Merlin, the adventures continue...

Chapter 9: Upon your heads - Is nothing but heart's sorrow

They had been riding for many days now, heading west to the coast of the kingdom of Cornwall, to castle Tintagel. The journey had been quite uneventful, apart from a few skirmishes with some renegades, the only thing really bothering them was the weather, and the closer they came to Tintagel, the worse it got. Their thick woolen capes were soaked and heavy with rain, their horses were plodding on with utter despondency, and a wizened Gaius kept shivering despite the two capes he wore, the outer one rubbed with beeswax to keep him as dry as possible. At night they all huddled under a tarpaulin; and they ate their food cold, or cooked on a struggling and sputtering fire.

Finally, after riding in a cold drizzle for days on end, they reached the coast of Cornwall and there, perched upon a jutting rock high above the sea, stood Tintagel, a massive, black shape outlined against a leaden sky. It was storming now, and foaming waves were crashing with great force upon the shore. There was only one path leading up to the entrance of the castle, a path strewn with sharp rocks and slippery seaweed. With the exception of Galahad, they all dismounted, took their horses by the reins and walked carefully over the path, hoping not to break a leg or worse, stumbling and falling into the churning sea and crashing on the rocks below. They heard Galahad’s horse whinnying as he tripped, but the horse managed to keep its balance. Galahad was not so lucky, he slipped from the saddle and landed unceremoniously in a pool of ice-cold water, his face mere inches from a giant jellyfish. A few feet more to the left and he would have fallen to a certain death. “Come here, you stupid animal,” he shouted at his frightened horse, took the reins and tried to mount again, a piece of seaweed still stuck on his helmet like a broken and mocking plume.

“Calm down, you moron. I’ve really had it with you, now stop mistreating your steed or I’ll kick you into the sea, quest or no quest!” Gwaine really was furious now, barely able to contain his anger. Percival just looked at Galahad, eyes burning with anger, his hands two huge balled fists, white at the knuckles, and Mordred had his hand hovering over the grip of his sword. Galahad sneered but said nothing, and with measured steps he followed the others, leading his horse by the reins. After a slow and perilous journey that seemed to last for hours, they finally reached the main gate, and not a moment too soon, for the sun was already setting.

Arthur knocked on the enormous wooden door, first with his gloved hand as there was no longer a knocker, then, as there was no answer, with the pommel of his sword. They all stood there shivering in the incessant rain, man and horse alike. At last they heard a sound, and slowly the heavy door opened wide enough for a face to be seen, the face of a haggard-looking woman.

“My name is Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot,” Arthur said in his most commanding voice and yet trying to sound friendly, “we ask for a place to sleep for tonight, so we can dry our clothes and rest our horses.” No need to tell a servant the real reason for being here, he thought and he held his hands in front of him, palms upwards, indicating they came in peace.

The woman just looked at them and ever so slowly the door opened, creaking on its rusty hinges. Finally the door opened wide enough for both men and horses to walk into the courtyard, where they found themselves stumbling over broken flagstones and discarded pieces of rusting and decaying armour. Not a soul was to be seen, no voice broke the eerie silence of the place.

“Forgive me, Arthur Pendragon King of Camelot, we do not get many visitors here these days,” the woman said with utter sadness in her voice. “Please, in yonder stables you may put your horses, and there, in the Great Hall, we will meet you when you are finished, and you are welcome to dry your clothes by the fire,” and her hand indicated vaguely to a peeling door that once must have been alive with bright colours.

“I don’t like this place,” Gwaine said under his breath.

“Me neither,” Mordred answered and nervously looked around the courtyard. The woman had gone.