Page 103 of The Quest for Excalibur
Lifting his head, he gave it a shake, wet hair sending a spray of water that made the nearest oil lamp hiss. Then, with careful precision, he brushed his teeth, spitting the bits of powdered charcoal and dried mint leaves out into a small bowl– the forerunner of a spittoon, perhaps.
Beyond the wall, silence had fallen, interspersed with snoring. Arthur’s shoulders rose and a deep sigh carried to me.
Weaving a not too straight line, he headed for our bed. I stiffened, watching through eyes open only a slit, wary of what he might have in mind. I was in no mood for sex, and he was in no state for it. But I needn’t have worried. Without bothering to remove his braccae, he flopped down on top of the covers on his side of our wide bed, letting the air escape his lungs in another long sigh.
I lay still, as a mixture of thoughts and feelings whirled in my head. Part of me wanted to reach out to him and pull him close, to hold him against my breasts and never let him go. But another part, with perhaps a louder voice, told me he was being unreasonable, that he wasn’t being a good father, and I shouldn’t pander to him.
I stayed still.
From beyond the wall, the sound of snoring increased, like that of a nasally congested pig. Someone who’d been too drunk to make it home– or possibly one of the hounds.
From his quick breathing, I could tell Arthur wasn’t sleeping.
I tried to make my own sound natural.
“Gwen?”
A fail on that then. “Yes?”
“Are you awake?”
Despite myself a smile curved my mouth. “Clearly.”
A long silence. Maybe he was dozing off. After all that alcohol he ought to be.
No, he wasn’t. “What have I done wrong?” His voice sounded uncertain, confused, perhaps regretful.
I bit my lip. I’d been with my modern-day boyfriend, Nathan, for such a short time compared with the years I’d been with Arthur. We’d not had children. I’d worked with them in the library, but nothing had prepared me for being the mother of a budding warrior, a mixture of a rebellious prince and a jealous child going off the rails. I had no idea how I’d have coped with this in my world.
He turned onto his side to face me. “Am I a bad father?”
This was so close to what I’d been thinking, I caught my breath loud enough for him to hear.
Another long silence. I tried to marshall my thoughts. I was tired, hungry as I’d not eaten much, and my head ached. Not a good condition for a deep conversation.
“It’s hard being a parent,” I whispered, conscious of the fact that if I could hear the snoring next door, there might be someone there who might overhear my words.
One of the surviving oil lamps guttered and went out, casting one side of the chamber into darkness.
His head moved as he nodded. “I know.”
“I didn’t ever think it would be easy,” I went on. “I’ve seen enough naughty children in my old world, and here. But I think here the difference is they grow up so quickly. Too quickly. They’re not children as long as they are in my old world. Amhar’s not quite twelve, yet, but he’s well into his training to become a warrior– already part of a man’s world.”
I felt him stiffen. “As I was.”
My turn to nod, even though in the gloom he probably couldn’t see my reaction. “Yes. Like you. But he’s not you. And he’s not Llacheu, nor Medraut either. He’s himself. And in many ways, he’s still just a little boy. A child. One thing I’ve learned is that children grow up at different rates. Not every boy will be ready to be a warrior at the same age.” I paused. “As young as you were.”
“I do know that.”
“But you don’t lethimknow that. You don’t show him any patience. He thinks you love Llacheu and Medraut more than him because they can do more. He believes you think they’re better. He’s your heir, which should make him feel loved and wanted and important. But I don’t think it does. I think he feels he’s constantly having to catch up because he’s the youngest.”
“I do try.”
Not very hard.
I sighed. “I know you do. You’re a good father to Archfedd. She adores you. But she’s a girl, and it’s different for fathers and sons.”
Oh, for a book on the psychology of parenting. There’d be plenty on the shelves in the library where I once worked.
