Page 42 of The Quest for Excalibur
“I don’t care if you think it’s just boys joking,” Arthur said. “It clearly means something to Amhar, so spit it out.”
Llacheu’s cheeks, that had flushed with heat, now paled. “I-I can’t say it,” he muttered. “Not in front of Gwen.”
“That’s all right,” I said, in a hurry to reassure him. “I’ve heard everything in my time. You won’t offend me.”
“I think I will,” Llacheu muttered, eyes dropping to study his boots. “You won’t like it.”
“For God’s sake, spit it out,” Arthur snapped. “What are those boys saying about my son?”
Llacheu glanced as though for support to Merlin, whose face was as puzzled as mine. Then he swallowed. “They say… they say Amhar’s not your son.”
My hand went to my mouth to stifle the cry of horror. Not this again. Not after all these years. And how had anyone found out? What could have made these boys repeat this lie to Amhar? No one knew of this base calumny but Arthur and me. Not even Merlin, whose eyes had gone wide with shock. How could a rumor like this have started amongst our son’s friends? If you could even call them that. Friends don’t say things like that about you. They don’t repeat salacious lies.
Arthur’s face darkened with rage, but he didn’t move. Instead, he aimed a furious glare at Merlin, as if this were all his fault. “I want all the boys from Amhar’s barracks here. Straight away. I’m getting to the bottom of this before it spreads.”
Before it spreads? It sounded to me as though it already had, and the damage had been done. Did Amhar believe it? Was that the reason for his behavior?
Merlin hurried out of the hall, and Llacheu bolted after him, leaving us standing alone, marooned like ship-wrecked sailors.
I went to Arthur and took his hand, but he didn’t respond, his fingers slack in mine, as he stared down the Hall toward the doors.
“Be careful what you say,” I whispered, as though afraid the lurking shadows had ears. As though somehow, whatever we said in private might become public property through no fault of our own.
As it already had.
The suspicion rose in my heart that Arthur had confided in someone, back in those days twelve years ago when he’d believed the terrible lies of that dying traitor, Melwas. I hadn’t told a soul, so, if the story was out, then surely it must be his fault. I released his hand as though stung.
We waited in a prickly silence for the boys to arrive.
There were eight of them. Each barracks slept twelve boys or young warriors, and Medraut’s going had left four spaces, one of which was now Amhar’s. They entered the hall nervously, most likely having picked up on the gravity of their situation from Merlin and Llacheu’s demeanor, and clustered in a group at the foot of the dais, hands clasped respectfully behind their backs as they’d been taught.
Most of them were a year or two older than Amhar, some from local farms and villages, one or two from the few villas that still remained– noblemen’s sons. All equal now in the barracks room. They made untidy, hurried bows to their king.
Arthur surveyed their anxious, guarded faces from his position on the dais, towering over them but staying silent. Time ticked by. The boys shuffled uncomfortably, sneaking peeks at each other but saying nothing, their expressions revealing their uncertainty.
At last, Arthur spoke. “I will not have baseless rumors repeated in this fortress.” His gaze ran over each boy’s face. “Not here in my hall, amongst my people, nor in the barracks houses. If I hear once more of rumormongering amongst you boys, then whoever is responsible will be first beaten, then, after a spell in the lockup, demoted to pig boy– for life.”
An indrawn gasp from every boy hissed up to the rafters, their eyes wide with fear and fixed on Arthur. Caring for the pigs was a job undertaken only by the lowliest of people– usually a slave. And Arthur was a man of his word.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, Milord.”
“Yes, Milord.”
Their nodding replies echoed after their gasp of fear, twisting upwards like the smoke from the fire. More hasty bowing followed.
Arthur glowered at them from under his dark brows. “Let this be a warning to you. The only one you’ll get. I don’t believe in second chances.”
They hurriedly bobbed a third bow, en masse.
“Now, get out of my sight, before I decide you all need beating.”
The little group reversed back up the aisle toward the doors, perhaps mesmerized by their king’s angry glare, then ran.
Arthur looked across at Merlin. “I’ve ended it, but I want to know how this rumor started. I’ll leave it to you to speak to the other boys and young warriors. Give them the same warning. Question them as hard as you wish.”
Merlin glanced at me. “I’ll do my best to find out. Llacheu can help me.”
