King Arthur Returns (Book #1 of the King Arthur Returns Trilogy)

Chapter Four

    Now that we were all dressed - and could be assured of a warm return, as the glow of the fire spread through the cottage - we ventured outside for the swords in between bouts of rain. Spring rain somehow smelt more alive than wet weather in Winter. I just desperately hoped we hadn't damaged crucial archaeological finds, but the swords were tucked under the overhang of the roof and out of the worst of it.  

    'Did you want to stay for dinner? I am absolutely famished. I have frozen meals, porridge and a shameful amount of wine.' I asked as the wind caught at my hair and whipped stinging strands against my face.

    'D'ye have mead-'

    'We'd,' it sounded like "wed" rather than "weed", 'be most gratified, Ela.' Another Arthur insertion when he thinks Tristram's big mouth is going to offend me - again. At least this time I didn't think it was to hide anything from me.

    'I don't have mead, but I can make gluhwein which is similar?'

    'Gluhwein? A'right, we're in.' Branok spat in agreement with Tristram.

    'Alright, but don't do that inside.' I warned him, pointing at where he'd spat on the cobblestones. He put his hands up in surrender, while his scarred face burst into a grin. Not as serious as I'd thought then.

    'Come on then.' And I led them back through to the living room and kitchen. Using a jug for the gluhwein I heated up the red wine with cinnamon, sugar and lemon juice from a squeezy bottle and poured it out in mugs for each of us and shared them round. There were gulps and then murmurs of appreciation. Tristram all but sculled his in one. Licking his lips he grinned at me.

    ''Twere very like mead.'

    'You can come be barman then, I'll bet The Earth didn't teach you how to make this.' While Tristram learnt the noble art of microwave-gluhwein making, Arthur and Branok went to the lounge and checked on the fire. The ancient and comforting crackle and pop of flames broke the modern whirs and beeps of the microwave. Tristram and I took turns heating wine or food. While waiting for another round of gluhwein to finish rotating, I quickly snuck out to call my great aunts. They still had a landline at home so I wasn't sure who would answer.

    'Ela, possum?' Val always used a pet name - she had picked up "possum" from the Australian in-laws and it was even cuter with her polite RP accent. While she roamed the halls of Cambridge she was immaculately dressed in matching pant suits and well spoken. Then as soon as she was on an archaeological dig she swore like a high schooler and her tall, slender frame was covered in dusty khakis.

    'Is Bern nearby? She'll want to hear this too.' I heard her call down the hallway of the apartment they shared. I could imagine them there sharing the phone between them like girls on a sleep over.

    'Ela, what's happened?' Bern always called me Ela, she'd picked the name afterall. Although as she owned many ugly cardigans I didn't know if I trusted her taste implicitly. She was my mother's favourite aunt and now her only competition for that title in my eyes was her wife. She had lived in England so long now that her accent was softer than mine.

    'If myself and some backpackers I just met stumbled across say an ancient treasure hoard, what would you suggest we do with it?' I heard both their excited replies, Val actually squealed.

    'You didn't!'

    'Where did you find it?'

    'You've only been gone a few days.'

     As Bern was a professor of ASNaC, Anglo Saxon Nordic and Celtic history, I let this go on for almost a minute before I shushed them.

    'Do you want to hear any of the answers, or just ask more questions?'