I reached out to m’lord and touched his bare shoulder.

“Sir, it’s time to awaken.”

I waited, but m’lord didn’t stir.  This was unusual, as he was normally a very light sleeper.  I touched him again.

Nothing.  I shook him lightly.  He rolled over with a muffled groan but slumbered on.   M’lord must have had a good deal to drink last evening, I thought, then blushed at the audacity of my thoughts.  How dare I think such a thing, I, who had no world of cares in comparison to his?  Abashed at my thoughts, mindful that he’d left orders to be awakened early, I gripped his bare shoulder, shaking him gingerly and lengthily, then stepped back when he flailed at me.

“Get off, y’ swine!” he barked.

“But m’lord….”

He groaned again.  “I’m no lord, I only gotta MBE, what d’ya think, I’m gonna be knighted next?  Ya think thur’s ever gonna be a Sir George ‘arrison?  Not bloody likely!” he snorted in derision.

“M’lord?” I asked in confusion.  I don’t think I’d understood more than two words of his speech.

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and reluctantly sat up, blearily blinking at his surroundings.  “Whur’s me clothes?” he asked.

“I have your clothing laid out for your, sir,” I replied.  “May I assist you?”

He recoiled slightly.  “Nah, don’ need any help.  I jus’ want a shower.”

“Your pardon, m’lord?” I asked, perplexed.

Ignoring me, he looked around the room with a slight frown.  I wondered if he was admiring the wall hangings and the incredible carvings on the wood of the bed columns. 

“Whur’s th’ bath?” he asked gruffly.

“Ah, oh, of course, sir, I’ll have your bath drawn immediately.” 

I moved swiftly to the door and opened it a crack.  I gave instructions to the waiting page, then turned back to my lord, bowing to him.  I wasn’t sure if I’d bowed when he’d first awoken, and I was horrified that perhaps I’d forgotten.  Or perhaps I had bowed, and perhaps he’d been too sleep-fogged to notice.  Either way, I wanted to ensure that my bow was noted.

“The water will be here shortly, m’lord.”

He shook his head irritably, then paused and frowned.  After a moment or two, his smile lighted the room, his eyes merry once again.

“Awright, awright, I get it, I’m not thick.  It’s that role-playin’ thing that Pattie tol’ me ‘bout, right?  A weekend in th’ country, that sort o’ thing.  Right, I ‘member now.” 

I tried to determine what he’d said…perhaps he was still asleep, and thus talking in his sleep?  He stretched and I marveled at how lean, yet strong, his body was.

“How ‘bout some brekkie?  I’m starvin’,” he asked after a mighty yawn.  His teeth were strong and white against the darkness of his beard and mustache.

“Errrr….you’d like to break your fast, m’lord?”  I decided that I didn’t understand much of what m’lord said, but I understood hunger when I saw it!

“Yeah, ta,” he said with a crooked grin, and I was helpless to avoid a smile in return.  “Is thur any music ‘round here?” he asked.

“Music?  I’ll see to that as well, m’lord, please excuse me,” I replied.  I bowed again, then walked to the door and out into the hallway.

I beckoned another page.  “M’lord would like his morning meal, immediately,” I informed him.  “Run down to the kitchen and tell Cook to be quick about it.  He’s not in a mood for slackness this morn!  Do you understand?”

The little boy nodded, wide-eyed and breathless with the urgency of his task.  “Yes, Master Del, right away, sir!”

I had to hide my smile of satisfaction as the boy rushed off on his errand.  He’d been almost overly respectful of me!  I was only a squire, after all, and probably only five years his senior.  I was young for the responsibility, but I was determined to be the best squire that m’lord had ever had!  And in order to do that, I thought I’d best get on my way to rounding up a minstrel for the coming meal!

***

As swiftly as I returned from my errand, a goodly staff of pages carried in the tub.   Pitchers full of hot water were quickly poured into the container by the trailing serving girls.  I supervised them severely and ensured that nothing was spilt and the noise was kept to a minimum.  M’lord lay still abed, and he watched all the comings and goings with a strange expression on his face; it held amusement and some form of uneasiness.  He watched the pages and girls bow or curtsey to him before they filed out of the room, and he shook his head.

“Pretty mad, this whole setup,” he muttered, as if to himself.  “Must be costin’ me a fortune.  I don’ much like bein’ waited on like this.”

He refused to let me help him into the bath, which dismayed me, but instead plucked the towel from me with strong, slender fingers.  Rising from the bed, he turned his back and wrapped the cloth around himself, then stepped lightly to the tub, dropped the towel and ducked into the hot water, settling into his bath with a sigh of pleasure.  I stepped forward with soap and cloth, and he snatched them from me.  One look at his face told me that I had best keep myself busy elsewhere, and so I busied myself cleaning the room and straightening the bed linens. 

“What’s yer name, boy?” m’lord asked whilst he bathed with much splashing of water.

Turning to face him, I tried to keep my features schooled to avoid showing my disappointment.  How could he not remember me?  I’d been his squire for several fortnights.  Perhaps I wasn’t doing a good enough job to be remembered.  Still, m’lord had been acting somewhat … strangely … since he’d awoken.  Of course, how was I to know if this was normal or not, my length of time as his personal squire was short!  I wished that my predecessor hadn’t fallen ill so suddenly, I could have used his counsel here.

“My name is Del, m’lord, don’t you remember?”  I was suddenly aghast at my temerity and tried to apologize for it.  “I…I’m sorry, sir…”

“Nah, sorry I din’t remember, son,” he explained, a kindly smile on his lips.  “I actually don’t even ‘member arrivin’, I must ‘ave been nackered when we got ‘ere yest’day, been spending too much time in th’ studio, not getting enough sleep.  I’m exhausted, that’s all.  I hope Pattie was driving, don’ think I was in any shape….  Whur’s that gurl, anyway?”

I merely blinked at him, utterly confused over his speech, not even understanding enough to dissemble and attempt a reply.  I simply stared at him and noted that his smile faded slowly.

“Del?  You listening?  Whur’s me wife?” he asked, irritation plain as the breaking dawn in his voice.

I tried to find my tongue, still puzzling over what he’d said.  “M’lady is in her quarters, m’lord.  I believe she’s still abed.  Shall I request her ladies ready her?”

“Separate rooms?” m’lord muttered.  “What kind of bloody vacation is this?”  He scowled fiercely at me and I nearly quaked in my boots.  “Don’ look so scared, boy, jus’ go an’ get ‘er,” he ordered gruffly.  “Tell ‘er t’ come have sommat t’ eat with me.  I don’ like eating alone.”

He sat up and reached for the towel.  I was torn asunder, should I stay and help him or do his bidding?  I took one step towards him, hand outstretched for the towel, and one glance at the warning in his face convinced me of my duty.  I bowed as deeply as my trembling knees would allow and escaped.  My race down the hallway and up the stairs to the tower was an undertaking I never remembered.  I found myself out of breath at m’lady’s door, tapping urgently.

“Mistress Jennifer, m’lord is requesting m’lady’s presence at his morning meal, please hurry, m’lord is in no mood for ….”

The door opened without warning and I fell across the threshold, thumping myself painfully on an elbow when I twisted to try to stop my fall.  M’lady’s serving woman giggled, and I scowled at her as I rose, surreptitiously rubbing my elbow.

“You’d best hurry, he’s in some kind of mood today, he’s asking for her this morn.”

“Well, you’d best go and ease his mood, young man, or m’lady will not attend,” Mistress Jennifer said haughtily. 

I debated my choices, stand up to her in arrogance or simply plead with her.  That was no choice, really, I was too young and too new to my position.  M’lady’s lady in waiting held rank over me, I think.  So I pleaded.

“Mistress Jennifer, please, I’ve not seen him like this before, please, will you wake m’lady and bid her to attend….”

“Attend whom, Del?”

My shaking knees could take no more and I leaned against the doorjamb as I turned towards her voice.  I kept my eyes downcast, fearing to see her in some silken undershift or … even less!  The blush these thoughts brought to my face was strong, the heat of it rising to strangle me.  I’d seen her only thrice before, but her beauty and grace disturbed me greatly, setting off a tumult of warring factions in my belly and nether regions.

“M…M…M’lady, please, I…I apologize for disturbing your slumber, but….”

The words died on my lips as I remembered that she’d spoken my name!  She knew who I was?  I, a lowly squire?  And her lips had uttered my very name?  I could barely breathe from the surprise.  Greatly daring, I glanced towards her from the merest edges of my eyes.  Even the bare glimpse I caught stole the very breath from my lips, her hair of gold unbound, her pale luminous beauty scarring my soul once again.  I think her gaze was directed at me, and a small smile hovered over her lips as if she knew her effect upon me.  Burning with treacherous fever, I swept my eyes back to the floor, determined to see no more, but a small secret part of my heart couldn’t help but relish the glimpse I’d taken.  She was… beautiful like none other that had ever been termed beauty.  Cleopatra?  Helen of Troy?  Diana the Huntress?  Nay, m’lady was beauty personified and all else paled in comparison.  I wished suddenly to be a minstrel, with words that flowed like honey, that I might woo her…and win her….

What was I thinking?  She was m’lord’s lady, and to even think of her unchastely was sin!  I clenched my hands and cruelly dug what nails I had into my palms to cause as much pain as possible.  The pain helped.  A little.  I took a steadying breath.

“M’lady Guinevere, King Arthur requests your attendance at his morning meal.  What message may I take him?” I asked formally, bowing deeply to the Queen.

“Tell my lord I’ll be there shortly,” she replied quickly… but her voice was distant.

“Yes, m’lady,” I said, bowing again as I backed through the open threshold.  “Please do not tarry,” I blurted as the door closed shut in my face.

My mind in a quandary, I was unsure if I should await her at the door, or return to m’lord and give him her message.

“Lurking about, eh, boy?” a strong voice demanded of me.

“Lord Merlin!” I gasped, whirling around and nearly falling at the wizard’s feet. 

He reached a hand out to steady me, though I shrank from his grasp.  I hoped he wouldn’t turn me into a toad or a snake!  I bowed to him, yet tried to keep my eyes on him at all times, and ended up nearly falling again because of the awkwardness of my position.  He caught me once more, his young/old eyes brimming with mischief.  He was young for position of court magician, but I’d heard stories that he was living his life backwards, and so was much younger now than when he’d first met m’lord as a boy.  Why, he looked scarce three years older than the King! 

It was all a vast unknown to me, and I shivered with terror at such tales of the wizard.  To see him was to fear him, and I feared him greatly.  It was easy to see that he knew of my fear.

“Run along and tell Arthur that his queen will wait on him this morn,” he suggested lightly, and I could nearly swear to have heard a chuckle in his voice.

“How did you know…?”  I breathed the question, then fear took over and I took to my heels, hearing his laughter follow me.  I raced the stairs from the tower, stumbling twice in my haste.  I paused outside m’lord’s rooms, trying to get my breathing under control, and waited to open the door until I no longer felt like a horse fresh from battle.

M’lord was standing at the window, and he turned at my entrance.  He was dressed in the clothing I’d laid out for him, dark, earth-coloured leggings with a short tunic in an even deeper shade of brown, nearly the same colour as his eyes.  He’d left his cloak off and was barefooted, but his hair was combed and his regal nod recognized my entrance.

“M’lady sends the message that she will be along shortly,” I quavered, bowing to the king.

“Good, ta,” he said.  “Siddown, boy, take a load off.” He turned back to the window as I wondered to what load he was referring.  “This place is pretty amazin’, innit?”

“Sir?”

He gestured out the window, and turned back to me with a smile.  Thanks be to God that his mood seemed much better! 

“It’s beautiful!  Looks like a fairy tale kingdom!  What’s this place called?”

“Why, this is Camelot, m’lord,” I replied hesitantly, astounded that he should ask. 

I searched my memory of the night before and wondered if the king had eaten of unripe food or bad mushrooms with his meal.  His hearty laugh surprised me.  He certainly didn’t seem ill, but he was acting most strangely!

“Camelot, right, why din’t I think o’ that?  Makes sense, that does.  So what’s on th’ ticket fer th’ day?” he asked eagerly.

Fumbling, I tried to grasp what he meant.  “Errr, well, the day?  Today is… there’s the tournament, of course, and the feast tonight as well.”

He grinned his crooked grin at me before turning back to the window and I felt weak in the knees again, breathing a sigh of relief at the knowledge I’d understood enough to answer him correctly.   A tap at the door sent me scurrying to answer.  Oh good, the minstrel was here.  I ushered him in and sat him across the room from the dining table, offered him a cup of wine and made sure he was comfortable.  If only the food would be delivered quickly!  I looked up as the King turned from the window and caught sight of the songster.

“Ringo!” he exclaimed with a frown.  “Did Pattie set this whole thing up as a surprise?  Is she tryin’ t’ get us back t’gether, too?”

The minstrel looked blankly at the king, his blue eyes questioning and concerned.  I thought fast.  It wouldn’t do for anyone to think the King was … odd.

“Play on, minstrel!  The king wishes a gay song of surprises, of rings of gold and treasure!  His lady will attend him shortly, so play something she, too, will enjoy.”

The minstrel nodded his understanding and bowed to the King.  While the minstrel tuned his lute, I was struck by the quizzical look m’lord was giving the young minstrel. 

“Ritch?” the King asked.

The minstrel looked up from his tuning.  “M’lord?” he asked.

“C’mon, Ritch, it’s me, George,” m’lord said irritably.  “What th’ bloody hell’s going on?”

The minstrel’s brow furrowed with renewed concern.

“Or perhaps m’lord would like to hear a song of St. George and the dragon!” I blurted, and I looked on with relief as the minstrel’s face cleared.

“Of course, m’lord, I know just the song!”  The dark haired minstrel bowed once more before returning his attention to the tuning of his instrument.

I hurried to the king’s side and held his cloak for him.  “M’lord, are you feeling... unwell today?” I ventured, my voice low.

“I’m not sure,” he admitted, his eyes showing an unease I couldn’t understand.  He finally turned and allowed me to help him into his robes.  “I’m feeling a bit nutters right now.  What’s goin’ on here, Del?”

I wasn’t sure what ‘nutters’ was, but he’d admitted to feeling unwell.  I think.

“Errr, m’lord, I’m afraid I don’t understand.  It’s simply the morning of the tournament, and m’lady will be here shortly,” I replied, floundering for something to say.

“What’s th’ minstrel’s name?” he asked abruptly.

“I think that’s Richard, sir, remember?  He played for the feast last even.  Would you prefer a different songster?”

I was aghast, perhaps the King had taken a dislike to this particular minstrel, and here I’d ignorantly pulled him from the ranks to play at the King’s meal and…. 

A snort of laughter interrupted my thoughts.

“Nah, I don’t want another singer.  With my luck, you’d have Paul in here playin’ his damned Maxwell’s Silver Hammer an’ I’ve had my fill o’ that!” 

I tried to think of something to say, but I failed miserably.  The ensuing silence was broken by the sound of the lute, the notes falling gently into the empty calm of the room.

“Who am, boy?  Whur am I?  What year is this?”

I gulped air, suddenly lightheaded at the King’s blurted question.  He was definitely ill.  I lowered my voice so that the minstrel did not o’er hear our conversation.

“M’lord, you are Arthur, King of all the Britons, and you are holding court at your home in Camelot.  It’s the year of our Lord four hundred and sixty three.” 

“What?” the King exclaimed with laughter, his eyes scoffing.  “Pull th’ other one, son, what th’ hell’s goin’ on ‘ere?”

I hesitated, not understanding his words, and his laughter died away.  The wary look returned to his eyes and I wondered if I saw fear there as well.  He shook his head irritably.

“This is a bunch o’ crap,” he announced briskly.  “What kinda madhouse is this?  C’mon, kid, quit playin’ games, I’m tired o’ this shit.”

Unsure of myself, yet mindful that he’d said he felt ill…or at least he hadn’t denied it… I took a breath and wondered at my daring. 

“M’lord, if you feel unwell, would you prefer to cancel the tournament today?”

The king looked at me quizzically.  “I dunno.  Can I do that?”

I stared back into his dark eyes.  The King was asking me for my counsel?  I licked lips suddenly gone dry.

“Of course, m’lord.  But if I may say so, I think if m’lord feels well enough to attend the events,” I continued hesitantly, “it would be best to continue them.  There has been much enforced idleness and the men are weary from the long winter.  Many have looked forward with excitement to the games.”

He sighed and nodded, a thoughtful look in his eyes. 

“Yeah, sure, yer prob’ly right, might as well let th’ entertainment go on as planned, yeah?  But I still think this is all bullshit.  Dunno why Pattie wanted….”

A tap at the door caused me to finish tying his belt with numb fingers, then I walked quickly to the door, swinging it open with nervous vigor.  My breath caught in my throat and I dug my nails into my palms again, hoping I wouldn’t falter when I announced the King’s visitor.

“M’lord, the Lady Queen Guinevere.”  Thank our Heavenly Father, I managed it with nary a stammer.

The King stepped forward with a welcoming … and relieved?… smile on his face.  The Queen, awash in pale lavender silk and the scent of springtime flowers, curtsied deeply to him.  Trying to keep my eyes averted from her beauty, my gaze saw the King’s smile fade, his dark eyes going even darker with unease in a face suddenly pale.

“My lord, I am here at your bidding,” the Queen said softly as she straightened from her obeisance.  “It gives me pleasure to see your grace this morn, and to be invited to join you for your morning meal.”

“Pattie,” the King said, his voice a warning.

The Queen looked up with a hesitant smile and my heart skipped a beat to see the loveliness of her countenance.  After skipping the one beat, my traitorous heart began to hammer in my chest, and I tore my eyes away from her grace once again.

“Your pardon, my lord, I hope I am not late?” the Queen asked graciously.

The King stood straight and tall, his eyes flashing in sudden annoyance.

“C’mon, knock it off, I think I’ve had just about enough o’ this charade, Pattie,” he said briskly.  “Let’s have some brekkie an’ then lets head home.”

The Queen’s cheeks flushed with a sudden wash of heat.  “My lord,” she said crisply, “I know not of what you speak, nor why you call me by a name that is not mine, but you are home.  Camelot is your home, and mine as well.  Will you not dine with me?”

My eyes were trained on the King, if only to avoid staring at the beautiful Queen.  I could see his countenance darken with anger, and I could feel him struggle to keep his temper.

“Look, I know ya thought this’d be fun, but it’s givin’ me th’ creeps.  Del, gimme m’ clothes an’ we’ll just check out, it’s a nice enough place, but I’ve had enough.”

Startled to be included in the conversation, I merely gaped at m’lord, wondering what other clothing he might desire.

“My lord…” the Queen began.

“Shit, knock it off, Pattie!” the King shouted, glaring at her with dark violence flashing in his eyes.  “I’m tired of this crap, I wanna get outta here!”

The Queen drew herself up to her full height and her movement drew my eyes to her form.  She was beautiful beyond beauty and her anger sparkled as tears in her luminous eyes.  I longed to see them spill over so that I could brush them away ere they marred her ivory complexion.  Oh, traitorous eyes, treacherous fingers, they were enchanted by her beauty so that I barely quailed before my lord’s temper.

“My lord, pray do not play the fool,” the Queen snapped.  “If you desired to insult me, you should have done so in seclusion, not before these witnesses.  Jennifer!”  Her maid in waiting scurried forward, her eyes large and round at the scene unfolding before her.  I imagine that my eyes looked much the same.  “Take me back to my rooms!” Her Grace ordered.

I kept enough wits about myself to open the door for them, and then they were gone.  Silence rang loudly in the room.  I remembered the minstrel and beckoned him to his feet.

“No word of this, Richard, else it will be your tongue!” I threatened him and he blanched at my words.  If he but knew I was a lion cub without teeth, he’d have laughed in my face.  But a squire to the King has some bit of glamour attached to him, and my fear made my voice rough with urgency.  I ushered the songster out of the King’s quarters with speed and a fierce, warning glare. 

I turned to find the King standing alone in the center of the room, staring at me with a measuring gaze.

“What th’ hell’s going on here?” he demanded softly, and the anger in his voice turned my blood to water.  Cold, mountain water.

“My lord?” I managed to quaver.

I jumped when he turned with swift violence and kicked out at an unsuspecting chair.  It skittered across the floor with the violence of the blow.

“Stop it!” he demanded.  “I’m nobody’s lord!  Stop callin’ me that!  Enough!  Whur are me clothes?  Whur’s th’ keys t’ th’ bloody car?  I wanna get outta here, t’ hell with Pattie if she doesn’t wanna come!  Get me m’ fuckin’ clothes and th’ goddamned keys t’ me car!”

The last part of his speech came out in a roar, and another chair and the entire contents of a table crashed to the floor, the chess pieces spinning as they scattered before his violence. 

“M’lord, please, don’t…!”

He slammed his fist into the wall and stared at the blood on his knuckles before turning to me.  There was madness in his gaze, and fury too strong to withstand.  I cringed when he opened his mouth, afraid his very words would scorch me to the bone, but his speech was soft and measured.

“I tol’ ya, don’t fuckin’ call me that!  I want me clothes, me keys an’ I want outta this freakin’ place.  Now.”

“M’lord….”

“Now!”

The fury in his exclamation energized me.  I did the only thing I could do.  I took to my heels and ran from the room, closing the door and wincing as I heard something heavy slam into the door and shatter into pieces behind me.  I ran.  And I ran.

Most Heavenly Father, give my feet wings, I prayed as I ran.  And help me find….

“Hold up, lad, where are you running in such a hurry?”

Thanks be to every single God that ever breathed mortal air, I thought incoherently... and with some amount of blasphemy.

The wizard’s voice brought me up short, and I nearly broke my neck whilst trying to halt.  His hand on my elbow steadied me once again this morning, and I looked anxiously into his face with its straight and narrow nose, at the piercing eyes that could strip flesh from bone with a single gaze.  He was smiling at the moment, but I had seen him in an unholy fury, and I would swear that sparks had blazed forth from his eyes at that time.  He was not a man to trifle with, not a man at all, but a magician, a wizard, and a powerful one at that.  He was the only one who could help.  He could turn me into a toad after this, but first he had to attend my lord. 

“Lord Merlin, the King is possessed of a fit, please hurry, you must come!” I gasped, gripping his arm and tugging urgently.

His eyes narrowed and his focus seemed to turn inward.  My tugging did nothing to move him from his position, although he was as lean as the King and I was possessed of more weight; I should have been able to easily move him.  But his inner power far exceeded my minor amount of earthly strength, and I was ready to weep at my inability to move him.

“Please, Lord Merlin, the King is ill, he needs you,” I whispered brokenly.

The magician started, as if he’d forgotten I was there.  His focus drew away from its inward turnings and I quailed at being sole heart of his fierce attention.

“Then by all means, young Del, take me to him,” he replied mildly, his eyes like fierce hawks upon my face, a grim smile lighting his countenance.  “If the King is possessed of a fit, then perhaps you are right and he does need me.”

My knees wobbled in relief and I didn’t even think to ask how came he to know my name.  Later, it occurred to me that it might not be a good thing for a wizard to know my acquaintance, but at the moment, I only felt a respite from my fear and uncertainty.  It took us mere moments to reach the King’s quarters, and I marveled at that, for I had run far in my search for the wizard.  I reached for the door handle, but it opened before me without touch of mortal hand.  I shrank from entering the room, but Merlin’s hand on my elbow pushed me forward, an amused smile lighting his face at my fear.  The crunch of rubble under my feet told me that a pitcher would hold water no more.  The King had been busy, the room was a shambles.  Crossing the threshold of that door took more courage than I thought I had, but with the wizard pushing me along, I was unable to resist.

“The Lord Merlin,” I announced, my voice barely recognizable for the tremor it held.  The King turned from his brooding contemplation of a tapestry, his eyes opening wide in surprise.

“John!”  The King rushed forward and put hands on the wizard’s shoulders, giving Merlin a shake.  I watched in openmouthed shock, as none touched Merlin without his leave, not even the King.  “John,” the King repeated, “what th’ hell’s going on here?  I feel like I’m in a mad house, everything’s gone mad, I tell ya!”

“Shhh, shhhh, be at ease, my lord,” the great magician said soothingly, patting the King on his arm, and I relaxed with the knowledge that he would not turn my lord into a toad for his temerity.  After all, their friendship was fodder for storytellers, their near-brotherhood was legend.

The King stepped back with the wary look once again evident upon his face.

“You too, huh?  What is all this?” he asked quietly, staring at his old friend.  “I think I’m goin’ mad.”  He rubbed his hands through his hair and left it in disorder.  I wanted to smooth it down, but dared not move.

“Come sit with me, Arthur…” the wizard began.

“Get it straight, I’m not Arthur,” the King exclaimed, his anger again flashing in his eyes.  “I’m George bloody ‘arrison, that’s all, I’m no fuckin’ milord an’ I’m no fuckin’ king!  I’m just a bloody musician, that’s all!”

Although I quailed from his speech, Merlin was not moved by the King’s words.  He simply nodded and smiled with satisfaction. 

“So.  Very well, I didn’t have another name with which to call you.  George, then, come and sit, we’ll discuss events that brought you here, and we’ll determine how best to return you to your own time. George Bloody Arrison, how came you to have such an odd name?”

The King appeared speechless.  The wizard’s eyes noted the damage m’lord had done to his hand and he merely touched the blooded knuckles.  When his hand moved away, the King’s fingers were whole and unmarred once more.

“There, now you are George no-longer-bloody Arrison.  Come, man, don’t stare so.”

The King turned his gaze to his knuckles, and focused on them for long moments, nearly as long as I spent staring at the wizard.  M’lord’s gaze finally returned to the Lord Merlin.

“I’ve gone mad.  That’s it, innit?” the King asked quietly.

Merlin shook his head in the negative.  “Let us sit and talk.  Del, clean this room and bring us some wine,” he suddenly roared, grinning when I started at the sound of his voice.  “Only, be a good lad and bring the wine first,” he added.

***

I tried to avoid listening, I really did.  But the room was quiet save for their voices, and they made no effort to speak in whispers.  Outbursts were common, as well as much pacing.  This much I gathered: a spell that my lord Merlin was creating had gone awry and brought the King, who was not the King, here to Camelot.  The King, or rather, the not King, could not believe this.  Nor could I!  It was far too much for a simple squire to comprehend, and so I merely did my chores and served my masters as best I could.

“Think on it this way, Sir George….”

“Jus’ George, I’m no bloody Sir.”

“Very well,” the wizard continued smoothly.  “Think on it this way, George, the effect is only temporary, and so you shall return to your own time by the time the next dawn breaks.  I think.”

“Oh, you think, eh?” the King asked with a frown.  “Izzat what this is, then?  A bad trip?”

“I suppose you could call it that, as you have ‘tripped’ from your time into ours,” Merlin replied, also frowning.  “Although I do not think we refer to the same thing.  Tell me,” he went on eagerly, “what of the enchantments that exist in your time?”

The King took a gulp of his wine and held his cup out for more. 

I scurried to refill it and checked the magician’s cup as well.  The remains of the fruit and bread from their meal was scattered on the table, but I dared not clean whilst they were so engaged in speech with one another.  Surprisingly, m’lord nodded his thanks to me and took another sip of his drink.

“I dunno, should I be telling ya anything about th’ future?”  He made a sound of derision and then continued ere Lord Merlin could reply.  “What difference does it make, this in’t real, it’s just a trip after all.”  He sat up straight with a crooked grin on his lips.  “Well, we fly in metal boxes ‘cross the oceans, and we can talk t’ people in faraway lands by jus’ a simple telephone an’ wires an’ cables.  We can listen t’ music any time o’ day or night jus’ by flicking a switch.  We can watch moving pic’chers on the telly an’ th’ ‘mericans ‘ave landed a man on th’ moon.”

 I think that I have never before or since seen Lord Merlin so nonplussed.  I was baffled by what the King had said, but I had become somewhat used to his manner of speech since he’d awoken.  Of course, I had no idea what he’d said, and even less of what he’d meant, but somehow his words fired my imagination.  I watched surreptitiously as the wizard gathered his wits about him.  Perhaps he, too, understood little of the King’s speech.

“So, what d’ I do now?” the King asked.

The trumpets announced the approach of the knights of the realm, and I raced to snatch up my master’s boots from where they lay beside the dressing table.

“The games, m’lord!  They will begin shortly!” I said enthusiastically.

“Attend the games, George, enjoy the day.  Smile sweetly on your lady and say little,” the wizard advised as he rose to his feet.  “By the morrow, you will be back in your rightful place.”

I assisted m’lord with his calf-high boots of softest leather and then looked around.  The magician was gone, yet I had not heard the door open or close behind him.  M’lord was looking bemusedly about, but he seemed in a better temper than previously.

“Weirdest trip I’ve ever been on,” he remarked casually.  “King Arthur an’ the bloody knights of th’ round table.  Freakin’ weird.”

“Round table, m’lord?” I asked, trying my best to hurry him along.

“Yeah, round,” he replied.  “That way, nobody’s better ‘n anybody else.  Thur’s no head an’ no foot o’ th’ table, everybody’s equal.  Wonder if sommat like that woulda helped out th’ Beatles?” he added with a snort of laughter.

I stored his words away for future thought and opened the door for him.  His guards and escort saluted smartly.  The King looked at me expectantly.

“Your escort, m’lord,” I said smoothly.  “The games promise to be splendid.”

He hesitated, his eyes looking about curiously.  “Yer comin’ with me, aren’t ya?” he asked quietly.

“Sir?”  I was staggered by the thought....

“Yer comin’ with me,” he said firmly.

“M’lord, I don’t have the words to thank you!” I replied with a bow, struggling hard to control my elation. 

The cadre of squires normally only tended to the horses and thus missed the majority of the games.  But to be asked by the King to attend at his side...!  My heart was bursting with pride, nearly coming out of my chest.  If only my dear mother could see me now, attending the games at the request of the King!

I followed the King and his escort, a requisite three steps behind, but my step was lighter than air.  I noted that the colourful banners were flying high and the atmosphere was bright and gay.  It was a perfect day for a tournament!

My presence in the King’s tent was a surprise to the Seneschal, but he good-humouredly found me a stool, and then I was seated slightly behind m’lord as the knights of the realm were presented to him, each one masked and armoured to prevent anyone from knowing his identity.  I would have bet my dinner that the black knight would win the games, though, something about the way he sat astride his mount.  I waited eagerly to find if my prediction were to come true.

When the Queen and her escort arrived, I held my breath as long as I could, and tried my best to avoid looking at her directly.  The scent of her flowers was mild, but it tickled my nostrils and made my stomach twitch with a feeling much like discomfort.  My stomach twisted through the remainder of the morning and I was hard put to pay much attention to the jousting.  I couldn’t even eat any of the food that was brought for us at midday.

“You all right, Del?” the King asked, and I started at his question, for he’d been silent all morning.  He’d stood to stretch and turned to find me with a full plate and no appetite.

“I’m fine, m’lord,” I mumbled in reply.

“Woulda thought a kid yer age could eat yer weight in food every day,” he mused.

“M’lord, please...,” I managed, begging with my eyes for him to leave off his comments.

The King looked about at the occupants of the tent.  His glance lingered on his Queen and I felt sudden heat rise to my skin.  His gaze darted back to me and laughter bloomed in the depths of his dark eyes.  Horrified, I looked away as quickly as possible, and tried to nibble at a piece of bread from my plate, although it nearly choked me.  The King’s gentle chuckle sounded loud in my ears, and the heat on my skin increased as he patted me on the back, offering me his own cup to wash down the offending crumbs that had lodged in my throat. 

Thankfully, the King said nothing, merely bowed somewhat awkwardly to the Queen when she turned a questioning glance in our direction, then returned to his seat for the afternoon games.  With much effort spent in ignoring the other occupants of the tent, I was able to lose myself in the excitement of the afternoon games, and cheered as loudly as the King when the black knight won the final joust of the day.

“Huzzah, huzzah!” I shouted as the Knight came before the tent to be unmasked.

The Queen gracefully folded a silken scarf that had lain on her shoulders throughout the day, and prepared to present it to the man.  The man’s attendants helped him from his horse and set about removing his armour, revealing a lean and strong form.  The helm came off at last, and a surprised gasp issued from the watching crowd, then many cheers as his identity was revealed to all.

“Huzzah!” I shouted again, and the crowd took up the refrain.

My heart was pumping with the excitement of the final game, and my excitement of the whole day washed over me.  As I turned to the King, I caught his look of absolute shock.

“Eric?  Eric?”

My ears barely caught his whisper, and I turned to see at what he was gazing.  The Queen, her colour high and her eyes tender, extended the scarf to the winning knight, who knelt at her feet and bowed his head.

“My lady,” he said softly.

“Sir Lancelot,” she replied, a mild quaver in her voice.

As the good knight accepted her award, there passed a look between them that I could not interpret, for it seemed to hold more of misery than of praise, although the Queen’s following words were simple congratulations for winning the tournament.

A merry feast followed the games, with wonderful food and much drink, boasting and laughter and mock challenges called out from one knight to another.  The King seemed very quiet throughout the even, and I thought he was merely keeping to the Lord Merlin’s advice.  But his eyes were burning with thought, and his gaze often fell upon either the beauteous Queen or upon the good Sir Lancelot.

Late in the evening, I followed the King to his bedchamber and would have helped him to bed had he let me.  But he seemed somehow morose and wanted another cup of wine.  He bade me sit with him and drink.  He looked into his cup as though wondering how it was again empty, and I quickly refilled it.  He nodded his thanks, and I gingerly sipped from my cup, wondering if the King would be given to another fit.  I’d nearly forgotten the fear of the morning in the excitement of the games and the feast, and being alone with him like this had my nerves jangling.

“D’ya think Eric an’ Pattie are havin’ an affair?” he asked suddenly.

“M’lord?”

He looked up at me, his eyes questioning, then a half-smile broke out on his lips.  “I mean, d’ya think this Lancelot an’ th’ Queen are havin’ an affair?”

The meaning of his words finally sank in, and I leapt to my feet, horrified at his confidence. 

“My lord, the Queen...?  Good Sir Lancelot...?  No, oh, no.....”

“Easy, Del, easy, boy.  Siddown, don’ get all uptight.  I was jus’ wonderin’ what ya thought.”

“No, m’lord, no, never, the Queen is....  she is.....  she.....” I stammered as I again took my seat.  I felt poised for flight.

The King grinned his crooked grin at me, boyish charm and brotherhood in his glance.  “Yeah, I know.  She’s a beauty.”  He sighed and looked again into his cup, speaking his tale as if to the contents thereof.  “First time I ever saw ‘er, we were filmin’ that silly movie, she was an extra hired fer th’ scene on th’ train.  I saw ‘er dressed up in that little school gurl’s uniform, with that blonde hair, those big eyes, that funny little gap ‘tween ‘er teeth.  I think I fell in love right then.  I’d never seen anything so beautiful in me life.”

I nodded agreement.  I had no idea about what m’lord was speaking, but his last sentence had my full support.  Silence reigned for several minutes.

“M’lord, there can be no doubt that the good knight ... has affection and respect for the Queen,” I finally whispered.  “So do we all.  She is ... she is beauty beyond thought,” I finished lamely, searching for the words to go on.  “Yet, he is a knight, bound by the code of honour.”

That was all I could say.  I thought it was all I needed to say.  But the King appeared not convinced, his smile wry, his eyes sliding away from me to stare at the table.

“M’lord, will you exile him?” I ventured.

“Huh?”  The King looked up with a frown, as if he did not understand my question.

“Sir Lancelot,” I elaborated painfully.  “Will you banish him?  Or will you... will you execute him?” I added, horrified that either event might occur.  But m’lord was King, and if the King thought....

His easy laughter surprised me.  His eyes sparkled with merriment.

“Exile ‘im?” he asked with a smile.  “Or execute ‘im?  That’s a good one!  Nah, things ‘aven’t been going very well ‘tween me an’ Pattie fer a while now.  If it’s gonna happen, I’d rather she be with Eric than some other idiot.”  He paused and I tried to understand his words.  He shook his head and added, “If it’s true.  Maybe it’s jus’ this weird trip, maybe thur’s nothing goin’ on after all....”

His voice trailed off, and I saw that his last cup of wine had made him sleepy.  I helped him to his bed and removed his boots, covering him lightly with the bed linens. 

“Ta, Del, yer a good kid,” he murmured.

Cheryl Mortensen has been a Beatle fanatic since the 1960s, but somehow went on to other things in the late 1960s, only rediscovering her passion for "all things Beatle" in the late 1990s (and on into the new century).  She is a computer programmer and an avid photographer. (Concert photos of bands and performers is her favorite area -- ask her about her Ringo pictures!!)  Cheryl lives with her husband of many years (Mike), her German Shepherd (Sorsha), and a bunch of fish in the tank and the pond that they've never bothered to name.