looked toward Sir Bedivere, Sir Mordred delivered a strong but glancing blow to the King's head. Arthur fell to the ground. Although wounded and dizzied by the blow, the King instinctively reached for Excalibur. The King posed unconscious and waited as Mordred dismounted.
With the sword held in both his hands high above his head, Mordred's eyes widened as he pointed the blade downward for the final thrust.
Just at that moment, Arthur quickly rolled onto his back and placed the point of Excalibur directly towards the stomach of Mordred. In Mordred's downward thrust Arthur forced the blade of Excalibur up and deep into Mordred's stomach. Mordred was dead and the Final Battle was over.
Sir Bedivere rushed to the now collapsed figure of the King fearing the worst, "Your Majesty, Your Majesty!"
The King did not move. He rolled the crushing weight of the dead body off the King. Then placing one foot near the sword, he slowly pulled Excalibur from Mordred's stomach. With a slow deep breath, Sir Bedivere composed himself.
"Oh, Merlin, what a view. Look, look, I'm flying." The wounded King spoke in a low faint voice.
"What do you see, Your Majesty?" Sir Bedivere encouraged the King's consciousness.
"I'm not 'Your Majesty'!" the King replied. "I'm Arthur."
Sir Bedivere gently shook the King. "Arthur ... Arthur."
"Yes, Merlin." The King's eyes opened slowly to look for Merlin, the teacher who had left him. He would much rather be back in the innocence of his youth, a time when he saw the beauty of the world and relished discovering its mysteries. If he couldn't have peace as the King of England, then he wanted peace for himself. He had been born and raised to be King of all England and had never had a happiness of his own. It was time for Arthur.
His spirit needed rest, for his soul was angry. He could not feel the pain of loss or the shame in killing his own son; he was numb to it all. He only wanted to go away, far away from the pains of the adult world. He wanted to leave behind forever his duties as King. As he regained consciousness the King spoke, "Sir Bedivere?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," sighed a relieved Sir Bedivere.
"I want you to enlist some help and carry me to the edge of the lake."
"But sir ..." Sir Bedivere was cut short.
"Do exactly as I say." Arthur commanded with authority. A few loyal veterans and the last of the Knights carried their King to the edge of the lake. "Sir Bedivere, I want you to take my sword Excalibur out into the center of the lake and throw it as far and as high as you can over the water."
"But Your Majesty ..."
"Do as I command." Then reassuringly Arthur added, "It is the right thing to do."
Sir Bedivere did as his King had commanded. When he returned, he was asked to describe what had happened. Sir Bedivere spoke with amazement at what he'd seen. "The sword glowed as it sank into the water. Just when the light of the sword was to be extinguished, an arm suddenly thrust up from the water with Excalibur in its hand!"
"The Lady of the Lake," Arthur explained.
Billowed with the breeze of the cool night air that carried across the lake, the silken sails of an approaching barge could be seen. Those who watched on land were soothed by the sounds of the instruments and the choral hymns of the ladies on the barge; the mysterious Lady of the Lake, the mystical sorceress Nymue, and other beautiful enchanted ladies clothed in white silk interwoven with gold and silver.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Arthur of Avalonby Gary L. Carlson Copyright © 2010 by Gary L. Carlson. Excerpted by permission of AuthorHouse. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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