Prince Accolon (A Children of the May Short Story - Book 1.5a)

Chapter Two: King Arthur Rides Out

It so happened that this was the year King Arthur ordered Sir Tristan to invade the island of Erin. Arthur, never the kingliest of kings, always got terrible stomach aches when he commanded the conquest of another nation. The physician at Accolon’s old castle of Caerleon, where Arthur kept the round table in those days, flattered the king that his cramps and vomiting were caused by deep-seated bravery. The king’s body was determined to shed blood with his men overseas, said the man, but obviously Arthur could not be seen to place himself in danger – that might disorder Britain. Luckily, the treatment was simple: the physician advised that Arthur should treat the shortfall in the blood of his enemies with the blood of animals. It was decided that when Sir Tristan departed from Caerleon with the doomed Sir Marhaus, the son of the king of Erin, King Arthur would ride out on a hunting trip.

The king rode in a covered wagon, guarded by Sir Gawain his nephew, Sir Bors and Sir Kay the Seneschal, who was Arthur’s foster-brother from the days when no one but Merlin knew of the king’s destiny. Arthur was sad that his favourite, the pretty Sir Lancelot, whose beauty had the effect of a good charm, could not hunt with him, but the best knight of the round table had taken it upon himself to visit Leo de Grance of Cameliard on an urgent diplomatic mission. Lancelot’s excuse made Arthur and the knights in his party laugh. It was well known that Lancelot had an eye for the ladies, and that Leo de Grance had extremely beautiful daughters.

‘In which direction shall we ride, your majesty?’ asked Sir Kay.

Arthur thought about it a while before making his decision. ‘There is good hunting in the lands of Gore. Let us go to my brother-in-law King Uriens and visit with my sister Morgan. It’s been a goodly while since I looked upon her dear face.’

With that, he drew the curtain of his fine carriage, and relaxed into his soft cushions. He was soon asleep and, as Sir Kay had ridden ahead, Sir Gawain was free to grumble.

‘There’s bugger all hunting in Gore,’ Gawain said to Sir Bors, very quietly so that the soldiers who accompanied the party did not hear his gossip. ‘It’s all bloody marshes for Jesu’s sake. The king doesnea ken the first thing about the hunt, he never learnt as a child like I did on Orkney.’

‘Sir Kay says he never was one for hunting beasts,’ Bors replied in a sarcastic tone, ‘but you can bet he hunts women when he gets the chance.’

Bors fell into giggles, hinting at a not entirely pleasant reason for Arthur’s decision to ride towards King Uriens and his queen. Like a good sibling Arthur loved his half-sisters very much, but the rumour was that he loved them very much, and not as a half-brother should. Gawain was less inclined to find this amusing, however, as the king’s other half-sister, Queen Morgawse of Orkney, was mother to four boys, of whom Gawain himself was the eldest.

In fairness to the king, it was also said that these unsuitable loves had swollen before Arthur learned that Morgan and Morgawse were his blood relations. The king had been brought up by a foster-father, Sir Ector, and kept ignorant of the fact that he was the son of King Uther Pendragon and Ygraine of Gorlois until he drew the sword from the stone. He had encountered his sisters before the truth of his parentage was revealed to him. Being generous, one had to admit that those first unnatural dalliances weren’t Arthur’s fault. But that Arthur had not put his sisters aside after Merlin revealed his true origin… well, those later flirtations were less forgivable.

Bors loved to torment Gawain with the rumour, but would not have intimated any of this if Sir Kay had been in earshot – the seneschal was violently sensitive to slurs against his foster-brother. Gawain had a tendency to treat accusations as so many words – he knew that his mother would never have imperilled their family honour. Sir Kay was not so placid. Happily for Bors, Kay was often out of earshot; it was his job to ride ahead and ensure that each poor town and village gave their king an appropriate welcome. Kay had brought flags and pendants for the villagers to wave as Arthur’s carriage passed by; he kept a supply of money with which to bribe the cheers the king loved to hear from the comfort of his plumped cushions.

The party made its stately progress across Britain, slowed by the heavy wheels of Arthur’s wagon. They had been on the road for three weeks when they made it to the eastern regions of Britain. Sir Gawain was frustrated by the lack of hunting in which he had been allowed to indulge. The party had survived on the hospitality of Arthur’s vassals, and the charity, not always willingly given, of the roadside inns along the way. By the time their horses’ hooves first sank into the sloppy edges of the land of Gore, the son of Orkney was thoroughly frustrated and spoiling to kill something, anything.

Which was why he was pleased when a knight in silver armour rode out of the marsh-mists. Arthur encouraged a good deal of fighting between the knights of the realm, it was the king’s way of ensuring that each seat of the round table was filled by those who were best equipped to protect his person and his interests. Only the most successful fighters gained a seat at the table round. So it was that Gawain listened to the silver knight’s formal challenge with pleasure.

‘Sir knights,’ said the silver knight in his none-too-terrifying voice. ‘Why do you come to these marshes?’

‘We travel to Castle Terrabil to visit King Uriens,’ replied Sir Gawain, Sir Kay having ridden ahead to announce the king’s approach to the royal couple of Gore.

‘You will not go by this road unless you can pass me.’ 

‘Very well,’ said Gawain, urging his horse forward. ‘I accept your challenge, silver knight. Tell me your name so I know whom to inform of your death.’

‘My name is Prince Accolon of Castle Caerleon,’ said the silver knight, ‘son of King Cradelmont, foully dispossessed of his lands by the usurper Arthur in the late War of Eleven Kings.’

‘Jesu’, Accolon,’ said Gawain, ‘you ungrateful little snot. I ken you well. Hasnea the king been good to you? He’s allowed you to live unmolested since the war. You’re no match for me. You’ll fall beneath my horse’s hooves in short order.’

‘You are mistaken, Sir Gawain once of Orkney, rest assured that you are mine to destroy. I will tackle you shortly. However, I fight as champion to Sir Ontzlake, rightful Lord of the Dolorous Garde, nearby in the Forest Perilous. My first fight will be with your master, who hides within his soft wagon. It was Sir Arthur who gave the Garde to Sir Damas, Ontzlake’s brother, out of order of proper succession. It is with Arthur my quarrel lies.’

‘By all that is holy,’ said Sir Bors, ‘you’ve grown big in your boots, Prince Accolon. It isn’t three summers since you were grovelling around the great hall of Caerleon, grasping for scraps that fell from your king’s table. You’re not worthy to face Arthur in combat.’

The mist swirled around the feet of Accolon’s steed. ‘It is Arthur I challenge,’ said the young knight as firmly as his thin voice would allow.

Bors and Gawain laughed at his impertinence. Both knights were surprised when the door of the wagon opened, and Arthur’s boot squelched into the mud. The balding king, not much past thirty years of age, wore no armour. His nightgown and velvet housecoat trailed in the mud, though he had belted Excalibur and its scabbard around his thin waist. The hilt of the sword gave off its strange green glow.

‘Very well, Prince Accolon,’ said the king. ‘Prepare yourself to die.’